Girl Number One: A Gripping Psychological Thriller (3 page)

My father tries to smooth down his hair,
unsuccessfully, and kicks a few strands of cow parsley off his boot before limping
towards us. There’s still grass poking out of his hair, and what looks like
sticky weed caught on the shoulder of his jacket. Mud scuffs on his faded jeans
and wellies make him look like a farmer come from herding cattle. But it’s been
a long time since he did a full day’s work; he’s lucky now if he gets offered
work at all. His speciality used to be website design, and living out of a
caravan with only mobile coverage is not ideal for that kind of job. The
insurance money from the fire is long since spent, so I have no idea how he’s
managing to survive.

As he reaches the car, I wind down my window to
speak to him. ‘You look bloody awful, Dad. What’s the matter?’

‘I lost the dog,’ he says shortly.

‘You lost Churchill?’

‘I
couldn’t sleep, so I took him out early for a walk. But he ran away.’ He won’t
look me in the eye, bending to gaze past me at Jenny; I can smell alcohol on
his breath. ‘Hello there. I know you. You work with Eleanor at the school,
don’t you? Another PE teacher?’

She
smiles politely. ‘Yes,’ she agrees. ‘Jenny Crofter.’

‘Jenny,’
he says, nodding. ‘That’s it, yes. I knew I remembered you.’

‘So where’s Churchill now?’ I ask, interrupting.

Churchill
is a black Labrador, eight years old now and seriously overweight. Like most
Labs, he may run about like a crazed puppy at times and loves nothing better
than chasing round the farmyard after a ball, but he’s basically lazy. The sort
who sits down on the way back from a long walk and looks at you sideways, as if
to say, ‘I’m done. Can you go and get the car now?’ So this tale of him running
off strikes me as odd.

‘I let him off the lead over at Tinker’s Field
and he bounded away, straight into the undergrowth,’ my father explains. ‘He …
he wouldn’t come back, however hard I whistled. I followed him into the woods,
but he was nowhere to be seen. So I came back the short way, past that old
derelict hut by the river.’

I nod, wondering when I should tell him about
the body I saw. And the police.

 
‘I thought I heard barking inside the
hut, so I forced my way in through the brambles,’ he continues, holding out
scratched hands and wrists, uncannily like my own, ‘but of course there was no sign
of Churchill. It must have been someone else’s dog I could hear barking.’ His
speech is slightly slurred, and I wonder if he’s had any sleep at all, his eyes
are so bloodshot. ‘I guess he’ll come back on his own when he’s ready, useless
bloody dog.’

‘Is your leg okay? You’re limping.’

‘I hurt my ankle, that’s all. Nothing serious. Twisted
it in some sodding rabbit hole.’ Dad glances down at me in the passenger seat.
‘Hold on, why are you heading back to the cottage? Shouldn’t you be at work by
now, Ellie?’

Jenny sees my hesitation and intervenes. ‘I’m
dropping Eleanor back at home, Mr Blackwood. She saw something in the woods
when she was out running this morning.’

He
doesn’t understand. ‘Saw something?’ he repeats, smiling uncertainly. ‘What do
you mean?’

‘A
dead body,’ I mumble.

My dad’s smile is wiped away. His hands clench
on the window frame, his face loses colour; he looks twenty years older in a
few seconds. I remember that expression on his face. He wore it for weeks after
having to identify my mother’s body.

‘
What
?’

I put my hand over his and squeeze, staring up
at him. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. But we can’t stop to talk. The police are on their
way. I expect they’ll want to ask me some questions. Maybe take a statement from
me. Perhaps I could come round later and talk to you then?’

My father stares, then takes a step back. His
voice sounds strange. ‘Today? You saw a body in the woods
today
?’

‘I know how it sounds, but ….’

But
he is already walking away, heading back along the lane to the farm. To the
ruins covered in plastic sheeting that he calls home. The sun has come out
again, illuminating the grey back of his head. It will not last though. Those ragged
clouds are still massing on the edges of the valley, ready to darken the morning.

‘Dad?’ I call after him, but he does not answer.

Jenny looks at me. ‘Is he going to be okay?’

‘I
have no idea.’

She
sits with the engine running, staring after him. ‘The look on his face … ’

‘There’s
nothing we can do. It was a shock.’ I pause, feeling the irony behind that,
then add, ‘For both of us. A real shock. I’ll go and see him later. Right now,
I’m sorry but I need to get home.’

‘Of
course.’

‘I
appreciate it. I know this is making you late for work.’

Jenny
puts the car into first and accelerates up the lane towards the small cottage I
share with Hannah.

God,
what will Hannah be thinking? My phone call woke her up. She must be in a
state, waiting for me to get back, to explain properly.

‘I
told you, Eleanor, the school will understand. I don’t want you to worry about
that, this is more important. And you must take all the time that you need.’
Jenny sounds concerned but focused, already thinking ahead to damage control. ‘I’ll
talk to Patricia myself as soon as I get there, straighten it all out for you.’

I
look down at my hands. Like my legs, they’re trembling. Shock, of course.

‘Thanks,
that’s very kind of you.’

‘What are friends for?’

I
wonder how my father is taking the news about another body in the woods. I must
go and see him later as I promised, make sure he’s coping.

First
though, I need to be sure I’m coping too. Because it’s possible I’m not, and am
not even aware of it.

Hannah is waiting
for me in the doorway to East Cottage. It’s been a dwelling-place for nearly a
thousand years, probably one smoky room in medieval times, now extended to a
living room and narrow kitchen downstairs, with a bathroom and two small
bedrooms upstairs. A gurgling rivulet passes in front of the house on its way
downhill, and years ago someone built a miniature stone bridge across the
stream so we don’t have to wet our feet getting to the front door.

‘Are
you okay?’ Hannah looks pale, her fringe damp, eyes slightly bloodshot, precisely
like someone who has not had enough sleep but has splashed her face to wake up
in a hurry. ‘Oh my God, your hands. And your legs too.’

‘I’ll
survive.’

 
‘But is it true?’ She raises a hand in
greeting to Jenny, who is backing up her Renault in our small turning area. ‘I
mean, I believe you. Absolutely I believe you. But it’s so incredible, isn’t
it? To have found a body in the woods today, of all days …’

Today, of all days.

I
watch Jenny pull away. ‘I should probably ring work. To be polite.’

‘Eleanor?’

‘Yes,’
I agree, crossing the little stone bridge into the cottage. I’m dying for a
cool shower. I glance at the table in the hall but the charging cradle is
empty. ‘It is incredible. Have you got the phone?’

Hannah
holds out the phone automatically and I take it, beginning to look through the
menu for the number of the cover supervisor. But even as it starts to ring, I’m
interrupted by the familiar, unmistakeable roar of a quad bike.

Hurriedly I stop the call and go back outside
just in time to see Tristan on his quad bike, swinging wildly out of the lane
and towards the cottage.

His
brother Connor crouches behind him in the trailer, clinging onto the sides of
the metal box as he is jolted up and down on the uneven track. Completely
illegal, of course, but nobody round here cares about that shit. Not even the
police, who turn a blind eye most times to antics that would get you arrested
up country.

Connor
is two years older than Tris. Older and wiser, usually. This morning though both
men look fierce. Like they’ve come prepared to fight.

I glance back at Hannah, who has come to stand
in the doorway. ‘Okay, what did you tell them?’

She
looks guilty. ‘Enough to get them round here.’

‘Fuck’s
sake.’

‘I
need to get some sleep, I’m sorry. I’m dead on my feet. But I didn’t want you
left on your own today. Not with the police coming.’

Tris
and Connor are not blood brothers. Tris was adopted. Nonetheless, they are almost
never seen apart. Though that’s begun to change now they run the farm together.
Tris does not share his brother’s fanatical work ethic, so I’m not entirely
surprised to see him today. But I would have thought Connor had better things
to do than come racing up here in response to Hannah’s summons.

So
much for my chance of a shower.

Tristan stalls the
quad bike in the turning area, jumps off and runs towards us. He has not even shaved
yet. There’s a streak of oil on his cheek, and an oily rag sticking out of the
back pocket of his soiled blue overalls.

‘Jesus, Ellie.’ Tris is out of breath, wiping
dirty hands on his overalls in a way that tells me he’s planning to hug me.
‘Hannah told us what happened. You idiot, I told you not to tempt fate like
that.’

I glare at him silently.

‘Oh
come here,’ he says, relenting at once. ‘You look like you need a hug.’

‘No,
really,’ I mutter, but he pays no attention.

He throws his arms around me and embraces me
tightly.

Tristan
is twenty-four, my own age, dark-haired and built like a bear, though
thankfully without all the fur. Unlike his older brother, who may be tall and
dark too but is curiously hairless when he strips off at the beach or the pool.
For years the three of us knocked about together at school, me and him and
Connor. I even dated Connor a few times in sixth form, though it never worked
out. At school I preferred my dates to be a little bit broken, and Connor could
never compete with Denzil in that respect, whose love affair with narcotics is
well-known.

These
days I’m more interested in Tristan. But he still sees me as the sister he
never had, and I’m not about to wreck things for either of us by going weak-kneed
over his stubble.

Connor
looks at me past his brother’s shoulder. Like the other two, he’s concerned. ‘Shit,
Eleanor, today of all days. You must be in pieces.’

Today of
all days.
It’s becoming a common theme.

I
glance back at Hannah and wonder exactly what was said on the phone between the
three of them.

No
wonder nobody believes me. Finding a body in the woods on the anniversary of my
mother’s death? Put like that, I wouldn’t believe it either. But when the
police bring the body out, that will put an end to all this uncomfortable
subtext.

‘It was awful at the time, but I’m getting over
it now.’ I smile wryly. ‘More or less. To be honest, I’m still processing what
happened.’

‘No police yet?’ Connor asks.

‘They said they’d be here within half an hour.
Then the circus will really kick off.’

Tris rubs my bare arms as though trying to warm
them, looking into my face. He’s had some difficult mood swings since his dad
died, but I can identify with that. I meet his eyes, which are so dark they’re
almost black. He’s a real Celt, I guess. But tall with it.

‘You’re so cold, Eleanor, you’ve had a shock. Hot
sweet tea. That’s what you need.’

‘Or a large gin,’ Hannah says frankly.

I
make a face. ‘Hold the gin. I don’t think the police would understand. And I
need to run cold water over my hands. They’re stinging like crazy.’

We go into the cottage, into the narrow
galley-style kitchen with an old gas oven and a microwave, white-washed walls,
and rows of spotlights in the low, beamed ceiling. It only has one tiny window
because it’s the oldest part of the house, set into the bank by some fourteenth
century builder. The white-washed walls are at least three foot thick. ‘These
walls will keep you cool in summer and warm in winter,’ the estate agent said
when we first looked round the rental property. So close to my dad’s farm, it
had been the obvious choice for me. Hannah had been harder to persuade; five
miles from the nearest bus route, Little Well was not perfect for her job at
our small local hospital. But passing her driving test had made the house-share
possible.

I
had not wanted to live alone when I came home after university, and could not
bear to live with my father. Hannah is an easy person to live with. She has hidden
depths, but I’ve always been secretly relieved that she keeps them to herself. I
have enough trauma in my past for both of us.

I cool my stung hands under the cold tap for a
few minutes, then Hannah fills the kettle and puts it on to boil. Silently,
Tris moves a few magazines and dirty plates off the table to make room for us
to sit down. I watch him, a little embarrassed. Hannah and I have never been
great housekeepers.