Sweet Little Lies (Cat Kinsella #1)(10)

‘A while ago.’ Ever cagey.

‘You’re obviously not big news, Noel, I hadn’t heard.’

He smirks and spears a sausage, brandishing it across the floor like a weapon. The fat drips onto the tiles, pooling like petrol.

‘Still doing that veggie bollocks? Or was that Jacqui?’

Jacqui. For about four months in 2001. And it was only veal.

I push the fork away. ‘So why’d you come here then, not Radlett? Hertfordshire not gangster enough for you?’

‘Radlett?’ He looks confused, which confuses me. ‘God, you really aren’t a regular visitor, are you? I mean, Dad said it’d been six months since he’d last seen you but I thought he was exaggerating, getting his months mixed up. I should be calling you the prodigal daughter, really. At least I’ve got the excuse I’m in a different country. Where are you living these days?’

‘Why do you want to know? Planning to burgle me again while you’re back?’ I pull a mock-contrite face. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, that wasn’t you, was it? It was pure coincidence that a mate of yours found out my address and knew exactly where to find Mum’s jewellery without disturbing anything else.’

He barely flinches. Doesn’t deny or defend himself. Just rummages in a cupboard, tutting at the lack of brown sauce.

Eventually he sits down at the table. ‘Dad seemed pretty upset, you know – about not seeing you in ages. Bit slack of you, really .?.?.’

Shit-stirring is Noel’s favourite pastime. His undisputed key skill.

‘Yeah well, I was pretty upset about him bringing that bimbo to Finn’s sixth birthday party. How long had he known her? A fortnight?’

He nods. ‘Oh yeah, I forgot, Dad’s supposed to live like a monk. From what I heard, Jacqui wasn’t the least bit bothered so what it had to do with you .?.?.’

‘’Course Jacqui wasn’t bothered, Dad was paying for the party. A private room at the Rainforest Café. Very nice.’

‘I know. I saw the photos.’ He trickles ketchup over his blackened breakfast in thin, jagged lines. Slashes across a throat – shallow but nasty. ‘Didn’t see many of you, mind. Sulking in the toilets, were you?’

I really don’t know why I’m getting into this with him.

‘A body’s been found on Leamington Square,’ I say, cranking a major gearshift. ‘A woman. A young-ish woman.’

Clearly I don’t know she’s young-ish, except on some wispy, intuitive level.

Noel shrugs, he couldn’t be less interested.

I shake my head, ask again, ‘So what are you doing here then? Are you broke? In the shit with someone bigger than you?’

He doesn’t look up, just keeps working away at his breakfast. ‘You know, given you haven’t seen Dad in six months, it rather precipitates the more pertinent question of what you’re doing here, little sister, not what I’m doing here.’

Precipitates. Pertinent. A barbed reminder of an intelligence gone to waste. Noel’s convinced that if he’d had the same private education as me, he’d have found a cure for cancer by now, or at least bought a Porsche, and the very fact he hasn’t is always somehow laid at my door. For coming along seven years later. For my schooling falling in line with Dad’s money.

Money that was never really explained, or questioned.

‘I told you why I’m here, were you even listening? A woman’s body’s been found up the road from here.’

He pauses, a piece of white toast hangs in mid-air. ‘And that’s what you came to tell Dad?’

My mouth’s dry. I need a glass of water. I spot tumblers through a frosted glass cabinet but there’s no way I’m helping myself. This is a stranger’s home.

I should go.

‘Look, do you know whether he’ll be here soon or not?’

‘Haven’t a fucking clue. I’m not his keeper.’ Noel pushes his plate away – two thousand calories in two minutes flat. ‘I think he’s shagging that sweet-ass with the lip-stud though, the one who comes in here, so as soon as he’s bored doing that he’ll surface, no doubt. Can’t give you an exact time though, sorry.’

My insides scream. Lip-stud suggests young, and young suggests nothing ever fucking changes with my father.

I head towards the door. ‘Just tell him I called, OK?’

‘Sure.’ Noel opens the dishwasher, tosses the pan in. ‘Any message I can pass on?’

I almost laugh at this. Truth is, I’ve no idea what I came to say.

Yeah, tell him I know he lied about Maryanne Doyle.

Tell him it’s OK though, I was too scared to ever squeal.

But tell him I’ve been punishing him for it for the past eighteen years.

Instead, I say, ‘Yeah, tell him not to put non-stick pans in the dishwasher. It strips away the coating.’

Noel laughs and trails me down the hallway. The morning’s changed in the short time I’ve been inside and a low wintry sun dazzles my face as I walk back down the fire escape.

‘Don’t be a stranger, sis,’ he calls after me. ‘We’ll have a drink sometime, yeah? Bring a colleague. Preferably one in uniform.’

I stick my middle finger up then instantly wish I hadn’t. It seems too flippant a gesture to be aimed at Noel, too matey; the kind of thing I reserve for Parnell when he’s whingeing about my driving or the weakness of my tea.