AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Absolutely nothing,’ she says disgustedly.
She stews for the next twenty miles. I know I’m supposed to be an expert on human behaviour, but I have a blind spot when it comes to Evie. Just when I think I have a handle on her moods, she can deliver a withering glance or a curled lip or a dismissive shrug, and make me feel ancient and out of touch.
Two hours later, in growing darkness, we reach St Claire, a fishing port in the north-east corner of Aberdeenshire. The road follows the natural curve of the coastline, dipping and rising over the headlands. Out to sea there are container ships and the distant lights of oil or gas rigs.
I pull up outside a guest house, the Belhaven Inn, a red granite building that sits three blocks back from the harbour district. A Scottish flag hangs limply out front and a sign says, ‘Live TV sport’.
The engine is idling.
‘Is this where we’re staying?’ asks Evie.
‘It’s the address Angus Radford gave to the police.’
This statement seems to rattle her.
‘He doesn’t know we’re here,’ I say. ‘We’re undercover.’
Evie seems to like that idea and unclips her seat belt.
The guest house has a side gate and a path that leads to a glass-walled conservatory with tables set out for breakfast. I ring a bell on the counter. A woman appears from the kitchen, pulling off an apron and wiping her hands. She has pencilled black eyebrows and a long grey bob that brushes her shoulders. The web of wrinkles around her mouth look like fine cracks in bone china.
She pulls out a bound ledger from a drawer. The book has a famous painting on the cover, Girl with a Pearl Earring. Inside there are handwritten columns giving the name and address of each guest.
‘I haven’t seen one of those for a while,’ I say.
‘I’m auld-fashioned,’ she explains. ‘And I cannae use a computer.’
She studies the photograph on my UK driver’s licence, quickly glancing at my face before jotting down the details. She turns to Evie.
‘Does she need ID?’ I ask.
‘It’s the law.’
‘I’m paying for both rooms.’
‘Makes no difference.’
Evie hands over her driver’s licence. ‘You don’t look twenty-two,’ says the woman.
‘I get that a lot,’ says Evie.
Behind us in the lounge, two men are playing snooker on a green baize table. A young girl is watching them, picking absentmindedly at a scab on her knee. She has pink streaks in her hair and one side of her head is shaved tight to her scalp.
Our rooms are on the second floor. Narrow corridors seem to double back on each other, occasionally interrupted by fire-doors that have been propped open, despite signs asking for them to be kept closed. My room smells of Febreze and bleach and broken dreams. Evie is next door. She unlocks the adjoining door and joins me, testing the mattress, flicking light switches and opening cupboards.
‘A Bible,’ she says, pulling a copy from a drawer. ‘Is that still a thing?’
‘This is Scotland,’ I say, unpacking my bag.
‘Are you going to ask about him?’ she asks.
‘Not here. Not yet.’
She sits cross-legged on my bed, scrolling through TV channels, not tired at all, having slept on the journey.
Flick: Love Island.
Flick: Beauty and the Geek.
