Skeletons by Jane Fallon

professional mode. ‘Hello. Reception. How can I help you, Mrs Richardson?’
    Jen busied herself double-checking that the rooms that had been vacated that morning were clean and ready for reoccupation. She was desperate to be alone to think.
    ‘I’ve agreed a late checkout for Mrs Richardson tomorrow. One o’clock,’ Neil said, when he eventually got off the phone.
    This was another habit of Neil’s. He would invariably spell out all the details of any interaction he had with the guests – regardless of whether you were standing right there, listening to every word of his conversation, or not. For him
this passed as repartee. Jen had clearly heard him say, ‘So, just to confirm, you’re fine to stay in the room till one tomorrow, Mrs Richardson,’ about ten seconds before.
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘Because we have a couple checking into a standard double who aren’t going to get here till the evening. I double-checked.’
    Jen knew this too. She had heard him tell Mrs Richardson the exact same thing, after he had gone through the future bookings on the computer.
    ‘Right,’ she said, and tried to look as if she was absorbed in what she was doing.
    It was either famine or feast with Neil.
    ‘What were we talking about?’ he asked.
    Jen acted like she didn’t remember. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Nothing important. I’m just going over the housekeeping report, actually.’
    She tried googling both Cass and Cassandra – the most likely of all the names Neil had offered up in her opinion – Richards while she was at work, when Neil was on his break, but people kept coming over and it was a strict rule at the hotel that
no personal business be conducted on the computers at reception. When one of the new junior staff she was meant to be training looked over her shoulder and asked her what she was doing, she knew she had to give it up.
    ‘I’m just checking no one’s been using the computer for anything other than hotel business,’ she said, somewhat unconvincingly, exiting the page as quickly as she could. ‘I like to go through the history every once
in a while, just to be sure.’
    The junior looked taken aback. ‘That sounds a bit draconian.’
    ‘Hotel policy. I don’t make the rules.’
    Truthfully, Jen had no idea what she was intending to do once – if – she tracked Cass Richards down. She just wanted to do something, anything, because she felt so powerless. It was out of the question that she was going to ignore what she had
seen and let Charles destroy the family – she knew that much. She thought, maybe, if she could find out a bit about Cass, then that might help her decide on her next move. Maybe she could get in touch with her, and tell her Charles had a loving wife
and adoring family that he was risking by being with her. Maybe, even though she was having an affair with a married man, she would have some sense of decency under there somewhere and do the right thing. She knew that wouldn’t solve the bigger problem of
Charles, of whether this was who he really was – a man who cheated on his oblivious loved ones – but it would at least remove the immediate threat. That was what Jen was telling herself, anyway.
    There was no harm in finding out who Cass was. It would satisfy her curiosity to a certain extent. And then she could decide what to do with that information, if anything, later on.
    She didn’t want to use the computer at home, because it felt both wrong and foolish to leave something on the history that her unsuspecting husband might stumble across one day – like those people who secretly get off on eating a whole
packet of Jaffa Cakes in one sitting, but then hate themselves for it, so they leave the wrapping right there on top of all the rubbish in the bin, subconsciously hoping their partner will find it. So, at lunchtime, she took herself off to an internet cafe on Charing Cross Road, bought a
coffee and a sandwich, paid for forty-five minutes’ access, and settled down.
    The cafe