‘I haven’t changed my mind. I think it’s gross.’
‘What would you do if I told you I was dating you because you were the spit of one of my exes?’
She allowed herself a smile. ‘Well, firstly I’d congratulate you on finding two such hot women who were willing to go out with you. Then I’d dump you.’
‘And you think that’s what Jasmine will do, if we find her, when she finds out?’
‘If she doesn’t, then we’ll know Miranda is right. She’s only after his money.’
We were almost at the house now.
‘Areyouworried about your inheritance?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Patrick, I hoped you’d know me better than that. I don’t care about money. I work in a shop, for goodness’ sake.’
‘But …’
‘What?’
‘You do have a massive safety net.’
‘Yes, and that’s all great. Despite what you think, I know how privileged I am. But I’m not greedy, Patrick. All I care about right now is keeping the rest of the family together. There are only three of us left now. Me, Dad and Miranda. ’
I was pleased she didn’t include Zack as one of the Grants.
‘All I really want right now is to get through tonight. To find fucking Jasmine and go home.’
I wished I could find a way to tell her that she might be going back to Brighton alone, with me behind bars. But Miranda had caught up now, after yelling for us to wait for her.
We reached the front door. It was a sprawling place; the Grants’ holiday home was like a tiny bungalow in comparison. It was hard to believe a single family had once lived in this place that could have housed a hundred people. I wondered how much the land was worth, the land that Charles owned but was doing nothing with. It was so wasteful. Obscene.
‘Did you use to come here a lot?’ I asked.
‘Not that much. Dad showed us all round when he bought it. And we sneaked in here a few times, back in 2006. Me, Lewis, Jimmy and Morag.’
I flinched. I was so desperate to tell her that her old friend was dead. I wanted to tell her, too, that I knew about the sleeping-pill mix-up back then, and that Morag had told me it was a genuine mistake.
I needed to shake off Miranda.
A large porch had been added to the front of the house at some point, and the doors were firmly locked. As I rattled one, Holly said, ‘We went in round the back. Follow me.’
We hurried down the side of the house. Someone had spraypaintedCHARLES GRANT SUCK MY DICKon the wall, which made Miranda say, ‘Dear God’. Litter was strewn across the ground: beer cans, cigarette butts, crisp packets. Seeing the cigarette butts must have triggered Holly because she lit one of her own. She was still smoking it when we reached the spot she was leading us to. There were two doors set into the ground, the kind you see outside a pub, and Holly lifted one then the other to reveal a set of steps that led down into the cellar.
‘These probably haven’t been locked since the family who lived here moved out,’ Holly said.
She flicked her cigarette towards the wet grass, where several piles of snow lay. I crouched and shouted, ‘Jasmine?’
Nothing.
I saw Miranda hesitate.
‘Maybe you should wait here,’ I suggested.
‘What, and keep watch? I’m not staying out here on my own.’
We all switched on our phone flashlights– seeing Miranda’s phone made me nervous– and we went down the steep concrete steps, Holly insisting on going first because she knew where she was going.
‘Apparently they used to brew their own beer,’ Holly said, gesturing at the presumably empty barrels that were still piled up around the cellar. There were old crates, too, and a sweet, unpleasant stink. There was more litter scattered around, including a couple of used condoms, and something grotesquenear the closest barrel: a rotting pigeon that looked like it had been half eaten.
