Chapter 39
‘All three of us are from the southwest.’ Holly pressed closer to Coffie and his phone as they watched the clip of the previous night’s news coverage.
‘So is Logan Quick,’ he replied. ‘Not sure you can read too much into that. They’re both quite a bit older than you.’
‘Mum and Dad’s age,’ Holly agreed, glancing around to make sure none of the other parents were within earshot. ‘Three women. Wonder if that means anything.’
It was close to noon on Saturday and she and Coffie were in the grounds of Lanhydrock House waiting for Charlie’s cross-country race to come past. The three-kilometre course wound a figure of eight, starting at the house, curving down towards the river and then back up an impossibly steep hill before a fast, downhill sprint to the finish. The runners would appear any time now.
‘I’m thinking of getting in touch with them,’ Holly said. ‘I found contact details for them both last night.’
‘Not a good idea,’ he replied, predictably. ‘They’ve neither of them proved good at keeping secrets. Why should they keep yours?’
It was a fair point. Late on Friday night, at a loss to where she could hide the token, she’d eventually put it in the pocket of the holdall she kept in a lockable cupboard at the back of the wardrobe. Along with all the other stuff she kept carefully hidden from Charlie.
Her phone rang. Wanting to ignore it, she couldn’t resist glancing down. Her mother.
‘Hey, Mum, I’m at Charlie’s race, can’t really talk.’
‘Holly, I need you to get an injunction.’
To the sound of bells jangling and people cheering, the runners appeared at the top of the hill. In the lead was a dark-haired boy in a yellow and blue sports strip, too far away for her to be sure it was Charlie.
‘A what?’ she said, as spectators started to shout encouragement.
‘An injunction. Against that so-called friend of your dad’s. You have to stop him coming round here. He’s causing too many problems.’
It was definitely Charlie in the lead. But a bigger boy was close on his heels. Around her, noise levels increased and she took a step back from the crowd.
‘I don’t care how far back the two of them go, he’s upsetting Dad,’ her mother said. ‘You can do that, can’t you? Get an injunction taken out.’
The runners were getting closer.
Holly cupped her hand around the phone in an attempt to shield out the noise. ‘Seems a bit extreme. Why don’t I have a word with him? Explain the situation. When’s he due back?’
‘He never says, he just appears. Holly, I can’t hear you! Can you go somewhere quieter?’
Charlie shot past. He always finished a race strongly and there were only a hundred metres to go. He’d win for sure now. Coffie left her side to join the parents running with the boys towards the finish line. She could no longer see her son.
‘Mum, I have to go. I’ll come round on the way back. See you in a bit.’
She ended the call before her mother could argue. Ahead, the race had finished but other parents were blocking her view. She couldn’t see Charlie cross the line. Nor would she be at the finish to congratulate him.
Only as she jogged forward did the last thing her mother had said register.
‘I don’t even know his name, Holly. He’s never told me his name.’
‘Bloke in a black Volvo?’ Coffie turned into the road where Holly’s parents lived. ‘The police can trace him through that, if he’s still being coy about his identity. Get your mum to take a picture of the registration next time and we’ll take it from there.’
Holly slipped her phone into her bag. She’d just taken another irate call from her mother, this time informing her that the watercolour of Newton Ferrers, the gift from her father’s new friend, was being consigned to the bin.
‘Newton Ferrers is where Grandad was born,’ Charlie announced from the back seat.
He was sitting on old towels to protect Coffie’s upholstery from the mud, his winner’s medal gleaming proudly on his chest. ‘It’s on the River Yealm.
Mooring for nearly three hundred boats, but some areas dry out at low tide.
Can I have the picture, if Grandad doesn’t want it? ’
‘We’ll ask,’ Holly said. ‘Maybe this friend of his will want it back.’
Ping. She retrieved her phone. A text from Chris.
Wishing she could ignore the message, knowing it would be impossible even to try, Holly made sure neither Coffie nor Charlie could see the screen before opening it to be confronted with a photograph of herself, lolling in an armchair, naked.
Both legs hung over one arm while she leaned back against the other.
Her left arm was clutched across her chest to hide her nipples, but her left thigh and butt cheek were on show to the world.
She was pouting at the camera, completely recognisable.
Chris had added a caption: One of my favourites!