She checked her emails while she tried to stay calm. There were a few from Cleo, upset at not being able to speak to her. Regan fired one back explaining that her mobile had been unsalvageable and she was saving for a new one. Helpfully Cleo replied instantly, saying she had an old mobile phone in a drawer at the studio and as Regan had the keys she should pop round and get it. This was an excellent development. At least she’d be able to communicate with people again.
A friendly library assistant checked she was okay and she took the opportunity to ask about Kevin. But they hadn’t seen him in the library since he’d got Elvis, because dogs weren’t allowed inside. At least it was another place she could tick off her list. Regan gathered up her scribbled notes, stuffed them in her bag and left.
Outside she spotted Hillary, an older lady who had lived on the streets of Brighton for many years. ‘Hillary!’ called out Regan, to stop her crossing the street.
‘Hello, my darling, how are you?’ Hillary greeted everyone like a long lost relative.
‘I’m good, thanks. Have you seen Kevin recently?’ The homeless community was good at looking out for each other, so it was worth asking.
Hillary pouted hard and adjusted her crocheted hat, which sat on top of a mass of bouncy grey hair. ‘Now you’re asking.’ Her mouth moved while she silently counted on her fingers. ‘Yes!’ she barked, startling Regan. ‘I saw him and Elvis get turned away from the night shelter a couple of days ago. They don’t take dogs, you see. And he’s a bit of a brute is Elvis. Lovely, mind. I won’t have a word said against him. Not. A. Word.’ She shook a finger at Regan as she spoke.
‘Me neither. He’s a cracking dog.’
‘What did you want with him?’ Hillary narrowed her sharp eyes.
‘I’m worried about him. I’ve not seen him for a few days and that’s not like him. He usually calls by for a coffee.’
‘Elvis drinks coffee?’ Hillary’s forehead was a mass of furrowed lines.
‘No. Kevin drinks coffee,’ said Regan, a little concerned that Hillary may not have been the best choice to track Kevin down.
‘Coffee. Eurgh. I can’t stand the stuff. A good old-fashioned cup of tea, on the other hand … now you’re talking.’ Hillary gave Regan a hearty slap on the shoulder. ‘And a biscuit. I love a rich tea biscuit, me. Not those Bourbons. Not those things; they look like chocolate butthey’re just brown. Don’t get me started on those.’ Hillary laughed long and hard.
Regan waited for the laughter to subside. ‘If you could ask around, that’d be great. And if you see him—’
‘See who?’ asked Hillary.
‘Kevin,’ said Regan, a little shocked at Hillary’s question. ‘Can you tell him to come to the café?’
‘I will, my darling. Don’t you worry.’ Hillary waved her off like she was emigrating and Regan left feeling she was no closer to tracking Kevin down.
Back at the studio, Regan soon uncovered Cleo’s old phone. It was literally stuck at the back of a drawer and covered in brown and cream paint, making it look like a melted choc-ice. She chipped enough paint off to make the screen visible, swapped over her SIM card and hoped for the best. It worked.
She leaned against the sink, checked there was nothing of hers in sight and FaceTimed Cleo. A sleepy looking Cleo answered the call.
‘Oh, what time is it?’ asked Regan, realising her error.
‘Don’t worry. It’s lovely to hear from you,’ said Cleo, with a giant yawn as she shuffled herself upright. ‘How are things?’ She was looking sympathetic.
‘Brilliant. Have you ever made jam?’
Cleo did a slow blink. ‘No. Why?’
‘No reason.’ Maybe now wasn’t the time to explain. ‘How are things with you?’
‘Horrendous. As predicted, Oscar has flown home and left me to finish the tour alone.’
‘What a bastard. Can he do that?’
‘Apparently so. Thankfully so far the events have been small scale and I’ve got the gallery owners to say a fewwords while I’ve hovered around for a few photos and then slunk off.’
‘You should try and make the most of it.’Especially if it’s all about to end, thought Regan, but she didn’t voice that to Cleo.
‘It’s really not my thing. But I have found something that is – or someone, anyway.’ She sounded excited.
‘Ooh. What do they look like? Anyone famous?’
Cleo gave a good-natured shake of her head. ‘He’s in his fifties and looks a bit like Yoda.’
