The Perfect Girl

by Lorna Dounaeva

  “Good idea; except she’d be biased, wouldn’t she?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Her father was accused of killing Claire, so of course she wants her to be alive and well, doesn’t she?”

  “I suppose. But she also wants to know the truth, or at least that’s what she told me.”

  “Can you think of anyone more neutral?”

  “No.”

  “Gabriella it is, then. Hey, I think our pizza’s here.”

  “What I don’t get,” Sapphire said to Ingrid, “is why Claire brought me here, if she didn’t want to spend any time with me.”

  “She was just doing as she was told,” Ingrid said. “That’s all she does these days.”

  “But that’s just not like her,” Sapphire insisted. “The real Claire must be in there somewhere, fighting to get out. Do you think they told her that if she lured me here they’d let her go?”

  “Claire does not want to go,” Ingrid said. “Can’t you see that? Being here has changed her. It’s changed all of us in one way or another, but it’s changed her the most. She wasn’t strong enough to deal with this. She couldn’t cope.”

  “Not strong?” Sapphire said. “She’s the strongest person I know!”

  “The Claire I know is very different to the one you describe. She took one look at us all, in all our filth and squalor, and she crumbled. They broke her, Sapphire. She became their servant – anything to be allowed to live upstairs and not down here with the rest of us. She won’t even look at us most of the time. She doesn’t want to be one of us. That’s why she won’t help us. She’s afraid they’ll chuck her down here and there will be nothing to distinguish her anymore. If, just once, she would leave that door unlocked, we might stand a chance, but she won’t. She’s too scared of losing her privileged position.”

  Sapphire shook her head. Ingrid had got it wrong. She must have.

  “But why do they keep her up there?” she persisted. “Why not keep us all together? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “They are toying with us,” said Ingrid, “messing with our minds. By separating us from Claire, they create division. That’s what they want.”

  “They’ll let us go eventually,” Harmony said, snuggling up beside Sapphire.

  “You really think so?”

  Harmony nodded. “My dad will come up with the ransom, no matter how much it is.”

  “Ransom? There are no ransoms!” Sapphire told her. “People think you’re dead, Harmony. They probably think I am too by now.”

  Harmony looked up at her, aghast. “But if there’s no ransom, then why are we here?”

  Sapphire bit her tongue, wishing she hadn’t said anything. She had let her anger get the better of her when she should have let Harmony hang on to what hope she had.

  “I get the feeling they want to collect us,” she said. “We’re just ornaments, possessions. That’s why they leave us down in the cellar, gathering dust.”

  “But we’re people!” Harmony exploded. “They can’t just keep us!” She was silent for a moment. “They’re going to keep doing it, aren’t they? Why should we be the last?”

  Sapphire nodded. “I expect they will.”

  Poor, deluded girl. One thing she knew for sure: if there had been a ransom, there was no way her own father would pay it.

  22

  Gertrude looked out at the cool, blue water, enjoying the view of the mountains beyond. Even after several months on the island, she still thought Corsica was the most beautiful place in the world.

  She hadn’t picked it entirely at random; she had come here because this was where her dad was – or, at least, where she thought he was. She didn’t have an address for him, just the occasional postcard, postmarked Ajaccio, Corsica.

  Assuming he was still a chef, she had tried every holiday resort on the island, starting with the capital and working outwards. She had tried every restaurant, every cafe, but no one could tell her anything. She began to suspect that her father had left or, worse still, that he just didn’t want to be found. Whatever the case, she refused to dwell on it, just as she refused to dwell on her dead sister, or her sick mother. She was finally starting to live life the way she wanted and she wasn’t going to let anyone ruin it for her.

  One Monday morning, she was cleaning down tables at Sondra’s and watching idly as a group of old men played pétanque on the green opposite. The café was quiet that morning, aside from a few customers drinking coffee and eating croissants. Later, plates of cured meats and cheeses would come out, with bread and fig jam, accompanied by carafes of rosé. And there would be lively discussions, conducted in a jumble of English and French, with a little Italian and Corsican thrown in. Everyone would be loud and passionate. Everyone would be having fun.

  A man in a Hawaiian shirt sat down at an empty table and spread his newspaper out in front of him. Gertrude strolled over.

  “Bonjour. What can I get you?” she asked in her broken French.

  He looked up from his paper.

  “Gertrude?”

  “Dad!”

  She dropped to her knees and hugged him as she had when she was a little girl. “Oh, Dad, I’ve got something awful to tell you …”

  Tears rolled from her cheeks and down his shirt.

  “I know,” he said stiffly. “The police told me about Claire.”

  His eyes darted about, as if looking for the exit.

  “You knew?” she repeated. “Then why didn’t you come home? The … the memorial service … We had to hold it without you.”

  Her father ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I don’t really do memorials, Gertrude, love. That’s not how I want to remember her.”

  “Then why didn’t you come back for me?”

  “You were better off with your mother.”

  She felt her heart erupt through her cheeks. “Better off? Mum’s not in her right mind. She doesn’t even know her own name.”

  “She’s still a better parent than I’ll ever be,” he said, looking pained. “Your mum loves you, Gertrude.”

  “And you don’t?”

  The words hung in the air between them. They sat in silence for a moment and then her father got up and left. His feet scorched the pavement as he walked away. Gertrude could almost see the sparks.

  “Fancy a spin on the fruit machines?”

  Jock shrugged. He had no idea how to play, but Dylan had it covered. He watched as he hit what looked like a random sequence of buttons and there was a loud cha-ching as the money spurted out. Dylan held out his hand to catch it, but several coins shot out regardless and rolled under tables and chairs.

  “I bet that’s how Neil claws it back,” Dylan muttered, dropping to his hands and knees to pick up his winnings.

  Jock dropped down beside him, retrieving a handful of coins.

  “Thanks,” said Dylan, producing a plastic bag from his pocket, perhaps for this very purpose.

  “Wow! How much do you think you’ve won?” Jock asked.

  Dylan felt the weight of the coins in the bag. “About twenty quid,” he said.

  “Shall we go and sit down now?” Jock asked. “Quit while you’re ahead?”

  Dylan picked up his pint from the table and took a swig. “I never quit while I’m ahead,” he said, feeding some of the money back into the slot.

  “I can’t watch,” Jock said, but he couldn’t look away as Dylan pressed another sequence of buttons and the machine spat out more loot.

  “Wow! This is amazing,” Jock said. “I always assumed these machines were rigged.”

  “Nah, it’s easy!”

  Neil looked up from the bar, an unreadable expression on his face. He was probably worried about how much money Dylan was winning.

  “I think it’s empty,” Dylan said, as the machine stopped spewing coins.

  “Oh well, you had a good run,” Jock said, glad to sit down.

  “Don’t look now,” said Dylan, “but here comes trouble.”

  Jock coul
dn’t help but look as Stavely and Sweep walked up to the bar. Stavely cleared his throat but Neil did not look up from the packet of crisps he was eating. For a long, embarrassing moment, Jock thought he wasn’t going to serve them, but then he swallowed his last crisp, flattened out the packet and folded it into an origami swan.

  “Do you think we should show them the video of Claire?” Jock asked in a low voice.

  “Over my dead body,” Dylan said. “Besides, if they’re any good, they should have already worked it out.”

  “But if they don’t know about Gertrude …”

  “Then they’re not much good at their jobs, are they?”

  “Well …”

  Jock watched as Stavely and Sweep continued to stand at the bar, clutching their drinks. “What are they doing here?” he whispered. “I’ve never seen them in here before, apart from that time Stavely came in to use the loo.”

  “I never see anyone in here,” Dylan said. “It’s a miracle this place stays open. Come on, let me show you a new app I found. It notifies you every time the Queen goes to the loo.”

  “Why the hell would I want to know that?”

  “OK. Do you want to watch a polar bear get drunk?”

  “That’s sick. They’re endangered animals.”

  “You’ve been spending too much time with Simon.”

  “Yeah, well he’s a better influence than you.”

  “But can Simon show you actual pictures of bears pooing in the woods? That’s what I call real wildlife photography.”

  “Again, why would I want to see that?” He glanced over at Stavely and Sweep again. They seemed deep in conversation. He tried to ignore them, but their presence bothered him, made him feel paranoid.

  “Note Stavely’s got a scotch, but Sweep’s just got a poxy tonic water,” Dylan commented.

  “Perhaps he’s driving?” Jock said.

  “Nah! Stavely ordered for him. He’s being an arse. He did it to me once to see if I’d stand up to him and ask for a proper drink.”

  “And did you?”

  “Of course I bloody did. But Sweep’s too much of a gimp to challenge him; hence he’s stuck with the toilet water.”

  “So Stavely’s your old boss?” Jock asked.

  “No, Sweep is. I wish I’d had Stavely. Better an arse than a gimp.” He peered into the bottom of his empty glass. “Get another round in, will you? I need to shake hands with the vicar.”

  “Alright.”

  It wasn’t technically his round, but he went anyway.

  “Interesting company you keep,” said Stavely, as Neil poured the drinks. Jock didn’t really know how to respond.

  “A good lad, Dylan. I wish we could have kept him on the team.”

  “So what happened?” Jock tried not to look too interested.

  “You know it’s impossible to sack anyone these days.”

  “I mean, what did he do that made you want to sack him?”

  Stavely poured a little spring water into his scotch and swirled it around the glass. Then he took a large swig, leaving tiny droplets in his bushy moustache. “Dylan had the makings of a decent detective,” he said. “But he thinks the law doesn’t apply to him and that’s a dangerous thing. You can’t arrest people based on intuition, no matter how brilliant you are. You have to have evidence to back it up. You can’t just go round forcing people to confess.”

  Jock nodded. He could picture Dylan as a maverick.

  “Who’d be a detective, anyway?” Stavely went on.

  “It sounds like a pretty exciting job,” Jock said.

  Stavely’s eyebrows knitted together. “A missing person’s case is the ultimate puzzle,” he said. “It gnaws away at your insides. And if you don’t solve it, it will haunt you for the rest of your life. I swear it’s killed better men than me.”

  Jock nodded. He was already under the spell. He ached to tell him what he and Dylan had discovered, but if he did, Dylan would never speak to him again and for some reason, that mattered.

  He paid for his round and carried the drinks back to the table. As he handed Dylan his pint, he was aware of a leggy woman in tight jeans.

  “Cheers!” he and Dylan said in unison, clinking glasses.

  The woman raised her hand and slapped Dylan across the face.

  “Hey!”

  But before he could react, she turned to Jock and slapped him, too.

  Jock stared after her. “What the hell was that?”

  He could see Stavely and Sweep laughing their arses off at the bar.

  “Ah, that would be my girlfriend, Efa,” Dylan said, rubbing his cheek.

  “Ex-girlfriend,” she yelled, as she walked out the door.

  Jock stared at Dylan in confusion.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “She gave me an ultimatum,” he explained. “I don’t much care for ultimatums.”

  “What did she say?”

  “It was the drink or her. I think it was intended as a bluff.”

  “Do you like living with your mum?” Verity asked Anthony at Sapphire’s the next morning.

  It was a bit of a leading question, Jock thought, the kind grownups weren’t really supposed to ask, but maybe it was a grandmother’s prerogative.

  “It’s OK,” Anthony replied, fidgeting in his seat.

  “But you miss your dad?”

  “Not really.”

  Luckily, Simon was not in earshot.

  “Well, he misses you,” Verity said. “So do I for that matter.”

  “Dad’s fine. He’s got Angie now,” Anthony said. “Hey, maybe you should get a boyfriend, Grandma?” He hesitated just for a fraction of a second. “Or a girlfriend?”

  “Cheeky!”

  “I like coming for the holidays,” he conceded.

  “And you like living with your mum?”

  “Like I said, it’s OK. I wish I didn’t have to go to school, though.”

  “What’s wrong with school?”

  “It’s tiresome.”

  “That’s what your dad used to say.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes. Still does sometimes.”

  “But he’s a teacher … Grandma?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can I have another biscuit?”

  “Why are you always hungry?”

  “I’m a growing boy.”

  “Go on, then.”

  Jock looked up just in time to see Anthony dunk his biscuit into Verity’s tea.

  “Maybe we should have a word with Morgan,” he said to Dylan, as he watched the CCTV clip for the billionth time. “It looks like she’s the one who served Claire.”

  Dylan frowned. “Do you think we can trust her? She’s kind of snarky.”

  “It’s in her interest to find Sapphire, isn’t it? So she can come back and run this place again.”

  “I suppose. But don’t blame me if she bites you.”

  “She doesn’t bite!”

  “All women bite. Take it from me.”

  Jock glanced around. “Morgan,” he called. “Do you have a minute?”

  “What do you want?” she asked, pushing her fringe out of her eyes.

  “I just wanted to ask you to look at something, but if you’re busy, we can do it later.”

  Morgan snapped her gum. “Now’s fine.”

  She seemed only too happy to sit down and rest her feet, in spite of the fact that there was a pair of hippies waiting to be served at the next table.

  Dylan pressed play on his phone and they all watched the woman they thought was Claire, as she talked to Morgan at the counter.

  Morgan looked at him with suspicion. “Where did you get this, you perv?”

  “We’re just trying to find out what happened to Sapphire,” Jock said quickly. “Do you remember the woman in this clip? She came into the shop on the day of the May Fair.”

  “Yeah, I do remember her, actually. She was a bit weird: kind of pale and smelly.”

  “What did she smell of?”

&nb
sp; She wrinkled up her nose. “She stank like a dead skunk’s armpit. She was putting the other customers off their food.”

  “Do you remember anything else about her? Anything at all?”

  “She didn’t talk properly. Just sort of mumbled. And she didn’t have any money either. But I let her off, given the circumstances. I thought she was probably homeless.”

  “Wait, there’s more.”

  They all watched as Claire finished her tea and then stuffed the cup and saucer into her handbag.

  “The cheek!” Morgan cried. “And to think I was nice to her!”

  “Why do you think she did that?” Jock asked, after Morgan went back to work.

  “Who knows? Maybe she took it for Sapphire.”

  “Why would she want a cup and saucer?”

  “I don’t know; maybe as a memento.”

  “A bit weird if you ask me.”

  “The whole thing’s a bit weird.”

  Jock went up to the counter to pay.

  “I met Dylan’s ex last night,” he told Angie, as he waited for his receipt.

  “Efa? Lovely girl. Too good for him.”

  “You think? She slapped me round the face!”

  He expected her to laugh, but instead, her face grew serious.

  “He hasn’t told you, has he?”

  “Told me what?”

  She shook her head. “He runs against the wind, that one. He’s got cirrhosis of the liver, Jock. That’s why Efa left him. It was the only way she could think to stop his drinking.”

  Jock stared at her. “No wonder she slapped me when she saw me giving him a pint. She thought I was encouraging him. But I didn’t even know. He never told me.”

  “Knowing Dylan, he probably didn’t think it was relevant.”

  “Not relevant? I never would have drunk with him if I’d known.”

  Angie shrugged. “The way I look at it, he’s going to drink whether you’re there or not. So you might as well keep an eye on him.”

  Jock shook his head. “No thanks. I don’t need that on my conscience.”

  “Do you have to bring the gun?” Claire asks.

  “I told you; it’s just a precaution, in case anything goes wrong.”

  I look back down my list. “We might need duct tape. I’ll see if I can pick some up at Homebase later in the week.”