A main meal seemed unnecessary after the generous Sunday dinner, so he took a half-packet of biscuits from the cupboard to go with his drink, and wandered through to the front room. A quick flip through the channels confirmed that there was nothing worth watching on TV, so he put in a DVD and settled back to stretch out on the couch, his head propped up against one armrest, his feet hanging out over the other. Action films made the evenings pass more quickly, and his watch showed 9.20 p.m. when the gunfire ceased and the end credits appeared. Wearily, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, one hand moving to rub away the stiffness in his shoulder, and yawned. Then, stooping to retrieve his empty cup, he got to his feet and went through to the kitchen to clear up.
Another lonely evening, almost over.
The bathroom light flickered into life above him as he tugged the cord, then leaned over the bath to secure the plug and open the hot tap. A good soak would ease his shoulder, and help him get a good night. He knew all too well how elusive sleep could be – the thoughts that lurked in the darkness of the small hours.
Leaving the water running, he made his way along the landing and into the bedroom. It was at the front of the house, and the window looked out onto the street, but the curtains were still closed from this morning – he often forgot to open them. Yawning, Harland removed his watch and placed it on the small bedside cabinet. He undressed slowly, putting items away or pitching them into the laundry basket as he went. Then, gathering up a charcoal grey bathrobe and a large blue towel, he padded back through to the bathroom.
From habit, he pushed the door closed behind him to keep in the warmth, then paused as he glimpsed himself in the bathroom mirror. Letting the robe and towel drop to the floor, he stepped forward and leaned over the sink, wiping away the condensation to study his reflection properly.
When had he got so old?
There were lines starting to appear around his eyes, tiny crow’s feet that hadn’t been there before. His short dark hair was flecked with so many bright silver strands, and even his sideburns were peppered with grey. He sighed, then frowned, noting the creases in his brow, but his eyes were drawn back to tiny dark hairs that he’d spied in his ears.
Great. Just great …
Remembering the water, he bent over and switched off the tap, then returned to the mirror. Grimly, he took his razor from the cabinet and twisted it around in his hand, pressing the tiny button on the handle to activate the trimmer. Leaning towards his reflection, he angled his head to one side and eliminated the hairs, then turned and did the other ear.
He wasn’t that bloody old.
Standing back a little, he looked at himself. From here, the grey wasn’t so bad, the lines not so obvious. His body was in reasonable shape – maybe a little lean, but at least he didn’t have to suck his stomach in any more – and his arms were toned.
That was probably the swimming. He’d been dismissive when his counsellor had suggested it as a way to help him get through the bereavement, but he’d tried it anyway and it had worked in a way – maybe lifting his mood a little, but certainly burning through some long, lonely hours, and tiring him so he could sleep.
He gazed at his reflection for a moment longer, pulling a hand down his jaw – he would shave in the morning, put some wax in his hair if he still had any lying around. Satisfied, he turned away from the mirror and tested the water with his toe. Far too hot. He spun the cold tap and let it run for a moment, paddling the water with his foot to cool the whole bath.
Before he got in, he retrieved the portable radio from the window sill and switched it on. Quiet voices on Radio 4, winding down the day with a muted discussion of The Arts.
He eased himself into the bath and lay back, mind and body melting away in the hot water. Steam closed his eyes and carried his thoughts once more to Sue, picturing her face, the way she looked at him – that clear smile, without any of the apprehension or pity that he saw in others when they spoke to him.
He slid deeper, so that the water gently lapped up over his chest to circle his neck.
That smile had been for him, her eyes attentive, interested. But what could he offer her? What could she possibly want from someone like him? He wasn’t that much older – that wasn’t the problem. It was just that she had seemed so … happy. Happy inside, unlike himself. He didn’t want to taint that happiness, didn’t want to see her face lose that spark of optimism, like his own troubled reflection.
Sighing, he turned his wrists upward, finding the hottest water just below the surface, feeling the warmth spreading through his veins. A voice from the radio mentioned that it was getting late.
He opened his eyes and reached for the soap, holding it to his nose to smell the cinnamon.
There was nothing he could do about it tonight – best to forget it for now. Sitting up and yawning, he ran the soap down his arm and began to wash the thoughts away.
9
She dreamed of sunlight, glittering through the trees at the end of the garden. It dappled the neatly mown grass as she twisted the pink handlebar grip back and forth, clicking up and down through the gears of her bicycle. Her small hands paused for a moment, and that was when she became aware of it – an indistinct sound, coming from the house. Resting her bike against the garage wall, she stood still, listening. At first, she thought her mother was calling her, and she skipped across the tiny square lawn to the tall patio doors. Reaching up, she tugged hard on the handle, leaning back to give all her slight weight to it with the eager abandon of a child, but as the heavy double glazing started to slide open, she suddenly heard more clearly. Raised voices in the kitchen, growing louder and louder as the door slid further, despite her trying to stop it.
‘… I don’t know why not. It’s never stopped Jerry.’ The shrill, mocking tone was all the more unsettling for coming from her mother.
‘That’s your answer to everything.’ Her father’s words were quieter, colder. ‘I swear you won’t be happy till you’ve turned me into a copy of that stuck-up little shit.’
He sounded so cross. Her small fingers still gripped the smooth metal handle tightly, her body swaying unhappily over the threshold as she stared across the shadowy dining room towards the kitchen door.
‘At least he knows how to provide for his family.’
Why did her mother have to argue with him like this? Didn’t she realise how angry she was making him?
There was a moment of strangled silence before her father began to shout.
‘Well I’m sorry you had to settle for someone who works for a living.’
‘Oh, give it a rest,’ her mother laughed. ‘It’d take a lot more than money to make a man of you, you pathetic—’ The words were cut short by a stifled cry, and it sounded as though someone had fallen over something.
For a moment, a dreadful stillness blanketed the house. Biting her lip, she stepped up onto the patterned carpet and edged towards the kitchen as a quiet sobbing replaced the arguing voices, then froze as heavy footsteps moved quickly along the hall and the front door rattled and slammed.
She stood, rocking herself from side to side as she stared up at the kitchen door, waiting for everything to go quiet before she moved forward again. She didn’t want to go in – she already knew what she would find – but somehow she couldn’t stop herself.
The door made no noise as it swung slowly open, and she peered round it before stealing into the kitchen.
Her mother was sitting with her arms folded on the heavy wooden table, a blue cardigan draped over her shoulders, head bowed forward so that her wavy blonde hair shielded her face.
‘Mummy?’
Her mother’s arms seemed to tense, but she didn’t lift her head or look round.
‘It’s all right, sweetheart.’
The words were spoken in a light, calm voice but they unsettled her more than anything that had preceded them. With the horrible shock of certainty, she knew that her mother was lying to her. Why?
‘What’s the matter, Mummy?
’ She crept forward, her shoulder brushing along the edge of the table.
‘I told you, it’s all right.’
But it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. Reaching out, she moved closer, wanting to be held, but her mother suddenly flinched, jerking back from the touch, turning her head away.
‘Will you please just go and play, Kim? Just … just go and play!’
The stooped shoulders rose and fell slowly, with a deep breath and a visible tightening of her mother’s fingers. She turned her head slightly, one eye glaring out through the curtain of hair, teeth bared as though she was biting back words she mustn’t speak.
Kim faltered, then took a step backwards. She’d never seen her mother so angry with her – what had she done wrong?
Retreating along the length of the table, she reached out a hand behind her to find the doorway, where she hesitated, leaning up against the uneven gloss of the wooden frame.
‘That’s a good girl. I love you, sweetheart.’
Her mother turned her chair away from the door slightly, tilting her head back a little. Kim managed a nervous smile, but it faded as she noticed the drops of blood, dark red beads that caught the light on the surface of the table. With a cry, she turned and tripped, stumbling though the doorway, arms tensing to save herself …
… as her eyes opened onto darkness. For a moment, she didn’t understand where she was. Then she felt the soft smothering weight of the duvet, made out the dim shape of the lampshade on the ceiling above, and heard the quiet breathing beside her. Trembling, she rolled over, turning her body towards the sound, nuzzling in closer to his warmth. He stirred slightly, then reached out a strong arm, draping it around her shoulder. She wriggled closer, tucking her head in against his chest and whispering his name softly. He murmured something as his hand moved drowsily down her back and over her bottom, but she welcomed the intimacy of his touch, drawing up her knees against his and staring blindly in the dark.
‘Rob?’
‘Mmmm.’
‘Rob?’
He groaned and moved his head slightly.
‘What is it?’
She wanted to explain, to tell him what had woken her so he could banish it, but her memory of the dream was already shifting and hazy – only a confusing sense of guilt remained.
‘I can’t sleep,’ she whispered, turning away from him, feeling foolish.
She felt him moving wearily, shuffling across into the middle of the bed, his arm gathering her and drawing her back against him.
‘Come here,’ he yawned, and his hand found hers, clasping it gently as he kissed her shoulder. ‘It’s all right. I’ve got you now.’
Staring into the gloom, Kim drew his arm in against her chest and held it tightly for a while, then finally allowed her eyes to close, and sleep to claim her.
10
Saturday, 14 June
Faces. Male and female, old and young, serious and smiling – just another busy Saturday in Bristol. Naysmith absently stroked a rough patch of stubble under his chin as he stared out through the café window at the shoppers drifting by, passing in and out of his line of sight as they explored the trestle tables in the food market. Little people, all of them individual, all of them insignificant.
He smiled and turned back to Kim, glancing down at the tall coffee glass on the table in front of her.
‘How’s your …?’ he gestured doubtfully at the cream-topped drink ‘… black cherry mocha?’
Kim made a face.
‘Black Forest mocha,’ she corrected him, then inclined her head as she raised the glass. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe I should have gone for the latte. You’re always safe with a latte.’
‘If you don’t like it, just leave it,’ he shrugged. ‘I can go and get you something else if you want?’
‘No,’ Kim shook her head, ‘I do quite like it – it’s just really … different, that’s all.’
She leaned forward and used her spoon to ease some of the whipped cream aside so that she could take another sip. Naysmith watched her then reached across the table to take her free hand, enjoying the way her face brightened.
‘Well, you should never be afraid of trying new things,’ he smiled at her.
This had been an extremely good week, all things considered. It was only natural that there would be some tension between them at first, but that had seemed to ease as Kim settled back into the safety of her normal daily routine.
Today, she was wearing skinny jeans and a tailored waistcoat that really showed off her figure – clearly she was making an effort for him. He leaned back in his chair, eyes casually flicking down to study her hands, looking for the telltale tremor, the slightest sign of nerves, but there was nothing. Steady hands. Calm. There had been the odd bad dream, but everyone had those, and she had clung to him afterwards, which was good. She really was coping well with the truth …
And yet he didn’t want to leave it too long before drawing her even further into his confidence. It wasn’t just that he was eager to do so – of course he was – but now that her perception had started to shift he knew that he needed to maintain the momentum. It was important that she didn’t become too settled, start burying the knowledge too deep; that would make it harder for her to cope with the rest of what he had to tell her.
And there was so much to tell. The man at Bentley Station. The lecturer from Winchester. The woman on Severn Beach …
He glanced at his watch – it was a little after two o’clock – then looked back at Kim, admiring the smooth curve of her neck as she pushed her hair to one side to keep it clear of the whipped cream.
Patience.
There would be time enough for all that later. Just now, he wanted her to enjoy her afternoon.
‘So,’ he shifted in his chair and smiled, ‘where next? Harvey Nichols? Or did you want to go and have a look in that little arcade down by Broadmead?’
‘Harvey Nicks,’ Kim replied, dipping a finger into the whipped cream. ‘I saw a gorgeous pair of boots in there last time, and I want to just try them on and see how they look on me.’
Naysmith shot her a knowing grin.
‘OK.’
‘I’m not going to get them,’ she insisted. ‘They’re far too expensive at the moment. Maybe if they come down in the sales.’
Naysmith shrugged.
‘Whatever you say.’
He gave her hand a little squeeze, then picked up his coffee and leaned back in his chair. Outside, a peculiar couple in their twenties caught his eye, slowing to stand just a few feet away. They looked oddly out of place among the smart shoppers – like escapees from a camping-goods catalogue. The girl was wearing a bright red fleece with grey sleeves, terribly blue jeans, and brown hiking trainers. Her partner was dressed almost identically, with the same fleece top and trainers. Even their ruddy complexions and thick blond hair seemed to match.
Naysmith smiled to himself and carefully turned his eyes back to his drink.
‘Kim?’
She glanced up at him.
‘Do it subtly, but take a look at the cool couple there in the window.’
Kim gazed at him with large, questioning eyes, then casually turned her head. He saw the ghost of a smile touch the corners of her mouth.
‘See what I mean?’ he whispered.
She turned back to the table, raising one small hand to hide her sudden grin.
‘What do you think?’ He affected a serious face. ‘Was it buy-one-get-one-free day at their favourite boutique?’
Kim giggled and gave him a playful smack on the hand.
‘Don’t be such a meanie.’ She tried to suppress her smile. ‘They’re probably just foreign students or something.’
Outside, the matching couple were now staring at something on a mobile phone that the girl was holding. Her partner was talking animatedly but they couldn’t hear his voice through the glass.
Naysmith watched them thoughtfully for a moment.
‘How old would you say they are?’ he asked.
Leaning forward and pretending to take another sip of her drink, Kim stole a second look outside, then turned back to him.
‘Not old,’ she said. ‘Mid-twenties?’
‘Old to be students, but you may be right about the foreign part.’ Naysmith nodded towards the window. ‘See his backpack? It’s got a Wolfskin logo on it – I’m sure that’s a German brand.’
Kim gave him a triumphant little smile.
‘Well, there you are then,’ she said.
Naysmith inclined his head to her.
‘Well done.’ He leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. ‘Now, for the bonus points: do you think they’re a couple, or are they brother and sister?’
They both turned to look out of the window, but the couple were already moving away. As they went, the girl slipped her hand into the back pocket of her partner’s jeans. Kim sniggered and turned back to the table.
‘Definitely not brother and sister!’ she grinned.
Naysmith shrugged. ‘Depends which part of the world they’re from.’
‘Rob!’
He laughed and took a sip of his coffee as Kim put a hand over her mouth in feigned shock, then turned back to the window.
‘People-watching can be fun,’ she murmured, staring out through the shifting crowd.
People-watching.
Just for a moment, Naysmith froze.
Swallowing, he glanced up at her perfect profile, that delicate nose angled towards the glass, her lips slightly parted as her large eyes looked out at the drifting passers-by. His pulse quickened, the glimmer of an idea casting long shadows across his imagination.
Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, following her gaze outside.
‘OK,’ he said, forcing his voice to be calm. ‘Let’s see how good you are – want to play a game?’
She turned to him and lifted her little chin defiantly.
‘OK,’ she smiled. ‘What’s the game?’
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