“Nightmare,” Sally was muttering to herself, “you’re a bloody nightmare. How you haven’t died yet is a sodding mystery.”
“If I die, there’ll be nobody for you to torment. It’s for everyone else, really, that I’ve stuck on so long.”
“We appreciate your sacrifice,” Mike raised his glass to me, and Tom smirked, but he rubbed a hand along her back as he did so.
“That’s very mean. I’m telling Elsie you said that.”
My face fell. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would. I’m going to hers for tea tomorrow.”
“I’ll come as well, then. She’ll take my side.”
“No, she won’t, she’ll take mine.”
I scowled at Sally’s triumphant face. She would, in fact, take her side. Elsie would take anyone’s side if they were arguing against me.
“Well,” Mike swung his hand down on the arm of the sofa, “you told your story. Fair’s fair, you are free to go, Max.”
I laughed,
“So, kind.”
“Will you stay?” Sally pleaded.
“Best not. Don’t want to get caught short with a phone call at four in the morning feeling like I’ve been pulled out of a bog,” I told her, finishing my drink and standing up. I said goodbye, and everyone fanned out again, falling into their own conversations.
I went out into the hall, searching for my coat, and Sally followed me, leaning against the wall. Her skin was flushed from the drinks and the warm room, but her eyes were as focused as ever. She regarded me with a very annoying sense of knowingness, head tilted to one side.
“You alright, Max?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked, searching through the crowded coat rack like I was trying to get into bloody Narnia.
“I know you don’t like pulling up stuff like that.” She scratched her jaw, “not your favourite pastime.”
“Just a case, Sally. I don’t mind talking about them that much. Just a puzzle, isn’t it?”
Puzzles with a lot more death and sorrow but still just puzzles.
“I mean, talking about getting hurt. Bringing up Elsie and Jeannie.”
“Jeannie’s Jeannie,” I replied, “I’m not about to get upset over her.”
“What about Elsie?”
“What about her?”
“Seen her recently?”
“Every time I go out there. Tells me off for doing it.”
“So, she should.” She snapped, then asked more gently, “Why bother, Max?”
“I owe it to her.”
“She forgave you,” Sally reminded me in a soft voice,
“Well, I haven’t,” I replied as softly, finding my coat and yanking it on.
“Still need to borrow that cement mixer?”
“I do.”
“Fine. What for, anyway?”
“The fireplace has a few loose bricks.”
“Would you like help?”
“No, thank you.”
“I’ll help,” she decided, patting me on the arm and wandering back into the room.
“Sally!”
“I’m helping,” she called back, giving me a crude hand gesture over her shoulder. I shook my head, smiling, and wound my scarf around my head.
More footsteps came into the hall, lighter feet, less certain. I turned to find Molly standing there, looking at me root around for my gloves.
“I meant it, you know,” she said, stepping closer, “I really would like to hear some more stories.”
“They’re not all that nice, you know.”
“I know.” She was holding a piece of paper in her hands, folded over a few times and she reached out, slipping it into my pocket. She lingered there a moment, then drifted away a few steps.
I stood there by the front door, a little struck. The only person who’d ever been so forward was Jeannie, and she didn’t slip me her number so much as she just showed up one day and told me we were going for dinner.
“Molly,” I called, halting her.
“What?”
“I really do get phone calls at four in the morning,” I told her. “Long shifts, suddenly getting up and going.”
“And?”
“People don’t really like that in a partner.”
“People? Or girls?”
“Last I checked, girls are people.”
She laughed. “Shut up, Max. You know what I mean.”
“I do. It’s fun at first, but after so many cancelled dates and rain checks, it gets a bit old.”
“What about Jeannie?”
“She does as much cancelling as me.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone not cancel on you, Max?”
“I’m just warning you. Before I call this number,” I pat my pocket, “and woo you.”
“Woo me?”
“Yes, I woo. See you later, Molly,” I smirked down at her, swinging the front door open and slipping out into the night.
I was glad to leave, even into the rain. To feel the cool breeze and fresh air, the quiet city with its empty streets, nobody asking for stories or rambling on about boring dead Greek men.
I had never been one for dinner parties. I pulled my gloves on, flipped my coat collar up and strode off into the rain misted streets.
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Unusual Remains Page 26