The Girl in the Green Dress

by Cath Staincliffe

  Also by Cath Staincliffe

  The Sal Kilkenny Mysteries

  Looking for Trouble

  Go Not Gently

  Dead Wrong

  Stone Cold Red Hot

  Towers of Silence

  The Kindest Thing

  Witness

  Split Second

  Blink of an Eye

  Letters to My Daughter’s Killer

  Half the World Away

  The Silence Between Breaths

  CONSTABLE

  First published in 2017 by Constable

  Copyright © Cath Staincliffe, 2017

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN: 978-1-47212-536-1

  Constable

  An imprint of

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK Company

  www.hachette.co.uk

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  To my wonderful Kit, who inspired this book.

  With love always, Mum.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER ONE

  Steve

  ‘Time to go,’ Steve yelled up the stairs, though whether the girls would be able to hear him above the racket they were making and the loud pulse of the dance music was debatable. ‘Teagan, give them a knock.’

  ‘OK.’ His younger daughter stretched out the remote and paused the film, Kick-Ass. It was rated 15 but Teagan, only twelve, had always defied categories.

  ‘An old soul,’ Sarah used to say.

  Steve saw nothing wrong with Teagan being exposed to stylized violence and profanity. Not when a small girl was calling the shots, and they were served up with a strong dose of black comedy.

  Teagan thundered up the stairs and Dix raised his head, eyes bleary, drool strung from his muzzle.

  ‘Go back to sleep.’ Steve reached out a foot and nudged the Labrador. ‘You’d be useless, wouldn’t you, eh, if someone had just broken in?’

  The dog slumped down again, eyes flickering shut.

  Whoops and screams came from above. Then the music cut out and he heard them all coming down, felt his chair shake with the vibrations. ‘Let’s see you, then,’ he called.

  Teagan ran in followed by the three others: Allie and her friends Bets and Helena, all glammed up, giddy and powdered and perfumed, eyes outlined in black. Chattering and teasing, everything at high volume.

  The dog got slowly to his feet and limped over to the French windows. Arthritis in his back legs. Still able to go for walks. Just.

  ‘Photo!’ Teagan said.

  Another chorus of shrieks and exclamations.

  ‘Here.’ Steve got up and held out his hands for their phones.

  ‘Get my selfie stick, Teagan,’ Allie said. ‘I want to take it with me. It’s on my bed.’

  ‘Get it yourself.’

  Allie hiccuped, which set her off giggling.

  Steve blamed the frontloading. He knew they’d been downing something, probably rum and Coke or vodka and lemonade. Old enough to drink legally but still mixing the hard stuff with pop. ‘How much have you had?’ he asked Allie, who was still doubled over, flapping one hand in front of her face.

  ‘I’m crying,’ she gasped. ‘My make-up.’

  Bets grabbed Allie’s face, turned it left and right. ‘You’re fine. The mascara’s waterproof anyway.’

  ‘And the liner?’

  ‘It’s good. Chill.’

  Allie patted her chest and straightened her back.

  ‘Rum, vodka?’ Steve said.

  ‘Malibu,’ Allie said. ‘And just enough, in answer to your question.’

  ‘They’ll be serving punch,’ Helena said, ‘with, like, nought point one per cent alcohol in it.’

  ‘And low-alcohol beer,’ Bets added.

  ‘Like, what is the point?’ Allie said. ‘You’d explode before you could get drunk. Or drown.’ A cackle of laughter. Then another hiccup. ‘I’m not drunk, I’m . . . What’s the word?’

  ‘Pissed?’ Steve suggested. They all laughed.

  ‘Merry.’ She beamed at him. ‘Look, straight line.’ Arms out like a tightrope walker, she picked her way across the room.

  ‘Perfect. Now, photo?’ Steve said.

  ‘Teagan, please!’ Allie begged, and Teagan rolled her eyes but ran off to fetch the stick.

  Steve used Allie’s phone first. He lined up the trio and got three good shots.

  She looked beautiful. They all did. But of course it was her his eyes lingered on. If only Sarah could see her now. She wore an emerald-coloured prom gown that they’d bought online from a company in China at a fraction of the price the shops here charged. It had a high neckline, edged with beads and a flared skirt. Black heels made her five foot nine. Her dark blonde hair, which she usually wore tousled, like she’d just come off the beach after a day’s surfing, had been subjected to some sort of treatment and was now tamed with a slight wave. Steve had been party to some of the discussions in the months before about whether she should grow it longer (it was shoulder-length) so she could pin it up. Her arms and legs were bare and tanned.

  ‘What’s that stink?’ Teagan had said last week, when they sat down to eat.

  ‘Fake tan,’ Allie said.

  ‘Smells like homebrew,’ Steve said.

  ‘Well, it’s safer than a real tan or sunbeds,’ Allie said.

  ‘Skin cancer.’ Teagan had nodded wisely.

  It never tripped them up, the C-word. Sarah and he must have done something right. Or maybe it was just so common a part of everyday life nowadays – quoted for fun runs and charity shops, the latest studies and news items – that memories of their own mother’s death from ovarian cancer wasn’t the first thing they thought of when they heard the word.

  ‘Swap places,’ Allie said now, and scooted round to the left of Bets, stumbled and righted herself.

  Steve groaned.

  ‘The shoes, Dad.’ She pointed. ‘Chill.’

  He opened his mouth to explain that he just wanted to make sure she was OK, not too drunk to function, when she cried, ‘Cheese!’ Steve reverted to photographer, swapping Allie’s phone for Bets’s.

  He thought it was daft holding the sixth-form prom at the start of June when most of them hadn’
t even finished their exams but the college argued that students drifted away if they waited until all the papers had been completed. An earlier date had proved most successful.

  Teagan returned with the selfie stick and, once Steve had done a final batch with Helena in the middle, they set about taking selfies, pulling faces and larking about.

  Teagan perched on the arm of the sofa, dark blue eyes taking it all in, face intent but she laughed with the other girls.

  She and Allie were both like Sarah, with oval faces, high cheekbones, full lips, and a slim build. They’d been lucky, Steve reckoned. His family were all thickset like him, square-faced, podgy even, with high-coloured complexions. Allie had the same blonde hair as Steve, while her little sister had inherited Sarah’s unruly dark brown.

  Bets’s phone trilled and she glanced at the display. ‘My mum!’

  ‘You all look gorgeous,’ Steve said, as they moved towards the front door. ‘Coat?’ he said to Allie.

  ‘Seriously?’ Allie turned, eyebrows arched.

  ‘It’s forecast to rain.’

  ‘Dad, we’re getting a lift to college now. Then we’ll be in the coach going to the prom in town and coming back.’

  ‘And my mum is meeting us at college after and dropping us all home,’ Helena said.

  He held up his hands. ‘Key?’

  ‘Check,’ said Allie.

  ‘C’mere,’ he said. He pulled her close and hugged her. ‘Have fun.’ In the heels, she was the same height as him. He smelt her perfume and caught the fruity scent from the booze.

  Yeah, and what were you up to that age? he asked himself, waving them off. Or Sarah, for that matter, who had told hair-raising tales of teenage life in semi-rural Wales. ‘Nothing to do in the valleys but get totally munted,’ she’d explained, not long after they’d met. ‘No shortage of places to meet up if you didn’t care about the rain and cold – and if you drank enough cheap cider, or smoked enough weed, you soon didn’t care about anything. The hardest thing was getting the booze because everyone knew everyone else in town and precisely how old we were. Usually older brothers or sisters did it, for a consideration. That’s all there was, really, drink, drugs and sex. That and school.’

  Same in the city but maybe more of it done indoors, those homes with unsuspecting or liberal parents, kids who had the luxury of a cellar den or a converted shed to hang out in. People didn’t like teenagers mooching about on street corners, and the police were quick to move them on. There was nowhere else to go. Not until you were old enough for the pub. And then you needed money.

  Now Allie was that age, eighteen, an adult. And before Steve knew it she’d be flying the nest, moving to Loughborough to study Communications and Media, if she got her grades, which Steve had no doubt she would. Out in the big, wide world. Finding her feet, relishing her independence. She’d be brilliant, he was sure, whatever field she ended up in. She loved film and graphic art. Maybe she’d end up leading poster campaigns or directing movies. He was excited for her, proud of her, but there was an ache of sadness, too, at the prospect of letting her go.

  ‘Dad?’ Teagan called. ‘Are you going to watch this?’

  ‘Five minutes,’ he said. ‘Popcorn?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Steve was listening to the popcorn erupt in the microwave when Teagan wandered in. ‘Science,’ he told her, nodding to the appliance, ‘is a truly awesome thing.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And not just biology.’ His specialist area. He worked as a patent adviser for new inventions in the field.

  ‘Did Mum do biology too?’

  ‘No, nursing.’

  The microwave pinged. Steve opened the door and lifted out the carton.

  ‘I think I’ll do biology,’ Teagan said.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Maybe. It’s cool – cells and animals and plants. Life, really.’

  Steve smiled. ‘You’ve plenty of time to decide. Two years till your options for GCSEs.’

  Teagan grabbed a handful of popcorn and, munching, went to the fridge and poured herself some juice.

  ‘There any lager in there?’ He didn’t think Allie’s lot would have bothered with cans but you never could tell.

  ‘Four.’

  ‘Great.’

  Back on the sofa, Dix at their feet, the popcorn between them, Steve cracked open his beer.

  It was still light outside, though the cloud was thickening. If it rained much he’d have to leave cutting the grass yet again. It was an ongoing battle, the garden trying to revert to scrub and Steve barely stemming the tide.

  ‘Ready?’ Teagan said.

  He nodded. ‘Cheers.’

  She tapped her glass on his can.

  Steve took a swallow and settled back. ‘Living the dream, kid.’

  And Teagan hit the remote.

  Sonia

  Before Sonia had even got her coat off, her lad Oliver was in her face. ‘The bank says my account’s overdrawn but I need some money for tonight.’

  ‘Maybe you should have thought about that sooner,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t know it was all gone, did I?’

  ‘Well, you’re the only one spending it, Oliver, so you can hardly blame anyone else.’

  ‘Mum,’ he moaned. His face was flushed, mouth pinched. She could sense him reining in his temper, knowing if he stormed off in a strop he’d not get the cash he wanted for his night out.

  ‘I’m not made of money,’ Sonia said, ‘you know that. Maybe you’ll have to miss it.’

  ‘No way!’ His voice rose. ‘It’s Seggie’s birthday. I’m not missing that. No way. And I promised.’

  Seggie was one of the lads she’d not met, though she’d heard Oliver talk about him often enough.

  ‘I’ll pay you back,’ he said.

  ‘How, exactly?’

  At that, he had the grace to look shamefaced. He was on an apprenticeship. He earned ninety-nine pounds for a thirty-hour week, and at least half of that went on his travel and his lunches. The prospect existed of money in the future – a small, misshapen carrot at the end of a very long stick. If he completed his training, if he passed the tests, if he found a vacancy, if he got an interview, if he was offered a job. If he, Oliver Poole, aged eighteen, of Firswood, beat dozens of others, all after the same few chances, to the punch.

  ‘Oliver, I haven’t budgeted for this. The debits go out next week.’

  ‘Use my birthday money, then,’ he said pitifully.

  ‘What birthday money?’ As if she had it sitting there already, didn’t have to save up over the next few months to give him something.

  She took off her coat and picked up the shopping bags. Christ, she wanted him to have fun, enjoy himself, but he’d no sense of the cost of things, of how hard it was to manage.

  The supermarket had introduced the so-called Living Wage (which was a barefaced lie) and Sonia was now getting seven pounds twenty an hour. Fifty pence more. To compensate for the change her employers had docked her hours. So she was actually worse off on the Living Wage. Luckily she was still doing the same hours in her second job, at the laundry, and Cynthia, who owned the business, had increased the rates but had had to let Govinda go, which wasn’t fair but wasn’t as bad as it might have been, because Govinda was a bit slow on the ironing side of things. With only two staff on at a time, instead of three, they all had to work even harder and it wasn’t as if things had been slack beforehand. She tried not to dwell on it because it only made her miserable.

  ‘Mum, please?’ Oliver trailed behind her as she went into the kitchen, watching as she lifted the bags onto the counter. Her hands ached from the plastic handles, red weals on the skin. She brought home reduced items, or those close to their sell-by or use-by dates, and special offers of things they liked.

  She scratched her head, tired, resentful. She found her cigarettes and opened the back door. ‘How much?’ She lit up.

  ‘We’re having a meal.’

  ‘Twenty, then – thirty? W
hat sort of place?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t know where you’re going?’ She felt hot, her skin greasy, and her neck ached from reaching over all the time on the checkouts. There was never any chance to swap from one till to another and face a different way.

  ‘It’s a place on Peter Street. I haven’t checked the prices.’

  ‘I’ll give you thirty.’

  ‘And we might go on to a club after. We probably will.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Oliver. You might just have to skip that part.’

  His face tightened. She turned away, and blew smoke out into the yard. She guessed he’d want to buy his friend a drink for his birthday.

  ‘Forty and your bus fare,’ she said.

  ‘The buses will have stopped by then.’

  ‘They run till eleven at least,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not coming home that early.’

  She stared at him. ‘You asking for the cab fare?’

  ‘Unless you expect me to walk.’

  I walked, she wanted to tell him, countless times. Had no option. But she’d never let on to her parents that she was tramping about at all hours, and they’d never asked. Then again, kids like Oliver, young, hot-headed, out on the town on Friday and Saturday night, it only took one drink too many or looking at someone the wrong way for stuff to kick off. There was no way she wanted to put him at any greater risk by leaving him to walk back on his own in the dark.

  Ten for the cab. Fifty altogether. Shit. Cancelling her hair appointment would save half of it.

  ‘Right. Get fifty. You’ll have to go up the petrol station,’ she said. She knew she had only small change in her purse.

  ‘Thanks, Mum.’ He grinned, the tension melting off him. He rubbed his hand over his head. The hair was cut so short he looked like he’d joined up.

  She gave a shake of her head, took another drag. ‘You won’t be wanting any tea, then?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not meeting till half eight.’ Always hungry.

  It was just after six. ‘Pizza or pie?’

  ‘What sort of pie?’

  ‘Steak and ale.’

  ‘Pie,’ he said. ‘No – pizza.’

  ‘My purse is in there.’ She nodded at her handbag.