Mitchell leaned forward and told Jean about Yvette falling from the bridge, and the padlock she’d hung there. Poppy busied herself by looking at the shelves full of dolls.
“That all sounds crazy,” Jean said after listening. “Why would Yvette use the name of my song on a lock?”
Liza stood up. She unhooked a photo frame from the wall and handed it to Mitchell. In it, Jean was much younger and had flowers in her blond hair as she strummed a mandolin. Three girls sat by her feet. They each wore white dresses in contrast to their dark hair.
“Naomi, Liza and Yvette loved my songs when they were small,” Jean told him. “They used to dress up like me and sing them, my own little girl gang. I wonder if there’s something in the lyrics that could tell us more...” Her lips worked as she sang quietly, her voice guttural with age and cigarettes. When she’d finished, she shook her head. “I really don’t know.”
Liza held on to her hand. “Please think about it some more, Auntie Jean. It could be a clue, our only one.”
“I’ll try. Um,” she added cautiously. “Have you spoken to your mother and Naomi about this?”
“No. Naomi is always rushed off her feet with the kids, so I want to try to find out more first. And as for Mum...”
The two women’s eyes met in an intense, knowing stare.
Jean moved her moon pendant along its chain and back again. “I need space to think about this. Clear my mind. I’ll make us some apple tea, okay?” She stood up and padded out of the room.
Liza continued to stare at the photo. She gripped the frame tightly, lost in her thoughts. Mitchell gave Poppy a brief apologetic smile.
When Jean reappeared, she held a trayful of small colored glasses and a slim jug. They clinked together as she sat down and Mitchell saw her hands shaking. “Here we are,” she said lightly, but he heard the catch in her voice.
“The glasses are pretty,” Poppy said.
“They’re from Morocco, a present from a fan.”
Poppy held a blue one up to her eye and peered through it. “I’ve never been there, but I like Spain.” She didn’t pause for breath as she continued. “I went with Mum and Dad. I had paella and bought some maracas.” She mimed a motion of using them. “Olé.”
Jean smiled and set the tray down on the floor. She took a Spanish doll off a shelf. Her voluminous black hair was pinned into a bun and she wore a red lacy dress.
“Wow. She’s beautiful.”
“You can keep her, if you like. I don’t have anyone to give the dolls to, now the girls are grown up.”
“Really? Thanks. I’m too old for dolls now, but I’ll look after her. I’ve kept ones Mum bought for me.”
“You can show this little lady to her.”
Poppy moved the doll’s arms up and down. “Um, no. Mum died.”
Jean and Liza shared a look, heavy with sympathy.
“Me and Dad live in an apartment together in the city,” Poppy gabbled. “You can look out of my bedroom window at the stars, and I sometimes think Mum is up there, looking down on me. That’s the best thing about it. Oh, and pigeons have built a nest in the gutter. I hope they have babies.”
Mitchell didn’t know where to look. He gulped at his apple tea.
Jean reached out and squeezed Poppy’s knee. “If you like the stars, you should wander into the forest, just over there, at night. Everything is so clear. The moonlight makes everything beautiful, even the darkest things.” She sat there for a few seconds, rocking back and forth, before she focused on Liza. “I need to tell you something,” she said. “It’s about Yvette. Please don’t be crazy mad at me...”
Liza lifted her eyes. “What is it?”
Jean fidgeted with her pendant again and didn’t speak.
Poppy looked around at the adults. “Shall I take Sasha for another walk?” she asked awkwardly. “She might need a wee.”
“That’s a great idea,” Liza said. She took the dog’s lead from her handbag and attached it. “Take her for a wander around the garden. She’ll like that.”
Jean waited until Poppy had led Sasha outside and cleared her throat. “Yvette came to see me, the week before she disappeared,” she confided.
Liza frowned. “But when she vanished, I drove up here to ask when you’d last seen her. You said it was a couple of months before. And now you’re telling me it was the week before? Don’t go all flaky on me, Auntie Jean. This is important. When actually was it?”
Jean picked up a fringed paisley shawl and draped it over her shoulders as if she was cold. “It was six nights before she disappeared, not two months. She stayed with me for a couple of days and didn’t seem like herself. She was quiet and I could sense there was something on her mind, but she clammed up when I asked her. She told me she’d been seeing this guy, Victor, and showed me a photo of him.”
Mitchell’s ears pricked. Liza had said Yvette wasn’t in a relationship. He tried to catch her eye, but she looked away.
“I told Yvette he had a dark aura. It was gray, with no glow. I can sense these things, smell them out. He was bad news. Yvette went all pale and said she’d broke things off with him recently. She’d done something and said he was going to be furious with her when he found out. But she wouldn’t tell me anything else. Then she left the next morning without saying goodbye.” Jean trailed her hand down her neck and held it at her throat. “I’ve not seen her since.”
Liza’s eyes flared with anger. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me this before?”
Jean shrank back. “Your mum has always seen me as a rabble-rouser. She’d probably blame me for Yvette leaving. I kept hoping she’d come back—then everything would be okay. I’ve been torturing myself for months over where she is. I don’t think anything I said was enough to make Yvette disappear.”
Liza stood up. “Bloody hell, Jean.” She clenched her fists and stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind her so hard the frames on the wall jumped.
Jean turned to Mitchell, her eyes wide with shame. “Oh, mercy, what have I done? I was only trying to help.”
Mitchell struggled to think of what to say. Through the window, he could see Liza pacing around in the garden with a set jaw and hands thrust into her pockets. “Let’s give her some time alone and I’ll pour you another apple tea.”
“Thank you, Mitchell,” Jean said meekly.
After a few minutes, Liza returned. “Sorry,” she said, sitting back down. She ran a hand quickly through her hair. “I just want to find Yvette, okay?”