We’re both silent. This is the weirdest part of the story. Yet again, I replay the scene in my head. Meeting Brent’s daughter on the steps of the trailer. Feeling the hostility burning off her like heat off a sun-baked tarmac road. Staring back at her in bewilderment, thinking, What did I ever do to you? And then the killer line: “We’re all called Rebecca.” I still don’t know what she meant by “all.” She certainly wasn’t about to explain.

“What else did she say?” Suze asks impatiently.

“Nothing! She said, ‘If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.’ ”

“Helpful.” Suze rolls her eyes.

“Yes, well. She didn’t seem very keen on me. I don’t know why.”

I don’t add that she said I had a “prinky prinky voice” and that her last words to me were “Fuck off, princess girl.”

“She didn’t mention Corey at all.” Suze is tapping her pen on the table.

“No.”

“But Corey is the one who lives in Las Vegas. So your dad might be going to see him.”

“Yes. I think so.”

“You think so.” Suze suddenly lashes out. “Bex, we need some solid facts!”

It’s all very well, Suze expecting me to have all the answers. But Mum and I have no idea what Corey’s or Raymond’s surname is, even, let alone anything else. Mum says Dad only ever mentioned them when he was reminiscing about the trip, which was once a year, at Christmas, and she never really listened. (She even said that if she’d heard about the searing heat of Death Valley once, she’d heard it a million times, and why hadn’t they just stayed in a nice swimming pool?)

I’ve googled corey las vegas, corey graham bloomwood, corey brent, and everything I can think of. The trouble is, there are a lot of Coreys in Las Vegas.

“OK.” Alicia comes off her mobile. “Thanks anyway.”

Alicia’s been phoning everyone she knows, to try to find out if Bryce mentioned where he’s staying in Las Vegas. But so far no one knows anything.

“No joy?”

“No.” She sighs deeply. “Suze, I feel I’m letting you down.”

“You’re not letting me down!” says Suze at once, and clutches Alicia’s hand. “You’re an angel.”

They’re both totally ignoring me. Maybe we should have a break, anyway. I force a friendly smile and say, “I’m going to stretch my legs. Apparently there’s a barnyard at the back. Could you order me the maple waffles, please? Plus some pancakes for Minnie and a strawberry milkshake. Come on, sweetheart.” I take Minnie’s little hand in mine and at once feel comforted. At least Minnie loves me unconditionally.

(Or at least she will until she’s thirteen and I tell her she can’t wear a micro-mini to school, and she’ll hate me more than anyone in the world.)

(Oh God, that’s only eleven years away. Why can’t she just stay two and a half forever?)


THREE

As I head to the back of the diner, I see Mum and Janice exiting the ladies’. Janice is wearing a pair of white sunglasses on her head, and Minnie draws breath at the sight.