Page 80 of Hot Ghost Summer

I place a comforting hand on her slender yet strong shoulder and squeeze. “Don’t worry, I’ll find her. She’s usually on the high street…” I trail off when I remember that I just came from that direction and she wasn’t there. “Where was she when you last saw her?”

Jayne’s hazel eyes drift left a little while she thinks. “The paddock. I turfed her out while I finished up some bits at my desk.”

“Okay, well, I’ll start there, then.” I give her a smile, hoping to set her at ease. This isn’t the first time Brigid’s done a runner—we have T-shirts. “Maybe she’s stolen Baron’s stand for the night.”

“First place I checked. Theo…”

“She’s a famous heifer, Jayne. She can’t have gone far without someone recognising her. We’ll find her.” I drag up every ounce of positivity I have, because there’s this awful sinking feeling in my gut that I’m desperate to avoid.

Stepping around her, I collect a paper bag of oat biscuits from the kitchen, and stride into the barn to double-check Brigid’s stall.

“Bridge?” I call, but aside from a fresh bale of hay and a bucket of water, both pens are empty.

Outside in the yard is no different. It’s a decent-sized yard, big enough for a farm vehicle or two, a couple of outhouses, and the trailer, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide a cow. Still, I rustle the bag of biscuits as I loop around the trailer to be sure.

No Brigid.

I come to a dead stop at the open yard gate. Unusual. Jayne rarely leaves the yard gate open. My gaze drops to the multiple dents. Maybe she only intended it to be for a short while? Or was distracted? Or tired?

Trailing the cold metal, I slowly walk its length through to the paddock, straining to look out across the field in the dusk light, when my fingertips catch on something sharp. The latch that secures the top bolt in place is missing. Memories of the fresh silver lines that cut through the rusted screws flood in and steal my breath.

I’d assumed Jayne had made them trying to fix it, but what if…?

I cut my eyes to the ground, searching around the fence posts until… there! A few feet away is the discarded lock. Rusted, it’s well camouflaged among the churned-up dried earth. Jayne didn’t forget to close the gate—it was sabotaged.

“Brigid?” I yell, eyes darting from the field shelter on the left to the wetland area on the right, and back up to under the apple trees.

Daphne and Deliah are there, thoroughly invested in sniffing something on the floor. Heart in my mouth, I hurry closer.

Baron and the goats are safely enclosed in their shelter, although Theodore’s wide-spaced, golden eyes track my every move as I cut a path through his territory. Ignoring him, I approach the donkeys head on, calling their names.

“Evening, ladies,” I force a level of joviality into my tone. “What you got there?”

But I can already see what it is. A metric fuck-tonne of diced carrots. Like someone raided a restaurant kitchen and spread a bag of chopped carrots over a wide area to keep them busy.

My blood runs cold, and instinctively, I snap my head toward the rickety wooden gate that separates the paddock from the playing fields beyond. It’s wide open. I couldn’t see that in the dark from down in the yard.

“Brigid?” I call, but the sound is strangled.

twenty-four

A Dangerous Hunger

Theo

Despite being dark, the park is still pretty busy with people making the most of the mild evenings. Victorian-looking streetlights grace the paths where joggers and dog walkers meander down the winding curves, and on the stretches of grass in between, groups of teens play sports or huddle on blankets around guitar players and slackliners. But there’s a distinct lack of British Friesian rep among them.

There are a few different routes out of here, a bit like a rabbit warren, and I’ve no idea which one will lead me to Brigid. Strolling a bit further, I target a group of youths playing football.

“Hey,” I toss out. “Any o’ you seen a cow go by?”

They all bunch together like prey animals and give me a long look over. It’s a London-specific freeze response because folks around here are rarely friendly without wanting something in return. Such as your wallet and phone.

“A cow?” One girl asks.

I stretch my arms out wide, paper bag of oat biscuits gripped tightly. “Yeah. Big black and white cow.”

She swallows a large mouthful of water from the sports bottle beside her makeshift goalpost.