"It's fine," she said. "There's a short memorandum of agreement here, for you to read and sign." She passed him three copies of the contract. "It's just a simple agreement between the tenant and the owner about the payment of rent and bills, responsibilities for maintenance, and so on. It's really very straightforward."
She pushed a pen towards him and he signed, and then she handed him two sets of keys.
"That's it?" he asked.
"That's it. I hope you're happy there."
He stood and she walked him to the door. "Quarter to seven," she said, as if it was all part of a business arrangement.
He nodded, and then left the office to walk the short distance to his car.
~
He pulled up just around the corner and went to open the padlock which held the back gate closed. He parked in the small yard and closed the gate.
When he had let himself in, he made another tour, noticing things he had missed before, making a mental list of what he would need to buy. A telephone for the empty socket, a kettle, some pans, plates and cutlery, sheets and quilt, toilet rolls. He'd forgotten how expensive it was to move into somewhere new.
Later, he went into town to buy some things and inform the bank of his move. He made a few calls to sort out electricity, gas and water and pretty soon it was late afternoon. Looking through the set of credit card slips in his wallet, he realised the time to look for work was rapidly approaching.
At a little after six-thirty, Nick backed his car out of the yard and set out. Bagshaw Terrace, Coastguards' Parade, Bay Road—the names and sights were no longer dusty old memories to him, they were fresh, places he ran and walked through every day.
He drove on past the Roman Catholic church and then, just before the water tower, he took a sharp right back into Manor Lane and pulled up in front of the first short row of terraced houses.
He knocked on Karen's door and she opened it quickly. "You look great," he said.
She was in a short black dress with a dropped waistline and she had let her hair down so that it brushed across her partly exposed shoulders.
"Thanks," she said, reaching behind the door for a bag and coat. She came outside and shut the door. "You don't look quite as sore now," she told him, and they went to his car.
"Have you known these people long?" she asked, as they drove down Hill Lane, past the Comprehensive.
"I went to school with Marcus," said Nick. "Although he was called Betsy then. I only met his wife a couple of weeks ago. I don't know who else will be there tonight." They talked about small things—Bathside, his new house, her job—and Nick sensed that she was holding back from him a little. It was a long time since he had been on a real date, and he tried to remember if this was always how it was: the caution, the subtle probing, the small talk. He supposed it probably was.
They reached Betsy's house but there was nowhere to park, so Nick left his car in Blue Jay Way. They approached the house past a tangle of parked cars and Nick rang the doorbell.
Caroline answered.
She peered first at Karen and then at Nick and then she put a hand to her mouth and said, "Oh my God."
"Hi, Caroline," said Nick. "This is Karen Ferguson. Caroline Betts." She was still staring at him. He ran a hand over his face and added, "Sorry. Skiing accident." Karen dug an elbow in his good side and they went into the house.
"Hey, Nick!"
Betsy came across the crowded living room, a glass in each hand. He stopped and smiled politely as Nick introduced Karen. "Charmed," he said, taking her hand briefly. He looked at Nick. "Jesus H, Nick. Who have you been fighting with now?"
"Just a misunderstanding," said Nick. Caroline was peering at him from across the room. "I didn't think Caroline was going to let me in when she saw me."
Betsy laughed. "You don't match the curtains, I expect. All that purple on your phizog." He seemed in good spirits tonight.
Nick reached into his pocket. "Here," he said. "Happy birthday."
Betsy took the small package and unwrapped it eagerly, like a little boy. "Sherbet Fountains," he said, and it was clear he had forgotten. Then he repeated, "Sherbet Fountains! Jesus H, Nick, I haven't had one of these in simply years." He used to have one in his lunchbox every day at school. For a time he had been known as the Sherbet Fountain Kid. "Nick," he said. "It really has been too long, you know?" For a moment he looked sad, then he caught himself, grinned and took them each by the arm. "Come with me," he said. "Some people you simply have to meet."
~
A little later, Nick was standing alone at the part-open patio doors, staring out into the night. Light spilt into the garden from the house and from neighbouring houses so that darkness pooled in the corners and amongst the evenly-spaced plants. In a few years' time the garden would be more private, screened by a row of conifers at the far end, but now it was open, exposed.
He glanced back into the room. Caroline had cornered Karen, over by the buffet where each plate and bowl was marked with a label in careful calligraphy: Vegetarian, Piscivorous, Carnivorous, Gluten-free.
They were probably discussing his 'skiing accident'. Caroline had already suggested that he could try make-up—she'd done a course a few years ago, she told him, it's amazing how much can be concealed. "No, you don't understand," he had told her. "This is me with the make-up. You should see how bad it was before."
Now, he saw a familiar figure threading his way through the crowd towards him. "Mr Langley," said Nick, in greeting. It was an interesting crowd that had gathered for Betsy's birthday—mostly older than him, mostly professional men and their wives, members of the Round Table and the local Chamber of Commerce. It was a fairly safe bet that Nick was the only bouncer on the premises, and for a time he had wondered if he had misunderstood his invitation: they hadn't wanted him as a guest, they'd wanted him to serve canapés and sort out any scuffles that might develop between tipsy solicitors.
Langley nodded, looking awkward.
"Not your sort of thing," said Nick.
Langley nodded again. "Cocoa and slippers man, myself. Especially after the last fortnight." They both surveyed the party. "Bit obvious, isn't he?" said Langley, after a short time. "All this social climbing. Brown nosing."
"That's how it works, isn't it?" said Nick. "By being obvious about it."
"True." After another pause, Langley said, "Look, I hope you appreciate why we've done what we have. You have to see how things looked."
"It's over," said Nick. "I don't hold grudges, they always work against you in the end."
"Well anyway..."
Betsy was coming across to join them now.
Suddenly there was a discreet bleeping from Langley's jacket. He jumped, then paused. People nearby looked around, to see where the noise was coming from.
Langley reached into his pocket and retrieved a slim mobile telephone. "Yes," he said quietly. "Yes. Yes. Yup. Okay, then. Thanks."
He turned to Betsy and said, "Sorry about that, Marcus. That was the station. I have to get back. Thanks for the invite." He stepped out onto the small patio.
"Nothing to do with...?" asked Betsy, raising his eyebrows.
"No," said Langley. "It's not the murder investigation. Just routine—they need me there. Sorry." Langley glanced at Nick, who smiled—he hoped—knowingly. Nick watched the DI disappear into the shadows at the side of the house. Seconds later, a car started up and drove away.
Nick turned to Betsy. "Seems to be going well," he said. "You know a lot of people."
Betsy was studying him closely. "You don't look terribly well," he said. "Very pale where you're not bruised. If you need to sit down somewhere quiet for a little while I can arrange that."
"I'm okay," said Nick. "Really. Hey, did you know I've moved into a place of my own? Just this morning. Down by Cliff Park. You'll have to come and see it some time."
"That's really good," said Betsy. "I'm pleased for you." He glanced back into the room. "Listen, I have to apologise for Caroline tonight. She get
s very fraught on occasions such as this. She's very highly strung."
"I hadn't noticed a thing," said Nick, following his gaze. "How long have you been together?"
"Married nearly four years," said Betsy, grimacing.
"You seem to have made quite a life for yourself."
Betsy nodded. "Maybe we have," he said. "We're working on it, anyway. Tell me—" he straightened himself, and Nick realised that he was drunk again "—tell me, your friend is rather charming. From Oxford, I believe. Moved here after her marriage ended. Tell me, how do you do it?"
Nick realised that in a very short time Betsy had found out more about Karen than he knew himself. He tried not to feel jealous, he tried not to wonder what he was doing wrong.
Betsy was watching him.
Nick wondered if his old friend's comments had been an attempt to needle him. "I met her where she works," he said, determined not to give anything away. "We had lunch."
"You like her."
Nick nodded and stared out at the garden.
"Listen," said Betsy, struggling to sound more serious now. "About the last time we communicated. The White Horse."
Nick looked at him, and waited for him to continue.
"I was upset," said Betsy. "What with the Inquest and everything. I think it set me back further than I realised at the time—that awful weekend. It made me realise Jerry was really gone. Someone I'd known since school. Ceased to be. You know? Your questions made me cross. Wrong time to tackle me. I'm sorry, Nick. Okay?"
Nick nodded. "It seems to be a night for apologies," he said. Betsy raised his eyebrows and so Nick added, "It's okay. It doesn't matter. I understand."
~
Later, they all had to stand at one end of the long living room with Betsy facing them as they sang 'Happy Birthday'.
Nick stood at the back, an arm looped around Karen's shoulders as she leaned slightly into his good side. When the song was over and the crowd began to fill the whole room again, she stayed like that for a few seconds before pulling away and saying, "Can we slip away before the party games start?"
They made their excuses and thanked Caroline and Betsy, and then they were out in the night, walking to Nick's car a slight distance apart. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've enjoyed myself. Really."
"Gets a bit much, doesn't it?" said Nick.
"It made me think of my ex-husband." He glanced across at her and she was staring down at the pavement. "He used to like things like that. Pathetic, isn't it? The smallest things remind you. It's been eighteen months now."
"Another woman?"
She nodded. She had never really stopped loving him, he realised: it was her husband who had left, not her. It explained a lot.
"I'll get you home," he said.
Peewit Road, Low Road, up Hill Lane. "Your friend was an interesting man," Karen said, brighter again.
Nick fought back the jealousy. Why was she so much more open with everyone else?
"Did you notice he spent most of the evening trying to chat me up?"
"I saw you talking," he said. "I felt a bit out of it. People gave me a wide berth for some reason. Did he make a pass at you then?"
She shook her head. "Not really. He was just interested, if you know what I mean. You can tell."
He turned into Bay Road. He knew she was watching him. "He was drunk," he said, finally. "It's his birthday." They passed the water tower, took the left fork and stopped outside Karen's house. "Thanks for coming with me," he said, turning slightly in his seat, then gasping at a twinge from his side.
She saw his grimace and immediately looked sympathetic. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Do you want to come in?"
"I'm okay, really," he said. "I'm fine."
"I meant, do you want to come in for a coffee, Nick. That's all."
~
She made the coffee in a cafétière, which for some peculiar reason impressed him. They sat in separate chairs in her smart living room and he noted that she had been reading The French Lieutenant's Woman, one of his favourite novels. They talked, although afterwards Nick could not recall what they had discussed. It was the fact of talking, itself, that mattered: the tone of voice, learning each other's rhythm, sensing the silences to break, the silences to leave alone.
Some time later, they moved together onto the sofa and they kissed. Nick was dizzy with the mad rush of sensations. An arm trapped against her side, his other hand on her shoulder, gently caressing. The ache in his side and the painful stretching of the muscles in his face as they kissed. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her scent, her breath against his face.
Later, she sat up straight and he kneeled before her, holding her hands in her lap. "I don't know if this is right," she said, her eyes downcast.
"I'll go," he told her, but she took his hands and put them so that they rested on her face.
"Stay a bit longer," she said. She started to move her head so that he was stroking her cheeks. He moved towards her and found that one of his hands moved around to her back. She looked at him, tears in her eyes, and slowly nodded, stopping only when he had eased her zip all the way down to the small of her back. "Stay a bit longer," she said again, so faintly he could barely make out the words.
~
They lay together in the darkness.
He listened to her breathing, wondering if she was asleep. She moved against him so that her head came clear of where it had been lying tucked into the hollow of his neck.
"You'll have to give me time," she said.
He realised she had been awake all the time. He grunted.
"This all seems so sudden," she continued. "But I need my own space. Can you understand that? It's all so difficult for me."
"It's difficult for me too," he said.
She misunderstood, thought he was joking about his injuries. She put a hand softly on his ribs, so softly that it was her touch which made him flinch rather than any pain. "You never did tell me what happened to you. You're a mystery to me, Nick Redpath. Will you tell me?"
The only way to explain was to go back to the very beginning, to his return to Bathside after twelve years away. Even beyond that, he realised, right back to the start. "There was this girl," he said, staring up at the shadows cast by the street-lights against the curtains. "She used to sit in front of me and across for registration. Her name was Jerry Gayle..."
Chapter 18
He woke in the grey light of dawn, and he was instantly aware of why he was lying in this strange bedroom.
He rolled painfully onto his side and propped himself on an elbow so that he could watch Karen. She was lying twisted awkwardly, so that her head was tipped back and her mouth was a little open to reveal a narrow line of white teeth. She had got up at some point in the night, to clean herself and remove her make-up. Now, Nick lay and studied her bare, unmasked face. Her lips were almost the same pale tone as her skin, which had a kind of rough sheen in this light.
He couldn't lie there any longer, looking and not touching, so he made himself get out of bed and go to the bathroom.
As he moved about the strange house, his sense of peace quickly deserted him, the day creeping up, filling his head with stray thoughts and energies. Downstairs, he found the rest of his clothes and he dressed, pulled on his shoes, went out into the cold air.
He started to walk, his pace getting faster and faster. Walking the stiffness free. A short distance down Hill Lane and then across the top of the school grounds, through Squat Lane and Allfields to Peewit Road. He suddenly realised that he was close to Betsy's house and so he turned right, away from that place, walking faster, hating the pains in his body which prevented him from running, running until he had drained his system of this sudden flush of wild energy.
To the Main Road. Across it, despite the angry parp of a car horn. Into the grounds of All Saints Church, but of course, the old building was locked so early. Through the packed graveyard to the footpath which ran along its boundary. Another path took him behind the print works. Across a gravell
ed track. Awkwardly over a wall and he was in the town's main cemetery.
His mother would be here somewhere, although he did not know where. He walked more slowly now, on a long circuit. He wasn't really looking for her, just walking. Most of the names on the plaques and headstones were meaningless blurs to him.
He left by the main gate, at peace with himself again.
He started to think in a more rational manner. He remembered the night which had just passed. The memory of Karen's touch, how she had felt against him. Of lying still so that he could hear her breathe, feel her slight movements in the bed.
He tried to understand why he should feel so bad about it, as well as so good. Why he should feel so confused.
He'd taken advantage of her, he realised. She had been upset. Confused by memories, both bad and good. He, of all people, should understand the power of memory. Yet he'd taken advantage of her weakness.
But was that so wrong? She had needed someone, last night. She had wanted him to stay.
It was all too complicated.
He spotted his car, parked outside her house. A light was on in Karen's bedroom, even though it was daylight now.
He knocked on the door and a short time later she opened it for him. "I thought you'd gone," she said. "I was wondering what to do with your car."
"Sorry," he said, stepping into the narrow hall. "I'm an early riser. I always go out early. Thinking time. We all need our own space, I suppose."
She nodded. "Will I see you again?" she asked, a little awkwardly.
"I hope so."
She turned away quickly and Nick followed her back to the kitchen. She was in her dark pin-stripe ready for work, her face freshly made up. "What do you like to do for breakfast?" she asked. "There's juice, cereals, croissants, bread. Tea in the pot. Help yourself."
It was all so clumsy, after what they had shared. The barriers had gone up again and Nick understood now that she was scared of him, scared of their intimacy and the complications it might bring.
And also, he remembered, there was a part of her she couldn't share because it still belonged to her ex-husband.
"Will you call?" she asked him, as they both left the house.
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