Someone Who Isn't Me, Danuta Kot [good books to read for adults TXT] 📗

she knew about Poppy’s condition. ‘They’re worried about her. They’re trying to contact her parents.’

Dev made a face. ‘I hope that’ll help, but last time Poppy saw them, they blamed her drug use on her choice of career. Apparently, embryonic lawyers and doctors never use drugs, but you can’t expect anything else from trainee hairdressers and make-up artists. And this other stuff… this… Carla’s Place… Poppy’s going to struggle, coming back from that. I feel responsible. I really took my eye off the ball with Xanthe.’

It was true. Kay did him the courtesy of not trying to justify what he’d done – or failed to do. ‘I can help her,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.’ Escape route number one for troubled teenage girls – and some boys – was the arms of a pimp.

Dev nodded. ‘You know, Poppy loved her course, and she was doing well, but her parents were always putting it down. She spent her entire first year getting brilliant grades and feeling as though she was wasting her time.’

The burdens of parental expectation. All these people wanted was the best for their children, and yet they seemed blind to it when it came along. Come to think of it, wasn’t she always trying to get Becca to do something more rewarding? But Becca wasn’t like Poppy. Becca wasn’t studying something she loved, she was working in dead-end jobs she hated. ‘Do you have children?’ she asked Dev.

‘No. You?’

‘Just my foster children.’

‘Yes. I’d heard you did a lot of fostering.’ He shoved his book into the pocket of his raincoat. ‘There’s no point in hanging around. They won’t let us see Poppy now. I’ll drive you back to your car. It’s late. I can drive you home if you want.’

‘Thanks, but to my car is fine.’

‘There’s not much of the night left. I’ve got a spare room if you want to stay over in Hull.’

The prospect of falling into a bed close by was very attractive. She was exhausted. But Kay valued her privacy more than anything these days, and staying over at the home of someone she barely knew didn’t appeal. Anyway, there was Milo. She’d left him for far too long. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I really need to get back.’

She switched on her phone, and it immediately pinged, then pinged again. She checked. There were two messages.

From Becca.

Call me now!!! was the first one. It had been sent shortly after midnight.

What had been going on?

For Becca to text so late, and so urgently, it had to be serious. And then – it was getting worse Coming to you. On my way! That had been half an hour later. Becca had no transport, so how…? Even Becca wouldn’t set out to walk.

Her bike? She could be heading south to Sunk Island on a bike that had been standing unused under a tarpaulin for weeks and probably hadn’t had any maintenance in all that time. The last text was almost two hours ago – if she’d found her way, she’d be there by now, but there was no further message.

Kay pressed the key to call, but Becca’s phone went straight to voicemail.

Oh God. What had happened?

Dev was watching her. ‘Something wrong? Can I help?’

‘Not right now, thank you, but I’d appreciate that lift to my car. I really need to get back.’

As she followed Dev to the car park, she tried Becca’s number, once, twice, three times, but each time she got the same response.

Becca’s phone was switched off, or she was somewhere with no signal.

On her own, at Kay’s house, on Sunk Island.

And now Kay remembered leaving the house, the yellow sack blowing across the ground in the darkness, and close by, the sound of a motorbike.

Chapter 39

Bridlington

Dinah had been chasing up the Stockport connection, the car belonging to the elderly Elizabeth Bagnall. She’d expected Hammond to liaise with the Greater Manchester force and get one of their people to interview the old woman. Instead, he had sent Dinah.

So she’d found herself in the cosy hallway of Elizabeth Bagnall’s house, stuck with the horrible feeling important things were happening, and she was in the wrong place, as if she was stuck in one of those dreams where your way back was blocked no matter what you did.

By the time she’d crawled round the outskirts of first Leeds then Manchester, then checked in with her Greater Manchester Police contact, it was well into the evening before she’d arrived at the Stockport house. Elizabeth Bagnall was too ill to talk to her, already in bed in fact, but the woman living with her, Janet Sandison, who was either a long-term friend or a partner – Dinah wasn’t sure of her status – had been very chatty.

Dinah had explained what she wanted, and that she had a warrant, if necessary, to check the car, but the companion waived the formalities. ‘Fancy doing that. Using the number of an old woman’s car. Liz might have got into trouble.’ But she confirmed that as far as she knew, the car hadn’t left the drive for weeks. Dinah went to check it. Would the Sandison woman notice if the car vanished overnight? Probably, but Dinah had learned early from Curwen never to take anything for granted. Janet Sandison had given her the keys. ‘I don’t drive myself,’ she’d said.

Dinah had slipped behind the wheel of the old Fiesta. When she’d tried the ignition, nothing had happened. OK, the battery was probably flat, as it hadn’t been driven for so long – but she would have expected a flicker of life. She’d opened the bonnet and had a quick look. It wasn’t hard to find the problem. The engine relay had been removed.

‘Did you know this had been done?’ she’d asked Janet. There didn’t seem any good reason why the car should have been immobilised unless someone wanted to make sure it stayed put.

Sandison had looked anxious. ‘I did it,’ she’d said. ‘I hope