“Fine, I’ll help her, but only the once,” he said, doing an excellent impression of a surly teenager.
“Fantastic,” Frank said, clapping his hands together. “Let the hunt for my girl begin!”
CHAPTER
10
Libby woke up on Monday and immediately looked out the window to check the weather. She and Dylan had agreed to meet at nine fifteen unless it was raining, in which case they’d cancel. Sadly, the sky was clear and bright, and Libby let out a groan. Why on earth had she let Frank talk her into Dylan helping? The last thing she wanted was to spend another minute with that rude, grumpy man, and he clearly felt the same way about her. She just needed to get today over and done with; then she’d never have to see him again.
They’d arranged to meet at the bus stop outside Kentish Town Station, so once Libby had dropped Hector at preschool, she made her way there. While she waited for Dylan, she pulled out her phone and clicked open Instagram. She’d been keeping an eye on Simon’s feed, although less so this last week, as she’d been so busy with her online search for Frank. Now Libby clicked on Simon’s name and waited while the photos loaded. There were two new images since she’d last checked, both shots taken while he was running. In the most recent one, posted yesterday, he was standing back from the camera, smiling at whoever was taking the photo. The sight of Simon’s bright blue eyes sent a flush of adrenaline through Libby’s body.Then she remembered their phone call the other week, Simon’s heartless request that she go back to work with him, and his radio silence ever since, and she stuffed the phone back in her bag. As she did, she saw Dylan coming round the corner of the underground station.
Libby was struck, once again, by just how menacing he looked. It wasn’t only the hair and the tattoos and the piercings; it was his whole demeanor: his height, the leather jacket and heavy black boots, the way he walked as if he owned the pavement. She watched people physically moving out of his way as he approached.
“All right?” he said when he reached her.
“Hi.”
Libby looked up the road, willing the 88 to appear. “Did you come from Frank’s?”
“Yup.”
“How is he?”
“Fine.”
Great, a man only capable of one-syllable answers. Libby gave up trying to make small talk and turned to look for the bus.
After what seemed like forever, an 88 pulled up and they boarded. It was busy with grim-faced morning commuters, but Libby found a seat at the back of the lower deck, hoping Dylan would choose somewhere else to sit. But to her irritation, he slid into the seat next to her, his long legs immediately taking up half her space. Libby squeezed against the window so they weren’t touching.
“So, what are we actually doing today?” Dylan said as the bus pulled off.
“Right.” Libby reached into her rucksack and pulled out aplastic folder containing several sheets of paper. “I studied the bus route yesterday and I’ve come up with a plan.”
She handed him a highlighted map, and then took out a second page for herself.
“There are ninety-six stops on the 88 bus route, forty-eight in each direction. So I’ve broken down the route into nine stages—marked here with the different colors.” She pointed at the map in Dylan’s hands. “Each stage is approximately a mile long, but obviously I need to cover both the north and south routes, so it’s two miles in total. My plan is to go out three times a week and cover a different stage of the route each time; that’s ten or eleven bus stops per stage. I’ll put posters up on lampposts as well as at the stops themselves.”
She looked at Dylan to see if he was following, but his face was scrunched up in confusion. As she’d suspected, he clearly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box.
“Do you need me to explain it again?” she said. “There are—”
“What’s this?” Dylan interrupted.
“What?”
“This.” He pointed at the piece of paper in her hand.
“It’s an Excel spreadsheet. I’ve listed all the bus stops in this column, and then here is the distance between each stop, to the nearest ten meters. In this column I’ve marked where the north- and southbound routes diverge and...” Libby trailed off as she realized Dylan was staring at her.
“Did you seriously spend your weekend doing a spreadsheet for fly-posting?” The incredulity in his voice made Libby bristle.
“Do you have a problem with that?”
“Nah. It’s just a bit... odd.”
“It’s not odd; it’s organized. This way I can make sure each outing is as time and energy efficient as possible.”
Dylan didn’t say anything but she saw him raise an eyebrow.
