Chapter 19
The yellow monstrosity is parked outside the house when Sadie gets back.
She lets herself in and the aircon welcomes her into its blissfully chilly embrace. She stands for a moment in the hallway, letting it evaporate the sweat off her skin. Fucking Florida, she thinks again.
She looks around, wondering where her dad is.
There are still several boxes in the hallway, so he obviously hasn’t made much of a dent in the unpacking.
Then she hears the shower running upstairs.
Right. She kicks off her trainers, wanders into the kitchen and pulls open the fridge.
Half empty. Dad still hasn’t been shopping.
Upstairs, the shower stops. Sadie grabs a Diet Coke and slams the fridge door shut, feeling annoyed. Dad can be a bit hapless, but he’s normally pretty good at the basics, like food. She slings herself on to the sofa and thumbs through her phone while she waits for him to come back downstairs.
‘Hey! You’re home.’ Dad walks into the room, hair wet, smelling of shower gel, dressed in his ‘dad uniform’ of faded Hong Kong Phooey T-shirt and cut-off jeans.
‘I thought you were going shopping?’ she says, unable to mask the accusation in her voice.
‘Oh, yeah. Sorry, I got a little sidetracked.’
‘How?’
‘I bumped into someone.’
‘Who? Lockhart?’
‘No, erm, Hailey – the young mum from the park, whose little boy got lost.’
‘Right. And?’
‘I stopped by her house for some lemonade. Seemed rude to refuse again.’
Sadie’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘I see.’
‘I don’t think you do. Honestly, Sadie. It was just lemonade … oh, and cookies.’
‘Well, if there were cookies, I guess you’ll be proposing next.’
‘Don’t, Sadie. She’s a nice girl, And I mean, a girl.’
Dad walks to the fridge and grabs a beer. He pops the tab, walks over and sits in the armchair.
‘There was one thing you might be interested in,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Hailey lives with her aunt—’
‘And?’
‘Her aunt is the grandmother of Davey Junior. Serena was her daughter.’
‘No way.’
‘Way.’
‘They still live where it happened? Where the kid drowned in the pool?’
‘It’s drained and covered with mesh,’ he says. ‘I guess with Hailey having a son, you wouldn’t want lightning to strike twice.’
‘I guess not.’
‘Hailey’s aunt, Serena’s mother … she has dementia. Hailey told me she believes her grandson is still alive. I wondered if she was the woman who gave you that leaflet?’
Sadie feels her arms prickle. Missing. Davey Junior.
‘What does she look like?’
‘Early seventies. Blonde, thin, tanned. Very white teeth.’
‘Yeah, that sounds like her.’
‘Okay. Well, if you see her again, just steer clear. Whatever happened to that little boy, it’s sad. But it’s none of our business.’
Sadie bristles. ‘I didn’t ask her to talk to me.’
‘I know, but …’ He sighs. ‘When I was at Hailey’s house today, I got the impression that the town hasn’t treated the family kindly since Davey Junior died.’
‘Why?’
He takes a sip of beer. ‘Whenever there’s a tragedy – a death or disappearance – people talk.
They point the finger. They like to have someone to blame.
’ He pauses. ‘You don’t remember what it was like when your mum disappeared.
Neighbours blanked me. Other parents would shy away at school pick-up.
Friends suddenly didn’t want to know me. ’
‘No one seriously thought you’d hurt Mum?’
The idea that Dad – her goofy, lanky, kind dad – could hurt anybody was beyond ludicrous.
‘People want to believe the worst, Sadie. Even back then. It’s worse now. We’ve become so detached from reality. We forget that other people’s lives are real too, and words have consequences.’
Sadie nods slowly. It occurs to her that Dad has never talked about this before. About what happened after Mum left. And she’s never really asked him. Talking about Mum has always felt like poking at an open wound. It hurts Dad because he remembers her, and it hurts Sadie because she doesn’t.
‘So, you understand what I’m saying, Sadie?’ her dad continues. ‘Don’t get drawn in.’
But this is different, she thinks. No one is pointing a finger at Serena’s mum. And no one is gossiping. If anything, it seemed to her that people didn’t talk about it.
‘Sadie?’
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘Of course. I get it.’
Her dad smiles. ‘Right. Good. Now, as I am such a terrible dad and I’ve neglected to get any shopping, why don’t we go out for something to eat? What d’you fancy?’
‘Italian?’
‘Sounds good. I saw a place on the high street. I’ll give them a call, book a table. You can tell me all about your day.’
‘Fine.’ She tries to lighten the tone. ‘As long as you don’t chat up any young waitresses.’
Her dad pretends to preen. ‘I’ll really try. But I mean, who wouldn’t want this?’ He stands and strikes a bad model pose.
Sadie pushes herself up from the sofa. ‘Forget what I said before, Dad. Seriously. You are going to die alone.’
Mama Mia’s is as traditional as, well, spaghetti and meatballs.
Inside, they are greeted by the smell of herbs, rich tomato sauce and gently piped Italian music.
Garlands of garlic are draped from fake beams on the ceiling.
A dozen or so tables covered with chequered cloths are crammed around a central bar.
Candles drip melted wax down the necks of quaint old wine bottles.
Despite wanting to roll her eyes, there’s something about the vibe, and the damn gorgeous smell of food, that is winning Sadie over. It’s so clichéd that it’s kind of cool.
They are greeted at the door by a plump man with a moustache who looks like he’s parkoured straight out of a Nintendo game.
‘Welcome to Mama Mia’s. I’m Vito. Have you booked a table with us this evening?’
Her dad nods. ‘Err, yes. Dan Barker. Table for two.’
‘Of course, Mr Barker.’ Vito beams so happily Sadie fears he might just implode with joy (or jump in the air and punch some coins). ‘I have one table left for you and your lovely daughter by the window. Come, this way.’
He plucks two menus from a stand and gestures extravagantly for them to follow.
Amid the clink of cutlery and piped music, Sadie is sure the low buzz of conversation drops a little as they pass.
Of course, maybe it’s just her imagination, but the sensation, again, of being an exotic animal on display refuses to budge.
‘And voilà!’
Vito holds out an arm and then whisks out a chair for Sadie. The table is small and wedged in a corner by the window. The table next to theirs has obviously just been vacated, plates still waiting to be cleared. Vito smiles benevolently as Sadie and her dad take their seats.
‘Ah. Perfecto, no?’
‘Err, yes. It’s great,’ her dad mutters. ‘Isn’t it, Sadie?’
Sadie nods, then feels she should probably try to ratchet up the enthusiasm to maybe a tenth of Vito’s.
‘Really great,’ she mutters.
‘Bellissimo! Now, can I get you some drinks? Our specials are on the board.’
Her dad glances briefly at the drinks menu. ‘Erm, a glass of Moretti, please.’
‘Just a Sprite,’ Sadie says.
‘Of course.’ Vito makes a little half-bow and scuttles away.
Sadie looks at her dad. ‘You think that accent is real?’
‘I dunno, but I’m calling that moustache.’
They grin and look at the menu. It’s short and simple but full of rustic Italian fare. The sort of food Sadie likes.
‘I think I’m going to go for the lasagne,’ her dad says. ‘What about you?’
‘Fiorentina pizza.’
‘Garlic bread?’
‘Of course.’
Vito returns promptly with their drinks, and they order. Sadie begins to relax, a little. The atmosphere, the music, the smell, are all lulling her.
‘So, did you have fun with Ellis and her friends today?’ Dad asks.
She gives him a look over her glass. ‘We’re not five, Dad.’
‘Okay. So, did you enjoy hanging out?’
‘Yeah, it was fine.’
‘Just fine.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What are they like?’
Sadie considers. ‘Kind of geeky. A bit weird.’ She shrugs. ‘They want to meet up at the fairground tomorrow night.’
‘Right.’
‘I haven’t decided if I’ll go yet.’
‘You should.’
She squints at him suspiciously.
‘I just think it would be good for you to spend time with people your own age,’ he says. ‘It’s been a strange few days.’
‘Understatement of the year.’
‘Exactly. We could all do with a bit of normality.’
‘I guess.’
Except Ellis and her friends are far from normal.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she says.
Her dad shifts in the chair opposite. ‘Just going to the loo. If the food arrives, ask for some Parmesan.’
‘Okay.’
He makes his way back through the closely packed tables. At the same time, the outside door opens and a skinny figure in a Hawaiian shirt and baggy Bermuda shorts walks in. It takes Sadie a moment to place her. And then it clicks. The coroner, Stella, out of uniform.
Sadie watches as she walks up to the bar and talks to the barman, who writes something down (a takeout order, Sadie guesses) and then brings her a beer. Before Sadie can look away, Stella turns. She smiles. ‘Hey. How y’all doing?’
‘We’re fine.’
‘You don’t sound so sure.’
Sadie shrugs. ‘It’s been … a lot.’
‘I bet.’
‘Have you … y’know … finished with Frankie?’
Stella nods and walks over. ‘Funeral is going to take place next Thursday.’
‘Will it be at the church?’
‘No. The crematorium.’
‘Right.’ Sadie considers. ‘Isn’t that a bit fast?’
Stella cocks an eyebrow. ‘For what?’
‘Well, you know, a sudden death.’
‘Frankie drowned. Not much to say.’ She tilts back her beer bottle.
Sadie fiddles with her glass and then asks in a blurt: ‘There wasn’t anything suspicious about his death, was there?’
Stella eyes her intently. ‘Kid couldn’t swim. That outfit was darn heavy—’
‘But how did he fall in?’
‘Well, it isn’t my job to speculate.’ Stella pauses.
‘But I guess I’m off the clock now.’ She grabs a chair from the next table and sit downs on it.
‘Frankie had a puncture wound, right here.’ She taps her neck.
‘Could have been a sting. His eyes and tongue showed signs of oedema. It’s possible he had an allergic reaction which incapacitated him. ’
‘How possible?’
‘Allergic reactions to stings aren’t uncommon. It normally takes more than one to go into shock. I’ve only seen it once before.’
‘You have?’
‘Yeah. Must be ten, fifteen years ago. Poor guy was cycling through the woods and got stung on the neck. Sent him careering down a hill into a barbed-wire fence. Hit it at speed. Sliced his throat right open.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Yeah. Damn shame. He was the nicest man. You’d see him around town all the time. He was a mailman.’ Stella sets her beer down. ‘Funnily enough, he rented a room from Frankie’s grandma, but like I said, this was a long time ago. Frankie would’ve just been a kid.’
‘Right,’ Sadie says thoughtfully.
Stella scrunches up her forehead. ‘What was his name now?’ Then she suddenly clicks her fingers, making Sadie jump. ‘Cash. That was it. Cash Leonards.’