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There’s a rather long pause-then the woman says, “Dear, we don’t just cancel out statements. I think DI James will probably want to talk to you himself.”

Oh God. The thing is, I really, really don’t want to talk to DI James.Advertisement

“Fine.” I try to sound cheery. “No problem. As long as he knows the nurses definitely didn’t do it. If you could write that message on a Post-it or something? The nurses didn’t do it.”

“The nurses didn’t do it,” she repeats dubiously.

“Exactly. In big capitals. And put it on his desk.”

There’s another, even longer pause. Then the woman says, “Can I take your name again?”

“Lara Lington. He’ll know who I am.”

“I’m sure he will. Well, as I say, Miss Lington, I’m sure DI James will be in touch.”

I ring off and head down the road, my legs weak. I think I just about got away with it. But, honestly, I’m a nervous wreck.

Two hours later, I’m not just a nervous wreck. I’m exhausted.

In fact, I’m taking a whole new jaded view of the British populace. It might seem like an easy project, phoning a few people on a list and asking if they’d bought a necklace. It might seem simple and straightforward, until you actually tried it yourself.

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I feel like I could write a whole book on human nature, and it would be called: People Are Really Unhelpful . First of all, they want to know how you got their name and phone number. Then, when you mention the word raffle , they want to know what they won and even call out to their husband, “Darren, we won that raffle!” When you hastily tell them, “You didn’t win anything,” the mood instantly turns suspicious.

Then, when you broach the subject of what they bought at the jumble sale, they get even more suspicious. They get convinced you’re trying to sell them something or steal their credit card details by telepathy. At the third number I tried, there was some guy in the background saying, “I’ve heard about this. They phone you up and keep you talking. It’s an Internet scam. Put the phone down, Tina.”

“How can it be an Internet scam?” I wanted to yell. “We’re not on the Internet!”

I’ve only had one woman so far who seemed keen to help: Eileen Roberts. And actually she was a total pain because she kept me on the line for ten minutes, telling me about everything she bought at the jumble sale and saying what a shame it was and had I thought of making a replacement necklace as there was a wonderful bead shop in Bromley?

Argh.

I rub my ear, which is glowing from being pressed against the phone, and count the scribbled-out names on my list. Twenty-three. Forty-four to go. This was a crap idea. I’m never going to find this stupid necklace. I stretch out my back, then fold the list up and put it in my bag. I’ll do the rest tomorrow. Maybe.

I head into the kitchen, pour myself a glass of wine, and am putting a lasagna in the oven when her voice says, “Did you find my necklace?” I start, crashing my forehead against the oven door, and look up. Sadie’s sitting on the sill of the open window.

“Give me some warning when you’re going to appear!” I exclaim. “And, anyway, where were you? Why did you suddenly abandon me?”

“That place is deathly.” She tosses her chin. “Full of old people. I had to get away.”

She’s speaking lightly, but I can tell she was freaked out by going back there. That must be why she disappeared for so long.

“You were old,” I remind her. “You were the oldest one there. Look, that’s you!” I reach in my jacket pocket and produce the picture of her, all wrinkled and white-haired. I see the briefest of flinches on Sadie’s face before she brushes a scornful glance across the image.

“That’s not me.”

“It is! A nurse at the home gave it to me, she said it was you on your hundred and fifth birthday! You should be proud! You got telegrams from the queen and everything-”

“I mean, it’s not me . I never felt like that. No one feels like that inside. This is how I felt.” She stretches out her arms. “Like this. A girl in my twenties. All my life. The outside is just… cladding.”

“Well, anyway, you could have warned me you were leaving. You left me all alone!”

“So did you get the necklace? Do you have it?” Sadie’s face lights up with hope, and I can’t help wincing.

“Sorry. They had a box of your stuff, but the dragonfly necklace wasn’t in there. Nobody knows where it’s gone. I’m really sorry, Sadie.”

I brace myself for the tantrum, the banshee screaming… but it doesn’t come. She just flickers slightly, as though someone turned the voltage down. pqdm.com