Find Them Dead

18 Wednesday 20 March

A tailback, caused by a minor crash on the M25, delayed Meg Magellan’s journey home from the Tesco headquarters in Welwyn Garden City by nearly two hours. When she finally arrived back in Hove and pulled onto the driveway alongside Laura’s grimy old Kia, in front of what had once been the garage until she and Nick had converted it into an extension of the living room, she was exhausted and ravenous.

And feeling lonely and heavy-hearted about again going into the empty house.

She lugged her briefcase off the passenger seat and let herself in the front door. The day’s post was scattered across the floor — the usual assortment of bills, fast-food flyers and a couple of official-looking letters. Daphne sat in the midst of the mail.

She knelt and stroked the cat. ‘Are you hungry? You must be — sorry I’m so late! I’ll get you food in a minute.’

The hall and staircase walls were lined with black-and-white photographs in black frames. Nick had been a keen amateur photographer, and loved taking photos of his family and of Brighton scenes, especially the beach, beach huts and the piers. When he had died, she and Laura at least had a detailed photographic record of their family activities and, crucially for Meg, of Will and Laura growing up.

What was Laura doing today, she wondered? Four months since she’d left with Cassie. And another five months before she would be back. The last communication she’d had was a WhatsApp photograph of her and Cassie inside a thatched mud hut, standing beside a toothless man in a felt trilby and traditional striped cape and a small, grinning boy in a grey hoodie, who was holding up a stack of brightly coloured friendship bracelets. All around them on the straw-covered floor were dozens and dozens of guinea pigs. It was captioned by Laura:

Meg knelt and scooped up the bunch of letters, carried them through to the kitchen and plonked them on the table. Daphne meowed.

‘Dinner is coming!’ She tore open a packet of a new, supposedly highly nutritious cat food she was trying out, but which Daphne didn’t seem wild about, squeezed its stinky contents into the bowl and put it on the floor. The cat walked around it, peering at it warily, and then, dismissively, walked away.

‘Great! What do you want? Beluga caviar?’

The cat reached the kitchen door, gave a disdainful miaowww, then jumped out through the flap.

‘Go find yourself a takeaway out in the garden!’ she said. ‘Chinese? Pizza? Thai? Maybe a Mexican?’

The creature had always been Laura’s pet, sleeping with her on the bed. Ever since Laura had gone, it seemed to Meg that the cat held her responsible for her daughter’s absence, and kept its distance — apart from when it was hungry — despite all her efforts to befriend it.

She switched on the oven, then went upstairs to Laura’s room, where the smell of sawdust greeted her. She opened the window to air the room, before checking on the precious creatures in their cages. Relieved as she was every day that none of them had died, she topped up their food and water then took a few photos to send to Laura — she demanded them every few days. Horace, his little face twitching, actually looked like he was posing for his close-up.

Back downstairs, she opened the freezer and took a desultory look through the options. Like the cat, she wasn’t hungry, but she knew she needed to eat. She removed a vegan curry, which she’d bought as an experiment, read the instructions, removed the packaging, put it on a baking tray and bunged it in the oven. Then she sat down to tackle the post.

The first envelope she opened, which was for Laura, had an Edinburgh postmark. It was from the Royal School of Veterinary Studies, giving Laura the dates of the autumn semester, starting 2 October. Meg was so proud her daughter had got in, against stiff competition. She immediately messaged her with the date.

Then she opened the buff envelope addressed to herself. And felt a strange frisson as she read the contents.

It was a very formally worded letter on pink paper summoning her for jury service at Lewes Crown Court — in seven weeks’ time. Within the letter were options to delay, should there be a reasonable cause.

In exactly six weeks’ time she was taking voluntary redundancy from her employer, Kempson Pharmaceuticals, due to their move further north. The timing was almost perfect. She could do it, although it might interfere with interviews for a couple of other positions she’d applied for.

But it might be interesting, she thought. Perhaps a distraction from how much she missed Laura.

As she read the letter and conditions more carefully, a reply beeped in from Laura with another photograph, this time a close-up of a seriously ugly reptile.

Grinning, Meg tapped out,

The reply came back,

Meg responded,

Then added,

Laura replied,

Meg smiled. Pleased that Laura sounded so well and happy, enjoying her trip of a lifetime. Then she returned to the jury service letter, studying it carefully.

It might make a really great transition between Kempsons and wherever she moved to next. And, hey, it would be a civic duty done!

She signed her name and placed the reply slip in the postage-paid envelope that came with the letter.