Lying Beside You (Cyrus Haven #3)(92)

‘Does he still see Leo?’

‘Of course. He picks him up from preschool two days a week and has him most weekends. He should have had him yesterday, but he cancelled.’

‘Did he say why?’

‘No, but he was drunk, which is another reason I left him. Mark has always called himself a wine collector – Pinots mainly. He calls them investments, but he drinks everything he buys and then moves on to whisky and port and whatever else he can find. He’s an alcoholic, but he won’t admit that. But I make sure he’s sober when he comes to pick up Leo.’

She points to a small handheld breathalyser on the counter, which has a blowing tube on one side.

‘Where is he living?’ asks Lenny.

‘This week? Who knows? Couch-surfing at some mate’s house, most likely, until he wears out his welcome. I could call him, but he doesn’t answer his phone on Mondays. It’s his day off because he works most Saturdays showing properties.’

‘He’s an estate agent,’ I say.

‘Yes, but mainly he does property management.’

‘You’ve renovated recently,’ I say, admiring the kitchen.

‘Thanks to the settlement,’ she replies, taking no pleasure in the statement. ‘We almost lost this place. We had to remortgage and borrow from family to pay for Daisy’s care. I gave up work and we were surviving on whatever Mark could make until the hospital paid up.’ Her mouth curls and eyes narrow. ‘They dragged out the negotiations because they knew Daisy was going to die.’

‘How did your husband feel about that?’ asks Lenny.

‘Bitter. We both did.’

‘Did you blame the nurses for what happened?’ I ask.

‘It was an accident. I understand that. One of them wrote us a letter afterwards, saying how sorry she was.’

‘Which one?’

‘Lilah Hooper. She was in charge that night, but none of them took responsibility.’

‘Did that make you angry?’ I ask.

‘For a while, maybe, but I’m a New Testament sort of Christian. I believe in forgiveness, not an eye for an eye.’

‘Does Mark feel the same way?’

‘He’s not a Christian, if that’s what you’re asking. More an agnostic, but he’s very passionate and headstrong. He gets teary when he hears the National Anthem, or when the Liverpool fans sing “You’ll Never Walk Alone” at Anfield.’ She smiles sadly. ‘What’s he done?’

‘Maya Kirk was murdered twelve days ago,’ says Lenny.

There is a flash of recognition in Orla’s eyes. ‘I saw it on the news. I thought it must be her.’

‘And Daniela Linares disappeared over a week ago from outside a bar in Nottingham.’

Orla opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. She tries again. ‘And you think Mark had something to do with it?’

‘We need to talk to him,’ I say.

‘He would never … I mean, he’s not like that. He’s a drunk, not a killer.’

Orla’s defence begins to falter. Something breaks upstairs, followed by a cry of pain. A mother is wanted.





61


Evie


Lilah is a talker. A chatterbox. A stater of the obvious. She says things like, ‘Doesn’t the grass look green?’ and ‘Ducks have such funny walks’, and she tries to catch the falling leaves, saying it’s good luck.

We’re following one of the paths through Pearson’s Wood, past the lake and the deer conservation area, along the narrow tarmac footpath to the Nottingham Industrial Museum.

‘I love this time of year,’ she says. ‘The air is so clean and it’s not too hot and not too cold.’

‘Like Goldilocks.’

‘Pardon?’

‘The porridge – not too hot, not too cold.’

She laughs and looks at me like I’m crazy, but not in a bad way. We’re acting like we’re friends, even though I’m much younger. I don’t have many friends, and I hope I’m making the right facial expressions – smiling when I should smile. I should have practised in the mirror before we came out.

Lilah asks me if I have a ‘special someone’ and what I’m studying at school. I’d rather talk about her. She tells me about her family, which includes a brother and sister, who are both married with kids, which makes them the favourites.

‘I’m the disappointment because I haven’t added to the pool of grandkids.’

‘Do you want them?’

‘Kids? Yes. When I find Mr Right, or Mr Good Enough. I used to have a teacher called Mr Goodenough. We’d tease him by saying, “Do you ever feel you’re not good enough, sir?”’

We stop and take photographs of Wollaton Hall, a big old mansion in the middle of the park, that was once probably owned by a duke or a lord and is definitely haunted. Lilah asks me why I think Mitch is innocent.

‘Because he’s telling the truth.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I can tell when someone is lying.’

She laughs, thinking I’m joking. I pull her to a park bench and make her sit facing me.

‘OK, tell me something about yourself. Anything. Make it up.’