‘Course he won’t mind,’ Bo said. ‘He probably won’t even notice.’ Tyrone had been out somewhere when they’d dropped round, the house quiet save for the frenzied barking of Frank, Bo’s annoying Jack Russell, but it had been easy enough to find her stepbrother’s car keys. Bo’s phone was almost out of credit, so rather than messaging him, she left a scrawled note on the bench in the hall explaining that Eliza would pay for the petrol costs and promising that the car would be back later. ‘I’ve put “later” rather than an actual time, just in case traffic is shit,’ she’d explained. ‘But, like I said, he’s hardly used it since he lost his job. And if he needs to go anywhere, my stepdad’s got a van, he can use that. Sorted.’
She slapped the roof of the car now, as if she loaned out other people’s vehicles all the time. Knowing Bo, it could be true. ‘Have an amazing time,’ she said. ‘And don’t come back until you’ve got all the answers, yeah?’
‘You bet,’ Eliza replied, trying to tamp down a quiver of apprehension as she set up the satnav on her phone. Steve yesterday, Ben today . . . it was as if she was playing Dad Bingo, ticking them off one by one on her own private tour of discovery around the country. What the hell though – like Bo said, she needed answers, and she was sick of secrecy. And if her mum dared to give her any shit about this later, Eliza would throw Lara’s own bad behaviour straight back in her face.
It was half ten now and according to her phone, if she put her foot down, she could be in Cambridge by mid-afternoon. Spend some time with her mysterious dad. Find out his side of the story and get to know one another a bit, then head home, arriving back in Scarborough for nine or thereabouts. Sure, it would be quite a lot of driving for one day, but how hard could that be? Other people seemed to manage it. ‘Thanks, babe,’ she said to Bo, in her most confident voice. Then, before she could change her mind, she started the engine, put the car in gear, checked her mirror and pulled smoothly away, just as her mum had taught her.
Exhilaration fired up inside her as she accelerated down the street. She was doing this. She was actually doing it: taking action, like with Mr Partridge the night before, like with Steve. Claiming back some agency in order to find out the truth she was owed. And nobody was going to stop her.
Or so she thought, anyway. Because it turned out that when Tyrone came home to find his car missing, he didn’t think to search around for a hastily scrawled note of explanation as to its whereabouts. And even if he had thought to look for it, he wouldn’t have found anything anyway, because when Bo had closed the door earlier, the draught from this had sent her note fluttering down to the floor – and then Frank, the psycho Jack Russell, had had a lovely time ripping it up, resulting in Bo’s words scattering far and wide in a blizzard of dog confetti. But this was irrelevant, seeing as Tyrone was already on the phone to the police.
Meanwhile, Eliza was heading south, deep in thought about how cool she was going to play it when she introduced herself to Ben, how mature and charming and goddamn likeable she would be. She’d always envied her friends their dads, even the really square ones who made tragic, unfunny jokes and wore terrible cardigans. She’d only been little when Steve left, but there were photos of him throwing her up into the air and her screaming with excitement, as well as video footage of him reading her a story and pushing her on the swings, and they’d looked so happy together each time. Lies aside, Mum was pretty great, but it wasn’t the same as having a dad in your life too, she was sure.
She was so lost in her own thoughts that it took her a few moments to notice the flashing lights of the car behind her. The flashing lights of the police car behind her, that was. Oh God. Was that for her? Had she been going over the limit? She hadn’t been paying attention.
Fumbling with the indicator, she pulled over to the roadside, coming to an uneasy halt outside the gates of a rugby training ground. Her heart galloped as the cops parked behind her. So the flashing lights were for her. Two officers got out, both men, and walked towards Tyrone’s car. One of them knocked at her window and she opened it, fingers shaky. He had toffee-coloured hair and smelled of nasty aftershave, with a ruddy pink face like a joint of ham. ‘Could you get out of the car, please?’ he asked, unsmiling.
Shit. Turning off the engine, she unclipped her seatbelt and clambered out, the backs of her legs sweaty with stress. A man on a massive mower was puttering around the rugby pitch cutting the grass and she swallowed hard, feeling his eyes on her.
‘I’m PC Shah and this is PC Vowles. Can I have your name, please?’ the second officer asked, holding a notepad and pen. He had pockmarked skin that told of previous battles with acne as well as thick, excellently shaped eyebrows, the sort that Eliza and her friends dreamed of.
‘Eliza Spencer,’ she mumbled.
‘Eliza . . . Spencer,’ he repeated, writing it down. ‘And do you know why we’ve stopped you today, Eliza?’
She stared down at the ground. Two fag butts and an ancient crisp packet lay in the grass nearby, the crisp packet so faded by the sun and rain that it was almost white, like a ghost packet. ‘I’m not sure,’ she mumbled, putting her arms round herself. Had her mum somehow found out what she was planning? Had she been driving too fast just now? Mum would kill her if she got any points on her licence.
‘You’re not sure,’ the first guy repeated, his lips thin as he pressed them together. ‘Well, let me give you a clue, Eliza. The car we’re standing next to – that’s the clue. Because it’s not your car, is it?’
There was a plunging feeling in her stomach and then a pincer of dread took hold. Okay, rewind: she took it all back about Bo. Course he won’t mind, she’d said – and look what had happened. Apparently Tyrone minded enough to call the police on her. ‘Well, no, but . . .’ Her mouth dried, anxiety rising again. How was she going to get out of this?
‘No,’ the officer repeated. ‘It’s been reported stolen, in fact.’ He was actually smacking his lips, enjoying himself, she thought, with a rush of queasy dismay.
Eliza hung her head. ‘It’s my friend’s brother’s car. She said I could borrow it.’
‘Your friend said that?’ PC Shah raised one of his fantastic eyebrows. ‘When it’s not her car? Because her brother didn’t seem to know anything about this arrangement when he spoke to our colleagues.’ A weighty pause followed. ‘By the way, I take it you sorted out insurance for this little trip?’ he asked next. ‘You were at least responsible for that before setting off on your unauthorised journey?’
Insurance. Oh crap. She’d been in such a whirl about getting to Cambridge she hadn’t even thought about insurance. Fuck. ‘Um . . .’ Her face bloomed hot with embarrassment. Who was she? Someone young and stupid and way out of her depth, that was who. Why had she ever thought this was a good idea? ‘No,’ she mumbled, her voice barely above the level of a whisper. ‘I . . . I didn’t think to—’