He sat back down, deliberately a little further away. But Mitzi moved over to him and put a hand on his leg, near enough to his groin that he started to forget he had even been upset with her.
‘Can we kiss again? I liked kissing you.’
Ricky nodded and didn’t stop her when she leaned over and pressed her gloss-coated lips against his own. As her tongue darted into his mouth, nervous but eager, Ricky began to feel much better.
Perhaps he would get to feel her up after all.
‘Aren’t you Lucy Randall?’ The woman pushing books across the counter to be stamped stopped and stared at Lucy with an undisguised curiosity.
‘Wyatt,’ Lucy corrected automatically.
‘But you are that poor little boy’s mother aren’t you? The one that got killed?’ The woman’s voice was as loud as the lurid orange and purple scarf she was wearing. Lucy didn’t answer, instead snatching the final book from the woman’s hand and stamping it with more than a touch of aggression. She finished scanning and pushed the small pile back towards her without meeting her eyes, saying in a curt voice, ‘They will be due back on the twenty-fourth,’ her tone implying that was the end of the conversation.
The woman however didn’t move but continued to gape at Lucy as if she was a circus attraction.
‘It must have been awful for you, just awful. You should write a book you know.’ As if one followed the other.
Lucy gave a tight smile. As ludicrous as this customer’s suggestion sounded, Lucy had in fact been approached more than once in the months following Jack’s death, to pen – or put her name to – an account of the tragic events surrounding her son’s murder. Each approach had been firmly turned down, although Ethan had seemed to think it a good idea. ‘Write one yourself then,’ she had snapped at him and she still thought he might have if an agent hadn’t advised him it was the mother’s story that the public wanted. It was more emotive, more tragic, the agent had told them. More lucrative, Lucy suspected.
‘It would be very popular you know,’ the woman went on, ‘I for one would certainly read it.’
Lucy met the woman’s eager, almost predatory gaze.
‘I’ve always thought,’ she said in a calm tone just loud enough for the small queue gathering behind to hear, ‘that people who read that sort of thing are a little like vultures; feeding off other people’s misery. Quite vulgar really,’ she added, eyeing the woman’s scarf pointedly. The customer gaped at her, then closed her mouth with a snap before gathering her books into a bag and walking off without another word. Lucy gave a sigh of relief, surprised to realise she had been holding her breath waiting for the woman’s response.
The elderly man who moved into the space at the checking-out desk pushed a stack of science fiction novels forwards and winked at her amiably.
‘You get all sorts in here these days,’ he said with a cheery compassion that made Lucy want to hug him. She smiled at him and he patted her hand before walking off with his books clutched to his chest. The rest of the queue became a blur of faces and then Lucy finished up for the day by tidying up the children’s area, left in disarray as usual by the regular pre-school Sunday Storytelling group. Susan closed the computers down and came over, peering at Lucy with concern through her glasses.
‘You look pale.’
‘It’s been a rough few days, Sue,’ Lucy said, realising at Susan’s words how tired she felt. She hadn’t eaten all day either. Her stomach seemed to be continually filled with a feeling of creeping dread, leaving no room for food. Her emotions and moods were so up and down she had given up trying to track them.
‘Your date didn’t go well then?’ Susan was the only person Lucy had confided in regarding her ‘date’ with Matt, and the mention of it made her blush.
‘Well, that’s put some colour back in your cheeks. Spill,’ Susan demanded, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of juicy details.
‘It was nice. We kissed. But I’m just not ready. We spoke and decided to stay in touch but I’m not sure…’ She tailed off as Susan held up an excited hand.
‘Whoa. You kissed? Isn’t he, like, ridiculously hot?’
Lucy grinned, finding it impossible to stay glum in the face of Susan’s enthusiasm.
‘Yeah. He is. It was.’
‘So the problem is…?’
‘I started crying. He asked about Jack and it all kind of got too much.’
Susan sat back on the desk, eyeing her friend with an astute gaze. Lucy wasn’t one much given to displays of emotion. She had been through so much; it would be awful if she started unravelling now. Personally Susan thought a good-looking police officer might be exactly what she needed.
‘I’m sure he understands Lucy, and maybe you needed a good cry. Now that it’s out of the way, you can go out with him again.’
Lucy shook her head at her friend’s pragmatism.
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘And why not?’
Why not indeed! There was the fact that Jack’s murder was always going to be between them, and then there was the fact that Lucy’s original reason for dating him was to suss out what he knew of Prince’s whereabouts. The reaction she had had to him – to his touch – had unnerved her. He had phoned her again the night before and been friendly but neutral, asking after her and Ricky. No offer for another date, which she had to admit had disappointed her.
Susan’s words followed her home, but once she had got in and kicked off her shoes the despondency crept back in. Ricky was out, having left a note next to the half-eaten stew she had left in the pot for him that morning. It felt like her remaining son was slipping away from her too; even though she knew he needed more freedom now he was getting older, some days she looked at him and felt like she didn’t know him at all.
She was staring at the wall, seeing nothing, when the phone rang and she instantly sprang to her feet. Matt.
Except it wasn’t.
‘Lucy Wyatt?’ an unfamiliar female voice asked for her.
At least they got my name right this time. ‘Yes, speaking,’ she said without trying to hide her wariness.
‘I’m calling about your son.’
Instantly she was on alert.
‘Ricky? Is he okay?’
‘Your other son, Ms Wyatt.’
Lucy closed her eyes and counted to ten.
‘I’m not interested in making any further comments about my son,’ she said, although her hand around the receiver was shaking. Why couldn't they just leave her alone?
‘I’m not a reporter.’ The woman’s voice was cloyingly sweet, a tone that was no doubt meant to be soothing but set Lucy’s teeth on edge. ‘I’m a medium. I’ve had a message from your son’s spirit. He wants me to pass it on to you.’
‘I’m not interested.’ Lucy slammed down the phone, her stomach in knots and breathing shallow. She tried to breathe deeply, to swallow the rising anger, but her control snapped when the phone rang again, a shrill, insistent tone that suddenly seemed far too loud, hurting her head. She snatched up the receiver.
Why can’t you people just leave me alone!’ she screamed. There was a shocked silence.
‘Lucy?’
Matt.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, I had some crazy woman on the phone.’
‘You should change your number. Are you okay?’
His concern for her was almost tangible, and his low, undeniably masculine voice instantly took her rising anxiety down a notch. She all but collapsed into her chair, phone still at her ear.
‘I am now. It’s so good to hear from you,’ she said, emotion making her truthful.
‘I’m glad,’ he said, genuine warmth in his voice. ‘I wanted to invite you over, if you can get away. For dinner. That’s if you feel up to it.’
Lucy tried to suppress the fluttering pleasure that fizzed in her gut in spite of her attempts to dampen it. Taking her hesitation for apprehension, Matt added, ‘Just dinner; no strings. A bag of chips if you want. Or the pie and potatoes we talked about.’
Lucy laughed, surprising herself with the sound. It sounded light, carefree, as if she hadn’t had the day – the week – from hell.
‘I’d love to. I’ll have to be back for Ricky, but I’d love to.’
As Matt gave her his address and she quickly changed and retouched her make-up, Lucy wondered at the effect Matt was having on her. Not for the first time she wished they had met under different circumstances. That things were just different.
Before she left, she turned off her answering machine, worried that Ricky would come home to a cranky psychic claiming to have contacted Jack. It had been years now since Ricky had mentioned ‘seeing’ Jack, and she was praying that this week’s events wouldn’t start it all up again.
In spite of his assurances to Lucy that this would be only a casual meal Matt couldn’t resist the chance to show off his culinary skills, even if they did only extend to the one dish: that great British favourite, chicken tikka masala. He made it more or less from scratch and, he reflected as he took a taste from the spoon, it tasted just as good as anything a restaurant would serve.
The truth was, he was nervous. He had no desire to push Lucy into anything she wasn’t ready for, especially given her current situation, yet some instinct was telling him to hang in there. That she might need him. There was something about Lucy that awakened his natural protective streak, even as he also had the urge to slowly peel the clothes from her body and then proceed to fuck her senseless. The contrast was disconcerting, to say the least.
His buzzer sounded just as he placed a packet of rice into his state-of-the-art microwave – his culinary skills extending to the masala sauce itself and no further – and Matt took a deep breath before opening the door.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey yourself.’ Matt opened the door for her, admiring her slender figure in a fitted woollen dress, although he thought she looked as though she had lost a little weight even in the two days since he had last seen her.
Matt took her coat and after a moment’s hesitation leaned down to kiss her cheek, letting his lips brush lightly over her skin, almost teasingly. He didn't think it was his imagination that she held her breath as he did so.
Lucy wanted him, he was sure of it, yet the need to tread carefully with her also made his own desire for her feel all the more urgent. Taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly he turned and hung up her coat. Get a grip, he told himself. It’s just a friendly meal… although the sight of her hips swaying in front of him in her tight-fitting dress as she walked down the hall in front of him prompted a reaction that was distinctly more than just friendly. He smiled as he followed her into the kitchen.
‘Anyone would think you had been here before. Here, sit down.’ He pulled out a chair from under the table, which he had briefly considered laying properly, flowers and all, before realising that wouldn't look at all casual.
‘I followed the smell of the food. Which, if I’m not very much mistaken, is curry?’
She sat down as Matt poured them both a glass of wine.
‘Chicken tikka masala. My own recipe,’ he said with pride, then cursed as the microwave pinged to let him know very conspicuously that the ready-made rice was indeed ready. Lucy laughed, looking instantly girlish as she bit her lip to stifle her giggles.
‘You know,’ she said in an amused tone as she watched Matt dishing up, the spicy aroma warming the large, rather minimalist kitchen, ‘curry is apparently the most popular dish in England now?’
‘Just as well as it’s about the only thing I can cook,’ he admitted, setting her plate in front of her.
A silence ensued as they began to eat, but it was, he noticed, a more companionable silence than the awkward pauses that had been so evident in the restaurant. At least she was enjoying the food; she looked like she needed a good meal.
‘So how was your day?’ Lucy asked eventually.
‘Uneventful,’ Matt admitted, ‘though in my line of work, that’s usually a good thing.’
‘No one got killed then,’ she said, and though her voice was light there was an edge to it that made him look up sharply. Lucy gave a wry smile. ‘There isn’t really a safe subject is there?’
‘I guess not.’ Her eyes were watering again, but as he reached over the table in concern Lucy waved him away, coughed, and took a large drink of her wine.
‘I’m fine. This is just a bit spicier than I’m used to.’Matt shook his head.
‘On our first date I make you cry, now I’m making you splutter on the second. Maybe next time we should stay away from food?’
‘Good idea.’ They both paused, acutely aware of those words. Next time. Matt inhaled and went to speak, not quite knowing what it was he meant to say. He never would, as Lucy set her cutlery down and looked at him intently.
‘I need to be honest with you, Matt.’
‘Oh?’
He drank his wine, doing his best to look casual.
‘I had slightly ulterior motives when I gave you my number.’
Matt sat back in his chair, an eyebrow raised but he didn’t answer, instead just gazed at her and waited for her to speak as if he had all night. It occurred to him that he used a similar tactic in the interrogation room when he sensed a confession. It had the desired effect as Lucy, obviously expecting him to draw out of her whatever she intended to say, looked wrong-footed and blurted out, ‘I wanted you to find out his address.’
Matt kept his face deliberately blank as he spoke, though he already knew the answer.
‘Whose address?’
Lucy paused.
‘You know whose.’
‘Terry Prince.’
It wasn’t a question, but she answered it anyway.
‘Yes.’
Matt ran a palm over his chin, a habit Lucy was beginning to recognise.
‘Are you angry?’ Her eyes were wide and she was poised in her chair, giving the impression she was about to bolt.Matt forced himself to relax, aware of the tension in his jaw and shoulders. ‘Honestly?’ He paused. ‘I don't know.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said in a whisper, then carried on talking so quietly Matt had to lean over the table to hear her. ‘It was crazy of course, but you have to understand, I wasn’t thinking straight. At first all I could think about, could focus on, was that he’s free and I don’t know where he is. And I need to know. Not because I could do anything necessarily, I just need to know. It feels like my world’s been turned upside down again. If I could just understand why, maybe I’d have some control again.’
Matt felt for her. She looked so vulnerable, yet tense, as if she would bite if he got too close. Like a caged animal almost. He understood, in a way. Hadn’t it been the first question he had asked Dailey?
‘I couldn’t help you if I wanted to, Lucy. You know that.’
‘I know.’ Her voice was small. ‘Do you want me to go?’
‘No, of course not. Assuming that you still want to be here?’
She looked grateful. ‘Of course. That’s what I was going to say. It was a crazy notion, but now, well, I like spending time with you.’
Her gaze dropped to his lips and Matt felt an immediate heat in his groin as he remembered that sudden, passionate kiss in his car. Get your mind out of the gutter, Winston.
‘I’m glad. I know it’s difficult, me having worked your case. Probably a good enough reason for us to stop seeing each other, but I don't want to.’
‘You don’t think I’m an awful person?’
Now Matt did reach over the table for her, taking her hand and turning it palm up in his, running his thumb in small circles over the centre.
‘No; I actually think you’re pretty incredible.’
Lucy blushed, taking her hand from his and picking up her wine glass again. It was infuriating, the way she seemed to step towards him, then pull back, leaving him at a loss as to how to handle either her or his feelings for her. It was a new experience for Matt, who preferred uncomplicated, straightforward relationships.
Not that that had particularly worked out for him, he admitted to himself, thinking immediately of Carla. He had barely given her a thought in the past few days since their less than amicable split; something perhaps that he should feel guilty about, but all his thoughts had been mostly tangled up with the woman now sitting in front of him.
He wasn't quite sure how to process her latest revelation. When she had questioned him over dinner it had been fairly obvious she was wondering how much he knew, but the idea that it had been her main reason for initially dating him, well, that kind of wounded his pride. Matt shook his head at himself and changed the subject.
‘What reporter was bothering you earlier? When I phoned?’
‘Oh.’ Lucy looked surprised, as though she had only just remembered. ‘It wasn’t. A reporter, I mean. It was some psychic woman claiming to have messages from Jack from beyond the grave.’ She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the glimmer of pain in them.
Matt swore. It never ceased to amaze him how damn insensitive some people could be. ‘You put the phone down, I take it?’
‘Of course. It’s not the first time I’ve had calls like that. Every psychic in the country seems to have spoken to him.’
‘If she rings again, threaten her with a harassment charge. They can suck you in, these people. Ruin lives.’
‘Don’t the police use psychics sometimes?’
‘Not if they work with me,’ he snorted, then wondered if now he was being insensitive. Grief, and that desperate need to speak to the lost one again, that could do strange things to people. At least his mother hadn’t gone down that route in grieving for his father; she had sought him in the bottom of a bottle instead. But he knew people who claimed a faith in the afterlife helped them through their pain. He wondered what Lucy believed.
‘You don’t believe in any of it yourself then?’
Lucy shook her head, but she looked thoughtful.
‘No, but it’s hard not to want to isn't it? You see, about a year after it all happened, Ricky started saying he could see him.’
Matt was confused.
‘Jack,’ she explained, looking down at the table, ‘he started saying he could see Jack. We were starting to really worry about him, even to the point of taking him to a child psychiatrist, but then his hallucinations – or whatever they were – seemed to stop. I'm not even sure if he remembers much about it, he never talks about it. But that’s all the more reason why I don’t need cranks calling my home,’ she added with vehemence.
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