Her hand shook as she thumbed through her contacts on her phone. There it was. His mobile number. She wondered if it still worked or if he’d had to change it because of being chased by women. She stabbed the button.
It rang.
‘Hallo?’
It was his voice: she would know it anywhere.
‘Malone.’
‘Who is this?’
‘You bloody well know who this is, Malone. Alex.’
‘Well, it’s been some time; you can forgive a man for not recognizing your voice.’ He sounded amused. ‘How are you doing?’
She felt irrationally upset to realize that her name had not come up on his phone. She pushed the feeling aside. ‘Have you been talking to Gus about his father?’ The silence at the other end of the phone told her everything. ‘Malone, what the fuck do you think you’re doing interfering? How dare you? How dare you?’ She found she was shaking. ‘It’s up to me to tell him about his dad, not you. I will tell him about his father when I see fit. Is that clear?’
‘But you don’t know much about him, do you? You told me that. Gus came to me and asked for help. Look, I’m fond of the boy and I’ve got the contacts.’
‘So …’ she spluttered, ‘so frigging what? I should never have said anything about him to you.’
‘You didn’t tell me much.’
‘I don’t know much, that’s why,’ she shouted down the phone, his calm voice making her even angrier.
‘I know. But his first name and where he worked at the time was a good start.’
‘Malone. It still has nothing to do with you. Nothing. Do you understand? You are Out. Of. My. Life.’
‘Well, I have been for the last couple of years. Tell me, how are you keeping?’
‘Nothing to do with you.’
‘Work?’
His quiet tone – as if nothing had happened between them, as if he hadn’t broken her heart, as if she hadn’t kicked him out – made her see bright, bright, angry red. ‘Work is fine, thank you. Absolutely fine.’
‘What are you doing, Alex? Writing about pop stars? Reality TV? Fashion features?’
She heard the sneer in his voice and the mist became even redder. ‘I’m looking into a possible murder, actually. The daughter of an MEP.’ The words were out before she could stop them. Why did she respond to his goading so?
‘Just be careful, Alex.’
‘Oh … just fuck off. And leave my son alone. I forbid you to have any more to do with him.’
She stabbed the off button.
God but she needed a drink.
Snatching up a cardigan, she had just reached the front door when she heard a ringing from inside the house. A landline. Ignore it, she told herself, it wouldn’t be for her. But the ringing continued: insistent, compelling.
Bugger. It was like a Pavlovian reflex: the need to answer, just in case there was a story at the end of it.
She went back into the house towards the sound of the ringing and found the phone in the corner of a windowsill in the dining room.
‘Hello?’
There was silence at the other end.
‘Hello? Who’s there?’
Still silence, though she thought she could hear the soft sound of breathing.
‘Look, I know there’s someone there. Do you have something to say?’
There was a click as whoever was on the other end of the line put the phone down.
She looked at the receiver in her hand. What was that all about?
On the piece of well-kept grass outside the Green Man, people were sitting at picnic tables with pints of beer and glasses of wine. A lighthouse painted with red and white bands dominated the skyline a couple of hundred metres from the pub. A couple stood outside smoking. The place looked welcoming: an open door and buzz of voices spilling out onto the street, hanging baskets and tubs of tumbling early summer flowers – petunias, geraniums, busy lizzies – Alex’s horticultural knowledge stopped there. Honeysuckle scrambling over a fence scented the late evening air.
The walk had calmed her; the red mist had receded. She was not going to think about Malone any more. The fresh air had been just what she needed to shake off the phone call to him and then the odd one with no one on the other end, and a drink would be bloody helpful too. Plus, the village pub was a good place to start asking around, quietly, about the school.
‘You can go on in, love. They won’t bite.’
Alex looked at the grizzled old boy in a thick pullover grasping his pint with dirt-encrusted hands. ‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling. ‘You don’t always know, do you, whether you’ll be welcome or not?’
The old boy chuckled. ‘This in’t one of yer fancy London pubs: all fur coat and no knickers. This is a right real place. Tony keeps a good pint, even if he has prettied the old boozer up a bit.’ Cackling, he went back to his pint.
The bar was full and the aroma of food, drink, and fun swirled around her head. Couples, friends, men and women were sitting round tables, some eating, some merely drinking, and the bar was lined with people. In one corner was a pool table with two teenagers engrossed in a game. Probably underage. Gus managed his first pint at fifteen in a pub with a pool table.
She pushed her way up to the bar.
‘Hi.’ A woman of about thirty-five with a pierced lip, crop top, and bleached blonde hair smiled at her.
‘Hi. Glass of dry white wine, please.’ She perched on a stool that had become free.
The barmaid went to the fridge took out the bottle and began to pour the wine into a glass. She had half a dozen silver bracelets on one arm that clinked as she poured.
‘Thanks,’ said Alex, as she handed over the money. ‘Nice pub, this.’
The barmaid grinned. ‘Bit fancy these days but the punters are good-hearted. Loyal, too. You on holiday?’ She proffered Alex the change.
Not fancy prices though. ‘Keep that. Buy yourself one.’
‘Ta.’ The barmaid poured herself a glass of wine too.
‘Oi, Kylie.’ A man came out of what Alex presumed was the kitchen carrying two plates of fish and chips. ‘Get your arse into gear.’
‘I’m on my break, Tony, okay?’
Tony rolled his eyes as he weaved his way through customers to find the right table.
‘He could do with employing more sods like me, then I’d be able to have a proper break,’ the barmaid muttered.
Alex smiled and took a sip of her wine. Cold. Slightly sharp but nicely alcoholic. ‘Not exactly. On holiday, I mean.’
‘Oh?’ The barmaid leaned on the bar, obviously up for a chat. ‘I’m Kylie, by the way.’
‘Alex. I’m here looking into the death of the girl from the school. The Drift. For the family. Get some closure. They’re in bits.’
Kylie drew back, a guarded look on her face. ‘What, you’re some sort of private detective? Or copper?’
‘Nothing like that. A friend of