“Who’s him?”
“I don’t know who he was. One of Brandon’s friends, I assumed, only he didn’t look friendly. And Brandon didn’t look like he’d expected me home.” Her fingers clenched and unclenched around Sloan’s pyjamas under the covers. “I went straight to my room and started pulling clothes into my bag. I just wanted to get out of there. Then there was this massive crash and feet thundering up the stairs. It scared me. Before I could do anything, my door burst open. Next thing, I was on the bed, arms wrenched behind my back, cuffs biting into my wrists.”
Sloan reached for a mug, held it to Matty’s lips, and let her sip before taking one herself. She set it back on the bedside table.
“I think the man is a drug dealer and Brandon is—” Matty shook her head. “I don’t know. But he lied to the police about Sarah. Said he didn’t know who she was…had never heard of her.” Her voice rose, “She literally lives there. We’ve had breakfast together…cups of tea at the kitchen table. How can he say he doesn’t know her?”
Sloan went still at the word dealer, something hard and old catching in her chest. “I don’t know,” she said. “The detective asked me about her.”
“You?” Matty pushed herself up to look Sloan in the face, confusion flashing across Matty’s own. “When did—”
“When you didn’t come back, I went to your flat.” Sloan kept her voice steady, but her hand stayed firm on Matty’s hip. “There was an officer guarding it. He sent me to the station and told me to speak to Detective Saint. Which I did.”
“He spoke to you?”
“He came out after about an hour. Confirmed you were there and that I should probably think about a solicitor for you.” Sloan exhaled through her nose. “Then he asked about your living arrangements. If I’d been to the flat. Who I’d seen.”
“So you told him about Sarah?”
Sloan nodded. “Of course. She let me in.”
Matty sank back down and sighed. “So he has to believe me that she exists.”
Silence filled the air for a moment before Matty spoke again.
“They think I’m some sort of criminal mastermind behind a drug ring on Bath Street. That my job at Art is a ruse to sell recreational drugs.”
“There must be more to it.” Sloan’s voice went tight. “Why would they think you had anything to do with drugs?”
Matty sighed. “Because they found some.”
Sloan straightened, her arm sliding away as the words hit. “What do you mean? Brandon hid it in your room?”
“No.” Matty shook her head, cheeks burning. “They found something in my bag. Something I’d forgotten all about.”
“What?” Sloan snapped, her voice rising.
“Just a couple of joints. I bought them off Brandon ages ago—I don’t even know why—but they were in my bag and they found them.”
Sloan threw the covers back and got out of bed. “I told you—”
“I don’t do drugs.” Matty was up on her knees now, facing her. “I don’t.”
“Your bag says different.” Sloan’s mouth was tight. “How could you be so stupid?”
“Because I’m just human.” Matty’s eyes shone, angry and hurt. “I’m not like you, Sloan. All put together and organised. I made a mistake and now I’m paying for it, and the last thing I need is my girlfriend getting all judgemental about it.”
The bedroom door opened. “Christ, alive,” Gloria said from the doorway, leaning on her stick. “Can you two keep it down? It’s bad enough when you’re at it.”
Sloan turned on Gloria. “You’ve never heard a thing. Stop being melodramatic.”
“Well, I’m hearing a thing now, aren’t I?” Gloria glared at Sloan, then turned her attention to Matty. “You’re a free woman, then?”
Matty nodded. “For now.” She looked back at Sloan. “Though my girlfriend seems to think I should be locked up.”
“I didn’t say that.” Sloan’s voice was ice.
“Oh, enough.” Gloria jabbed her stick once on the floorboards. “Pack it in, the pair of you. Downstairs. Now.”
