Agnes returned from the dry-cleaners and carefully pinned up the tickets on her notice board. Lena’s note caught her eye, so she went to the fridge and took out the plastic containers of food as Harry entered the kitchen.
He was tight-lipped, folding the letter Lena had left him and stuffing it into his pocket. ‘The bitch has just fired me without the decency to tell me to my face. She better bloody well pay me a month’s notice.’
‘Good heavens, that’s awful, I’m so sorry – did she give you a reason?’
He shrugged, not wanting to get into it, but Agnes continued reminding him how good a job he had done always keeping the car immaculate.
‘Yeah, well part of it’s your fault.’
‘My fault? What have I done?’
‘You told me to clean his ruddy Mini, which I did and it was disgusting, full of garbage and fag ends; anyway, I found something, and I swear before God I intended handing it in, I just forgot.’
‘What on earth did you find?’
‘Amy’s watch, but with my record they put two and two together and come up with Christ knows what. I get arrested and spend bloody hours down the station with this prick questioning me over and over. Now she leaves this letter for me and never even gives me the opportunity to explain. I’m out on my ear.’
‘Oh I am sorry, it’s just dreadful.’
Harry noticed the plastic cartons of food she was holding. ‘You making some lunch? I wouldn’t mind something to eat before I bugger off.’
‘Mrs Fulford didn’t want them so I was going to have the chicken. You can have the bolognese if you want?’
‘Thanks. After two years that’s about all I’ll be getting… fucking spaghetti bolognese.’
Reid drove into the school’s horseshoe drive, parked up and walked to Miss Polka’s cottage. The front door was open, and so he knocked and then stepped further inside. The small hallway was stacked with all the paintings and framed photographs. He continued into the little sitting room to see even more artwork stacked and two large cardboard boxes filled with books. He turned back towards the entrance, and then stopped as he could hear someone crying. Cautiously he moved to the room next to the kitchen and tapped on the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s DI Reid.’
She was sitting on the edge of a double bed, cases and clothes piled high around her.
‘I’m sorry to intrude, but your front door was open.’
‘You’re lucky I’m still here – a removal firm is coming to put my stuff into storage.’
‘You’re leaving?’
‘Not by choice; I’ve been given my marching orders by Miss Harrington, and told that if I leave quietly, if I don’t cause any further embarrassment, I will be paid up until the end of this term and she’ll give me a reference.’
She had obviously been crying for some time; her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly.
‘Not as much as I am; I have no alternative but to accept and hand in my resignation. They have a new art teacher moving in tomorrow, and I am not even allowed to say goodbye to my pupils. I think Miss Harrington has put a stopwatch on me, and will be monitoring my departure through her office window.’
‘You’re a good art teacher and with the reference I’m sure you will get a job somewhere else.’
‘I don’t know what I’ll do right now, but more importantly, is there any news about Amy?’
‘So far we have not traced her, but I believe it is possible she is alive.’
‘Really?’ she asked, wide-eyed.
‘Really – so how about a cup of coffee?’
She ran her fingers through her lovely curly hair and gave a wan smile.
‘Okay, let’s go into the kitchen.’
He followed her out of the bedroom and into the kitchen next door to it.
He had to stand in the doorway as the kitchen was small and he watched her brew up fresh coffee for them both. He liked the way she moved in her ballet pumps, very light on her feet.
She passed him a full mug. ‘Let’s go and sit down.’
He sat in the same chair he had previously as she sank onto the low stool, which was surrounded by framed photographs of herself.
‘We have been given a journal that belonged to Amy and which she wrote in. It portrays a very tortured soul and we believe through expert opinion she was suffering from a multiple personality disorder.’
Miss Polka, cupping both hands around her coffee, frowned and tilted her head to one side. ‘I don’t understand?’
‘It’s a complicated psychiatric disorder and hard to explain, but in short her mind and actions could have been taken over by a person in her head. She could be alive and living under an assumed identity and the real Amy is repressed by another personality.’
She sighed sadly and her expression grew quizzical. ‘Oh that poor child. It sounds utterly awful and makes me feel wretched. Is it my fault?’
He had such a strange feeling, wanting to put his arms around her; instead he carefully placed his coffee mug down on the floor beside his chair.
‘I don’t know whose fault any of it is, but I am trying to find out. The identity controlling Amy may be dangerous and want to harm people they’ve written about in the journal.’
She was so shocked she spilt some of her coffee, got up and hurried from the room. She weaved around the stacks of paintings and he heard her retching and being violently sick in the bathroom. Concerned, he went to see if she was all right. She was shaking and wiping her mouth with some toilet paper, having flushed the toilet.
‘I’m sorry, but there is no need for you to be with me; it’s always the way I react to anything upsetting me. If there is nothing else you need to talk to me about I really should get my packing finished.’
‘Listen, I want you to know that I never brought up our previous conversation – it didn’t come from me, rightly or wrongly.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Did Amy ever confide in you about anything concerning her mental state or to do with her family?’
‘No, never. I swear if she had I’d tell you. I hope you find her, I really do – it’s just heartbreaking.’
‘Who do you think tipped off the headmistress?’
‘Tipped off! I really don’t know, but she implied it was anonymous, and asked me directly about whether or not I was a lesbian. Ridiculous but, to be honest, whether or not it was foolish of me, I said it was my own business and would leave directly, so here I am packing and doing just that.’
‘Well, I’m sorry. Do you know where you are going?’
‘No, but as soon as I do, I have your card and will let you have my address. Obviously I want to know whatever the outcome is for poor Amy.’
‘We all do, so, good luck.’
She shook his hand, eager to finish her packing, and looked close to tears again, so he left and heard her crying.
Chapter 29
Lena had returned from her shopping loaded down with shirts, trousers and socks for Marcus. She was about to take all her boutique and designer bags upstairs when Agnes came out from the kitchen.
‘Is Marcus up yet?’ Lena asked her.
‘Not yet, but I think I heard him moving around earlier. Shall I make him some brunch?’