Girl Number One: A Gripping Psychological Thriller Read Online Free Page A

The
insurance money from the fire is long since spent, so I have no idea how he’s
managing to survive.
    As he reaches the car, I wind down my window to
speak to him. ‘You look bloody awful, Dad. What’s the matter?’
    ‘I lost the dog,’ he says shortly.
    ‘You lost Churchill?’
    ‘I
couldn’t sleep, so I took him out early for a walk. But he ran away.’ He won’t
look me in the eye, bending to gaze past me at Jenny; I can smell alcohol on
his breath. ‘Hello there. I know you. You work with Eleanor at the school,
don’t you? Another PE teacher?’
    She
smiles politely. ‘Yes,’ she agrees. ‘Jenny Crofter.’
    ‘Jenny,’
he says, nodding. ‘That’s it, yes. I knew I remembered you.’
    ‘So where’s Churchill now?’ I ask, interrupting.
    Churchill
is a black Labrador, eight years old now and seriously overweight. Like most
Labs, he may run about like a crazed puppy at times and loves nothing better
than chasing round the farmyard after a ball, but he’s basically lazy. The sort
who sits down on the way back from a long walk and looks at you sideways, as if
to say, ‘I’m done. Can you go and get the car now?’ So this tale of him running
off strikes me as odd.
    ‘I let him off the lead over at Tinker’s Field
and he bounded away, straight into the undergrowth,’ my father explains. ‘He …
he wouldn’t come back, however hard I whistled. I followed him into the woods,
but he was nowhere to be seen. So I came back the short way, past that old
derelict hut by the river.’
    I nod, wondering when I should tell him about
the body I saw. And the police.
      ‘I thought I heard barking inside the
hut, so I forced my way in through the brambles,’ he continues, holding out
scratched hands and wrists, uncannily like my own, ‘but of course there was no sign
of Churchill. It must have been someone else’s dog I could hear barking.’ His
speech is slightly slurred, and I wonder if he’s had any sleep at all, his eyes
are so bloodshot. ‘I guess he’ll come back on his own when he’s ready, useless
bloody dog.’
    ‘Is your leg okay? You’re limping.’
    ‘I hurt my ankle, that’s all. Nothing serious. Twisted
it in some sodding rabbit hole.’ Dad glances down at me in the passenger seat.
‘Hold on, why are you heading back to the cottage? Shouldn’t you be at work by
now, Ellie?’
    Jenny sees my hesitation and intervenes. ‘I’m
dropping Eleanor back at home, Mr Blackwood. She saw something in the woods
when she was out running this morning.’
    He
doesn’t understand. ‘Saw something?’ he repeats, smiling uncertainly. ‘What do
you mean?’
    ‘A
dead body,’ I mumble.
    My dad’s smile is wiped away. His hands clench
on the window frame, his face loses colour; he looks twenty years older in a
few seconds. I remember that expression on his face. He wore it for weeks after
having to identify my mother’s body.
    ‘ What ?’
    I put my hand over his and squeeze, staring up
at him. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. But we can’t stop to talk. The police are on their
way. I expect they’ll want to ask me some questions. Maybe take a statement from
me. Perhaps I could come round later and talk to you then?’
    My father stares, then takes a step back. His
voice sounds strange. ‘Today? You saw a body in the woods today ?’
    ‘I know how it sounds, but ….’
    But
he is already walking away, heading back along the lane to the farm. To the
ruins covered in plastic sheeting that he calls home. The sun has come out
again, illuminating the grey back of his head. It will not last though. Those ragged
clouds are still massing on the edges of the valley, ready to darken the morning.
    ‘Dad?’ I call after him, but he does not answer.
    Jenny looks at me. ‘Is he going to be okay?’
    ‘I
have no idea.’
    She
sits with the engine running, staring after him. ‘The look on his face … ’
    ‘There’s
nothing we can do. It was a shock.’ I pause, feeling the irony behind that,
then add,