Chapter 26
Philippa and Eve linger over their breakfast. The shadow of the previous day’s events hangs over them, and it’s clear to Eve that although Tom is safe in the hospital, Philippa is deeply worried about what the future holds.
‘I hope the police arrest that bastard Fin,’ she says. She slides a saucer of cat food towards Pye, who regards it with disdain before stalking away, tail held high.
‘Can’t be too hard to find him,’ Eve says. ‘With the motorcycle and everything.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Philippa says. ‘If people want to disappear down here, they can. I mean, look at you.’ She forces a smile.
‘I haven’t disappeared. I’ve just moved.’
‘You’ve disappeared from your… lady friend.’
‘My lady friend?’ Eve smiles. ‘No one’s ever called her that before.’
‘What do you call her?’
‘My… partner?’
‘That sounds, I don’t know, like you’re running a hairdresser or a driving school together.’
‘OK. My girlfriend. Except she’s not a girl, she’s in her late twenties.’
‘D’you think you’ll go back to her?’
‘I don’t know that she’d have me back. Or what kind of future we’d have if she did, or… God. I really don’t know, Philippa. We’re sort of terrible for each other. But what about you?’
‘Ah. Changing the subject, are we?’
‘I mean it, what about you?’
‘Can’t I just grow old with my cat and my broomstick, like a respectable witch?’
‘Philippa, you’re young. And, I don’t know, gorgeous and sexy and…’ She sinks back into her chair and blinks. ‘Sorry, that didn’t come out right.’
Philippa grins. ‘I’ll take gorgeous and sexy.’
Eve squeezes her eyes shut. ‘I meant, that’s how people see you.’
‘Eve, it’s OK. I know what you meant. And I promise you, I don’t go short of a good fuck when I need one. It’s just that I don’t want the fucker round all the time, leaving mud on the stairs and frightening the cat. I’ve got secrets, like we all have, and I need my space.’
‘I hope I’m not treading on your toes.’
‘No, you’re not. I’m really happy you’re—’
They’re interrupted by the doorbell, which Eve answers. It’s Jack Demerell. She stares at him for a moment. He’s unshaven and looks tired. She’s suddenly conscious of the smell of bacon from the kitchen.
‘Sorry to crash your breakfast,’ he says, looking from her to Philippa. ‘I wanted to ask about Tom. I meant to come yesterday evening, but I had to go and see Keanu Morgan’s mum, and that dragged on a bit.’
‘He’s a nutter, that boy,’ Philippa says. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘Nothing too serious. Hitting other children, mostly.’
Philippa leads him through the front room into the kitchen and refills the kettle from the tap over the sink. ‘You heard what happened?’ she asks.
‘Actually, yes. I just ran into Dave Kydd.’ He turns to Eve. ‘Remember him from back in the day? Tall. Good footballer.’
Eve shakes her head.
‘Well, Dave joined the police. He’s an inspector now, and he filled me in on this Finbarr Williams character. Unofficially, obviously, but confirmed he’s a known drug gang member, and that they’re looking for him.’
‘So they haven’t found him yet? He’s still on the loose?’
‘Apparently. But Dave says it’s only a question of time.’
‘I bloody well hope so.’ Philippa sighs. ‘The sooner they lock that bugger up, the happier I’ll be. Do you think Tom’s safe? In hospital, I mean?’
‘I’d say so. I was visiting someone there quite recently. The security’s certainly enough to deter your average drug gang member. When’s he home?’
‘Tonight or tomorrow. They said they’d ring.’
Jack nods. ‘Maybe let me know? I can suggest to Dave that someone keeps an eye on this house when he gets back.’
‘Thanks, Jack, that’d be a load off my mind.’ She looks up at the kitchen clock and frowns. ‘Eve, can you see to Jack’s tea? I’ve got to go to the vet. Pick up a prescription for Pye.’
‘Course,’ Eve says, surprised that Pye is registered with a vet. He doesn’t strike her as that kind of cat.
Eve and Jack sit in silence as Philippa walks away. ‘Thanks for yesterday,’ Eve says, as the front door bangs shut. ‘It’s beautiful up on the hills. You’re really very good with those kids.’
He looks away self-consciously. ‘I was actually wondering…’
‘Mmm?’
‘If… you’d like to go to a recital of choral music tonight.’
‘Um…’ Eve blinks. ‘Gosh. I… I don’t know anything about it. Does that mean a choir?’
‘A small one, yes. All amateurs. Sixteenth century music by English composers.’
‘Sixteenth century. That’s… Elizabeth I?’
‘So you were listening at school.’
‘Mmm. Every so often.’
‘The programme’s not long. Less than an hour. Traditionally followed by a visit to the pub.’
‘Um… Yeah. I’d love to. Where’s it taking place?’
‘In the parish church here in Cranborne.’
She smiles. ‘It sounds great, Jack.’
He seems like a genuinely good guy, and there’s something about that mixture of toughness and kindness that’s incredibly attractive.
Oxana, for all her sexy charisma, hasn’t got a kind bone in her body.
The whole idea of doing things for other people is completely foreign to her.
Jack seems so sorted, at least on the surface.
He’s had his ordeal by fire – Afghanistan, that failed marriage – and come out the other side.
But you don’t have to spend much time with him to realise how lost he is.
He likes me, but he doesn’t know anything about me.
The memory that he’s carried with him for so long is of someone that I barely remember.
Suppose I lived down here. What would I do?
And how soon would I be bored? Because when’s all said and done, I’m a city dweller.
I’m not really qualified for anything except counter-espionage, and no one’s going to employ me to do that here.
I can’t bake or sew or write or make pots.
I can’t crochet miniature versions of people’s dogs, or make seabirds out of driftwood, or fashion chunky necklaces out of semi-precious stones (menopause jewellery, Oxana calls it).
Perhaps I could retrain as a tattooist? Blood and Ink on the high street seems to be doing OK – vampires, skulls and zombie dolls a speciality. Or I could open a vape store.
A strange thing. Since Philippa and I performed that so-called magic ritual, the voice in my head’s fallen silent.
Lining up my make-up things, reciting words before leaving the house, whispering numbers before going to sleep…
I haven’t felt the need to do any of it.
Of course, I worry that Oxana will be hurt.
I worry desperately. But I’ve come to accept what I’ve always known: that I can’t alter the course of events. I can’t be responsible for her safety.