The Sixth Window

by Rachel Abbott

  Louisa smiled and narrowed her eyes, as if examining Tom’s discomfort. ‘Right. I take it she was checking if the coast was clear, and maybe was a little vague about her intentions.’

  ‘I didn’t know what she was up to, if I’m honest. But I could see she was very uncomfortable.’

  ‘That’s because Mark doesn’t approve. He told her not to get involved in case it all went pear-shaped, so she hasn’t told him about tonight.’

  Tom thought of Becky now, hiding in the one place where he couldn’t reach her. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if she’s sneaked out through the back door. Look, this place is getting quite busy. Do you fancy finding somewhere to eat where we don’t have to shout across the table?’

  Louisa’s smile said it all. ‘What about Becky?’

  ‘Oh, I think Becky needs to torture herself for a bit longer, don’t you? When she finally emerges from hiding, she won’t know whether I got fed up waiting for her or you had arrived. I think I’ll let her stew for a while.’

  ‘That’s mean,’ Louisa said with a conspiratorial grin. ‘I owe her for this.’

  ‘I agree, but we can both be suitably grateful in about half an hour when we text her to say thank you.’

  Leaving some cash on the table for his drink with Becky’s vodka glass weighing it down, Tom escorted Louisa from the bar. He knew exactly where he was going to take her.

  17

  ‘Scarlett, are you sure you’re going to be okay on your own today? I’d work from here, but I’ve got a client meeting this afternoon and I need to get the team together to prepare. I’m sorry, love – it’s going to be a bit boring for you.’ Natalie stood jangling her keys by the door.

  Scarlett was stretched full length on the sofa, where she still insisted on sleeping, and it didn’t look as if she was planning on going anywhere soon. She gave Natalie a tight-lipped smile.

  ‘Just go, Mum. I’ll ring my friends and see if any of them can be bothered to come into town this week, but they’ve probably all got better things to do.’

  ‘I’ll leave you some money so you can treat them to lunch if you like. What about Gracie?’

  ‘Now I’m not around, she’ll probably be doing stuff with Debs and Jodie.’

  Scarlett looked close to tears, and folded her arms to cover her face. Natalie knew how fragile friendships could be at her age, but she couldn’t have left her alone in that house every day, knowing that Ed was on nights and would be home too.

  ‘I know this isn’t great for you, sweetheart,’ – a muffled scoffing sound indicated what Scarlett thought of that idea – ‘but why not use this time to get ahead with your coursework for next year?’

  Scarlett lifted her arms for a second and gave Natalie a look of disdain before putting them back again.

  ‘You’ve got a local history project to do next term, and if you get ahead you’ll have more free time when we’re back home. Why don’t you go to the library?’

  Scarlett was quiet for a second, but dropped her arms and looked at Natalie. ‘If I get it done, does that mean I’ll be able to go on the school skiing trip?’

  Natalie smiled at her daughter. ‘I did say that depends on where you’re up to with your coursework, that’s true. Let’s see how far you get before I make any promises. Have you got any ideas for a subject?’

  Scarlett stared at the ceiling for a moment. ‘What about doing it on this place? Did I hear Cliff tell you it used to be a workhouse?’

  ‘I think so, yes. He was giving me the history of the place when we first arrived. I hope he didn’t scare you with his stories.’

  Scarlett covered her eyes with her arms again. ‘If you think I’m worried about a few ghosts, you can forget that.’

  Her words sounded slightly hollow to Natalie, who walked across the room and leaned down to kiss her daughter on the cheek. ‘You’re being a star. I’ll see you later.’

  Natalie picked up her bag to leave. As she opened the door, Scarlett called out, ‘Mum, before you go, can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Does Megan know where we are?’

  Natalie waited a beat. ‘Yes. She does. Do you want to speak to her?’

  ‘She sent me a text to ask if I was okay, so I should call her really.’

  Natalie felt a rush of love for her daughter. ‘That’s fine, but Megan doesn’t know the real reason why we left, and for now I need it to stay like that.’

  ‘Well I’m not likely to tell her, am I, because I don’t understand what’s going on in your head. Or at least I might know what, but I don’t know why it’s in your head.’ The relatively good humour of a moment ago was fading quickly.

  ‘It’s complicated, Scarlett, but all Megan knows is that things that aren’t quite as they should be.’

  To Natalie’s surprise, Scarlett laughed. ‘Are they ever, Mum? Really? Are people who we think they are? As far as I can see, everybody has secrets, even the people we trust the most.’

  Before Natalie could ask her what she meant, Scarlett leaped up from the sofa, disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

  *

  Scarlett heard her mum leave the apartment and knew she was alone. She leaned back against the cool bathroom tiles, wanting to stay locked in this safe space. Maybe the ghosts wouldn’t be able to get to her here.

  She had lied when she said she wasn’t bothered by what Cliff had said. The truth was that she had hardly slept, holding her breath, listening to see if the voices would come.

  She was sure they had. She had just dropped into a doze in the early hours when she thought she heard laughter echoing around her, high-pitched, giddy, but by the time she was fully awake the sound had faded to nothing. Had she really heard it? She wasn’t sure. Was it part of her dream? She didn’t know. Was she imagining it because of what Cliff had said?

  All she knew was that each time she drifted into a light sleep the voices seemed to circle her, whispering in her ear as if they were trying to tell her something, and she didn’t know if they were real or if it was all in her mind.

  Part of her wanted to hear them, because then she would know that ghosts really did exist, and maybe – if she was lucky – she would find a way to talk to her dad. But if her mum knew she was trying to find a way to talk to a ghost, she would probably want to move them again, or she might think Scarlett had finally lost it.

  The previous morning Scarlett had gone to ask Cliff for more than just the key code: she had wanted him to tell her exactly what the other tenant had heard. She had stood at the top of the steps to the south wing for ages, trying to pluck up the courage to go in and talk to him. In the end a young guy in a tight black T-shirt and black jeans, a studded leather belt separating the two, had opened the door to come out. With his sunglasses and his dark stubble he looked like a rock star.

  ‘You coming in?’ he asked, his face expressionless.

  Scarlett had felt self-conscious under his gaze, his eyes all but invisible behind the dark lenses. She muttered, ‘Thank you,’ and he held the door as she walked through. She had the feeling he was watching her, but hadn’t dared to turn round.

  The heavy metal door clanged to behind her as she rang Cliff’s bell. The unfriendly man who answered told her Cliff wasn’t there, and she had been horrified to hear he had been mugged. And of course that meant there was nobody to ask about the ghosts.

  Scarlett sighed, pushed herself off the bathroom wall and opened the door. The silence of the empty sitting room seemed heavy, so she picked up her phone from the worktop and hurried into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, grateful that the open window was allowing faint city noises to cut through the stillness.

  She had to know if the ghosts were real, and there was only one person she could think of, apart from Ed, who might be honest with her. She selected one of the numbers stored in her phone.

  ‘Megan Jenkins.’ The slightly husky voice with its strong Welsh accent always brought a smile to Scarlett’s face. She loved M
egan. There was something so reassuring about her honesty.

  ‘Megan, it’s Scarlett.’

  ‘Hi, kid. How are you doing? Did you get my text? I was glad to hear you’d turned up safely yesterday, although personally I was never in any doubt. I love your mum, but she does fuss, doesn’t she?’

  Normally if people commented on her mum, Scarlett would leap to her defence, but she knew Megan wasn’t being mean.

  ‘She was being ridiculous. She thinks I’m a kid.’

  Scarlett heard a chuckle from the other end of the phone. ‘Well, you are a kid, but you’re a big kid and you’re relatively sensible – for a teenager, at least. How are you liking Manchester?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘No, that’s what I thought. I’m sorry your mum and Ed have fallen out. I never thought it was a great idea them moving in together, but they seemed certain enough.’

  Scarlett wanted to tell Megan what had happened, but she had promised not to.

  ‘They had a horrible argument about something, and Mum decided we had to leave. It was awful. But why didn’t you think they should move in together?’

  ‘Oh, Ed and your dad are so different. I was worried that your mum would find it difficult to adjust. But that’s just me talking, and I’m a cynical bugger, as we all know. Anyway, it’s good to hear from you.’

  Megan was the only person who never spoke to her as if she was a child, and suddenly Scarlett was worried that she would laugh at her for what she was about to say.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ she asked. ‘In all your years in the police you must have come across some strange things.’

  Megan laughed. ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘Have you ever come across anyone who claims to have seen, or heard, a ghost – and have you ever believed them?’

  To Scarlett’s surprise, Megan didn’t scoff at the question. ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘Some woman who lived in this apartment before us said she heard ghosts, and I wondered if that could be true – if people could really contact the dead?’

  ‘Okay, this is a tricky question. I’ve heard lots of very plausible people say that they’ve had experiences that can only be explained by some kind of spirit activity. Nothing like that has ever happened to me, and I find it very hard to believe in anything I haven’t seen myself. But, and this is a big but, as my old mum used to say, it’s only a couple of hundred years since electricity was discovered, and yet it’s always been there. So who knows what else is out there, just waiting to be unearthed, if that’s not an inappropriate choice of word. I would say you should keep an open mind.’

  That wasn’t really the response Scarlett had been expecting, and she didn’t speak for a moment.

  ‘Scarlett, are you thinking of your dad? Because if you are, I don’t think it’s quite so simple as willing someone to talk to you.’

  Scarlett swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. She so wished she could talk to her dad one more time, but she couldn’t admit that – not even to Megan.

  ‘Oh no. It’s not that. It’s to do with a history project I’m doing. Forget I asked.’

  She didn’t want to tell Megan that she had lain awake all night, listening for the sounds that had driven the last tenant out of the apartment, and before Megan could ask her anything else, she changed the subject.

  They chatted for a couple of minutes longer, Megan promising to come into Manchester to see Scarlett on her next day off, and then ended the call.

  Scarlett had expected the incredibly practical and down-to-earth Megan to laugh at the idea of a ghost. That’s why she had chosen her as the person to ask. But she hadn’t laughed, and now Scarlett was more confused than ever. Surely if ghosts were able to talk to the living, her dad would find a way?

  But if she believed in spirits, she also had to believe that the sounds in the flat were real too, and the thought terrified her.

  18

  It was early when Tom arrived at police headquarters – ‘the office’ as he always referred to it. He was determined to beat Becky to it. He was going to wait and see how long it took her to come and find him, her tail between her legs. He grinned. What she had done last night had been inappropriate to say the least, but he was so very glad she had gone out on a limb for him.

  He would have made her suffer in silence for a little longer last night, but Louisa had told him not to be cruel. They had been eating at a new Turkish restaurant that Tom had discovered recently, and while they demolished a plate of meze between them Louisa had texted her thanks to Becky.

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell her yourself that it’s all fine, Tom?’

  Tom had feigned a look of mock indignation as he bit through crunchy pastry into the best muska boregi he had ever tasted.

  ‘No chance. She had me squirming with embarrassment in that bar, so I might wait a while. Let her think that I’m really mad at her, even if she knows you’re okay with it all.’

  Louisa laughed. ‘Well, I’m not going to let her suffer. And I’m going to tell her you’re smiling. Mean, but smiling.’

  She was right about the smile. He hadn’t stopped since he had looked up from staring into his Scotch and seen Louisa standing next to him. He had been relieved to find that she shared his enthusiasm for food too. She had eaten her fair share of the meze and ordered chicken sis with rice for her main course.

  As she took another falafel from the remains of the platter sitting between them, she had commented on her appetite. ‘I’ve no doubt I’ll get fat,’ she said. ‘But at least I’ll enjoy the journey. All people talk about nowadays is the latest fad diet, and I do find it all a bit tedious.’

  ‘As a doctor, aren’t you supposed to tell your patients they need to be thin?’

  She pulled a face. ‘I want them to be healthy and happy. Eating junk is a different thing altogether, and of course I’ve got plenty to say about that. But people are afraid of putting anything in their mouths other than a carrot stick. Oh, sorry – I forgot. Carrots have carbs in, don’t they?’ She paused to chew and swallow a mouthful of chickpeas. ‘And woe betide you if you eat a banana.’

  Tom now sat in his office, remembering what a good night they had had. They seemed to have so much in common, and not just a love of eating good food. Tom had never been on a diet in his life. Cooking was one of his passions, and as he pondered when it might be appropriate to call Louisa and ask her out again, he decided he was going to offer to cook her one of his Indian feasts. That was always assuming she wanted to see him again.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a double knock on the door, which was immediately thrust open. Becky stood in the doorway, her mouth in a thin line, her stance bordering on the belligerent. She was clutching a folder to her chest with both arms and clearly wasn’t planning on the meek, apologetic approach.

  Tom raised his eyebrows.

  ‘How long are you going to make me suffer?’ she asked. ‘I need to know so that I can put a date in my diary for when things are going to return to normal.’

  Tom couldn’t help laughing. ‘Hang on a minute. Aren’t I supposed to be the one that’s cross?’

  ‘Why would you be? I set you up with a gorgeous, intelligent woman.’

  ‘You did indeed. But there were a few tricky moments that I shudder to remember.’

  Becky grinned. ‘Oh, you mean when you thought I was propositioning you?’

  It was time to put an end to the banter before things got out of hand.

  ‘Let’s agree that what you did turned out well. Louisa is a very nice woman.’

  ‘Nice! Is that the best you can do?’

  Tom agreed silently that it was a completely innocuous word and didn’t do Louisa justice, but it was all Becky was getting.

  ‘Just promise me you’ll never do anything like that again. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Becky nodded and her posture relaxed. ‘I suppose you want me to make you a coffee now, don’t you?’

  ‘Peace off
ering,’ he said, holding up both hands, palms facing Becky. ‘I’ll make the coffee. How’s that?’ Tom pushed his chair back from the desk and made to stand up.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Becky said, dropping the file she was clasping onto Tom’s desk. ‘You need to read this. I am not so pissed off that I can’t make you a drink.’

  She turned to leave. The file was labelled ‘Jennifer Bale’.

  Tom opened the file and began to read. The photographs taken at the scene were there, and they weren’t easy to look at. It wasn’t a particularly high building, and although Jennifer probably hadn’t realised it, she could have survived. But the pool of blood around the body showed that the way she had fallen had damaged her beyond all hope of being saved. Included in the file was a preliminary report from the crime scene team. Their measurements were listed, and they had concluded that it seemed most likely – the most they could commit to at this stage – that she had jumped.

  The pathologist’s report confirmed that death was caused by the fall, and there were no visible signs of a struggle. As Tom reached the penultimate page of the document, Becky pushed the door open and came in with two cups of coffee.

  ‘Have you finished?’ she asked as she put a cup down next to Tom’s right hand.

  ‘Nearly. Just as we expected, really.’

  ‘Until you get to the last page, that is.’

  Tom glanced up quickly and then down again as he turned to the last page of the pathologist’s report.

  ‘Oh crap.’ Tom leaned back in his chair and raised his eyes to Becky’s. ‘I suppose we have the joy of telling the parents?’ It was a rhetorical question.

  Becky’s frown indicated her agreement. The pathologist had concluded that Jennifer was sexually active, due to internal lacerations and bruising on her thighs.

  ‘In spite of the bruising there’s no conclusive evidence that she was forced. There are no defence wounds, and no sign that she was restrained. It seems likely it’s happened more than once as well. Some of the bruising is old, and some of the lacerations had apparently started to heal. I called the pathologist for his opinion, which he was happy to discuss, although obviously his report just states the facts.’