‘But she would tell you, wouldn’t she?’

‘Unless she had a reason not to.’

Hannah rattled the teaspoon in her saucer. ‘Married.’

Vic opened his hands. ‘Maybe it’s nothing.’

Someone dropped a plate in the kitchen, the clatter of ceramic on tile, a muttered swearword. At the table next to them, a family of Mediterranean tourists were looking at pictures on the daughter’s phone. Hannah could smell poached eggs and it made her hungry.66

‘But she got a few texts while we were eating,’ Vic said. ‘The first one made her smile. I teased her about it but she didn’t rise to it. Then she got another one and didn’t look so happy. Then one more a few minutes later that made her switch the ringer off. I asked but she refused to talk.’

‘When was this?’

Vic sipped his tea, thought for a second. ‘Last Tuesday lunchtime.’

Hannah pulled Mel’s phone out of her pocket and went into the messages, flicked through with her thumb.

Vic narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Checking her phone to see who the messages were from.’

Vic shook his head. ‘That’s not her phone.’

Hannah held it up. ‘Yes it is.’

‘Well it’s not the phone she was using last week.’

Hannah stared at Vic, then at the queue for the taxi rank outside the window.

‘Shit,’ she said. ‘She has a secret phone.’

67

14

DOROTHY

Dorothy watched Abi pound the drums to Sleater-Kinney. The girl had raw talent but didn’t have control yet. So what? Which thirteen-year-old girl has control of any aspect of her life? What Dorothy did with girls this age was show them ways of drumming that didn’t involve having a dick. Janet Weiss was a good role model, powerful when she needed to be, primal even, but never showy like male drummers, never wanking all over the song.

Abi hit the middle eight and tried a fancy fill round the toms, didn’t quite make it back in time. Sleater-Kinney was good for practising tom work too, got Abi away from her hi-hat obsession. The girl’s ponytail was swinging as she focused, eyes closed, slight nod of the head as she powered through the final verse into the chorus. She was in the zone, Dorothy knew the feeling well, when you lose yourself to something bigger, become part of the music and the music becomes part of you. Rhythm was so elemental, taking us back to early humanity on the African plain, tapping into something unspeakable.

Dorothy looked out of the window. They were on the second floor of the house, in the studio, small windows and soundproofing but better views than downstairs in the kitchen. The jagged teeth of the castle sloped into the mess of the Old Town, the glass spread of Quartermile in front, glinting in the sun, Viewforth Church close by, puncturing the tree line of the park.