Someone You Know. Olivia Isaac-Henry

brought it to life, as she filled the air with baking and Chanel No. 5.

      One day, Edie would have a home like this, clean and calm, until she arrived, and she would be Valentina, brightening the rooms with her presence, filling the air with warm spice and perfume. People would call her Edith, not Edie. She wouldn’t have a husband who sat in his armchair smoking all day or one like Mr Vickers who came home, only to start barking complaints the moment he stepped through the door. If she ever married it would be to a man like Uncle Ray, handsome and fun. She could never remember Uncle Ray raising his voice or not wanting to take her to the park or saying no when she wanted something. Why did men like Uncle Ray marry Auntie Becca and women like Valentina marry Mr Vickers?

      ‘And how was your day, girls?’ Valentina asked as she put the tray down.

      There was a pause. Edie glanced at Tess, best not to mention Caitlin.

      ‘Edie’s on the top-stream table, I’m not,’ Tess said sulkily.

      ‘That’s a shame,’ Valentina said.

      ‘Tess will catch up,’ Edie said.

      Valentina smiled and passed Tess a plate.

      ‘And you’re so good at drawing, Tess,’ Edie said. ‘You can’t be good at everything.’

      Tess seemed to cheer up and took some cake.

      ‘I was always hopeless at maths and things like that, Tess,’ Valentina said. ‘Much better at cookery and art.’

      Neither spoke while Valentina fussed, pouring the tea and cutting the cake. Edie ate her gingerbread and Tess broke hers into small pieces without bringing any to her mouth. Valentina tried to hand her a teacup twice before she noticed.

      ‘Your mum says you’re going away this weekend,’ Valentina said.

      ‘We’re going to London with Auntie Becca,’ said Tess. ‘To see Aunt Lola in Kentish Town.’

      ‘That’ll be fun. Are you going to see all the sights?’

      ‘No,’ said Tess. ‘We’ve been before. We’ll probably go down Oxford Street.’

      Edie was less thrilled than Tess. Aunt Lola gave their cousins money to shop, whereas Tess and Edie could only watch. Still, she liked her cousins, Cassie was too young to be of much interest, but Corrine and Ashley were older and a lot more fun than Tess. She dreamt of being their age or older and living in London by herself. That was until she married and had Valentina’s house.

      ‘Dad can’t come though, Uncle Ray’s busy with work and someone has to look after Pepe,’ Tess said.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Auntie Becca’s dog. Do you and Mr Vickers ever go away for weekends?’

      ‘No,’ Valentina said. ‘Not our thing.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Mr Vickers doesn’t really like travel. I persuaded him to go to Portugal once, he hated it.’

      It was odd how Valentina referred to her husband as Mr Vickers, as if he were a teacher. Edie couldn’t imagine Mum calling Dad ‘Mr Piper’.

      Valentina glanced at her watch.

      ‘You know what,’ she said. ‘I’ll put the rest of the cake in Tupperware and you can take it with you for your journey. You’ll be a few hours on that coach.’

      ‘We’re taking Uncle Ray’s car. Auntie Becca wants to buy lots of clothes,’ Tess said.

      Edie giggled.

      ‘She’ll only get black tops and trousers like all her others.’

      ‘I don’t care why. It’ll be nicer in the car.’

      Edie thought about it. Uncle Ray’s car had leather seats and a stereo. The coach had dirty toilets and old ladies trying to talk to you.

      ‘I suppose so,’ she said.

      ‘Well take the cake anyway,’ Valentina said.

      She took the gingerbread back into the kitchen and returned with a plastic box.

      ‘Bring the Tupperware back when you’ve finished, will you?’

      ‘We will,’ Edie said.

      Tess stood up. Edie had hoped to stay for another slice. She saw Valentina’s eyes flick to her watch again.

      ‘Mr Vickers had a meeting in Stoke this afternoon and he’s not going back to the office before coming home.’

      Edie understood. She got to her feet and thanked Valentina for the cake.

      *

      The smell of stale tobacco drifted from under their front door. Edie felt the gloom before they even stepped inside. Tess ran over to Dad and kissed him. He patted her on the head, cigarette still in hand; a little ash fell into her hair.

      ‘Hi, Dad,’ she said.

      ‘Hi, girls.’

      He spoke softly, as always.

      ‘We’ve got some cake, do you want some?’

      ‘Not now, Tess,’ he said.

      ‘I’ll put it in the kitchen.’

      Edie followed her. She had just got the plates out for a second slice when the shouting began next door.

      ‘I can smell it. Baking all day for those bloody urchins and what do I get when I get in? Sardines on effin’ toast.’

      They couldn’t hear Valentina’s reply.

      ‘What’s the time got to do with it? I don’t work every hour God sends to feed the neighbourhood waifs and strays.’

      A door slammed.

      Tess and Edie looked at each other. Tess looked like she was about to cry. Edie started to giggle.

       Chapter 9

       Tess: June 2018

      I lie in bed. Dad brings me cups of tea I don’t drink. Cassie and Max make calls I don’t answer. Dad will have told them what’s happened by now and anyway, it’s all over the news. DS Craven comes in and asks if he can have a word. I say no and Dad tells him to leave me alone.

      ‘You should really eat something,’ Dad says.

      I’m sure he’s had nothing himself. He leaves a plate of Welsh rarebit on the side table.

      I turn over and stare out of the window; the rain trickling down my reflection in its pane provides the tears I’m unable to cry.

      The only reason I moved to London was because I thought I’d find Edie. She’d dreamed of living in the city and it didn’t matter how many millions of people lived there, I knew one day I’d bump into her on Oxford Street or at Waterloo Station.

      But she was never there. The whole time she was lying at the bottom of a reservoir, wrapped in plastic and weighted down. She would still be there now if the police hadn’t dragged it after a tip-off about a drugs stash, but there were no drugs, just the body of a young girl, another one. We’ve had many messages from the police over the years. An unidentified young female, you may need to prepare. And then you hate yourself for being relieved at another girl’s death. Anyone’s as long as it isn’t Edie’s. And now it is.

      Anger rushes through me. How could this happen? How can Edie be dead? I find the energy to get up and go to her room. There have to be answers somewhere, she must have left me something. Where’s the photograph, where are the missing pages from the scrapbook? I start with the tallboy. I find a couple of old Record Collector magazines and an NME from 1998 with Blur on the cover. I turn