Sweet Little Lies (Cat Kinsella #1)(67)

‘Oh, and Finn will probably want to call you in the morning to tell you what Santa brought, so answer your bloody phone, please.’ I make an affirmative noise this time. ‘I don’t know, Dad’s getting as bad. There’s definitely something going on with him.’

I wish I wasn’t so highly attuned to all references to my dad but there’s a chink in my armour where the curiosity spews out. ‘What do you mean? Dad’s as bad at what?’

‘Answering his bloody phone! He’s usually so reliable but lately .?.?. take last Monday .?.?.’

The words erupt. ‘Dad? Reliable?’

‘Yes.’ That scolding voice again. ‘You should try seeing the good in people now and again. He’s amazing to us.’

‘Oh really, how?’ Exasperation, intrigue and a bolt of unexpected jealousy surges through me. That I manage to sound disinterested is a minor miracle.

‘In a thousand different ways, Cat, but mainly with Finn. Did you know Dad stays at ours when Ash is on nights, just in case I need someone to come to the hospital with me? Well he usually does .?.?.’

Everything stops for a moment. ‘Has Finn had any more seizures? You’ve got the neurologist any day, right?’

‘No, no, just that small one, last Monday night. It’s fine. He’s fine. But it was sod’s law, Ash was on nights last Monday and Dad had to cancel staying at ours at the last minute.’

‘Mr Reliable,’ I say without a hint of triumph.

‘But that’s what I mean,’ says Jacqui. ‘It’s so unlike him. And I couldn’t get hold of him all night either, to let him know what had happened. Voicemail, voicemail, bloody voicemail. To be fair, he was inconsolable the next day.’

‘And so where was he then?’

I’m starting to feel queasy. I’ve barely eaten today but it’s not lack of food. It’s something else.

‘Oh, I don’t know. Something came up, he said. You know I don’t pry.’ Jacqui’s voice is light and I want to shake her. Shake her and shake her and shake her until the happy-mist lifts from her eyes and she sees him for what he is. ‘I mean, where would anyone be on a Monday night? In bed, I suppose.’ She laughs awkwardly. ‘Whose bed is the question. Noel reckons .?.?.’

What ‘Noel reckons’ fades to nothing, exactly where it belongs, and Jacqui’s words fill my head. Deafening, like the peal of a warning bell.

‘I mean, where would anyone be on a Monday night?’

I hear drawers opening and closing, cutlery rattling, and the familiar slam of the mammoth fridge door as Jacqui moves around her kitchen busying herself with actions so she doesn’t have to stop and think about the fact that Dad put ‘something’ before her and Finn.

I try not to think about it too. I try not to think about the question I’ve been repeatedly asking people throughout the ten days of this investigation.

‘Where you were between eleven p.m. on Monday 15th December and five a.m. on Tuesday 16th December.

‘Something came up, he said.’





1998

Monday 1st June

The Guards called at Gran’s the next day while I was playing Teddy Detectives – an awesome little game whereby I gathered all my bears in a Poirot-style denouement so that the secret of Maryanne’s disappearance could be dramatically revealed.

Mum said the game was ‘in poor taste’ and wouldn’t it be nicer if I learned to play draughts?

Dad said draughts was boring-as-shite and asked to join in.

My stuffed penguin metamorphosed into Gabe McShea – a well-known drunk and the last person, according to Jacqui, to see Maryanne, heading up the Long Road towards the town. Dad mimicked him perfectly, slurring his speech as he swore his innocence and lashing out with his flipper when any other teddy so much as looked in his direction.

I laughed so hard that my cheeks started to sting.

Pat Hannon took the form of Brown Bear, an ancient scraggy thing we’d found wedged between a mower and a wheelbarrow in Gran’s dilapidated back shed. He smelt a bit of turps and his right ear wasn’t long for this world, but the frayed stitching around his mouth gave Brown Bear the kind of twisted, malevolent smirk we thought perfect for our prime suspect. He reminded me of some of the men who held meetings in the back room of our pub.

And into this nonsense walked two Guards. A hefty great wardrobe of a man who plonked himself in the best chair while Gran stood crooked against the Aga, and a younger man who said very little, except ‘I will, yeah’ to every offer of biscuits and tea.

The Big Guard picked up Brown Bear by his raggedy left paw and said, ‘Well, hello there, little fella,’ before making him dance a stupid jig on his knee. With this one silly gesture, he managed to strip Brown Bear of his ugly, threatening menace and I hated him in that moment for ruining our brilliant game.

‘Do you think Teddy might know where Maryanne is?’ The Big Guard said, winking at Mum and Dad, utterly charmed with himself.

I told him Teddy didn’t talk to the filth and that shut him up good and proper.

Dad let out a roar, a bone-shaking belly-laugh that startled Rosie, Gran’s dog.

Mum didn’t look quite so amused.

‘So Jacqui’s name has come up,’ The Big Guard went on, all stern and business-like now after his failed attempt at being ‘good-with-kids’. ‘Could we just have a quick word? Nothing formal, just a chat at this stage.’