Chapter Eight
‘Well, that was fun. No, not fun, what’s that other thing? Yeah, pathetic .’ Lissa stomped around the room and Jack thought how much she resembled an angry stick insect. She turned her back on him and rested her hands on her hips, her shoulder blades sticking out behind her like spines, her whole body all angles. ‘And why are you laughing? This ain’t no laughing matter, Jackie, ’cos if she decides to take this to the press? . . .’
‘What, getting sick-drunk in my room? Hardly headline material is it, even out here.’ And anyway he hadn’t been laughing at that, he’d been laughing at the thought that making love to Lissa had been like shagging a set-square. He shook his head, wondering why he’d ever done it, why he’d ever found that underfed-rabbit look attractive. The humour died as he remembered why, remembered all the things that had come associated with dating Lissa, all those things that had almost cut through his famed detachment. Fear, of the world, of himself , trying to forget who he was and what he’d done and the running, the endless fucking running. And then the pain. ‘Mind you, in this place it probably makes the papers when a cow craps.’
‘You would be surprised.’ Lissa rummaged in her bag for her phone and checked it quickly for messages. ‘You wanna know why I really came schlepping over to this Godforsaken corner that’s got more dust than my Aunt Effie’s shelving unit? I came ’cos I’m worried about you. That last meet we had, you were wound tighter than I’ve ever seen you and this last little while you’ve been kinda weird, twitchy — and you’re smoking more. And the one thing I do understand about you is that you smoke when you’re stressed.’
Jack turned back to his laptop, using his interest in it as an excuse to keep his face averted. Whatever else she might be, Liss had always been good at reading his expressions, at knowing what he was thinking and at times like these he wasn’t sure that staying friends had been such a good idea. ‘I’m fine. What about you? How’re you doing these days, Liss?’
He could hear her careful breathing behind him. When she spoke again her voice was different, softer and without the top-note of complaint. ‘Hey. It’s okay, I’m not blaming you. Some chick got drunk, not your fault. I’ve never blamed you, Jack, not for any of it.’
‘What about Geth? Does he come under this “blame moratorium” that you’ve got going? He’s done a bloody good job of bringing both of us to our knees in his own, inimitable way.’ And all Jack could see then was Skye’s face, her wide blue eyes as she tried to hide her desperate crush, the little flush that broke out on her cheeks when she said Gethryn’s name. ‘Please don’t tell me that you’re prepared to forgive and forget, Liss, you know how he operates — the moment you weaken he’s in there like a dog with a new leg to hump.’
‘All I’m saying is, he’s got his reasons. We’re not all as strong as you.’ He heard the soft step as she came across the carpet, and smelled that scent she used, so floral that it was surprising she wasn’t mugged by bees every time she went outdoors. Her fingers closed on his elbow. ‘ I’m not as strong as you.’
Another laugh broke from his throat, this one hollow and heavy. ‘Yeah, but it was all my fault in the first place, wasn’t it? And now Gethryn’s making me pay for it; just seeing his face every day is like having my nose rubbed in what I’ve done. Every day, Liss. Well, every day he can be bothered to get his starry arse out of bed and come to work, that is.’
Lissa said nothing, just stood, keeping one hand on his arm. Jack looked around the room but it wasn’t the tacky wallpaper, the grim works of so-called art that hung askew, that he was seeing. His body might be nailed to Nevada but his mind was running free on the moors, and he suddenly felt the lack of huge grey skies and the solid ranks of hills like a pain. He pulled a face. Okay, you miss the place. Now lock it away.
Lissa did that short sighing thing that drove him round the bend. ‘You can’t blame me for thinking something’s up though, Ice. I mean, here you are, up to your ass in talent and deadlines, and I find you shut up in here with some Limey chick throwing up like there’s no tomorrow.’
‘Working well, Liss, I actually understood the majority of the words in that sentence. The actual order they appear in is a bit more problematic.’ He twisted away from her hand back to his screen and tapped a few keys in a lackadaisical way. ‘Look, you’re right, I feel? . . . I dunno. I need some time. Why don’t you head back downstairs, or, better still, go to your own room? Let me do what I have to here.’
‘And is part of what you have to do that spaced-out honey?’ Lissa tucked some hair behind her ear, leaving the side of her face bare. It made her look vulnerable and Jack felt a pang in his chest. Sometimes the shadow cast by what had gone before hung long and low over his life, like a sundial at evening.
‘No.’ He typed randomly, hoping she’d take the hint and leave. ‘You know me, Liss. Strictly hands-off policy. She’s a Brit, I heard the accent, fancied talking to someone who doesn’t think Stonehenge is a theme park.’ There was no point in being more specific; Liss thought Dick-Van-Dyke-cockney was an accurate representation. ‘I get homesick, Liss, you know that.’ Type, type. The quick brown fox jumped feverishly over the lazy dog, and then back again. Eventually Lissa’s reflection dropped the scowl and gave a quick smile he wasn’t sure he was supposed to have seen.
‘Homesick, huh. Nice that you admit to feeling anything, Iceman. I’ll head back down then. See how the signings are going. Gauge interest for Sunday night, that kinda thing.’
‘You do that.’ Type, type and it was only when the door swung closed behind her that Jack allowed himself to relax and look at what he’d written.
‘Why isn’t anything ever simple? ’