A is for Apple

by Kate Johnson

  “I took your advice and wore sun cream,” I said, “and look where it got me.”

  “Better white than skin cancer,” my dad said.

  Hmm.

  They were both looking at Luke, and Luke was looking at me.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Mum, Dad, this is Luke,” I said, then squeezed my eyes shut and added in a tiny voice, “my boyfriend.”

  There was a pause, then I opened my eyes a tiny crack to see Luke shaking hands with my dad, who said, “I think we met before. Didn’t you come calling for Sophie once?”

  Luke nodded. “We weren’t really together then.”

  “I should hope not,” my mum said. “I’d be a bit pissed off with Sophie if she hadn’t told us back then.”

  I winced. My parents can be kind of full throttle sometimes. You have to get used to them. Like caviar.

  Only I still can’t eat caviar.

  “Well, we haven’t really told anyone,” Luke said, putting his arm around me. “It’s still kind of new.”

  God bless him.

  “So do you work with Sophie?” Mum asked, and we spent the next ten minutes happily lying to my parents and draining our drinks—at least, I did—until Tom bounced up and said hello to Luke.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said into the silence, “and Tom knows.”

  “I don’t know anything,” Tom said cheerfully.

  “I like your hair,” my mum told him. It was flattened in the centre and then twisted into spikes around his hairline, like the Statue of Liberty (damn, I hadn’t seen that while I was there).

  “You look like the Millennium Dome,” I said, and Tom rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, great. Your girlfriend’s so charming,” he said to Luke, who grinned and squeezed my shoulders. “I never had a big sister to tell me stuff like that. I’m so glad I’ve got you, Soph.”

  “You’re the little brother I never wanted.”

  “Cheers.” He took a swig of my nearly empty drink, then pointed to the cellar steps. “We’re on in a couple of minutes, if you’re coming down.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” I looked at my parents. “You go down, I want to get another drink.”

  “There’s a bar downstairs,” my mother said, but I shook my head.

  “This’ll be less crowded. Go on, get to the front, I know you can’t see over people’s heads,” I teased, and she rolled her eyes but went off into the cellar bar with my dad.

  I turned to Luke and blew out a sigh of relief.

  “Never, ever make me do that again.”

  “Why? I thought that went okay.”

  “Yes, but we didn’t say one true word to them. I’ll have forgotten it all by tomorrow.”

  “Remind me why you work for SO17?”

  “Because you wanted to shag me,” I said, moving closer and looking up at him.

  “Oh, yeah. Well, it worked. Sophie?”

  “Mmm?” I could feel the heat of his body through his T-shirt.

  “Fuck me senseless when we get home.”

  If we made it that far. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  We got our drinks and went down to the cellar bar, which is low and vaulted with old bricks, like the Cavern or somewhere else subterranean. I know the band love playing down here because they can pretend they’re the Beatles.

  Tom talks to the audience in between songs, and he kept waving at me and pulling faces. I knew he was building to something, but it wasn’t until halfway through the second set that he looked straight at me and said, “Where’s Sophie?”

  I tried to hide but Luke, standing behind me, grabbed my non-alcohol bearing arm and raised it in the air.

  “Bastard,” I hissed.

  “Sophie,” Tom made sure everyone was looking at me, “is here with her new boyfriend. Everyone check them out. Aren’t they cute?”

  I haven’t been cute since I was about five, and I don’t think Luke has ever, ever been cute in his life.

  “So,” he looked around to check everyone was watching us, and indeed they were, “we’re going to dedicate this next song to Sophie and Luke.”

  It was going to be a nasty song, I knew it. I turned and buried my face in Luke’s chest. He was laughing.

  “Is my embarrassment amusing to you?”

  He grinned. “In a word, yes.”

  The band started up, and I relaxed, because it was a nice song, the closest they might get to a love song, in a totally ironic and twisted way, of course, because they’re a rock band after all.

  “Well, that was sweet,” Luke said when it had finished.

  “I guess,” I said.

  “I think they approve.”

  Hmm.

  Three more songs, then they came off stage and flocked straight to the bar. Their manager has a no-alcohol rule before they go on stage, so they all bring bottles of ‘water’ or ‘orange juice’ and get creative. Afterwards, all that adrenaline needs an outlet, so they all get off their heads.

  “We should probably go,” I said to Luke, and he nodded. He waved to someone, and before I could figure out who, my parents came over.

  “Are you leaving?”

  I nodded. “I’m really tired.”

  “What did you do to your arm?”

  “I fell over,” I said. “Luke, are you ready?”

  I congratulated the band on their excellent set, hugged Ella and Evie and avoided the groupies I’d been to school with and still didn’t like. Even though I know I’m so much cooler now than I was then, so much cooler than they’ll ever be (ahem), I still don’t like them. I held my boyfriend close, out of their reach, and limped off up the steps into the cool night air.

  All in all, it wasn’t too bad. I mean, my parents could have taken an instant dislike to him. But my dad seemed to think he was okay and I was pretty sure my mum fancied him, Chalker hadn’t said anything nasty, and my friends were totally in awe. As were all the kids I knew from school. Hah! I have leather jeans and a very sexy boyfriend. As long as they don’t see him driving a Vectra I’m home and dry.

  “Well?”

  I looked up. How long had Luke been talking to me?

  “Well what?”

  “Where were you?”

  “Thinking about making all the kids from school jealous.”

  “That knot of girls giving you evils? They wanted me,” Luke said off-handedly.

  “Oh, you are such a—”

  “Such a what?” Luke spun me round and pinned me against the wall of the church backing onto Joe’s.

  “Such an egotist,” I said, and he kissed me. Mmm. An egotist with good reason.

  “Mine or yours?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “My flat,” he explained patiently, as if I was a child, “or your flat?”

  “Whichever,” I said, feeling weak at the prospect. It had, I was being reminded, been a long time since we’d been properly naked together. “Just so long as there’s a bed.”

  But once I sat down in the car, my shoulder throbbing, my leg aching and my feet weeping in protest, I was overwhelmed with exhaustion, and by the time we pulled up in the Pearce Roofing yard, I was nearly asleep.

  Luke has a loft flat in a barn conversion above the roofer’s yard, and I followed him up the outside steps to his front door where he keyed in a security code on the outside lock, turned about three keys, then disabled an alarm on the inside.

  I stumbled inside and collapsed on the old leather chesterfield, unsure I’d ever be able to move again. I felt like I was wearing lead mascara and my bruises were killing me. I managed to hoik one foot up on the sofa and unzip my good leather boots, and peel off my socks and all the plasters.

  Luke went over to the kitchen are and opened the fridge. His kitchen is open plan and very modern, to contrast with the old oak floors and beams of the loft. His furniture is old and well worn, like the leather chesterfield, his kitchen is modern and glossy, and his media equipment is expensive. He has lots of books and a soft white bed in the other room. It’s a re
ally nice place and I love it, not least because it frames Luke so well.

  He held up a bottle. “Drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having,” I replied, starting on my other foot.

  He looked surprised. “Adnams?”

  “Sure.”

  “But you hate bitter.”

  “Okay, all right, I’ll have water.”

  Luke poured a glass, frowning. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just kinda wiped.”

  “You sound like a Yank.”

  “Can’t imagine why.”

  He came over and pulled me to my naked feet, watched me sip my water, then took a thoughtful slug of beer. Unfortunately I was still swaying on my battered feet, and I swayed right into the bottle as he raised it.

  “God!” Luke swiftly lost the bottle, grabbing my shoulders and touching my nose where I’d got clonked. “Sophie?”

  I blinked, my eyes watering. In fact I was feeling very tearful.

  “I’m okay,” I said, for what felt like the billionth time. “You’re covered in beer.”

  Luke looked down at himself. “It’s okay, I’m not soluble.” He grinned and pulled the T-shirt off. “Guess I’d better lose this…”

  He did, and I paused to admire his damp chest and think for a couple of seconds about licking the beer off, before Luke pulled me to him and kissed me.

  “Bed?” he suggested when he was done, touching my closed eyelids.

  I nodded gratefully and allowed him to lead me through to his lovely bedroom with its gorgeous big soft bed. I looked at it longingly, knowing my intentions for it were quite different from Luke’s, as he nuzzled my neck and made an exploratory mission under my top. But I jumped a mile when he brushed the graze on my arm and he offered me a contrite look.

  “You want a cloth for that?”

  “Yes please.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom. Do I have a perfect boyfriend, or what?

  I took off my top and crawled into the welcoming bed. My eyes closed themselves, like I was a mama doll, and I fell into soft, comforting sleep.

  A is for Apple

  Chapter Six

  Daylight, and I could hear Luke’s voice drifting in through the half open bedroom door. The bed was a lovely warm cocoon that smelled deliciously of Luke. I never wanted to leave it.

  But—oh, wait a sec! Weren’t we supposed to—and didn’t I—?

  Oh, God, I fell asleep! I was the worst girlfriend ever!

  Luke pushed the door open and I looked up guiltily.

  “Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he said. He didn’t look mad.

  “Hey,” I said cautiously. “Erm. Did I fall asleep?”

  He nodded.

  “Before we—?”

  “Before we.”

  I scrunched up my face. “I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to…”

  “Well, better before than during. Sophie. We have to talk.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Look,” I began, before he could go any further, “I was really tired, okay, I couldn’t help it, and that time in New York we got interrupted, remember? I’m awake now and I—”

  “Have to go in and see Karen,” Luke finished for me.

  I’m afraid my face fell.

  “She wants you there in twenty minutes. So get up and get dressed and while you’re doing that, tell me all about that huge bruise on your leg and the lump on the back of your head and all the road grit in your arm. I’m assuming the blisters are unrelated?”

  I nodded. “Walking in too-tight shoes. And the one on my hand is from my suitcase.”

  “Did you accidentally drop your suitcase on yourself? Is that where the bruise is from? ‘Cos I know what you’re like with luggage. It weighs as much as you do.”

  Nothing weighs quite as much as I do.

  “No.” I sighed, and told him the whole story about being followed and shot at and run over.

  “And you just got on a plane and came home?”

  I stared. “Luke, I was totally unarmed. I was hurt and alone and I didn’t even have Tammy to protect me.”

  This may sound like a joke, but Tammy is a damn fierce little creature. I’m thinking of asking Karen to employ her as a defence-cat.

  “Okay,” he said, “but what about Xander?”

  “So now you’re worried about him?”

  “I’m more worried about what Harvey’s going to say when he finds out the people who are after his little brother—”

  “Only by two minutes.”

  “—have shot at him once, you twice, and run you over. Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” I said sulkily. “I went back to my room and he was gone. He could have just gone out for a fag…”

  “Which takes on a whole new meaning when you think of Xander Harvard.”

  “He’ll be okay. I already told him he needed to get out of the city. We were just lying low for a day.”

  “Apparently not low enough. Okay. Well, you need to get up and get dressed and go and tell Karen what happened in America.”

  I looked at him. “Well, the Mayflower went over in 1620, and then we had a war with the French over it, because I think things with France had been quiet for a while—then we had a war with America, then we had another war with them, then they had a war with themselves…”

  Luke was giving me a narrow-eyed look. I knew what it meant, that he wasn’t amused, but did he have to look so damn sexy when he did it?

  “I’m very impressed at your knowledge of American history,” he said, “but I’m sure Karen will find it less amusing. Come on, up. Yesterday’s clothes.”

  “You want me to go and see my boss wearing leather jeans?”

  “You have ten minutes left and that includes getting there.”

  It took ten minutes to drive, so needless to say we were a bit late. I was a mess. My hair and my clothes stank of smoke from the gig last night and my skin felt grey. I don’t know how bad it looked—I’d managed to wipe away last night’s makeup (yeuch) but there wasn’t time to look in a mirror.

  We pulled up at the office and Luke cut the engine. I put my hand on the door to get out, but he stopped me with a hand on my thigh.

  “About this leather,” he said, stroking it.

  Oh God, what about it? Did it make me look fat? Was this a bursting-sausage look?

  “Mmm?” I said nervously.

  “Why haven’t I seen it before?”

  “I really only wear it when I’m feeling rock-chick. Doesn’t get too many outings when I’m not at a gig.”

  “Then we have to go to more gigs.”

  He opened the car door and got out, and I sat there, stunned for a bit. Compliment!

  Luke opened my door and pulled me out. “Wow, she’s silent,” he said, and took advantage of this by kissing me soundly. Helpless, and not really in any kind of mood to resist, I let him, and we were only stopped from jumping back in the car and heading for somewhere more private by Karen opening the door and standing there with her arms folded, looking unamused.

  “Ahem,” she said, and I obtained a new bruise on my back from jumping back against the car too sharply.

  “What you two do in your own time is entirely your own business, but you were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago, so kindly please step inside.”

  She turned on her smart heel and clipped back in. Luke shot me a look and towed me after.

  “You’ve gone all red,” he said in my ear.

  “That’ll be embarrassment.”

  “Very cute.” He started nuzzling my neck. Karen had vanished into her office and couldn’t see, but that didn’t make it any better.

  “Stop that.”

  “Okay, but I want a promise of future goods.”

  “You got it. You, me, bed, tonight.”

  “Who said anything about tonight?” Luke said as I yanked open the door to Karen’s office.

  “Shut up.”

  “Or a bed.”

  I tugged my hand out o
f his and tried to look respectable as I took a seat. Needless to say it wasn’t a good effort.

  Karen surveyed me with dismay. “What happened to you?”

  “Me?” My hair, my clothes, the smoky smell…? Oh. My shoulder.

  “She fell down the subway steps,” Luke said. “Or slipped on a bar of soap. It depends who you listen to.”

  “It was a box of soap,” I said. “And it shouldn’t have been there.”

  “You slipped on a soap box?” Karen said, looking confused. She had immaculate brown hair and very piercing blue eyes and was so well-cared for I’d have put her in her thirties if I didn’t know she’d been married longer than I’d been alive. She was always well-dressed. Today’s outfit was a pair of perfect navy trousers and a blouse the colour of Cornish cream. Both looked like silk to me.

  “I—well, yes, but it was two years ago. A year ago. Not now.”

  “Sophie,” Karen said patiently. “What happened?”

  I sighed and launched into the story again. She shook her head at me in what I chose to take as pity, but I think might have been a sort of parental disappointment.

  “You didn’t see the car coming?”

  Pathetically, I admitted, “The sign said Walk. I was expecting it to stop.”

  She stared. “You thought the car containing someone who had just tried to kill you would stop at a red light?”

  “I didn’t know it was the same car! They all look the same. Towncars and Crown Victorias, why don’t they have normal cars with normal names?”

  Luke and Karen exchanged a look.

  “Where did it hit you?” Karen asked, slightly more gently.

  “The car?”

  “No, Soph, the bullet,” Luke half-snapped. “Show her your leg.”

  I glared at him. “My leg is fine.”

  “Your leg is purple.” He came over and hauled me to my feet and unsnapped the button on my jeans.

  “Hey!”

  “Sophie, I have two children and I’m a qualified doctor,” Karen said. “Show me your leg.”

  Scowling, I peeled off my admittedly snug jeans, trying not to let my underwear go with them, and perched on the edge of Karen’s desk for her to peer at me. She and Luke prodded at the spectacular and very sore bruise on my thigh until my eyes watered. Then Karen made me lift my arms and felt my ribs. Well, it’d be closer to say she felt for my ribs. They’re quite shy and like to hide under their padding.