Page 5 of Darling Girls

‘Really?’ Kevin leaned forward to get a better look at her boobs. ‘What kind of business?’

‘I complete online IQ and psychometric testing on behalf of idiots who are applying for jobs.’

Kevin’s puzzled face demonstrated that he would almost certainly need her services if the circumstance arose. She wondered if she should give him her business card. ‘Psychometric testing?’ he repeated.

‘Businesses these days are stupid enough to think that they’ll get better employees if they force them through a rigorous screening of ridiculous tests,’ she explained. ‘Instead, they get the most inventive cheaters. Which, admittedly, often translates to success in the workplace . . .’

‘So you complete the test for them?’

‘Guaranteed pass or your money back,’ she said in an American infomercial-type voice. She liked her infomercial voice, and often wondered if she should audition to use it professionally. ‘I usually get a few wrong so they don’t mistake the person for a genius. That would be irresponsible.’

‘How does it work?’ Kevin asked.

‘It’s pretty easy. I use a VPN that places my IP address at the client’s location, then I log on at the same time as the candidate and complete the test while they sit there. They fill out all their own details and submit it from their own computer. For the privilege I charge them three hundred dollars a pop.’

‘Three hundred bucks? You must be pretty good at those tests.’

‘What’s shocking is howbadmost people are at them. Makes me worry for the world, it really does.’

She’d been enjoying her monologue – Norah liked nothing more than talking about what idiots people were – but her mood dipped when she noticed Kevin staring at her. His eyes were all gooey.

She sighed. ‘What?’

Kevin bared his teeth in a weaselly smile. ‘It’s just . . . you’re really pretty.’

Norah was aware that she was attractive. She wasn’t blind and, unlike Kevin, she wasn’t a halfwit. She was six feet tall – most of it in her legs – with unblemished olive skin and tumbling brown hair, courtesy of her Lebanese mother. Presumably she had her father to thank for her bright blue eyes, but as she had no idea who he was, she hadn’t bothered. People went wild for her eyes. They regularly stopped her on the street to comment – at least they tried to, but usually Norah forestalled them, saying, ‘Yes, I know I have amazing eyes, thanks for noticing.’

It baffled Norah that her breasts weren’t given more attention. They were, objectively speaking, an exercise in perfect symmetry, scale and shape. A few years back, when Neil asked her to think of one thing she was grateful for, she hadn’t hesitated. ‘The girls,’ she said, glancing down.

Neil had looked confused, so she’d lifted her top. She’d had to endure a lengthy lecture on ‘appropriate behaviour in therapy’ after that.

Kevin was still smiling at her. ‘I just . . . I can’t believe I’m on a date with you.’

Norah had come to the conclusion that no amount of help around the house was worth spending time with Kevin when her phone began to ring. The gods, it seemed, were smiling on her.

‘Must take this,’ she said, seizing the phone. ‘Hello?’

‘Am I speaking to Norah Anderson?’

‘Yes.’ Norah pressed a finger into the ear not holding the phone to block out the ambient noise. ‘Who is this?’

‘My name is Detective Ashleigh Patel.’

Norah frowned. The fact that she couldn’t recall any dealings with a Detective Patel didn’t mean anything necessarily. When you were in trouble with the cops as often as Norah was, the names and voices tended to blur.

‘Sorry, Detective,’ Norah shouted, ‘I’m in a restaurant and it’s a little hard to hear. I’m just going to step outside.’

She waved at Kevin, who nodded, and walked out of the restaurant onto the busy street. ‘Okay, I’m outside. What’s this regarding?’

‘It’s to do with an investigation I’m working on.’

‘What investigation?’ Norah kept walking away from the restaurant. She wasn’t planning to return. She doubted Kevin would be able to fix the fan in her bathroom anyway.

‘I’m part of a team investigating a crime we think may have occurred around the time you were living at Wild Meadows foster home.’

Norah stopped walking so abruptly that a man crashed into her. She spun around and shoved him away, glaring as he called her a ‘psycho bitch’.

‘Are you all right?’ the detective asked.