Tasha shut the door behind them and folded her arms across her chest. “You and him have a row, then? Over this girl?”
Christ, at least she didn’t beat around the bush. “We didn’t have a row. We didn’t say much at all. I . . .” He swallowed. “I saw them together and left. There didn’t seem any point in staying. But Mal was . . . upset.”
“How’d you know? You went back? Wanted to have that row after all?”
“No—Kirsty told me.”
She frowned. “Kirsty?”
“My . . . ex-wife. The girl,” he added, frustrated at her blank expression.
Her eyes went wide. “Mal’s girl’s your ex?”
“No! It was all a misunderstanding. I think.” Jory closed his eyes briefly. “This is all such a mess.”
“Tell me about it.”
Jory would rather not, thank you very much. Luckily she seemed to have been speaking rhetorically. “But he hasn’t been back here?”
“No.”
“He couldn’t have gone up to his room via the back door?”
Tasha gave Jory a knowing look that made him squirm. “I can check. Wait here.” She disappeared around the side of the building, obviously planning to use the back door herself.
Loitering in the lane by the pub door made Jory feel like a child who’d begged an adult to buy him alcohol and cigarettes. The first few fat drops of rain began to fall, adding to his discomfort. A young couple hurried past him, sparing only a brief, curious glance at the idiot standing out in the rain in the dark.
Was Mal out in it somewhere?
Tasha returned, a little breathless and shaking her head. “Not there. Jeez, it’s pissing down. Come round the back out of it.”
Not without misgivings, Jory followed her back around the pub. They half ran through the back door and into the narrow hallway that housed the stairs going up to Mal’s room, where they stood, Tasha hugging herself. She was probably cold—her cut-off denim shorts barely extended past the hem of her oversized T-shirt, which had fallen off one tan shoulder. “So what happened when you saw them? Exactly?”
“They . . . they were kissing.”
“Shitfuck.” Her eyes widened, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. Taking a deep breath, she seemed to recover herself. “Then what? You have a go at him? Fuck me, what did he even say?”
“He didn’t say anything. I just left.” Jory forced himself to look her in the eye. “Has Mal confided in you?”
“Why d’you wanna know?” It seemed like a knee-jerk reaction, and after a moment her expression softened. “You mean, about what he wants from you? Look, he’s having a bad time right now. Don’t think he knows what he wants. Do you really like him?”
“Yes,” Jory said, his throat tight.
Tasha pressed her lips together. “And he told you why he’s here?”
“The . . . one under. The accident. He’s having trouble getting over it.”
“Yeah, well, who wouldn’t?” The defensiveness was back.
“I’m not criticising him. I’m sure I’d be equally devastated, if not more so. If anything it shows he’s got an imaginative, sensitive side.”
Luckily that didn’t seem to sound as self-congratulatory to Tasha as it did to Jory. She nodded. “Dev said Mal’s mum went round his flat and found him in a right state one morning. Said he begged her to take his rats cos he was scared he’d fuck something up and hurt them or kill them or whatever. I ain’t supposed to be telling you that, by the way, so don’t you fucking dare grass me up. But he’s had them rats for years. Nobody could look after them better than he does.” She paused. “You got any idea where he might’ve gone?”
“No.” When Jory thought of all the places he’d seen Mal . . . half of them were closed at this time of night and the rest didn’t seem likely in the rain. Why wasn’t he here?
She pulled her phone out from her back pocket, scrolled for a moment, then held it to her ear. Jory waited, his stomach churning—would she expect him to talk to Mal? If he’d wanted to do this over the phone, he’d have called himself, for God’s sake. He needed to see Mal. But after a minute or so, she shook her head and put her phone away. “Went to voice mail. Shit. Look, I’m gonna have to get back to work in a mo. Can’t leave Jago to do the bar on his own.” She didn’t move, though; just stood there leaning against the wall, hugging herself again.
Then she pushed off the wall with an explosive motion. “Fuck it. I ain’t leaving Mal on his own neither. Wait here. You got a car, right?” She threw the question over her shoulder as she stomped off deeper into the pub, presumably heading to the bar.
“Yes.” Jory took a deep breath. “I’ll see you out the front.”
He ran back around the building, trying and failing to avoid getting any wetter, jumped into the Qubo and switched on the engine and lights. What a hell of a night. Jory hoped to God that Mal was somewhere safe and dry.
“Have you got an idea where to go?” he asked Tasha when she burst into the Qubo a moment later, slamming the door behind her.
“Thought maybe down the prom. There’s a chippie down there he likes. Bit of comfort food, yeah? Where was he when you saw him?”
“At Kirsty’s. It’s closer to here than to the main seafront. You really think he’d go out all that way?”
“If he didn’t wanna talk about tonight, yeah.” She sent him a quick look and shivered. “And he probably didn’t wanna talk about it.”
“Would he go to a— No.” Jory put the car into gear and set off for Porthkennack proper.
“What were you going to say?”
“Pub. But it doesn’t seem likely.”
“Nope. He told you about his uncle, then? The one with the—” She made
