She sat for a while mulling things over whilst keeping watch on her father’s front door. Her phone rang, distracting her, and she scrabbled around to answer it. It was Charlie. ‘What’s wrong? You’re scaring the life out of me.’
‘I’m really sorry, but there’s some stuff going on with my dad and Tara and I need to sort it out.’ She rummaged around in the passenger footwell for the poster she’d grabbed off Bernice earlier.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ Charlie sounded sincere.
‘Just look after the kids for me.’
‘Okay. But you can’t—’
‘I need to go. Bye.’ Her dad’s car was taking off up the road. She went into autopilot and drove off after it.
Her heart was racing. It was like being in a slow-motion police chase – her dad didn’t drive all that fast. She held back a bit so she wasn’t right up behind him at the lights. They set off again and she tried to think where he was heading at this time of the evening. There was nobody in the passenger seat, so he was alone.
They meandered through Brighton until he pulled in quite quickly. Regan had no alternative but to drive past, hoping he didn’t see that it was her. She found a parking space further down the same road and waited, watching as a figure got out of her dad’s car and moved to the pavement. He was going to walk right past her car: this was her opportunity to catch him and show him the evidence that put his car and, most likely, Tara at the scene of Kevin’s accident.
Regan’s hands went all clammy. She watched through the mirror as the person came closer. There was something not quite adding up about the movement of the figure approaching. She opened her door a fraction, ready to hop out at the opportune moment. She could hear the sound of heels on the pavement. It must be Tarty Tara.
Regan had a wobble. If she confronted her, could she wreck any chance of a police conviction because she was tipped off? She pulled the car door shut just as the other person drew level. They stopped dead and turned to look at the car. Regan was rumbled, so decided to brazen it out.
She got out of the car and dashed around to the pavement. The person in front of her was wearing a long, pale mac with a sequinned dress just visible underneath. ‘Oh hello, Tar … Dad?’
Regan thought she was gong to topple over with the shock. Her dad was standing there in a long, flowing wig and full women’s make-up. Regan opened her mouth and did the best impression of a goldfish she’d ever done. She could not conjure up a single word, despite a million questions all invading her head.
Graham cleared his throat. ‘We should probably talk.’ He pointed at her car; silently, she walked round to the driver’s side and got back in. Graham got in the passenger seat. At least in the car she didn’t have to look at him. She didn’t need to; the image was etched on her mind forever.
‘I expect you’re a little surprised,’ he said.
That was the understatement of the century. ‘Yeah. A bit.’ She clearly didn’t know him at all. ‘Does Tara know?’ She wasn’t a fan of the woman, but this would be a shock for anyone.
‘Yes. She’s been very supportive,’ he said. If she shut her eyes he sounded the same.
What were you meant to say to your cross-dressing father? Nice eyeliner? He had actually done a good job with it. She always found eyeliner quite tricky. ‘How long have you …’
‘A few months. When I invited you round for pizza I was going to tell you, but when it came to it I didn’t know how. And then, when I fell off my stilettos and strained my neck, I thought I’d have to explain the neck brace, but I felt foolish so I skirted around it.’ Regan was aware she was doing a lot of blinking. It was a lot to take in. ‘I’m sorry if it upsets you, Regan.’ He touched her arm and she jumped. ‘It’s still me. And I’m happy doing this. It makes me happy.’
She felt the tension in her shoulders slide away. What right did she have to judge? If Tarty Tara was supportive,she could be too. ‘Then I’m happy too.’ She made her best effort at a smile and turned to face him. He’d overdone the eyeshadow and blusher, and those eyelashes were extreme, but otherwise he actually made a quite striking older woman.
Graham looked down. ‘What’s that?’ He took the scrunched-up poster from her hands. She’d almost forgotten about it.
She cleared her throat. ‘Dad. Your car was caught on CCTV. Just after Kevin was killed.’
He peered at the picture and smiled in recognition, his magenta lips lifting at the edges. ‘My Man United scarf.’
Why was he smiling?‘Dad, it’s your car. Either you or Tara were driving it when it hit Kevin.’ Her voice went all weird and shaky and the rest of her joined in.
‘It’s my car, yes. And I was driving, but I promise you I didn’t hit Kevin.’
His well made-up eyes were sincere. ‘I had just finished a gig and I was heading to Tara’s, so I didn’t go past The Level that night—’
Regan blinked a few times and held up a hand to stop him. ‘A gig?’
He went all perky and his voice changed. ‘I’m Virginia Flowers.’ Regan’s face must have registered her total lack of comprehension. ‘I’m the drag queen on the pier.’
‘A drag queen? You?’
‘Yes. Why else did you think I was dressed like this?’
‘Drag queen,’ she muttered, feeling relief mixed with a new wave of embarrassment swamp her.
