down here, Kitty? The hairdresser’s looking for you.’
The three of them were standing holding hands, Swift thought, as if they were about to execute a dance.
‘Pete’s not been in for his dinner, I’m worried about him,’ Kitty said.
‘Well, let’s go and get your hair finished and then we’ll see if he’s turned up. You want to look nice for him, don’t you?’ The carer took her other hand from Swift’s and started to lead her away.
‘Pete’s her husband, died years ago,’ she murmured to Swift over her shoulder.
He watched them progress slowly away, Kitty still wondering where Pete was, repeating all she had said to him seconds before. Swift felt a leaden bleakness. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could work here day in and day out, dealing with the remorseless onset of second childhood. He turned back into the office and helped himself to stale-tasting water from a jug.
There was a tap on the door and a woman in a carer’s green uniform came in. She was painfully thin with fair hair scraped back into a ponytail from a high, bony forehead.
‘You want to talk to me?’ she asked in a flat, pronounced accent that Swift thought was Polish.
He stood. ‘Yes that would be helpful, Ms Jesowski. My name is Swift.’
She sat in an upright chair near the open window. Her eyes were almost colourless, and wary. Her whole appearance was of someone who had been pared back to the bone.
‘I not done anything wrong,’ she said dully.
‘No, I’m sure you haven’t. I don’t know what Ms Berardi has told you, so I’ll explain. I’ve come because a Mrs Carmen Langborne stayed here last September. She went missing in January and her family have asked me to try and find her. I understand that you were friendly with a carer called Charisse Lomar who has now left here.’
There was a pause. ‘I knew Charisse a bit,’ she said.
‘Yes. Are you still in touch with her?’
Another pause, as if she was translating his words, or perhaps playing for time.
‘She calls me sometimes, see how I am.’
‘On the phone?’
A longer pause. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you know Charisse was sacked?’
‘Yes. Everyone know.’
‘Do you know where she lives?’
She folded her arms, blinked, and lied. ‘No. I never been her house.’
Swift sat forward slightly and sighed. ‘You’re not in any trouble and Charisse probably isn’t either. Are you sure you don’t know where she lives?’
There was a long silence. A small red flush had appeared on her neck. ‘You not police?’
‘No.’ He could almost hear her brain whirring.
‘I told you, I don’t know. I do good job here, is important to me.’
‘Okay. Did you know Mrs Langborne?’
She relaxed a little at that question, away from the topic of Charisse. ‘I help her a couple times.’
‘What was she like?’
‘Okay. Liked to give orders; do it this way, that way, be careful. But okay.’
‘Did she get on with Charisse?’
The shutters came down again. ‘I don’t know, I just do my job, keep my head down. I got to go now.’
She got up and abruptly left the room. Swift scratched his head with frustration, adding an extra wild touch to his rain blown curls. Maria Berardi appeared but before she could speak her phone rang; she held a conversation about catering supplies while checking lists on her computer screen. As she replaced the phone, a carer hurried to the door, asking her to come quickly as Mr Blantyre had fallen heavily. She rushed away, forgetting to lock her computer. Swift closed the door quietly, then navigated to the desktop and scrutinised the icons. One was titled STAFF. He clicked it and mouthed bingo as he accessed a list with personal details. He scribbled down Charisse Lomar’s address in New Malden and her mobile phone number, exited the screen and wrote on a post-it pad on the desk; thank you for your time and help . He made his way back to reception. A piano was playing from somewhere in the depths of the building and
The three of them were standing holding hands, Swift thought, as if they were about to execute a dance.
‘Pete’s not been in for his dinner, I’m worried about him,’ Kitty said.
‘Well, let’s go and get your hair finished and then we’ll see if he’s turned up. You want to look nice for him, don’t you?’ The carer took her other hand from Swift’s and started to lead her away.
‘Pete’s her husband, died years ago,’ she murmured to Swift over her shoulder.
He watched them progress slowly away, Kitty still wondering where Pete was, repeating all she had said to him seconds before. Swift felt a leaden bleakness. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could work here day in and day out, dealing with the remorseless onset of second childhood. He turned back into the office and helped himself to stale-tasting water from a jug.
There was a tap on the door and a woman in a carer’s green uniform came in. She was painfully thin with fair hair scraped back into a ponytail from a high, bony forehead.
‘You want to talk to me?’ she asked in a flat, pronounced accent that Swift thought was Polish.
He stood. ‘Yes that would be helpful, Ms Jesowski. My name is Swift.’
She sat in an upright chair near the open window. Her eyes were almost colourless, and wary. Her whole appearance was of someone who had been pared back to the bone.
‘I not done anything wrong,’ she said dully.
‘No, I’m sure you haven’t. I don’t know what Ms Berardi has told you, so I’ll explain. I’ve come because a Mrs Carmen Langborne stayed here last September. She went missing in January and her family have asked me to try and find her. I understand that you were friendly with a carer called Charisse Lomar who has now left here.’
There was a pause. ‘I knew Charisse a bit,’ she said.
‘Yes. Are you still in touch with her?’
Another pause, as if she was translating his words, or perhaps playing for time.
‘She calls me sometimes, see how I am.’
‘On the phone?’
A longer pause. ‘Yes.’
‘Did you know Charisse was sacked?’
‘Yes. Everyone know.’
‘Do you know where she lives?’
She folded her arms, blinked, and lied. ‘No. I never been her house.’
Swift sat forward slightly and sighed. ‘You’re not in any trouble and Charisse probably isn’t either. Are you sure you don’t know where she lives?’
There was a long silence. A small red flush had appeared on her neck. ‘You not police?’
‘No.’ He could almost hear her brain whirring.
‘I told you, I don’t know. I do good job here, is important to me.’
‘Okay. Did you know Mrs Langborne?’
She relaxed a little at that question, away from the topic of Charisse. ‘I help her a couple times.’
‘What was she like?’
‘Okay. Liked to give orders; do it this way, that way, be careful. But okay.’
‘Did she get on with Charisse?’
The shutters came down again. ‘I don’t know, I just do my job, keep my head down. I got to go now.’
She got up and abruptly left the room. Swift scratched his head with frustration, adding an extra wild touch to his rain blown curls. Maria Berardi appeared but before she could speak her phone rang; she held a conversation about catering supplies while checking lists on her computer screen. As she replaced the phone, a carer hurried to the door, asking her to come quickly as Mr Blantyre had fallen heavily. She rushed away, forgetting to lock her computer. Swift closed the door quietly, then navigated to the desktop and scrutinised the icons. One was titled STAFF. He clicked it and mouthed bingo as he accessed a list with personal details. He scribbled down Charisse Lomar’s address in New Malden and her mobile phone number, exited the screen and wrote on a post-it pad on the desk; thank you for your time and help . He made his way back to reception. A piano was playing from somewhere in the depths of the building and
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