Kate told me something worrying earlier.
“Elle got into this swanky sports car,” she said. “I didn’t get the number, but it was blue. It was being driven by two boys, about nineteen years old. There were a couple of guys in their twenties or thirties as passengers. It wasn’t forced, I could tell, but she looked as though she wasn’t sure what was happening.”
Kate’s opinions echo mine - she feels that these men must be supplying Elle with drugs. I didn’t tell her I agreed. She thinks the drugs are just a method of blackmailing Elle, or getting her to come back to them again and again.
“I don’t know about that, Kate,” I said, more to stop her worrying that because it was true. In my heart of hearts I knew Kate was right. “But if she isn’t back tonight, at least I know who she is with.” It was no comfort - more of a worry. In fact, I had no idea why I said that. I still don’t.
Kate’s dark eyes give away the fact that she’s thinking the same thing as me: but we can’t know where she’ll end up this time - or even if she’ll turn up at all.