Free Kiss Me First by Lottie Moggach Page A

consulted each other in a foreign language, and finally the man said that they did remember an English woman on her own who looked similar, but her hair was longer and they were pretty sure that her name wasn’t Tess. Something longer, beginning with S.
    Of course, I had anticipated that Tess might have used a different name when she was out here. I asked them to remember any more details of her clothes or what she had said. They couldn’t but said they would tell me if anything came back to them. I won’t get too excited, though. More evidence is needed.
    Afterwards, I went back to my mattress under the tree, and had just dozed off when I felt a little tug on my hand. It was Milo. He said, ‘Annie says, do you want to come with us?’ Over at the van, Annie had slid the back door shut and was in the driver’s seat. She said she was going into the main town to go to the bank, and thought I might like to come along and get some food.
    ‘A woman can’t live on biscuits alone,’ she said.
    ‘Will there be an Internet cafe there?’ I asked.
    ‘Should think so,’ she said. ‘It’s a big tourist dump by the sea.’
    I sat in the front with Milo; the baby was in the back. I’d been in a van before, when we moved mum’s furniture to the storage centre, but this was different. For a start it was ancient and the air inside was hot and unsavoury, like plastic, milk and old socks baking in an oven. The floor was thick with books, leaflets and CDs, and the windows were plastered with tatty, bright stickers. There was a strange furry thing dangling from the mirror, and when Milo saw me inspecting it he told me it was the foot of his pet rabbit.
    ‘It was a natural death,’ said Annie, as she wrenched the steering wheel with what seemed like a huge amount of effort. The van made worrying noises from deep inside, like the sound of mum clearing her throat in the morning.
    As we began crawling down the bumpy path, Annie said, ‘So, what’s the deal with this friend you’re looking for?’
    I had already given Annie the story once, of course, when I had shown her Tess’s photo on the first day, but started reciting again how I was looking for an old friend who I believed was still in the area. She cut me off.
    ‘No, I know that you’re looking for her. But why?’ She glanced over at me with a sly little smile. ‘Do you love her?’
    When I didn’t answer, she said, ‘It’s OK if you do, you know.’
    I thought it best not to dignify her question with a response, so I said nothing and looked out of the window. It worked, and she changed the subject, offering up information about herself. Although I wasn’t particularly interested, when I realized I didn’t have to say anything back I relaxed a bit, and there was something quite soothing about looking at the scenery and the lilt of her voice as we drove along.
    Her American accent reminded me of Adrian, and when I closed my eyes I was taken back to his podcasts; although, of course, what Annie was saying was not nearly as interesting. She talked about her life back in Connecticut, where she had a small business making handmade wooden furniture and shared a house with another single mother, and about Milo’s father. She had ‘given him the heave-ho’ when Milo was two, but he saw his son sporadically.
    ‘Bet you’re wondering about the little one, huh?’ she said, gesturing to the baby strapped to a seat in the back, although I hadn’t been. She said that she had wanted another baby but didn’t want the hassle of a man, so had had a ‘well-timed screw’ with a stranger. She confided that she sometimes worried about whether the children would be damaged by not having a father figure in their lives.
    ‘I don’t think fathers are that important,’ I said.
    ‘Oh, really?’ she said.
    I told her that I had never known my father, that he had disappeared when my mum was still pregnant and it hadn’t done me any harm at all. Annie made a ‘hmm’ noise, and