Dead Jealous (4 page)

CHAPTER SIX

When Poppy stepped out of the caravan, Jonathan reached out and took her face in his hands. He squished her cheeks and gave her one of his best therapist stares. ‘OK?’

Poppy nodded as best she could with his hands clamped around her ears. His hands slipped away from her face and he backed off, allowing Mum to put an arm around her. She hadn’t been handled this much since the divorce, when Mum had read some crazy manual that said that children of a broken home needed twice as much affection if they were going to grow up to be normal human beings.

‘Do you feel like a lie-down now? And then Bob has invited us back for a late breakfast. If you feel like it. But if you just want to chill in the tipi – well, whatever.’

Mum didn’t agree with being directive. Ever. Mum’s liberal parenting, although the envy of all Poppy’s friends, meant she felt left out when people start moaning about draconian restrictions. For rules and restrictions, she had to go to Dad. And these days he was too busy with his
mistress
to worry about her.

‘Breakfast with Bob sounds great,’ she said, leaning her head against Mum’s shoulder.

The three of them headed back to the tipi. The festival had ground to an unscheduled halt. Most people seemed to be sat around outside tents, talking quietly. A couple wearing matching brown wool cloaks passed by like ghosts, chanting softly under their breaths. It was probably just their shopping lists, but if this kept up everyone would surely go home.

‘Poppy!’ a voice called as they were nearing the tipi.

Tariq darted between a gang of kids mucking about with wooden swords and stopped in front of them. He rested his hands on his hips as his chest heaved in and out.

‘Thought – I – saw you,’ he said, between gasping back breaths. He looked like he’d run a marathon so either he was even more unfit than she was, or he’d run a very long way to get to her. She preferred to think the latter.

Mum’s arm tightened around her shoulder, but she smiled. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Umm – Mum, this is Tariq. Tariq, this is Meg and Jonathan Donoghue, my mum and stepdad.’

Tariq smiled. ‘Hey,’ he said politely, but dismissively. His head tilted to the side as his dark gaze held hers. ‘I heard you were the one who found the girl in the lake. Just wanted to check you’re OK.’

He touched her arm and it was like dragons had breathed on her cheeks.

‘I’m fine. A little lake water never did anyone any harm,’ she burbled, instantly regretting her choice of words. ‘I mean—’

Tariq didn’t seem to notice. He took a step forward, opened his mouth about to speak then, out of nowhere, two paws thumped into Poppy’s shoulder, sending her reeling backwards into Mum. A tongue the size of a large trout slurped into her ear.

‘Dawkins! What are you doing here?’ she giggled, trying to regain her balance.

Hold on, if Dawkins was here that meant...

Poppy pushed down her crazy hound. There, sitting on the bonnet of his mum’s brand new Prius, was Michael.

For a second she saw Beth grinning at the stars.

Love’s a bitch that doesna let you go, Poppy.

Finding Meg and Jonathan’s tipi could have been a hell of a lot more difficult than it was – the field was covered in conical white boils. But as it was, almost the first one he spotted had the telltale red stars around the entrance, and next to it was Poppy’s rather more practical green igloo.

Michael pulled in next to Meg’s silver Saab and trailer, and, leaving Dawkins in the car, jumped out.

‘Poppy?’ he called at the entrance of the tent. There was no answer. He moved to the tipi.

‘Meg? Jonathan? Anyone home?’

A tight feeling settled in his chest and his mind raced. He spotted a policeman and thought about accosting him, but then, between the tents he saw familiar strawberry blonde hair and a green sweatshirt pronouncing GOD IS DEAD, the one she only wore when she was particularly pissed off with the world. His shoulders slumped and for a second he was dizzy with relief.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He was about to call her, when someone beat him to it.

A guy pushed past a group of kids and stopped in front of her.

He was a foot taller than Poppy – almost everyone was – and had the tight, muscled frame of a boxer although no one had seen fit to flatten his nose.
Yet
. The stranger reached out a hand and touched Poppy’s arm. Wrong move. Poppy had a very strict sense of personal space. But she didn’t give the guy the usual brush-off. Instead she gazed up at him, and – hold on a minute –
blushed?

The hairs on the back of Michael’s neck bristled. She’d only arrived last night and Poppy wasn’t exactly a fast mover when it came to guys. Maybe she’d known him from before. He’d assumed she’d gone to the festival to avoid Julia’s party, but maybe she’d had other reasons...?

Oh, that’s just great! There he was driving halfway across the bloody Lake District, worrying she was dead, when all the time she was cosying up with some boxer dude.

Michael went back to the car, opened the door and let Dawkins loose.

‘She’s over there. But I warn you, it looks like you’ve got competition.’

Dawkins sniffed the air, and like a bloodhound, made a direct dart for Poppy. Michael slammed the car door and sat on the bonnet, folding his arms.

Poppy’s giggle tinkled like a wind chime over the festival noise. ‘Dawkins! What are you doing here? Tariq, I’ll see you later.’

Michael stared at the churned-up mud. He took several deep breaths and tried to swallow the tightness that balled in his throat.
So what
if Poppy had other reasons for wanting to be at the festival? That was allowed. But it hurt to think that she might have been seeing someone without telling him. He was supposed to be her best friend.

‘You know, dog-sitting usually involves actually staying put,’ Poppy said.

He pressed his lips together and nodded. ‘What can I say? I got bored of rifling through your cupboards.’ He glanced up.

Poppy had her arms folded and she was trying to look put out, but there was a smile in the crinkles around her eyes. Her hair hung in damp snakes around her shoulders and she looked paler than normal, so pale that the freckles across her nose and cheeks stood out like a constellation of the stars she was so fond of.

‘What are you doing here? Did you have an argument with Julia or something?’

He didn’t smile. Didn’t rise to the bait. For once, he really wasn’t in the mood.

A crinkle appeared between Poppy’s eyebrows, and she looked at him questioningly. She didn’t get a chance to ask what was wrong because Meg and Jonathan had caught her up.

‘Michael!’ Meg said, hugging him and ruffling his hair the way she’d done since he was five. ‘This is an unexpected surprise.’

He tried to smile, but his lips wouldn’t cooperate. In the end he shrugged. ‘They said on the news that a girl had been found dead in the lake. They didn’t give any names.’

Meg nodded. Her gaze held his as if she too were remembering those agonising minutes on the shore of Lake Windermere, Poppy’s lifeless body being worked on by the paramedics.

‘Poppy found her,’ Jonathan said.

‘What?’ Michael slid off the bonnet.

‘Poppy found the girl. Tried to drag her out.’

‘Jesus!’

‘I’m fine! Well, I would be if people stopped fussing.’ Poppy shrugged like it was no big deal. But it was.

Michael’s heart was back in his throat. It was too close. He forgot all about the dead woman, and the fact that Poppy had been trying to help her. All he could think about was his best friend in another lake, risking everything. He squeezed his hands into fists. He wanted to shake her. Hell, he wanted to drown her himself.

‘What were you doing in the lake?’ he asked, through gritted teeth.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The police were still interviewing people when Poppy and Michael took Dawkins into the woods so he could run off some of his stupid.

Poppy watched as the giant ball of white fluff bounded around between the red trunks of the fir trees, scattering birds and chasing squirrels. She smiled. He was loving it. He’d have good dreams tonight.

What about her? What would she be dreaming about?

The shadow in the water? Beth’s staring eyes? She felt the smile bleed from her face.

‘You’re quiet,’ Michael said, breaking into her thoughts.

She shrugged. ‘Dawkins behaving himself?’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

She forced another smile. ‘Me being quiet – that’s a subject now?’

‘It’s unusual.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I suppose Julia’s never short of something to say, even if it is about Max Factor’s latest range of
wicked
nail varnish.’ It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

Michael sighed. ‘So this is what we’re going to do? Well, fine, if picking an argument with me is going to make you feel better then let’s do it. But can we not make it about Julia? Your material on that subject is getting old. How about we talk about your death wish?’

‘I’m not picking a fight!’

Michael raised his eyebrows.

She suddenly felt washed out, like the lake had cleaned her out of comebacks. She flopped onto the ground, made soft by a covering of pine needles, and leaned back into the curve of the tree trunk.

She watched his walking boots kick up dried leaves and dust, stop, turn and point at her. She didn’t have to look up to know what his expression would be. His jaw tight with frustration. His eyebrows raised, expectantly. She knew him so well. And he knew her.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I just... I don’t get it. I don’t understand how she could have drowned – she was so determined to find her friend. And the police – as soon as I said that she’d been drinking they just jumped to the conclusion that she must have been drunk and fallen in.’

‘It could have happened that way.’

‘She wasn’t drunk. Yeah, she was drinking, but no way was she drunk. She was too focused to be drunk.’

‘She could have had more after you left her.’

‘She chucked the bottle away. And besides, you’ve seen the lake. You have to go miles out before it’s deep enough to drown in.’

‘You can drown in an inch of water if you’re face down.’

Poppy picked up a brown and crumpled oak leaf and twiddled it around between her finger and thumb. ‘You’d have to be unconscious first. It doesn’t make sense. And he just brushed off the thing about the guy on the bluff like it wasn’t important. What’s the use of interviewing witnesses if they’re not going to take them seriously? Why aren’t they more bothered about this? Why doesn’t anyone care?’

Michael slumped down beside her and pulled his knees up to his chest. Dawkins, clearly disappointed that the walking had ceased, shoved his wet black nose in Poppy’s face. She tickled his ears, and feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, buried her face in his fur.

There was a time not so long ago when Michael would have hugged her, but he hadn’t done that for a while. It scared her, because it felt as if there was a barrier between them that was getting bigger and bigger every day. She blamed Julia, but what if it wasn’t her? What if one day he didn’t want to be friends with her any more? What if his relationship with Julia really was serious? What if he actually married her?

The questions swirled around her brain along with the image of Beth’s blue face.

Sounds to me like you’re in love with the guy
, she heard Beth say.

Yeah, but what did it matter when he was in love with someone else? Plus, you’re dead, so stop bugging me! She immediately felt guilty for dismissing Beth’s voice, which was totally stupid – it wasn’t like it was really her.

Poppy sniffed and tucked her hair behind her ears.

Michael sighed. ‘So what do you
think
happened?’

She turned to face him. His expression was expectant. ‘The only way Beth could have drowned is if someone helped her.’

‘You mean murder?’

‘What else?’

His lip quirked as if he was about to smile, but then thought better of it. ‘Who would want to kill her?’

‘I don’t know. But she was here looking for the girl she was in love with.’

Michael’s eyebrows shot up. ‘She was a lesbian?’

‘Oh, get over it. I can’t remember her name. It was something unusual. God! Why. Can’t. I. Remember?!’ Poppy growled and pounded the ground with her fist.

Dawkins sat up and whimpered.

‘Y’know, it might help if you tried not to think about it for a bit. It might come to you,’ Michael said. He leaned over and ruffled the dog’s ears. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘How can you think of your stomach at a time like this?’

‘Actually, I was thinking about your stomach. Maybe if you ate something you could think clearer. And you might not be so arsey.’

That was just great. She’d just pulled a dead body out of the water and he was getting uppity about her being arsey? Fine. They’d go and get something to eat. And she knew exactly where from.

Zombified bodies wandered around the festival ground, speaking in hushed voices as if no one knew quite what to do. Poppy led Michael through the maze of caravans and tents towards the food vans; towards the chipped white van that had Radio 1 playing.

Michael looked at her. ‘What do you want?’

She shrugged. ‘Chips’ll do.’

He took a deep breath, took his wallet from his back pocket and drew out a tenner. Then he turned to the guy in the serving hatch. ‘Two chips please, mate.’

‘Poppy, hi!’ Tariq said.

Michael turned back to her and raised his eyebrows. He smiled knowingly, but there was just a glint of annoyance in his eyes. He was about to add something else to the order, but Tariq jumped out of the van and appeared at her side.

He might have Julia,
but look at the gorgeous older guy who’s interested in me, MICHAEL!
She winced at her own behaviour. Why was she trying to punish him? It wasn’t his fault he liked someone else.

‘You’re looking better,’ Tariq said, leaning down to stroke Dawkins.

‘I’m fine.’

Behind Tariq, Michael coughed.

‘Oh, sorry, Tariq, this is my friend from home, Michael.’

Tariq bobbed his head in acknowledgement but made no effort to engage Michael in conversation. ‘Have the police talked to you yet?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Did they say anything? Any idea what happened to her?’

Poppy shrugged. ‘They haven’t got a bloody clue. Don’t even seem to care.’

‘Poor cow. She was round here asking about some girl – Maya, I think.’

‘Maya!’ Poppy slapped her forehead. ‘I couldn’t remember the name, but you’re right, it was Maya! Gotta go, I’ve gotta tell the police the name. Thanks, Tariq,’ she said, setting off in the direction of the lake.

‘But what about your chips?’ Tariq called after her.

‘I’ll get them later.’

The festival had lost all the buzz of the night before. The seminars and workshops had resumed, but most people were sitting around in groups, talking quietly. The only music came from a guy sitting outside his sagging green tent, playing something that looked like a big recorder. The low, woody lament said it all.

Poppy stopped beside a patrol car and searched the faces of the police officers, reluctant to go any closer. Michael stopped beside her and sighed.

The lake reflected the grey of the sky. Flat, silent and full of secrets.

‘Poppy? Were you looking for someone?’

She turned to see DS Grant bent over, fussing Dawkins. Dawkins’s tail flapped around, whacking against her legs.

‘You, actually.’

‘Aren’t you gorgeous, hey?’ the policeman crooned.

That was all the encouragement Dawkins needed. He launched himself at DS Grant. Resting his paws on the detective’s shoulders, he was almost as tall as him. ‘Whoa! You are a big girl!’ the man laughed, allowing the dog to wash his face.

‘Boy,’ Poppy corrected.

DS Grant was finally able to push the hound down. ‘Didn’t think they allowed dogs at these things.’

‘They don’t. Someone’s supposed to be looking after him.’

Michael grabbed Dawkins’ collar and pulled him away from the policeman. ‘I heard about the girl in the lake. Just came to make sure…’

‘Ah. Right.’ DS Grant nodded. ‘Were you wanting to talk to the chief?’

‘It’s just I remembered the name of the girl Beth came looking for. It’s Maya.’

‘Right. That’s helpful, thanks. We’ve found the dead girl’s car, by the way. And her parents have been notified, so we’ll be releasing her name this afternoon.’

‘Do you know who did it?’

‘Did it?’

‘Has to be murder, doesn’t it? People don’t just drown!’

‘I’m afraid sometimes they do. It’s for the coroner to decide now, but the boss is pretty satisfied it’s accidental.’

For a second, Poppy imagined Beth on the postmortem slab, the cold silver blade cutting into her flesh until all her insides had been removed, slice by slice. Her face must have blanched, because she felt Michael’s arm around her shoulders.

‘But what about the guy on the bluff? The one I told you about. Maybe he—’

‘—Was the guy who owns the land. The guy who helped you get the girl out.’

‘Oh.’

DS Grant sighed. ‘Listen, why don’t you let your mum and dad take you home? If it were up to me I’d send the whole damn lot of you home. But the guv’nor doesn’t want any accusations of religious intolerance. Get out of here, Poppy. You’re gonna keep going over it in your head. And there’s nothing you could have done.’

She shook her head. There was Mum and Jonathan’s handfasting to think about. And she couldn’t just walk away and forget about Beth. It would feel like she was abandoning her, just like Maya had.

She and Michael wandered slowly in the direction of Bob’s caravan, where Mum and Jonathan had said they’d be.

As they walked, Michael’s hand slipped away from her shoulders, leaving her feeling cold and alone.

‘You know he’s right,’ Michael said, nudging her with his elbow. ‘You need to get away from here. Why don’t you come home with me? Your mum and Jonathan aren’t going to want to get married now. They’ll probably put it off. Come home. At least sleep in your own bed. Or stay at mine.’

Poppy shook her head. ‘No. I can’t. I’ve got to convince them.’

Michael stepped in front of her, forcing her to stop. His eyebrows were pinched together and his mouth was hard. ‘No you don’t. You’re not the police. Why do you always have to get like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like everything is your responsibility. Like the world wouldn’t fucking turn unless you were overseeing it! Jesus, Poppy!’

His words punched into her chest like bullets. She knew it, he was getting sick of her. The pain turned to anger. ‘So I’m just meant to forget her, am I? If you don’t like how I’m getting then you don’t have to stay. I don’t know why you came in the first place!’

‘I’m beginning to wonder myself.’ Michael leaned down and attached Dawkins’ lead. ‘Maybe
Tariq
can talk some sense into you. Come on, let’s go,’ he seethed, and marched away, taking her dog with him.