After the fire, a still small voice - By Evie Wyld Page 0,106

a long time.

‘I need you to come with me.’

‘Where to?’

‘Police, mate.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘I’ll explain on the way, mate.’

‘Tell me now.’

‘Haydon’s kid is missing.’

Frank opened his mouth but didn’t speak. Something heavy held him on the spot, like he’d been eating sand.

‘We’ll take my car, eh?’ said Linus, bouncing down the stairs and dumping himself in the driver’s seat.

Frank joined him, but in slow motion like his bones were soft and not his own. ‘How long has she been gone?’

‘As long as you bin away.’

‘What?’

Linus kept quiet. Frank searched for something else to ask. ‘Did she run away?’

Linus looked at him, then back at the road. ‘No one’s sure of anything yet. All that’s news is that we’ve been trying to get hold of you for as long as she’s been away.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

Linus held his look in the rear-view mirror. ‘I don’t think you did it, mate. That’s why I’ve come down here. Soon as we get youse to the cops, soon as they can get some sort of alibi.’

‘Did what? You think I’ve got her?’ He blinked hard, tried to think. ‘This is stupid,’ he said softly.

‘Didn’t I just say I don’t think you did it?’ They passed by the roundabout and the boy he’d seen on that first day with the book was there at the side of the road with his back to them. ‘You’ve got to admit, though, it is a coincidence – Ian’s girl and then Sal. And you haven’t been here long.’

‘Do Bob and Vick think it was me?’

Linus looked back at the road. ‘Bob and Vick don’t know which way is up. They both want to beat the living shit out of everyone.’

Frank thought he might be sick.

Linus wobbled the car a little, anticipating a jump from a wallaby at the side of the road. ‘Where’s your machete, Frank?’

‘What?’ He looked at Linus, but Linus kept his eyes on the road. ‘I don’t know! Jesus, what are you about? Machete? Fuck.’ He ground his hands into his eyes to try to make his brain work.

‘Where’ve you bin, then?’

‘I went to see my old man.’

‘I thought you said he was dead.’

‘No. That was a lie. I just haven’t seen him in a long time.’

‘Okay then.’

They drove the rest of the way in silence. He kept his eyes wide open, as if by really looking he might be able to work out what the hell was going on. Linus glanced at him from time to time, then looked away.

The police officer asked all his questions as if Frank were a naughty kid. He was a man who thought highly of his own eyebrows, he seemed to think they had a touch of the dry wit about them. He repeated everything that Frank said, which made it sound less and less plausible.

Frank wanted to smack him in the mouth. ‘I went to see my father.’

‘Yes, you went to see your father. His phone number?’

‘I don’t know it.’

‘You don’t know it?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t know your own father’s telephone number?’

‘No.’

‘No.’

‘I have his address.’

‘You have his address, but not his telephone number?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes.’

The officer looked at the piece of bar mat June had written the address on and raised his eyebrows even further up his head. ‘Roedale? That’s a long way to get in three days.’

‘Yes.’

‘So. If I speak to your old man. In Roedale. He. Will tell me. That you were with him. Over the last three days?’

‘No, look, he won’t because I didn’t see him.’

The eyebrows went up a notch.

‘But I did see his wife.’

‘His wife? Your mother.’

‘Not my mother, no, his wife.’

‘But you did not see your father.’

‘No.’

‘And you did see your father’s wife – not your mother – and she will confirm that you were there for the duration?’

‘No.’ He put his thumbs on his temples and pushed his fingers into his forehead, his eyes closed. ‘I stopped off at a friend’s place on the way there and on the way back.’

‘Your friend’s number?’

‘I don’t have that either.’

‘You don’t have that either. Close friends, are you?’

‘We’re not really friends.’

The officer made no comment, merely closed his eyes a second and opened them again. He disappeared off into another room shaking his head. Frank tapped his fingernails on the vinyl wood covering of the table. There were arrangements of coffee rings over the surface, playful brown bubbles. His heart was creaky in his chest. He could sleep, he could just fuck the lot of them and put his head on the table and give himself