Free Local Girl Missing by Claire Douglas Page A

Frankie the Dusky Beauty. I always wanted to be the Dusky Beauty.
    I stood up to greet her. She bounded over to me, her eyes wide with excitement, and I wondered what she was dying to tell me, because she looked like she could hardly contain herself. I didn’t want to be the one to dampen her mood.
    ‘I’ll leave you girls to it,’ he said, but I noticed that he poured a glass of wine for himself. As he headed out the door he turned, surveying me as he lounged againstthe door-frame. Oh yes, Alistair definitely liked to lounge!
    ‘You don’t fancy a job, do you, Sophie? We could do with an extra pair of hands. The schools will be breaking up soon and this place is booked up solidly for the next two months.’
    My heart fluttered with excitement. I knew how much Frankie got paid. ‘What would I need to do?’
    He waved a hand casually, ‘Oh, making beds, putting clean cups on the tea trays, a bit of hoovering, that kind of thing.’
    Frankie flung her arms around me. ‘We can work together, it will be so much fun, Soph!’
    Alistair flashed her an indulgent smile and I felt envious of their relationship in that moment, that she had a dad who, with a click of his fingers, could make things happen. Could brighten his daughter’s day.
    ‘Great. Can you start tomorrow?’
    I thought of the kiosk, of my lecherous boss, Stan, all big stomach and bulbous nose, leering at me – and all the young women of Oldcliffe – over the haddock, and I eagerly agreed.
    With a parting grin Alistair disappeared and Frankie looped her arm through mine as we headed to the beach. I was only half listening as she chatted away about how Jez was yet to phone her, because I was thinking of Leon and how I should broach the subject with Frankie.
    ‘And look what my dad bought me,’ she said, stopping suddenly in the street and causing a woman witha pushchair behind her to tut angrily. Frankie didn’t even notice. She was too busy rummaging in her straw beach bag. She pulled out a Nokia phone and I felt a twinge of jealousy. ‘A mobile phone! I’ve got my own phone at last. I’ve been begging him for ages. Aren’t I lucky?’ She handed the phone to me and I examined it like it was a species from another planet. ‘It’s pay as you go. Dad’s put a tenner on it for me, to get me started.’
    I think it’s interesting how she always refers to her dad as the one who buys her things, rather than her parents together, as though it doesn’t mean anything that her mother frantically runs around the place, cleaning, tidying and cooking. As much as I like and admire Alistair, he’s the one usually to be found standing around chatting to customers, glass of something alcoholic in his hand, while his wife slaves away in the kitchen. He often wears a perplexed expression on his face, as though he’s wandered into his own hotel by accident and is slightly bemused by the gatherings of people that he finds there, but able to effortlessly socialise and converse with them nonetheless. It’s almost as though he’s constantly thinking that his life hasn’t turned out in quite the way he’d hoped. Frankie admitted to me once that it was her maternal grandparents who owned the hotel, and when they retired to Italy they passed it on to her mum, their only child. Alistair was an English lecturer when they met. I wonder if he regrets giving it up to run a hotel, despite the obvious rewards.
    He knew how much I loved reading as a kid. Frankie wasn’t so interested so he would pass me all his classics, eagerly pressing them into my hands. I still have his copies of
1984
and
Great Expectations
on my bookshelf. It was a highlight of my week, receiving a novel from Alistair, and I’d pore over each one carefully, trying to second guess the discussions we would have once I’d read it. I’ve always thought it a shame that he gave up lecturing.
    I handed her back the phone. ‘It looks great, but who else do you know with a mobile phone? Who are you going