‘Don’t talk to me about her.’
‘Huh?’
‘She never turned up for work this morning. I had to shift round half of my other cleaners to sort it out. Caused me a right headache.’
Rachel frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound like her.’
‘Oh, really?’ Kassy laughed. ‘And how in the precious name of fuck would you know that? You haven’t spoken to her in over a decade. Or me.’
Rachel stared at the swaying grass through the gap, the blades curling up to the wood like fingers, opening. The old urge grew. To cross back over the street and get back into the car. Hit that pedal. Blast off. ‘She’s not answering her phone.’
‘Believe me, I know that. I’ve tried her a bunch of times.’
‘And I can’t go round to her house because …’
‘Because you don’t even know where she lives, do you … Jesus.’
‘No. I have no idea,’ Rachel said in a sort of shameful whisper. ‘But last night she said she’d definitely be at the seance.’
‘Then just wait till she turns up at yours. Job done.’
‘But what if she’s in some sort of troub—?’
‘She probably is, cos the police called me this morning.’
‘What?’
‘They’re looking for her. And I hear there’s been police cars at her house.’
‘What?’ Rachel breathed in, and it sounded like a wheeze. ‘We have to find her. We have to make sure she’s—’
‘Look,’ Kassy’s voice sounded a little gentler. ‘She’s upset by this Steph-wabbit stuff and so she’s probably just taking some time out to think. She retreats at this stuff … even you know that. She might even be hiding in a cupboard somewhere as we speak. Which is all very sad and everything but …’ Kassy tutted to herself. ‘Not turning up for your job is incredibly unprofessional.’
Rachel waited for a moment, staring at the wire fence.
‘Is that it, then?’ Kassy said. ‘I’ve got stuff to—’
‘Kass.’
A pause. ‘Yeah?’
‘Do you ever think about it?’
‘Think about what?’
‘About Halloween?’
Another pause. Much longer this time. ‘It’s a dumb holiday that’s fleecing idiots out of cash.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ She heard a car pass by behind her but she didn’t turn to see it.
‘Look … I’ve got to go,’ Kassy said. Then, after a moment, ‘And no … I don’t think about it and do you want to know why?’
Rachel said, ‘Yes,’ and was shocked at how pathetic it sounded. Please please instruct me, Kassy, please please impart your wisdom.
‘Because there’s nothing to think about because it wasn’t our fault.’
Rachel blinked slowly.
‘Rach …’ Kassy said. ‘It’s going to be okay, alright?’
Rachel closed her eyes.
‘You’re not a chump. You’re one of the few ones who actually have a brain, remember? You and me.’
Kass was a cat. She had this habit of walking over people, but then very, very occasionally she’d throw something sweet your way. And when the light flashed out of the dark cave, its rarity always made it appear like precious gold dust you’d run into forever. Rachel listened to Kassy’s voice, in soothing, ultra-rare human mode, and was reminded of how much she loved that tone. That rare frequency. And there it was again. Menham shaving off fifteen years of independence and she was like all the others in that school, clamouring for this girl’s approval … even now.
‘So,’ Rachel snapped. ‘You really find it that easy just to—’
She trailed off. Kassy had already hung up.
Rachel opened her eyes wide, like she was waking from a deep, embarrassing dream and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Just as she did that, she noticed the cleaner up in the office window. She’d stopped rubbing the cupboards and now she was taking a break. Or at least Rachel hoped that’s what it was. Either way she was standing motionless and staring out through the glass, down at the street where she was standing. Then the street lights clicked themselves on, each in perfect sequence. Click, click, click, up the street and around. The setting of a stage on opening night.
She took one last look at the grass that was pushing at the wood and almost wanted to snag a blade of it to take with her. But instead she turned back to the car.
Which was when she saw a skinny white dog with the eyes of a maniac, over by her rear tyre.
Waiting for her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Matt peeled off his damp jacket as he watched the three men flap their umbrellas out at the door. The sound was more like bat wings or a dragon flying overhead, but all he could visualise was a swan making that sound instead. Slapping and flapping in confused panic as a total degenerate snapped its bones and strung its intestines across the bed.
Even if it did turn out that Steph’s death was just a freak dog accident, some prick was going to seriously pay for torturing a fine animal like that.
The three churchmen propped their umbrellas by the door, in a neat line, then they shuffled into a booth made of four red plastic chairs, bolted to the table. They all looked roughly the same age. Late forties, probably. The pastor, Todd, was the only American and he stank of coconut aftershave. The other two sounded local. The bald guy was Jerry Marlowe and the other one said his name was Neil White. The last one was easy to remember. His skin was plague-victim pale. One of them had body odour issues. It was pot luck guessing which.
Matt took their orders and loaded up a tray. He also bought a packet of shortcake biscuits for good measure. It was one of the first pastoral lessons he learned in his church years: biscuits were the truth drug for Christians everywhere.
‘So, you’re prayer walkers?’ Matt slid the coffees and teas to the right places. ‘For which church?’
‘That’d be Menham Evangelical,’ Todd said. ‘We’re the little building on the high street. Right in the centre of town.’
‘Good stuff. And how’s the prayer
