All energy seemed to leave her. She wanted to confront these dickheads and their lack of compassion. She wanted to trick them into something, a slip-up or a fight, rolling around on the floor punching each other. She just wanted people to give a shit about a missing young woman, all the millions of missing girls across the planet that men didn’t give two fucks about. Here were two well-educated young guys acting like cavemen, chatting up girls in bars when their girlfriend was missing or sending photos of their genitals on the off chance they would get lucky. There was no concern here and that just made her more angry, more determined to find Mel and return the world to the way it was before her grandpa died and her friend disappeared.

119

23

DOROTHY

She was young again, her skin tight and smooth, the muscles of her legs toned and firm. She rubbed sun cream into them and looked around. Pismo Beach didn’t have the tourist appeal of Santa Barbara or Malibu, but the sand was still golden and the surf was high. Jim sat next to her on the towel watching the surfers glide on the breakers. Jim was young and strong too, thick arms and solid chest. They had their whole lives to come.

It was Easter Sunday and the beach was full of Hispanic families barbecuing, large groups spread out on blankets, chairs, even benches carried down from front porches. Beer in the coolers, a game of catch, kids kicking a soccer ball. The sun was high and Dorothy felt it soak into her bones.

Jim watched two young women in bikinis walk past, kicking up spurts of sand. A flicker of irritation passed through her then slipped away. Men will be men, it was only looking, Dorothy had his heart. They were in love and he made her feel beautiful. He was attentive in the bedroom, gave her gifts and compliments, was devoted to her. He’d never met anyone like her, she was sure of that, back in gloomy Scotland with its rain and inhibitions. He told her all about it, how depressing the place was, yet something in his voice spoke of his love for the place, as if he carried some of that dourness in his DNA.

Jim turned from the girls and their jiggling asses, saw that Dorothy had been watching him, and leaned over to kiss her, lingering, his hand on her thigh, fingers touching the strap of her bikini. She felt the heat rise in him and herself, as if their bodies were communicating with each other directly.120

She woke in the grey-striped dawn in her bedroom, still on her side of the bed, next to empty space. She remembered finding Jim on the toilet floor lying in his own piss, his skin already shrinking, lips a lighter colour, eyes wide open.