‘You freak!’ The words cut the evening air, making Honor jump. The voice continued more quietly, so that Honor couldn’t make out the words. But the tone was as hissy as a rat. Soundlessly, she crept around the shrubs that divided the small parking area from the road. It was Frog she saw first, more distinctly as she drew nearer. ‘Thing is, freak, you’re beginning to get on my nerves.’ Honor took another step.
Then saw Rufus.
The Tadpoles had him, spread-eagled against a wall.
Chapter Twelve
Only Rufus’s eyes moved, desperately seeking escape. His green striped shirt was torn and hanging off one shoulder. His eyes kept coming back to Frog. Eyes full of fury and fear. And, worst of all, to Honor, resignation. He was steeling himself for whatever bad thing was coming and, judging from the way that the grinning Tadpoles had their ankles hooked around Ru’s to spread his legs, what was coming probably involved a hefty kick where it really hurt.
From her position, Honor could see that beneath his baseball cap, Frog’s face shone with the incomprehensible pleasure of the bully. ‘And what do I do to people who get on my nerves, freak?’ Frog’s voice dropped. ‘I teach them not to do it any more.’
Honor’s stomach churned and she suddenly lost all desire for the fish and chips in her hand, so fragrantly mouthwateringly delicious seconds before. A long chip lay greasily across the top of the packet, glistening with salt. She extracted it and wiped it around the excess salt that had collected in the corners of the wrapping paper.
Two strides away, Frog was still winding himself up for attack.
Anger engulfing good sense, Honor moved forward. The expressions on the Tadpole’s faces changed to astonishment as she stepped up beside and behind Frog but, before they could warn their leader, Honor reached around and jabbed the pointy corner of the salt-laden chip into Frog’s eye, halting his nasty rhetoric mid-flow. ‘So, frea-eek! Fucking hell!’ Frog threw his hands up to his face, spinning instinctively to face his attacker, though both eyes were scrunching as he scrubbed at them furiously. ‘What the fuck?’ As he hopped back, Honor, following grimly, reached up and posted her steaming battered fish down the V-neck of his T-shirt.
Frog yelped in a whole new octave. ‘Ow, ow-OW! That’s fucking hot!’ He beat blindly at his T-shirt and fish began to slither in smashed handfuls out of the bottom of the shirt and into the slung-low waistband of his jeans. ‘Shit!’ he howled, delving into his waistband to prevent hot fish from encroaching further.
Satisfied that Frog was safely occupied removing salt from his eyes and fish from his shorts, Honor turned her attention to the Tadpoles. Like most sidekicks, their bravado depended on their ringleader. Now that he was temporarily incapacitated their grins had turned to idiotic dismay. Utilising all the advantages of surprise, Honor stalked towards them with what she hoped was the manic light of battle in her eye, digging her fingers into her remaining chips. ‘Let him go, morons.’
Like children caught with their fingers in the cookie jar, they jumped back and whipped their hands behind their backs.
Ru pushed free. ‘Watch out for Frog.’
Honor swung around to see Frog advancing. Realising, with a heart sink, that the first instant of surprise had gone and that she’d put herself right in the middle of Frog and the Tadpoles, she lifted her bag of chips threateningly. ‘Hold it, fuckhead.’
He scraped to an uncertain halt. But his eyes narrowed. ‘What do you think you’re going to do with a bag of soggy chips, Yankee Doodle?’ He reached out and swatted the bedraggled remains of her meal from her hand.
‘That’s enough,’ rapped a voice from above their heads.
With a flood of relief Honor watched the tall figure of Martyn Mayfair jog gently down his metal staircase. His eyes were fixed on Frog. ‘Wind your neck in,’ he snapped. ‘You’ve tried to rough one younger kid up three-to-one and instead you’ve been made to look stupid by a titchy woman armed with a bag of chips. So piss off.’
‘I’m not titchy,’ Honor protested.
The Tadpoles began to shuffle towards the street, as if hoping Martyn wouldn’t spot them. Frog glared, but was obviously inhibited by no longer dealing mob-handed with someone smaller and younger than himself in a quiet corner where nobody could see.
‘Freak!’ he spat, viciously, in Ru’s direction, ramming his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turning to follow his fast-disappearing buddies.
‘Wait!’ Honor’s voice rang out before she’d realised she was going to speak. ‘Apologise to Rufus!’
‘What?’ He swung around, wearing an expression of ludicrous astonishment.
‘I said, apologise to Rufus,’ she repeated, weakly.
Martyn’s mouth twitched but he said, ‘You heard the lady. Apologise to Rufus.’
‘Get stuffed,’ said Frog, instead. And, with a final flip of his fingers in Ru’s direction, disappeared around the corner of the nearest shop, like an angry bear.
‘You may have pushed a little too hard with the apology,’ Martyn observed.
‘I hope I haven’t made things worse,’ she said, anxiously, to Ru, who was staring at her, clearly bemused.
‘Dunno,’ he said. Then added, honestly, ‘Probably.’
‘Oh, crap.’ She felt a sinking sense of shame. ‘Are you OK?’
He rubbed his shoulder where his shirt was torn but nodded. His huge dark eyes, so like his mother’s above his high cheekbones, were unfathomable. ‘Thanks.’ He flicked a shy, awkward glance at Martyn. ‘Thanks,’ he repeated.
Martyn dismissed him with a nod, then frowned down at Honor, as if wondering what the hell to do with her. ‘I’m cooking pasta. You’d better come and have some in place of your fish and chips. It’ll give the neighbourhood thugs time to clear the area. You didn’t exactly diffuse the situation.’
‘I didn’t know how to.’ Anxiety was squirming unpleasantly, now that the heat of anger had cooled. ‘If I’d called the cops Ru would have been black and blue by the time they arrived.’
‘It’s really tough to defeat a pack,’ he agreed, turning and beginning back up the metal stairs, his shoes making a tung, tung, tung noise on the treads. ‘They’re hyenas, opportunistic pack hunters, skulking in the bush until they can isolate vulnerable prey.’
Honor began up the stairway behind him. But halted as she realised that Ru was just watching.
At the door, Martyn looked back, frowning to see Honor only a few steps up the stairs. His gaze switched to Ru and he sighed. ‘You’d better come, too.’
And when Honor set off again, tung, tung, tung, she could hear the echoes of Ru’s footfalls behind her.
‘Wow,’ she breathed, when she stepped in through the black-painted door.
She could see clear through the apartment from the wooden floor and cream walls of the entrance lobby, past a stainless steel kitchen area lit, it seemed, by twenty concealed lights and divided from the living area with a wide expanse of polished silvery black granite, over the cream carpeted lounge area to four French doors in the end wall. A long way off.
It was huge. The apartment extended over the entire block of shops at Starboard Walk.
And a couple of doors and a black-painted spiral stairway leading from the entrance way indicated that there was more to be seen.
‘This is quite a place,’ she observed inadequately. In a rush, she remembered about Martyn not being just Martyn but being Martyn Mayfair the Model. She kicked off her tennis shoes before stepping on to the carpet.
Martyn was busy throwing handfuls of penne pasta into bubbling hot water and combining tinned tomatoes in a pan with a jar of sauce – no doubt to make it stretch to serve three. She took one of the tall chrome stools on the other side of the counter, checking that there were no studs or zippers on her jeans to damage the butter-soft black leather seat. Beside her, Ru silently followed suit.
Whenever Martyn flicked a glance at Ru, Ru dropped his eyes. Most of Martyn’s glances were actually glowers, so Honor wasn’t to
o surprised Ru was abashed.
Martyn moved economically around his – clearly expensive – kitchen and Ru looked like a piece of trash someone had forgotten to take out, shirt ripped, a dirty graze on his arm and his hair hiding his face as he stared down at the silver-black granite counter as if it were showing a brand new movie. Honor’s usual effortless flow of conversation dried up. Feeling almost … yes, shy of Martyn; Martyn as he really was. All she could think about was that she’d seen him in his skivvies. Like a god up there on the side of the bus, so perfect and at ease with his perfection that he could allow his image to be blown many times life-size and flaunted before the public.
Whoa. She actually felt her palms get hot.
It was ten awkward minutes before Martyn placed glasses, forks and a pepper grinder on the counter, then, from an impressive bank of stainless steel appliances on the far wall, brought out a bottle of chilled water. He dragged a stool up to the other side of the counter and began spooning out pasta on to square white plates.
‘Wicked. Thanks,’ mumbled Ru.
‘That looks great,’ agreed Honor, picking up her fork. The sauce was rich with chunks of chicken and studded with broccoli.
Silently, Martyn began to eat.
Ru gazed miserably at his plate. ‘I won’t say anything to her. I know how she’ll be if she knows I’ve been up here.’ He shot a glance at Martyn.
Slowly, Martyn nodded. ‘Thanks. That’s good to know.’
‘I know she’s weird,’ Ru rushed on. ‘I keep thinking that she’ll just get over you but she’s been weird since Tucker died – weirder. But you know what she’s like. She’s got this massive thing about you. If I knew how to stop her, I’d do it.’
Martyn forked up some pasta. ‘Thanks for understanding that she freaks me out,’ he said, ironically.
‘Yeah,’ Ru agreed, bleakly. ‘Freaky, that’s us.’
‘But it’s not Ru’s fault,’ Honor protested, hearing unwelcome echoes of Frog’s ‘freak!’ She looked at Martyn, lifting her eyebrows in elaborate expectation, trying to fry him with her stare.
After a few moments of the stare treatment, his eyes gleaming with amusement, he gave in. ‘It certainly would make my life easier if you said nothing about visiting me tonight, Rufus. I appreciate that you’re in a difficult situation.’ One corner of his mouth moved in something that might have been a smile.
Rufus went dark red. ‘’S’alright,’ he muttered.
The grin Martyn sent Honor under his dark brows suggested he was beginning to remember his company manners. And expected her approval. ‘Your pasta OK?’
But Ru, gazing into his plate that way, made Honor feel soft with sorrow. He was a good kid in a bad situation and Martyn Mayfair Superstar’s graciousness needed work, so she looked at Ru as if the question had been directed his way, obliging him to pick up his fork and taste the food so that he could say, ‘Yes. Thanks.’
When they’d eaten and Martyn had filled the coffee machine, he did finally make a proper attempt with Ru. ‘You ever taken any self-defence classes? Seems to me that you ought to.’
Ru gave his usual, fatalistic shrug. ‘Mum doesn’t like me going to classes.’ And then, at Martyn’s uncomprehending silence, ‘She doesn’t like me joining things. She says we’re free spirits.’
‘That’s true,’ Honor put in. ‘I heard her say that.’
‘She’d keep me out of school, if she could.’ His plate removed, Ru had returned his morose gaze to the granite. ‘She doesn’t like conforming. I’m probably the only kid you know who sneaks off in the morning to change into his uniform. I buy it from the school thrift shop and carry it round in my backpack.’
Honor struggled to understand the school uniform thing. ‘So all the kids in your school have to wear a certain thing, and she won’t let you?’
‘Black trousers and a burgundy sweatshirt,’ he agreed. ‘But she says a uniform is designed to strip me of my individuality and make me one of a herd. It’s important for each person to be valued for how they are and not forced into superficial conformity. She tells me not to be a clone.’ He laughed, humourlessly, and Honor thought she caught the glint of tears in his eyes. ‘She’s certainly made me an “individual”. It’s no wonder the kids at school call me “freak”. They think I live with a coven of witches.’
Martyn snorted. ‘It’s what comes of being brought up in a non-standard household. People start giving you a hard time for it, as if there’s something you could do about it. Your mother seemed OK with Tucker.’
‘Yeah.’ Ru glanced up. ‘It was better when Tucker was alive.’ His hair slid slowly over his eyes. ‘He was the most normal bloke Mum ever had.’
Honor’s heart ached. ‘So Tucker wasn’t your dad?’
‘No. Some bloke she used to be friends with did the business for her when she wanted a baby. He went off to work in South America. They didn’t keep in touch.’
Honor sighed. ‘At least she wanted you.’
Sliding off his stool to collect the steaming coffee jug and a carton of milk from the fridge, Martyn put out three mugs. His voice was softer, now. ‘There’ve been a lot of blokes, then?’
‘Yeah,’ Ru said, gruffly. ‘’Specially at festivals. She’s always sending me off “for a walk”, or pointing out what tent she’ll be in if I need her during the night.’
Honor’s anger bubbled over. ‘That just stinks! She’s a mom and she ought to know better than to embarrass you that way.’ But then she caught Martyn’s eye and subsided. She wasn’t helping, any more than when she’d antagonised Ru’s bullies. He was probably wishing her to hell.
Martyn sipped his coffee meditatively, and then, sighing as if making a tough decision, pulled out his phone and dialled with a few touches to the screen. ‘Hi, Clarissa,’ he said, into the flat, shiny instrument. ‘Do any of your mates do self-defence classes?’ He reached into a drawer for a pen and wrote a number on a scrap of paper. ‘No, not me. Just someone I know.’
Ending the call, he gave the number to Ru. ‘Call this number and say Clarissa gave it to you. It’s a guy called Hughie. His classes are pretty full but he went to school with Clarissa, so he’ll fit you in.’ He made a thoughtful face. ‘I’m not sure that he knows how to beat up three thugs with fish and chips, though.’
Honor blushed. ‘I thought I did a good job.’
His eyes smiled, even if his lips were late to the party. ‘You were heroic. By the time I opened the door, there you were, St Georgina taming a deeply unpleasant dragon with a takeaway and impressive American swearwords.’
They both looked around at a sudden squeaky, creaky noise. It came from Rufus, laughing almost soundlessly. ‘It was wicked,’ he gasped. ‘Frog dancing about trying to get hot fish out of his boxers. He looked such a tosser.’
Martyn actually began to laugh, too. ‘It’s the American hot-fish dance. Frog should be honoured that Honor came all the way from Connecticut to teach him.’
Rufus laughed harder, wiping under his eyes with the heels of his hands. There was something almost hysterical about it, as if he could tip over into sobs any moment. Honor patted his shoulder and Martyn poured more coffee.
When the creaking laugh wound down into hiccups, Honor dialled the phone number Martyn had got from Clarissa. She got through immediately and explained the situation. ‘Lucky to catch me! Just off to a class,’ Hughie boomed. ‘Clarissa gave you my number, did she? I don’t do any classes in the Deans but I do a Thursday evening in Kemptown, if that’s any good?’
‘It’s very good,’ she said, firmly. ‘Do you have enough space for two?’ Ru definitely needed support.
Chapter Thirteen
‘You’re going to the classes, too?’ Martyn said, slowly, wondering why he hadn’t seen that coming.
Honor nodded firmly, sliding her phone away. ‘Ru, the class is Thursday evening in Eastern Road in Brighton. I’ll find out where that is and look into the buses.’
Rufus slid off his stool to dump his coffee cup i
n the sink. He still looked dubious about the whole self-defence thing but offered, ‘Kemptown’s this side of Brighton. The bus that goes to the hospital will get us to Eastern Road.’
She hesitated. ‘What will you tell your mom?’
He quirked his eyebrows. ‘That I’m going out. She never bothers. It’s the upside of her thing about personal freedom.’
‘Great.’ Honor beamed and Martyn’s heart flipped. It was written across her fine, delicate features that she was set on helping the kid. It wasn’t the kid’s fault he had a mad mother; Martyn hadn’t needed Honor’s hard stares to tell him that – but that didn’t stop the mad mother making the kid a trouble magnet. Anyone allied to Rufus Gordon was going to attract some of that trouble and what possible reason could Honor have for making herself part of that? He sighed. Any moment now he was going to say something really stupid. He could feel it building in his gut – or somewhere south of that. There was something about Honor that made him come over all helpful.
‘So we could get a bus from Marine Drive?’ Honor was asking Rufus. ‘We could hang around in my front yard until we see it coming, because that way we’d be less likely to run into Frog.’
‘Suppose,’ said Ru.
Martyn knew what the stupid thing was going to be before he said it. Honor might have the heart of a lion in the body of a ballerina but she was a hell of lot smaller than Frog. ‘I’ll drive you,’ he said. ‘It’s only a few minutes along the coast road.’
‘But–’
He cut across her. ‘It’s no problem.’
‘Oh. Well then, thank you.’ Her smile was golden.
It wasn’t long before she began doing the polite thing, apologising for invading his home at no notice and insisting that it was time she and Ru left.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘As you have no fish-and-chip cloak of invincibility, we’ll walk Ru home then I’ll walk you home.’
She laughed as she flexed her feet neatly into her shoes but he noticed that suddenly she wasn’t meeting his gaze. He almost reassured her, ‘I won’t try and kiss you, this time. Even though, that day, I’d never wanted to kiss a woman so much in my life.’ To feel her body against his. Had been anticipating the rush of desire that would hit him as he explored the warmth of her mouth and the softness of her lips … The connection had been that strong. Until he’d cut it.
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