Chapter 15

FIFTEEN

Lottie tried calling Leo Belfield every fifteen minutes. No answer. Wherever he was, he wasn’t answering his phone. The rest of the day was filled with budget reports she had to prepare. By the time she left for home, there was still no word of the missing girls.

She’d invited Boyd round for dinner, and when he’d cleared the dishes away, he poured her a sparkling water and sat on the couch beside her. The house was gloriously quiet. Katie had gone to bed when Louis fell asleep after being out in the fresh air most of the day. Sean and Chloe were doing homework in their rooms. At least she hoped they were.

‘Everything was going too well, Boyd,’ she said. ‘I just knew it. When I woke up this morning, I was content with life, even though a slight feeling of foreboding was settling on my shoulders.’

‘Don’t be so melodramatic. Now I know where your kids get it from.’ Boyd casually placed his feet on the coffee table before Lottie patted his leg.

‘Take them down. That’s a new table.’

‘I know. I put it together.’ He drained his glass. ‘I’d better get home. I want to do a half-hour on my turbo bike before bed.’

She turned towards him. ‘Is my company that bad?’

‘Not at all. But I think you need to put that phone away and stop worrying about Leo Belfield and his sister.’

‘They’re my brother and sister too.’

‘Only in name. You don’t know them. You’ve hardly met them.’

‘I’ve been close enough to Bernie to feel the stab of steel in my flesh.’

‘That was a year ago and she’s been locked up. Stop fretting.’ Boyd stood, and Lottie could see irritation written in the hard line of his jaw.

She shoved the phone between two cushions. ‘I’ll walk you to the door.’

She followed him out and waited as he shuffled into his jacket.

‘I’m sorry, Lottie. I didn’t mean to be ratty. Thanks for dinner, by the way. My turn next time.’

She smiled wryly. ‘So there will be a next time then?’

‘Of course. Go to bed. Shut off the phone. Stop worrying.’

She felt the soft caress of his lips on her cheek and a warmth filled her abdomen. She wanted to reach out, to pull him to her and then drag him back to the couch. But instead she opened the door and waved him to his car. ‘Another time, Boyd,’ she whispered to the rainy night.

Closing the door, she rushed back to the sofa and grabbed her phone. Still no reply from Leo. She’d try his number once more, and then she was doing as Boyd had instructed her. Hopefully she’d get some sleep.

Just as she turned out the light and headed for the stairs, she heard Louis screech in wakefulness.

Then again, maybe sleep was a little way off yet.

Freddie Nealon turned round to find his friend Brian McGrath pissing on the overgrown grass. He was so out of it, he couldn’t say anything. They’d spent hours sitting on the canal bank drinking beer and smoking weed, and were both drenched and cold. There were six houses on Petit Lane, five of which were derelict. Freddie staggered up to the middle one and pushed open the door.

‘This doesn’t look like your house, Freddie.’ Brian followed him inside. Maybe he wasn’t as far gone as Freddie had thought. At least he could get the words around his tongue and out of his mouth.

A flicker of light cast a shadow along the torn wallpaper.

Freddie jumped. ‘Fucksakeyou … you … fuckyou …’ He saw Brian looking down at the lighter in his hand, and at the scorched black glove in his other. ‘Shit, fuck, shit.’

Darkness returned.

‘Where the fuck are we?’ Brian pushed back his hood and attempted to flick on the lighter again. No luck. He threw it on the ground. ‘Wait, man. Wait up.’ He put a hand to his ear in dramatic fashion and pulled Freddie backwards. ‘Listen up. Shit, did you hear that?’

‘Wha’?’ Freddie said.

‘A noise. Upstairs.’

‘Can’t hear nothing with you mouthing. Give us a can and a light.’

Brian bent down to find the lighter, but it was too dark to see anything. He rooted around in the plastic bag trying to extract a can to placate his spaced-out friend. He stopped. ‘You hear it that time?’

‘Hear what?’ Freddie said. ‘I just want a light and a piss.’

‘Shh. It’s like footsteps. Come on, Freddie, I’m getting out of here.’

As Freddie turned around, a constellation of stars burst behind his eyes. In the same moment, he saw Brian already in a heap at his feet. That was when he realised that someone had thumped him on the back of his head. As he sank to the floor, a second blow came, and blackness descended.

The light bulb flickered, once, twice, then went out. Megan Price dropped her bag on the hall floor and cursed loudly.

‘For pity’s sake. Not tonight, please.’

She kicked the bag under the hall table and picked up her post. In the living room, she switched on the lamp. At least that worked. She slumped into her armchair, pressed the recliner and lay back, staring around at the empty space. Her arsehole of a husband – no, scratch that, her ex -husband – had taken almost everything. Said he’d paid for it, he was entitled to it. Well, no shit, Sherlock, she’d told him. Wrong move, Megan. He’d filed papers with his solicitor to get her to sell the house. He wanted money. She was fighting him like her life depended on it, mainly because he was just a greedy creep. And now he’d sent her another solicitor’s letter. Crumpling it up, she stuffed it down the side of the chair.

Closing her eyes, she let the events of the day wash over her. Penny Brogan had been fired because she was stealing from the shop. But why was Amy Whyte still friends with her? They were a world apart in class. Not that Megan was a snob. But all the same, it rankled with her. Maybe it was because her ex-husband was a step below her in class. Make that a complete ladder, she thought.

He was going to pay for making her life one big shit bowl. Then she thought of the nice detective she’d spoken with today. He was kind of cute in a sad sort of way. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.