“Then why did they hold him for so long?”
“No idea. Probably wandered down a rabbit hole.”
Jock nodded thoughtfully, but he felt a little discomfort in his stomach. What if Simon was guilty, but the police just couldn’t prove it?
“Where are you off to?” Gertrude asked. Claire was wearing a denim mini-skirt and a T-shirt covered in blue feathers. On Gertrude, that outfit would have looked ridiculous, but on Claire, it was stunning.
“They’re having an old-school disco at the social club.”
“But I thought we were going to watch Billy Elliot!” she said. “I’ve already made the popcorn.”
“Why don’t we record it and watch it tomorrow?” Claire asked.
“Well, I suppose.” She let out a sigh as the prospect of yet another long, boring evening stretched out ahead of her.
“Hey, why don’t you come with us?” Gaby asked, appearing at the top of the landing in frayed shorts and a neon T-shirt. “I mean, it’ll probably be really naff, but still …”
“Yeah, why not?” Claire said.
“What about Mum?”
“Just give her her sleeping pill a bit early. It’s only a couple of hours. Come on, you could use a night out.”
“I suppose I could see if Brenda could pop in to check on her. She does owe me a favour.”
“There you go, then.”
She pretended to be cool about it, but deep down, she was elated. She ran up to her room and changed into the most flattering outfit she could find: black jeans and a sparkly top that had been sitting in her wardrobe since Christmas.
“You look nice,” Claire said, as she returned downstairs. She sounded surprised.
“Thanks,” Gertrude answered.
“Hey, why don’t you wear my silver sandals? They’d go really well with that top.”
“Really? Thanks.” It wasn’t like Claire to be so generous with her clothes. She opened the shoe cupboard and extracted the glittery sandals. They were half a size too small for her, but she didn’t care. “Hey, is Brenda here yet?” she asked.
“Sitting in the living room, stuffing her face with popcorn.”
“Shh! She’ll hear you!”
“Well, are we going or what?”
“Let’s go!”
A thrill of anticipation pulsed through Gertrude as they arrived at the club. It was nowhere special: just a poxy village social club. There wasn’t even much of a queue. But loud music pumped from inside and bouncers stood at the door, vetting who could or couldn’t go in.
“No trainers,” they told the lad in front of them.
Gertrude glanced nervously at Claire’s trainers, but she needn’t have worried; her sister didn’t have any trouble getting in. She never did.
As soon as they went inside, Claire spotted someone she knew and that was it; she was off. Gertrude trailed after her for a while, when she spotted the bar. A drink. That was what she needed. A bit of Dutch courage would help her relax.
“What are you drinking?” the barman asked.
“Er …” For a moment, she was absolutely flummoxed. She couldn’t think of the name of a single drink, except beer. And she hated beer.
“I’ll have a pint of Bulmers,” the man next to her told another bartender.
“I’ll have a Bulmers,” she repeated.
The other customer turned and looked at her. “A Bulmers girl!” he said, sounding pleased. “What’s your name?”
“Gertrude,” she shouted over the music.
“Never met a Gertrude before,” he said, as their drinks were poured. “I’m Jeremy.”
She stole a look at his face. He had kind, expressive eyes and an easy smile.
“Cheers!” he toasted her.
“Cheers!”
She took a swig. OK, she could do this. The song that had been playing ended, to be replaced with Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’.
“I love this song!” she shrieked.
“What?”
“I love this song!” she shouted again.
Jeremy smiled. “Me too.”
It had been a long, long time since she had danced anywhere except her bedroom, but she couldn’t help herself. As soon as she started to move, Jeremy gulped back his drink and started to move too.
“Hey, you’re a great dancer,” he whispered in her ear.
She smiled. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”
In fact, she suspected he had had lessons. As their confidence grew, the two of them began to whirl around the dance floor, outdoing each other with their outrageous moves. The song ended and an even better one came on in its place. She was having a ball and it had nothing to do with the alcohol.
Sometime later, the DJ tapped the mic.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Please can I have your attention?” he asked, pausing the music for a moment. “The judges are ready to announce the names of this year’s May Queen and princesses.”
Everyone clapped their hands and waited expectantly. She tried to spot Claire in the crowd, but she couldn’t see her. She crossed her fingers and waited.
“This year’s May princesses are Kathryn Piper and Gaby Helston.”
Gertrude gave Gaby a thumbs up and sucked in her breath. “And the May Queen will be Claire Scutter.”
She allowed herself a smile. Claire had done it again. Well, she was happy for her; at least she was for about half a minute.
They all watched as Claire ascended the stage, looking like Keira Knightley in her trendy clothes.
“Who’s that?” Jeremy breathed.
“That’s my sister,” she told him, watching his mouth drop open. Any chance she had with him was now dead in the water. Claire probably wouldn’t touch him with a barge poll; she was extremely picky. But that didn’t matter. Gertrude didn’t want any man who lusted over her sister, even if that was all of them.
If Gaby could be a good sport about Claire being crowned May Queen instead of her, then surely Gertrude should be a good sport, too. But somehow, it was all too much. Something inside her cracked. If only she had known then how little time she and Claire had left.
The rats came out that night. They scampered out of the walls, dozens of them, with bright, red moonbeams for eyes. Sapphire did not realise what was happening until they were inches from her face, dozens of pairs of eyes, glowing in the darkness.
“Ingrid!” she hissed. “Ingrid! Wake up!”
“Just cover your face with your hands,” Ingrid murmured sleepily. “Honestly, you’ll be fine.”
“But they’re everywhere!”
She held back a scream as a rat scampered over her, running down her back. She leapt to her feet and brushed herself down. They were all around her, pulling the room apart as they foraged for food that wasn’t there. She edged towards the stairs, but as she did so, she slid on something soft.
“Ugh!”
She had trodden on one. She could still feel its coldness beneath her feet. She dived for the stairs, taking them two at a time until she reached the top. And there she huddled, waiting to see if they would follow.
After a while, she curled herself into a ball and tried to block out the eerie whistling and squeaking noises as the rodents took over the cellar. None of the other May Queens even stirred. They must be used to it, she thought. But not her. She would never get used to the freaky sensation of rats on her bare skin. She wondered with repulsion if they had been there the previous night, running over her as she slept. Her head jolted. She was too tired to stay awake, but too disturbed to give in to the sleep her body craved.
In the morning, all was quiet. She clambered back down the steps and wondered if she might have dreamt it, but then she saw their shiny, black droppings. The smell was fearsome. She slept for most of the morning, comforted by Ingrid’s insistence that the rats only came out at night.
“So you met Bertie and his friends?” Harmony said when she woke up.
She looked at her blankly.
“That’s righ
t, she’s named them all,” Ingrid said. “She can pick them out by their different squeaks, can’t you, Harmony?”
“Except there are more of them every night,” Fizz said. “Those bastards breed like you wouldn’t believe. Hey, do you want some breakfast?”
The rat talk should have put her off, but Sapphire was starving. Their filthy tea tray was gone, replaced with a fresh one containing a cup of tea and a hot cross bun.
“They came while I was asleep?” she asked.
Ingrid nodded.
She couldn’t understand how she could have slept through it. She imagined them, looking in on them, watching her while she slept. It was an unnerving thought. She turned her attention to the tray, wondering how well it had been cleaned. But the bun smelt like heaven. It had been toasted, just the way she liked. The butter had melted and drizzled down the sides. Her mouth watered and her stomach ached. It wouldn’t go very far. There couldn’t be more than a couple of bites each. But still, such delicious bites. She lifted the bun to her lips and bit into it, immediately passing it to Ingrid because she couldn’t trust herself to eat just her share. Then she reached for the cup and took a long, satisfying gulp. No one else seemed as eager as she was, although they had gone without for much longer. But then, she was used to full, wholesome meals and long, satisfying drinks whenever she wanted them. How was she supposed to adjust to a hell where food, drink and even light were scarce?
Jock pulled his pillow over his head. He thought the loud, incessant banging was part of his dream, but as he opened his bleary eyes, he realised there was someone at the door.
“Who is it?” he called.
“It’s DCI Stavely. Open up!”
13
Jock unbolted the door.
“What’s going on?” he asked, wishing he hadn’t worn his reindeer pyjamas.
Stavely cast an eye around the room. “Jock. Are you missing?”
“What?”
“You know, gone from home. Absent. Absconded. Displaced.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow?”
“I asked if you were missing, Jock.”
“Er … no.”
“Well, your mum seems to think you are. She made a police report yesterday morning.”
“What?”
“Go on, get on the blower and deal with it.”
“But I–”
“Are you scared of talking to your own mother, Jock?”
“No.”
“Then I suggest you get on to it, pronto. I don’t appreciate you wasting police time.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake…” He pulled his phone from its charger and dialled his parents’ number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Dad, it’s Jock.”
“Just a minute, I’ll get your mother.”
“No, wait!”
But his father was already bellowing up the stairs. “Mavis! Jock’s on the phone.”
He could hear his mother’s footsteps thundering down the stairs.
“Jock?” She sounded breathless. “What’s happened? Are you alright?”
Jock frowned at the phone. “I’m fine, Mum. I can’t believe you called the police!”
“But you weren’t answering your phone. What was I supposed to think?”
“Didn’t Robbie tell you I’d spoken to him?”
“Yes, but it’s not the same!”
He could picture her lower lip trembling. At the same time, she would be examining herself in the hall mirror to check she hadn’t smudged her mascara.
“I have to go now. Will you please tell the police I’m not missing?”
“But you haven’t even told me–”
“Bye, Mum.”
“Wow, you’re cold,” Stavely said, helping himself to a ginger snap from Jock’s nightstand. His eye went to the kettle and the pea-green tea caddy beside it. He was probably hoping Jock was going to offer to make tea, but he didn’t. The last thing he wanted was to give Stavely a reason to hang around.
“You don’t know my mum. You give her an inch and she’ll take a mile.”
“Sounds like just about every woman I’ve ever known,” Stavely said, swallowing his biscuit. “Now, while I’m here, I wanted to talk to you about your relationship with Sapphire Butterworth.”
“We didn’t really have one,” he said, doing up an errant button. “I mean, we barely got started.”
“But she did invite you up to her flat, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think it’s odd that she would do that when she barely knew you?”
“Like I told you, we had a connection. What are you getting at?”
“No offence, but you’re a pretty ordinary-looking bloke, wouldn’t you agree? More Shane MacGowan than George Clooney.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“You don’t think it seems a bit desperate? I mean, you weren’t the first customer to take a shine to her, you know. In fact, one poor sod tried to give her his rattling cage of a BMW. Not that she accepted.”
“But I didn’t even ask her out. It just happened. She just … liked me.”
“So that’s all there was to it?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll see.”
Angie was just on her way out when Jock arrived at the tea shop.
“Are you open?” he said, gazing inside.
“Actually, you’re a little early,” she said, “but go on in. Bronwyn’s in the kitchen. I’ve just got a couple of errands to run before it gets busy.”
He went in and stood at the counter.
“Hi, Bronwyn,” he called.
Bronwyn peered at him. She wore a white chef’s hat that only served to accentuate her large ears. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Sorry, I’m a bit early,” he apologised.
“Right.” She looked at him uncertainly.
“Do you mind if I just ask you a couple of questions?”
She glanced behind him into the empty shop.
“Angie will be back any minute.”
“It’s about the May Queen Contest,” he said. “I just wondered what made you take part, given the history of the May Queen Killer and all.”
“Oh, well, that wasn’t really my idea,” she said. “One of the customers nominated me. I was quite surprised, really. I would never have thought of entering.”
He didn’t argue. “Do you know who it was?”
She looked at him with wide eyes, as if she wasn’t sure if she should say.
“Please? I really want to help find Sapphire.”
“If you must know, the police already asked me this and I told them. It was Simon.” She glanced towards the door once more and he realised she was looking out for Angie.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say you told me,” he promised. “I’m not trying to get anyone into trouble. I just want to find her.”
Bronwyn nodded. “Me too.”
A little later, he saw Simon sitting at the counter, reading the paper. He wouldn’t have expected to see him back in the tea shop so soon, given how it was still heaving with journalists. But maybe he wanted to show them all he had nothing to hide.
“Hi, Simon,” he managed. “Er … how are you?”
“Much better now I’ve had a shower.”
“I can’t believe they held you for so long,” he ventured. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as squeaky as it did in his head.
“Well, at least I know who my friends are now,” Simon said. “Some people talked some awful rot about me while I was away.”
Jock reddened. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Simon looked at him closely, as if trying to decide if he was one of those people.
“Have you seen Dylan?”
“No. I think he’s still in bed.”
“Well, do me a favour, will you, and tell him I’m looking for him.”
“OK.”
That sounded a bit ominous. Maybe he had heard about the incident with his mum.
Si
mon’s face softened as Angie came over and served him a large slice of carrot cake.
“Eat up!” she instructed. “There’s more where that came from.”
He smiled and stabbed the cake with his fork. “I’m a very lucky man,” he said.
Jock nodded. “So I see.”
He ran into Bronwyn again on his way out. She was carrying a crate of milk cartons. “Do you want a hand with those?” he offered.
She snorted.
“Right. Maybe not then. Er … there was something else, actually.”
“Yes,” she said impatiently. The cartons were probably quite heavy.
“Do you know the name of Sapphire’s other attendant, the one who was on the float with you?”
“Nerys. Nerys Andrews.”
“Any idea where I can find her?”
“Yeah, she works at Hot Paints.”
He looked at her blankly.
“It’s a DIY shop in Castle Street.”
“Thanks, Bronwyn. You’re a treasure!”
Castle Street was right at the top of the hill. The shop should have been easy enough to find, but the brown lettering did not stand out well on the equally brown building. If it weren’t for the display of wood chippings in the window, he might have walked right past it.
The shop was quiet, apart from a couple of middle-aged men arguing over whether to buy a rotary hammer or a hammer drill.
They turned to look at him.
“What do you think?” one of them asked.
Jock swallowed. DIY was like a foreign language to him – one he had no intention of learning. “Depends what you need it for?” he bluffed.
The men waited for him to elaborate, but he was out of ideas.
“Gotta go and look at screws,” he said, spotting a display in the aisle.
“Good luck, son.” The crustier of the two men patted him on the shoulder.
Jock shrank away. In London, if someone you didn’t know touched you, that would be grounds for a fight or at the very least, a lawsuit. But round here, he had no idea of the rules. They just seemed to make things up as they went along.
He walked over to the nails and screws. He was mesmerised by the sheer quantity of them. Why were there so many? He had never bought a nail or a screw in his life and he wanted to keep it that way. He walked up to the cash desk, where Nerys sat with a pencil in her mouth. He wouldn’t have recognised her in her red lumberjack shirt had she not been wearing a name badge.
The Perfect Girl Page 9
