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After You Fell. J.S. Lark
Читать онлайн.Название After You Fell
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780008366148
Автор произведения J.S. Lark
Жанр Ужасы и Мистика
Издательство HarperCollins
I am scared now. If his love is that shallow, what might happen to the children?
They need a nanny to look after them and love them as strongly as Louise loved them.
I will love them that much. I will be their mother – if I can get into the house.
I roll over and look at the clock. 3:04. I might as well give up trying to sleep. Maybe if I do something for a while Louise will press an idea into my mind.
I touch the light stand to turn the bedside light on, sit up, pulling the cushion that was on the side of the bed behind me and reach for my laptop.
Robert Dowling’s Facebook page appears as I open the laptop; the last thing that I looked at.
Is Robert Dowling friends with Alex’s nanny? I have glanced through his friends’ faces before, but now I have the picture on my phone to compare with.
Forty minutes later, I can say for certain that she’s not among his Facebook friends.
It was always an unlikely hope. A nanny who shares her social life with her employer’s father-in-law would be rare.
The Facebook pages that Robert Dowling likes include Alex’s business page. I click through to it because I’m still not tired.
If I were working for someone I would take an interest in their business.
About the thirtieth post down, a familiar face appears in a small icon in the comments.
The date of the post is five months ago. Before Louise died.
I click on the image to enlarge it. It is her. The nanny.
She posted a thumbs-up emoji in the comment stream under a picture.
Her name is Susie Brooke.
One click from the tip of my forefinger and I can see Susie Brooke’s Facebook page. It’s private. There is just one profile picture of her, a black screen header and a few shared posts from a music band.
I do not send her a friend request. There’s no point. Younger people are generally more savvy and judgemental about who they befriend online. She would see that she doesn’t know me and wonder why the woman who sits in the park has sent her a friend request in the middle of the night. Then she’d wonder how I know her name.
One thing the page does show me, that I didn’t know, is that she isn’t employed directly by Alex. Her employer is listed as an agency.
I open another search engine tab and type in Shearing and Smith Recruitment Agency. The company specialises in childcare and other household staff.
The name Susan Brooke goes into another search tab. It is a common name. I open Twitter and trawl through accounts with her picture on my phone to compare. Not one Susie Brooke looks like her.
I open Instagram to search there, scanning through face after face. I want to find images that will not be blocked. Images that will tell me how to get rid of her.
There. I see her.
My fingertip taps the screen by her image as I look from that to my phone. It is her. It’s a different picture from the one she used on Facebook but it’s her and the account isn’t private.
The posts open a door into her life. Places she goes to most, where she drinks, where she eats; and her friends are there, in pictures and comments. Patterns emerge as I scroll through the months. A pub, in Bath, where they all meet up. A nightclub in Bristol that she visits at least once a month. A park she takes the children to more than anywhere else.
The music band that was in her Facebook posts appears several times, and lots of those pictures are group selfies, including Susie. She is either a fan or a friend.
Another internet tab and another search takes me to the band’s Facebook page. They’re a local, unsigned band made up of young men – they have 4328 likes on the page and Susie is one of their followers.
They play a lot of gigs in and around Bath. Susie’s profile image appears in nearly all the comment streams and she hearts everything they post.
When I compare Susie’s Instagram posts with the dates and venues the band have performed at, every date aligns with a picture on Susie’s stream.
The floorboards on the landing creak, with the sound of soft, careful steps. Click. Electric light fills the thin gap around the bedroom door. A different sort of light is seeping through the blind covering the window.
I look at the clock. 5:19.
The floorboards continue creaking and I hear a door. The bathroom door.
I close the lid of the laptop, leaving all the tabs open, put it down and turn off the bedside light.
The toilet flushes, the bathroom door opens again and then there are more creaks as my landlady, Pippa, walks back along the landing.
I try to sleep but my mind will not stop spinning with ideas and plans.
Louise is excited. My heart is kicking. She thinks we have taken another step.
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