The Girls Who Disappeared(31)

‘Are you going to stand there all night?’ His voice was low and growly, with a hint of an Australian accent.

She padded through the kitchen. It was immaculate, unlike how they’d left it earlier, and she felt a pang of guilt that Derreck’s maid, Anya, had had to clean up after them. She stepped onto the patio. The air smelt smoky, sweet and not entirely unpleasant. His shirt was open and a lock of his blond hair fell over his tanned face. Despite herself her tummy did a weird little flip and then she felt guilty, as though just being here with this man, finding him attractive, had somehow meant she’d betrayed her boyfriend. He indicated the lounger next to him, the tip of his cigarette like a firefly against the velvet sky. She slid into it. They were facing the swimming-pool and didn’t speak for a few minutes, just watched as the water rippled under the moonlight. It was peaceful, and beautiful with the sound of the crickets and the water of the pool lapping gently against the sides.

‘Couldn’t sleep, huh?’ he said eventually, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the undergrowth.

‘Too hot. And air-con too loud.’

She stole a glance at him but he wasn’t looking at her, his head resting against the back of the lounger. He was wearing chino shorts and his feet were bare. Wrapped around his left wrist was a jumble of leather braids. His skin was golden-brown, even and unmarked, like the topping on a cake.

‘So,’ she said, swinging her legs around so that she was facing him. She tried not to feel a touch of pride when she noticed his gaze sweeping over her bare calves. ‘It’s kind of you to invite us here. John-Paul speaks highly of you.’ She felt her cheeks grow hot at the lie.

Derreck laughed. ‘I bet JP’s barely mentioned me. Coke?’

‘Pardon?’ Was he trying to give her drugs? She suddenly felt out of her depth, provincial. Something about Derreck scared her. He was so worldly. Then she saw he had reached over to a bucket full of ice between their sun-loungers and was proffering a can of cola.

‘Thanks,’ she said, taking it from him and pressing the cool metal against her chest. ‘To be fair, John-Paul doesn’t talk that much about his travelling days. So why don’t you tell me about them?’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘What is it exactly you want to know?’

‘I got the impression that John-Paul thinks he … well, owes you for something that happened in Goa.’

She could feel her heart beating hard in her chest. Could he tell she was bluffing? She noticed a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

‘He told you about Goa?’

‘Well, no. Not exactly.’ She opened her can and took a sip, trying to hide her discomfort.

He laughed. ‘I thought as much. JP certainly wouldn’t want to look bad in your eyes.’

Her heart sank. ‘What did he do?’

‘You need to ask him that.’ He sat back against the sun-lounger so that he was facing the pool again. ‘But it doesn’t sound like he’s been very open with you about his past.’

‘Did he do something illegal?’

A muscle in his jaw twitched but he didn’t answer. She felt sick.

‘Do you fancy a swim? It might cool you down, make you able to sleep. I know this heat can take a bit of getting used to,’ he said, suddenly breaking the silence. Without waiting for an answer he stood up, took off his shirt and stepped out of his shorts. She averted her eyes. But when she looked up again she could see the flash of his naked bottom as he jumped into the pool. She felt herself blushing. What was he playing at?

She had to leave. She’d ask John-Paul about Goa in the morning. She’d get nothing from Derreck tonight. She stood up.

‘Don’t fancy coming in?’ he called, from the middle of the pool. He had pushed his wet hair back from his face. She noticed what a lovely straight nose he had. All she could think about was that he was naked beneath the water. It was too much.

‘I … no, I need to get back. Thanks, though,’ she said scurrying from the sun-lounger, clasping her can of Coke to her chest without looking behind her.





Day Three





20



Jenna


Voice Memo: Wednesday, 28 November 2018


It’s the twentieth anniversary of the night the three girls went missing. It’s 3 a.m. and I’m finally back from the hospital. Thankfully just one small stitch and no concussion. I still can’t believe that Ralph is dead and that someone attacked me. I’m sure I heard a child crying. Was it real, or just another incidence of the strange occurrences that Stafferbury is famous for? I need to sleep now …

When I wake up I still have a slight headache. I can hear someone clattering around in my kitchen and panic flares until I remember. Dale offered to sleep in the spare room last night after the nurse said I shouldn’t be alone, with the possibility of concussion. He had sat with me for the three-hour wait in A and E, bringing me lukewarm coffee from the machine and trying to make me laugh with stories of growing up in Stafferbury. And he’d stayed with me while I was getting stitched up.

There is a soft rap on my door and I hear Dale’s voice asking if I’m decent.

‘Yep, come in,’ I say, sitting up in bed and tucking the duvet around me. I remember dressing in my fleecy pyjamas last night and pulling on my thick bed-socks, although I’m still wearing yesterday’s makeup.