In this town, Rachel, you are the girl from the weird family. The scary family. You are from the family who will only ever be defined by the death house. Because actually, that’s what your little cow brand says, no matter how much you hide it. It doesn’t even say Menham down there, does it? It says something else. It says: this is the sister of the famous Holly Wasson. This is a Barley Street girl.
‘Rachel?’
She froze, unsure of where the voice had come from. When she turned she saw an overweight woman standing by a revolving roundabout. And it was the once rake-thin Jo Finch, who was now huge, standing in a grey blouse and black baggy culottes.
‘Jo?’
Jo flung her massive arms open and hipster Rach 2.0 was wiped instantly off the earth. Her crap disguise sizzled into the air under the cold sun. Now, once again, she was a fifteen-year-old Fugees fan with one of her bezzy mates eva clumping along the path with her arms wide, bingo wings swaying. Smelling of Avon perfume with a strong hint of ghost cat, crushing her in an unashamed, weeping hug, with words that just might unravel everything that had happened in the last fifteen years of her life.
‘You’re home, Rach. You’re finally home.’
CHAPTER TEN
Matt was fully aware that Steph Ellis was dead. Which meant her girlfriends may not turn up for their little gazebo park date at all. Dog-fuelled death wasn’t usually followed by let’s have a picnic. But if they did come, to talk about it maybe, to cry about it, then Matt wasn’t sure how he’d play it at all. Would he just sidle up to a bunch of grieving women, a complete stranger, and start asking about singing little girls and bad things?
All this pondering vanished in a pop as soon as he saw the painted wooden gazebo.
Standing inside it, slipping a satchel from his shoulder, was 70s Joy of Sex Man. The guy he’d seen lurking outside Menham Primary School earlier this morning. This time, however, he wasn’t alone. A woman was with him, leaning her elbows on the wooden panel of the gazebo. She was looking out at a morbidly obese oak tree nearby, pointing at it and talking. At first, Matt thought she might be one of Steph’s school friends, someone who’d turned up early to the meeting, until he realised her bobbed hair was actually bone-white, not bleached blonde. The closer he got, the more he knew she was probably in her sixties, just like the bearded guy who she turned to kiss for a moment. Planted her mouth deep into all that wiry, brown face hair.
He trotted down the hill toward them as they settled themselves onto the wooden benches that lined the inside panels of the gazebo. They pulled out a flask and white camping mugs. Beardy man was shaking the last morsel from a sweetener dispenser into his drink, and was doing it with such focus and precision that he failed to notice Matt approach. The woman, though, she caught his eye. In fact, she spotted him from way back. She said nothing to the beard next to her, gave no indication. Just watched Matt cross the grass and step around the overflowing bin with its merry troupe of dancing flies. Her gaze was constant and quiet as he ducked under the huge swoop of the oak tree whose thickest branch reached up to the gazebo like a fat witch’s finger.
Close now, he could see her denim jacket had embroidered flowers on it and it covered a long, flowing black skirt underneath. Art teacher. That was his first thought. An old, probably pretty in her time, art teacher, who wasn’t afraid to stare.
Matt reached the steps and held up his hand. ‘Hi.’
The man looked up and instantly stopped rattling the sweetener out. His beard perked up into a huge shopping-centre-Santa smile. He nudged the woman. ‘Well, would you look at that.’ He sounded Welsh.
‘Sorry to interrupt you,’ Matt waited at the bottom of the steps. ‘But I think I saw you up at the school earlier. At Menham Primary?’
He nodded and set the cup down. ‘And I saw you. In fact, I saw you go right on inside, Professor Hunter.’
‘Yes, I was helping out with—’ Matt’s eyebrow went up a notch at the mention of his name. ‘We’ve met before?’
‘Oh, you and me go way back.’
Matt clenched his teeth, ‘I’m terribly sorry, I don’t remember.’
He grabbed his satchel and swished the zip open, then he pulled something out. The corner of the newspaper. It was the Mail. ‘Joyce and I first met you this morning, over our Coco-Pops.’
‘Ah.’ Matt smiled. ‘That thing’s following me around today.’
The man nodded, and neatly folded it back into his bag. ‘It was a silly little article, really. But we did order your book off the back of it. The elves at Amazon are digging it out as we speak.’
‘Then I like you already.’
He chortled a little. ‘Well it looks fascinating, and actually … you could say we’ve got similar interests …’ The man stopped talking and suddenly frowned at Matt who was still standing on the bottom step. ‘But don’t stand down there like a pop bottle, son. Come on up and have an Earl Grey.’
He stepped up to them and was reminded of his tallness, because his was the only head to waft through the threads of spider silk that swooped between the wooden beams.
