The Last Girl (42 page)

I had my phone tucked between my head and my shoulder as I drove. ‘I’ve got her voicemail.’

‘Well, tell her she’s a mad bitch.’

‘Shut up,’ I snapped just before the recording kicked in. I left a terse message asking to be called back.

‘Why didn’t you tell her we’re lost?’

‘Because we shouldn’t be. If you hadn’t broken your satnav––’

‘You shouldn’t have to rely on satnav. There was a time before it, you know.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have needed satnav if my navigator hadn’t been asleep in the back seat.’ I pulled into a gateway and stopped. ‘Look, show me the map. I’ll see if I can recognise any landmarks.’

It whirled between the two front seats and slammed into the dashboard like an injured bird. I had opened my mouth to snarl at Derwent when I heard a tiny whimper from the seat beside me.

‘Lydia? Are you all right?’

‘I don’t know why you have to be so horrible to one another.’ It came out as a wail.

‘We’re not really being horrible.’

‘Yeah.’ Derwent plunged forward between us like an overly enthusiastic Labrador. ‘It’s a sign of affection, really.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’ I tilted my head so I could see past him. ‘But really, it’s not because we’re properly angry with one another. Just a bit fed up about being lost.’

Lydia nodded, wiping away tears. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need to apologise, darling.’ Derwent ruffled her hair and then slid back to his seat. ‘Any ideas, Kerrigan?’

I flicked pages, finding where we’d left the motorway but almost immediately losing the trail. ‘Not a clue. We could just keep driving.’

‘Your phone’s got reception, though, hasn’t it?’ Lydia said. ‘Because if it does, you could use it to check where we are.’

‘Genius,’ I exclaimed, poking at it. ‘But actually no signal.’

‘I’ll see if I’ve got anything.’ She burrowed in her bag and produced a phone, switching it on. It took a minute to connect to the network while I sat and stared at it, and her, and debated whether to say anything. A look at a serious Derwent in the rear-view mirror decided me.

‘Lydia … I thought you didn’t have a phone.’

She looked up at me guiltily. ‘I don’t use it.’

‘That phone belongs to you, though?’

A mute nod.

‘You said you didn’t like them.’

‘I don’t call anyone. Ever. I just have it for emergencies.’ She was bright red. ‘I don’t even know the number. It’s just for dialling 999 and finding where I am if I get lost. Mum made me have it. There isn’t anything in the contacts, even. Look.’ She turned it round so I could see it was empty.

‘That’s a nice phone to use for emergencies,’ I observed. It was a Samsung, top of the line.

‘What do you call this if not an emergency, Kerrigan? Give the girl a break.’ Derwent had stretched his arms across the back seat, his posture exceedingly relaxed.

‘How right you are. I’ll shut up and wait for directions.’ I sounded too cheerful. I looked into the mirror again and saw the same expression in Derwent’s eyes that I knew was in my own.

Suspicion.

Chapter Eighteen

IT WAS ZOE
who came to meet us when we finally arrived, Zoe with a wide smile on her face and a warm welcome for her girlfriend’s half sister. A forbidding five-bar gate stopped the car from going any further than where we were idling on the pitted track that led to the house, but through it I had a vague impression of old, huddled buildings made of worn red brick, the paintwork peeling, the roof uneven and spilling tiles with gay abandon. Above all, my main feeling was that I was somewhere homely. There were pink flowers in the window boxes and red geraniums spilling out of an old milk churn by the door, and Zoe stepped over a fat cat snoozing on the doorstep on her way to unlock the gate. She came round to look through the car window.

‘Sav’s asleep, believe it or not. Come in and I’ll wake her up.’

‘It’s nearly midday.’ Derwent had the disapproval cranked up to eleven.

‘So?’ She shrugged. ‘No reason for her to get up. She’s got the day off and she had early starts the rest of the week.’

‘Nice work if you can get it.’

‘Yeah, well, the reason she can get it is because she’s unique.’ Zoe was still looking at Lydia. ‘Do you want the tour first or do you want to get settled in?’

‘Tour, please.’

She glowered at the back seat. ‘I wasn’t actually talking to you.’

‘I know.’ Derwent wasn’t wasting any charm on her, not that he had much to spare, but I could read his thinking quite easily, and I doubted Zoe was having any trouble.
No point being nice to a dyke, is there?
‘But since you’re offering.’

‘Yes, but I wasn’t.’ Without getting flustered she was holding her ground.

‘Look, we have to check the place out. Make sure it’s a safe environment for Lydia.’

‘You don’t look like any social workers I’ve ever seen.’

‘Oh yeah? Seen many?’

‘A few.’ Her eyelids flickered and I had the strong sense that she regretted going down that conversational path. ‘Okay. It can’t do any harm to show you around. Maybe you can tell Lydia’s dad that this isn’t a den of iniquity, or whatever he seems to think it is.’

‘Oh, you heard about that, did you?’ I grinned. ‘We got in a bit of unexpected bother.’

‘I know. We’re grateful.’ She went back and held the gate open and I drove carefully into the yard, pulling up by the front door, close to where a very nice silver Audi was parked. The yard was a cobbled square that was sprouting weeds in places. It was lined with stables but all the doors were closed and there was no smell of horses.

‘This used to be a stud farm,’ Zoe explained. ‘It hasn’t been used for that in a decade.’

Derwent had unfolded himself from the back seat of the car and was stretching. ‘Typical. No use for males of any kind.’

‘Did you say something?’ There was a real edge to Zoe’s voice and I smothered a smile, amused to see Lydia doing the same.

‘Carry on.’ Derwent waved a lordly hand. ‘Where’s this studio of yours?’

She pointed to the opposite side of the yard from the house. ‘It used to be a pigeon loft. Savannah had it fitted out for me as a surprise.’

‘Where’s the door?’

‘In the corner. That green one. But you can’t go up there,’ she added quickly.

Derwent was already halfway across the yard. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s private. Besides, there’s nothing to see. It’s just a room with a drawing table and some boxes in it.’

‘I’m not interested in what’s in the room. I’m interested in the view.’

‘Savannah’s alibi?’ She pressed her lips together tightly. ‘Fine. Help yourself.’

Derwent didn’t need any further encouragement. He shot through the door and rattled up the stairs.

I turned to Zoe. ‘Don’t you make your own stuff?’

‘Sometimes. I can do the simple things. But I generally design things and get other people to make them. I’m good at drawing and concepts. Not so great as a silversmith.’ She shrugged. ‘Knowing your limitations is always a help.’

‘It must help that you and Savannah are in a relationship. I bet it’s easy to get free advertising.’

‘Savannah wears some of my things, but she wears lots of other stuff too.’ She smiled brilliantly at Lydia. ‘Do you wear jewellery?’

‘Not much.’

‘You should wear pink tourmaline. It would be stunning on you.’

Lydia looked down, embarrassed, as Derwent came back towards us. He shrugged at me. Inconclusive.

‘Are there any other outbuildings or is this it?’ I asked.

‘There’s a garage on the other side of the house. And a barn. We don’t use them much.’

‘Do you always leave your car here?’

‘Usually.’ She looked at it as if she’d forgotten it was there. ‘I suppose. It’s easiest.’

‘Show me the garage,’ Derwent demanded.

‘Why?’

‘Because I asked you to. And I asked nicely, for me.’ He rubbed the sweat off his hairline. ‘Look, don’t make this into a big deal. It’s too fucking hot for that.’

‘Fine.’ Zoe walked towards the side of the house with long angry strides. For the first time I noticed a black sheepdog lurking in the shadows near us.

‘Doesn’t he mind the cat?’

‘Who? Beckett? No. They ignore each other. The cat regularly produces kittens and she’s cranky when she’s in heat, and when she’s pregnant, and when she’s got a litter on the go. So that’s all the time, really. She’s taught him to leave her alone.’

The dog drifted along behind us with all the mass and weight of a flake of soot, licking his nose occasionally with a long pink tongue. I held out my hand to him and clicked my fingers but he ignored me.

‘Does he like people?’

‘Not a lot. I got him from a shelter. He didn’t have the best start in life.’

‘Is he your dog?’

‘Yeah. Savannah doesn’t really like dogs, but she likes me to have the company when she’s off travelling.’

‘He looks like Mollie.’ It was practically the first time Lydia had spoken. ‘Dad’s dog.’

‘She’s black and white, isn’t she?’ I said.

‘Yes. But her head’s the same shape.’

‘You must be an artist,’ Zoe said. ‘To notice that, I mean.’

‘She does fantastic drawings.’ I sounded like a proud mother, I realised, and dialled it back a bit. ‘I think they’re good, anyway.’

‘It’s just a hobby,’ Lydia muttered.

‘That’s how I started out. And now I make a living from my hobby.’

‘That and shagging a multi-millionaire supermodel.’ Derwent was straight to the point. I glanced at Lydia to see if she was embarrassed, but her expression was studiedly
neutral.
‘Don’t tell me you could afford a place like this on your own.’

‘Probably not,’ Zoe said evenly.

‘Did you design jewellery before you met Savannah?’ I asked.

‘Not for a living.’

‘What did you do?’

‘This and that. I worked as a waitress. Did a couple of seasons as a ski instructor in Switzerland. I trained as a chef for a while.’ She shrugged. ‘Whatever took my fancy, really. I hadn’t settled to anything in particular.’

‘Did you go to university?’

‘Couldn’t afford it.’

‘You could go now,’ Derwent pointed out. ‘Your girlfriend would pay for it.’

‘She might, but I wouldn’t take the money.’ Zoe glared at him. ‘Stop trying to make out I’m with Savannah for what I can get.’

‘Fair assumption.’

‘Not really. Not fair at all.’

She had led us away from the house a little, to where a track snaked up to a collection of buildings. We walked through long grass, crickets whirring on either side of us, the sun fierce on my head. Invisible, multi-legged things crawled on the back of my neck and under my trousers. Imagination, I told myself sternly.

‘The garage. As requested.’ Zoe gestured at it with a flourish.

It was an old-fashioned wooden structure, a barn with a glass window above the door and rooflights all the way round it. Built in the early days of motoring, it really needed a Model T Ford to be parked in the middle of it to look right. The door was open, revealing that there was nothing inside but a spreading oil patch. The walls were shelved, loaded with cans of petrol and engine coolant and oil. It made sense that they needed to have the
wherewithal
to fix minor problems with the car; it would be a long walk to the nearest garage. It also looked as if it was past time to deal with whatever was causing the puddle on the floor. Derwent went in and crouched beside it, smudging it with one finger.

‘That’s fresh. Got a problem with a leak?’

‘Intermittently.’

‘It’s a big enough puddle. You must park the car in here a fair bit.’

‘Yes. I said that, didn’t I?’

‘You said you
usually
parked it in the yard. But this garage looks well-used.’

‘Well, it’s probably about half and half.’ She sounded irritated. ‘I don’t see the problem.’

‘Where was it last Sunday night?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Because if it was parked here, you wouldn’t have heard it leave, would you? Not from the other side of the house.’

‘Well, if I said it was in the yard, that’s where it was.’

‘But you’re not sure.’

‘I am sure.’ She was standing in the sun and now she lifted a hand to shield her eyes. It had the added advantage of guarding her expression.

‘You just said you couldn’t remember,’ Derwent said.

‘I made a mistake.’

‘When? Yesterday when you told us it was in the yard, or today?’

‘Today.’

‘You do see this is important, don’t you? You do know why I’m asking.’

‘Of course.’

‘You are Savannah’s alibi.’