The Survivors, стр. 50

A cupboard door slammed and Audrey started in her sleep and began to stir as Kieran heard footsteps in the hall.

‘Chris?’ Olivia’s voice came from near the back door. ‘I’m done in my room. I’ve left my bag out if you want to check it. I just need to find Bronte’s work keys, if that’s okay?’

Another slam, this time the screen door. Renn coming inside. ‘There were some keys in her desk, if you know which ones you’re looking for.’

‘Thanks. Oh –’ Olivia appeared at the door of Bronte’s room and looked surprised to find Kieran in there. ‘What are you doing?’

He jiggled a now wide-awake Audrey in the sling and nodded at the torch. ‘Renn said it was okay.’

‘Right.’ Olivia moved over to the desk. There were three drawers and she pulled open the nearest one. Kieran could hear Mia and Renn talking in the hall but couldn’t make out what they were saying over Audrey’s soft grumbling.

Kieran moved the wire crayfish back to where he’d found it. Bronte had started another similar sculpture, he could see, but hadn’t got far enough for him to tell what it would have been. It lay twisted and unfinished beside the large sketchbook. Still bouncing Audrey, Kieran turned the book towards him, curious now.

‘You should take a look. I think she’d want people to see her work. She was really good.’ Olivia dropped her head as she rummaged through the drawers. ‘She worked hard. I don’t know why I had to be such a bitch about it.’

Kieran looked over. ‘I’m sure she didn’t think that.’

Olivia managed a tight smile. ‘I would have, if I were her.’ She pulled out a set of keys, examined them, then tossed them back in and shut the drawer. She moved to the next one and Kieran hesitated, then dragged over the desk chair and sat down. Audrey was writhing in the sling so he took her out and sat her on his knee while he opened the cover of the sketchbook.

Bronte hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she dabbled in different types of artwork. The book looked like the place where she had worked through her ideas, and the pages were swollen with paint, glue and pencil marks. Kieran lingered over dozens of outlines of the wire crayfish, as well as designs for a sea dragon. Over the page were watercolour paintings of the view of the coast from Bronte’s window. She had taken reference photos at different times of day, and slipped the printed pictures between the pages.

Bronte had definitely been into drawing, and to his eye, she’d been good at it. He flipped through sketches of Evelyn Bay’s town centre, and scenes he recognised from along the cliff path to the lookout. She had also drawn people. He turned a page and Julian stared out from the paper, his face all angles. On the next page there was an outdoorsy young guy Kieran didn’t recognise. A reference photo tucked into the spine showed he had dark hair and stubble and was muscular, wearing just a pair of board shorts. Bronte had focused only on his face in her drawing.

‘This the Portuguese boyfriend?’ Kieran said, and Olivia looked over.

‘Marco? Yeah, that was him. Sean managed to dig up his last name, by the way. He and Bronte had gone snorkelling once, so it was in the payment records.’ Olivia shut another drawer and opened the final one. ‘Jesus, where are they?’ She nodded at Audrey. ‘She’s got hold of something, by the way.’

Kieran looked down at his daughter, who had fallen suspiciously quiet. She had managed to grasp a black electrical cord that was snaking across the desk and was clutching it in her chubby hand, doing her best with limited coordination skills to get it into her mouth.

‘No. Sorry, Audrey.’ Kieran reached for the cord. ‘What have you got here, anyway?’

The cord was a little unusual, thicker than a phone cable and with an odd-shaped attachment at the loose end. He’d seen something like it before though, he felt. More than once, probably. He ran his hand along its length, trying to place it as he tugged it away from Audrey. She had a tight grip and in the end Kieran had to prise it from her fist. Audrey shrieked in protest.

‘What’s she after?’ Mia said, the sound bringing her to the door.

‘Nothing. A charger or something.’

Kieran pushed the cord aside and swapped Audrey to the other knee as he turned back to the book. More sketches. Lyn the waitress wiping a table. George Barlin, looking much more candid and realistic than in his author photo. Olivia with her head down.

Kieran was about to point out the drawing to Olivia when he stopped. A pair of familiar eyes gazed out from the opposite page. Verity. She was staring into the middle distance, her chin tilted up, and had been caught seemingly unaware in the pose. Kieran looked at his mother. It was a little unnerving to see her in this setting, in this dead girl’s rented room. It was an excellent likeness. It was impossible to ignore the hollow look in Verity’s eyes.

When had it been drawn, Kieran wondered, and under what circumstances? He couldn’t imagine Verity posing willingly, but when he flipped through to the handful of loose reference photos tucked inside the back cover, they were only of scenery. He leafed through them. The beach, the town, the lookout. No faces.

Maybe Bronte had drawn people from memory, or maybe she’d got rid of the photos when she was finished. She had kept the photo of the Portuguese boyfriend though, Kieran thought, whatever could be made of that.

He turned another few pages and the portraits gave way to watercolours of the coast and seascapes, with more reference photos tucked in alongside. He looked at the paintings of the beach and thought about the first time he’d ever seen Bronte, down at the water’s edge.