‘I don’t understand.’
Bentley grabbed her arm. ‘You don’t know the coppers like I do.’
‘And I don’t fucking want to. Let go of my arm.’
Bentley gawped at her as if she’d just grown a second, far more defiant head. ‘None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t got the hump and buggered off home the other night.’
‘I “buggered off” because you tried to mutilate me,’ Shona hissed. ‘Now let go of my arm.’
‘All I wanted to do was shave your pubes.’
Shona yanked her wrist free. ‘Why?’
Bentley shrugged. He had no answer to that, other than it had seemed like a good idea at the time.
‘Do you have fantasies about schoolkids?’
‘No.’
‘I think it’s best you go home, Jim. I don’t want to see you no more.’
Bentley tried a different tack. ‘If you don’t give me an alibi, I’m gonna tell your old lady what a nice girl you ain’t.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Tell her about the abortion you had when you was fourteen.’
‘She won’t believe you.’
‘Maybe she will and maybe she won’t, but I’m sure she’ll have a good time wondering whether her own brother had it away with her daughter. Good job he paid for the abortion, otherwise the poor kid wouldn’t have known whether to call him “Great Uncle Tommy” or “Daddy”.’
After a few seconds silence, Shona said, ‘But I was at home until I walked down the park on Thursday to meet you. My mum’s gonna know I’m lying.’
‘You were at Rachel Sedgewick’s before I picked you up. Don’t start messing with my head. All I’m asking you to do is give me two hours. Two lousy hours. Then we can go our separate ways.’
‘But I’m crap at lying.’
‘Then go back indoors and practise in the mirror if you don’t want the world to know who got you up the spout five years ago.’
Shona hoisted her frame out of the car. ‘I told you that in confidence.’
‘And now I’m telling you this in confidence – tell the coppers you were with me from six o’clock on Thursday, or I’m gonna tell the whole fucking word your dirty little secret.’ He switched on the engine, revved it several times, and lurched away from the kerb.
Confidence, that fickle friend who never failed to abandon you in desperate times, was once again absent by the time he returned to the flat. He couldn’t rely on Shona. Not unless he killed her and removed her ability to contradict him. But if he did that, he would also have to remove anyone else who’d seen Shona before he’d picked her up that night. Especially Rachel Sedgwick.
He sat in his kitchen chugging on a can of Tenants Super. By the time he’d popped the tab on the second one, his mind felt like a car careering downhill with no brakes. He was up shit creek no matter what he did. Unless he could find some way of stitching up that overgrown retard, Mathew Hillock.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday morning. Day four of Jodie’s disappearance.
Mathew sat opposite his mother at the dining table. He watched her nibble on a slice of toast and wished for the thousandth time he was anywhere in the world but Bluebell Cottage. He felt sorry for his mum. None of this was her fault, but he could tell by the dark shadows beneath her eyes she’d not been sleeping well.
‘Aren’t you going to get ready for work?’ Sonia asked. ‘We need to leave in half an hour.’
‘I don’t feel well,’ Mathew lied. Truth was, he couldn’t stand the thought of facing people when they were probably all gossiping behind his back.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
‘Bad head.’
‘Do you want some paracetamol?’
‘I’ll get some in a minute.’
‘I’ll pop home at lunchtime to see you.’
‘You don’t need to do that.’
‘I want to. Is there anything you need from town?’
‘No.’
‘Magazines?’
‘It’s all right, Mum. I just want to sleep.’ He almost added forever.
‘How about some chicken soup?’
Mathew relented. ‘Okay. Thanks.’
Sonia stood. ‘I’m going to get ready.’
Mathew watched her scurry away. She looked so much older than her fifty-three years, especially without her makeup. He wished he could treat her to a luxury cruise. Something just for her. She deserved it after all the nice things she’d done for him.
He pushed his half-eaten bowl of cornflakes away, stretched, and yawned. He didn’t want to face another day. His mood was slipping dangerously close to depression. He hated the dark days. They could appear out of nowhere, triggered by nothing more than a memory or a certain phrase. Sometimes he couldn’t even get out of bed. His mother did her best to help him lift his mood, but ultimately, like bad weather, the dark days passed all by themselves.
He was tempted to go back along the Bunky Line and force his way inside the farmhouse. Check the basement for signs of Jodie. But he was too afraid to venture outside when there were people out hunting for the girl all over town. He’d seen it on the news. They were checking the fields, gardens, and all along the river. He’d wanted to shout at the screen and tell them to search the farmhouse.
He went to the sink, poured a glass of water, and took two paracetamol tablets to settle a headache pulsing behind his eyes. He hated headaches, especially the ones that preceded his blackouts. The doctor called them fugues and explained they were reasonably common, but that didn’t make them any less scary.
Once, about six months ago, he’d found himself sitting by the river with no idea of how he’d got there. To add to his confusion, he’d only been wearing a tee-shirt and shorts in the freezing cold weather. He’d also found himself in the shed several times with no recollection of going there.
His mother walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later, transformed by eye makeup and foundation. ‘I’m going to get off now. Give me a ring if you need me for anything.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Mathew lied. ‘I’m gonna take a shower and go to bed after I’ve fed Tortilla.’
‘Why don’t you give your brother a call?’
‘He’ll be at work.’
Sonia winked. ‘Contrary to popular belief, estate agents sit on their bums half the day drinking tea and gossiping.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.’
‘But he sells million pound houses.’
She smiled. ‘I know. But it’s not like that all the time. Maybe he could pop round to see you during his lunch break.’
Mathew couldn’t think of anything he’d like better, but he didn’t want to commit to anything. ‘I’ll think about it.’
She kissed him on the cheek. ‘And don’t forget, I’m only a phone call away.’
He waited for her to go before rubbing a smudge of lipstick off his face. His reflection in the small kitchen mirror looked like a cross between a werewolf and a zombie. And little wonder. He’d barely slept since Jodie’s disappearance, and when he had, terrifying images of mutilated corpses with startled eyes had dominated his dreams.