TOYL

her aim could be a big mistake. It could ruin everything.
    ‘We came to see Stephen,’ she said, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘Is he here?’
    Mrs Myers looked perplexed.
    Emma tried again. ‘Is Stephen here with you?’
    ‘No,’ said Mrs Myers, her face collapsing with shock, as if she had just received the most devastating news imaginable. ‘I thought he was with you.’
    ‘He’s not with me, Mrs Myers.’
    ‘I… I don’t know where he is,’ she said, putting a hand to her mouth and taking a step back, as if struck by an unseen blow.
    ‘Do you know where he’s been in the last week or so?’ Emma pressed. ‘Has Stephen been to London?’
    ‘London? He’s never been to that place.’ Her voice hardened into anger. ‘I’ve told him, don’t go to that disgusting place. It’s so horrible and dirty.’ She jabbed a finger at Emma. ‘He would never have gone there. What are you saying, young lady?’
    Emma wanted to stand up – she felt exposed, and she didn’t like where this conversation was heading or the way Mrs Myers was behaving. But she decided to stay where she was and try to turn down the heat. ‘I’m not saying anything, Mrs Myers. I just thought you might know where Stephen is.’
    ‘Well, I don’t. Please, drink your tea, before it gets cold.’
    Emma did as requested, trying to hide the grimace when she realised that the milk in the tea was badly off. She watched as Mrs Myers took a sip of her tea and didn’t register any kind of discomfort. She looked across at Lizzy, whose face revealed that she had already tasted the vile drink. Emma tried desperately to think of another avenue of investigation, but struggled to find a way ahead. She wondered how Inspector Gasnier might have approached it.
    ‘Would you like to see Stephen’s room?’ Mrs Myers said.
    Emma gave up drinking her tea. ‘Yes, that would be nice.’
    ‘Just one minute,’ said Mrs Myers, ‘I need to check something first.’ She exited the lounge and went upstairs.
    ‘She thinks you’re seeing Stephen,’ Lizzy whispered. ‘She’s not well, is she?’
    ‘Something’s wrong,’ Emma said, her ears pricking up as she heard Mrs Myers talking to someone upstairs, although it wasn’t loud enough to hear what she was saying. Lizzy heard too, and her face fell.
    ‘You don’t think –?’
    ‘Maybe,’ Emma said. ‘But you’re right; she’s not well at all.’
    ‘You can come up now, girls,’ Mrs Myers shouted. She sounded happy again, and Emma wondered whether she was suffering from some kind of manic-depressive disorder. It would explain the cave-like, gloomy house, the unkempt lounge and kitchen.
    ‘Come on,’ Emma said to Lizzy as she rose from the sofa. ‘I’ll go first.’
    ‘I don’t like this,’ Lizzy said.
    ‘Neither do I. I don’t like any of it.’
    ‘In here,’ Mrs Myers said, beckoning them towards the room at the far side of the landing. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting – I just wanted to make sure that everything was in order.’
    Emma edged across the landing, floorboards creaking under her, past two closed doors. She wondered whether the person who Mrs Myers had been talking to was lurking behind one of them. It could be Mr Myers, or it could be Stephen himself. She kept one eye on Lizzy who was following close behind.
    ‘Come on in,’ Mrs Myers said, her face bright and welcoming.
    Come in to my parlour, said the spider to the fly.
    Mrs Myers stepped back and let Emma into the room. The scene took Emma’s breath away. The walls of the bedroom were covered with photographs – overlapping photos, three or four deep. There were so many you could only see the wallpaper behind at the very corners of the room.
    ‘I knew you’d like the photographs,’ Mrs Myers said, as Emma glanced from one photo to another – they were all of her. It was a scrapbook of four years of her life – photos outside the television studio, in the main streets of Manchester, outside her flat, even through the window of her home, talking to Stuart.
    But one photo in particular stood out.
    It was a close-up, zoom-lens image of her. She recognised some of the shops in the background – it had been taken just outside Lizzy’s flat.
    Stephen Myers had followed her to London.

21

    ‘Do you think she’s talking to herself?’ Lizzy said, as they sat in the lounge listening to Mrs Myers muttering upstairs.
    Emma looked up towards the ceiling. ‘I think so – unless there’s someone up in one of the