Chapter Nine

21 December, 11.30 a.m.

‘I don’t believe this!’ Lori collapsed in a disgusted heap on the stairs. There was no sign of Griff, anywhere. She’d called, banged food bowls and rattled treat bags, and called again. She’d toured the neighbours, those who were in, and peered into the gardens and over fences of those who weren’t. ‘He’s never gone missing before! He’s too bloody lazy to go missing!’

Mike, Paulie’s apprentice, staggered by, clutching a radiator. ‘You tried the cupboard under the stairs? My mam’s cat always hides in there.’

‘Twice.’ Lori dropped her head in her hands. She was hot, sweaty and hungry. The weather was unseasonably mild for December and the bowl of cereal she’d eaten, standing up in the kitchen, before the last trip to the storage locker with her dismantled bed, was a very long time ago. Her handbag, with her emergency chocolate stash, was in the front room. She hauled herself to her feet to go in search of it, half her mind picturing Griff as a cold stiff corpse on the side of a road somewhere, and the other half contemplating a nice pair of fur-backed gloves. Grrr!

She’d eat a few squares of chocolate, then tour the house and garden again. Paulie and his crew hadn’t taken up any floorboards yet, but maybe Griff was asleep in some discarded packaging somewhere. The chocolate melted slowly on her tongue. She leaned on the window-sill looking idly out – the house at the other end of the row was empty during the week, and on quite a lot of weekends too. If Griff had chosen to sleep somewhere there …

A car was pulling into the small street of houses and moving slowly along the road, stopping behind her Fiesta. It took Lori a few seconds to register, and then she was out of the door and into the garden, half choking as the last of the chocolate went down the wrong way.

‘No. No. No.’ The last ‘no’ was almost a wail. She lurched towards the car, with a vague half-formed thought of making it turn straight back around, but she wasn’t fast enough. The door had already opened and a small figure in a sparkly pink jumper, a stiff net skirt and twinkling red shoes, darted out. With a casual wave to her aunt, Misty sped past to greet Griff, who had miraculously emerged, in perfect health, from under next door’s hedge.

And her sister was out of the car now, with an elegantly wrapped parcel and an envelope in her hands. ‘Darling, I knew you’d wait.’ She gave Lori the benefit of one of the most famous smiles in Hollywood as she too slipped past. ‘I’ll just put this down somewhere safe, inside. Fragile.’ She mouthed the last word as she glided into the cottage.

‘No … I … Lark … You can’t …’ Lori could hear her heart beating in her ears.

Misty staggered over, arms full of cat. ‘I love Griff.’

‘I know you do, sweetheart, look I—’

‘Mummy says I’m staying with you for Christmas.’ The little girl looked doubtfully at the scaffolding. ‘Is that for Father Christmas to climb up?’

‘Um, sort of, but I don’t think …’ Lori’s mind was racing as fast as her heart. You can’t do this. No way. But how do you have a stand-up fight with your sister with her daughter looking on? Well, she was going to have to try. Seeing Misty was happy cuddling Griff – You and I, Houdini, will be having words later – Lori turned to stalk back into her house to find her sister and whatever impractical ornament she’d chosen as a present, and get them both, plus Misty, back in the car, pronto.

In the pocket of her tracksuit her phone began to chirp and vibrate. With a muffled curse she pulled it out ‘Yes!’ she barked into the phone.

‘Ms France? This is Bella Hughes from Small Homes Insurance – about your claim for additional services in relation to your repair work—’

‘What about it?’ Lori knew she was being brusque, but she really had to find Lark. And put her, and Misty, back in the car.

‘I’m afraid there’s been an error …’

Lori sat down hard on an upturned bucket that had been left under the scaffolding, listening to the woman at the end of the phone who was turning a bad day one hundred times worse.

‘That isn’t right.’ Cutting in when the woman paused, Lori got up to pace to the other side of the garden. The woman proceeded to tell her how it was right. Lori paced to the gate. Misty, with Griff in her arms, had taken possession of the bucket and was whispering into the cat’s ear.

‘This was all cleared weeks ago. It was negotiated as a special arrangement, with your colleague.’ Lori paced back, entirely focused on convincing the woman at the insurers that they would be paying her accommodation bill while her home was rebuilt.

Too focused.

At the last minute something alerted her. A fugitive waft of her sister’s perfume, a quick click of a car door …

It was already too late.

Misty was standing by the gate, waving, as the limo backed away from the kerb, leaving a pile of luggage, lavishly wrapped Christmas presents and a child’s car seat neatly stacked on the side of the road.