Chapter Nineteen
‘Hey!’ Honor smiled at Ru who was at the sink, where he seemed to have spent most of the last week. Covering off days had morphed into a full-time job, washing steaming dishes, baseball hat reversed and a spike of hair sprouting from the front.
‘Hey.’ His hands didn’t pause in their mechanical repetition and his attention remained on the gleaming white dishes.
She tied her apron with rapid movements. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ He shoved a plate into the drainer.
Honor paused. She recognised deeply pissed off when she saw it. She checked that Robina was out of the room and Sophie was at the other end of the kitchen, flipping scones off a baking sheet. ‘Still not enjoying working at the Teapot?’
His hand clenched around the dish mop. ‘Hate it.’
She checked in her pocket for her pencil and pad. ‘At least it’s self-defence class tonight — that ought to be fun.’
His hands reached for more plates from the stack. ‘I’m supposed to be going into Brighton.’ He still didn’t look at her.
‘That’s a pity.’ She spoke lightly but her mind flicked to ‘close attention’ mode. Ru had been getting quieter and more morose as the week had worn on. ‘The class gave me a lot of confidence, last week. I was intending to go again tonight but I’m not sure I want to — alone.’
Ru scrubbed violently at a burned-on raisin. Rinsed. Sighed. ‘Yeah, OK. I’ll do the class with you first.’
‘Great, thanks.’ She slid her pencil and pad from her pocket. When she’d accomplished a circuit to check status at both inside and outside tables, she cleared up after a few early birds, scraping the plates and carrying the stack over to Ru. ‘Have you had more trouble with Frog?’
‘Not yet.’
Honor moved on to the other likely source of friction. ‘So, where’s your mother?’
He scowled. ‘Upstairs. Arguing with Crusty.’
Aha.
He yanked on the chain to the plug, the grey water running away as if being gulped down by the drain monster. Finally, he looked up, eyes hard. ‘She’s trying to get Kirsty to look after the Teapot while she goes to the Global Gathering.’
Honor felt her brows shoot up. ‘Isn’t Kirsty still too sick? When is the Global Gathering? It’s just a music festival, right?’
Ru laughed, rinsing the sink with the tap’s trunky hose attachment known as ‘the elephant’. ‘Yes, she’s way too ill because the Global Gathering starts tomorrow — and there’s no “just” where my mum’s concerned, about music festivals. We all realised weeks ago that Crusty wasn’t going to be well enough to look after the Teapot but Mum seemed to think that there was a miracle on the horizon. She’s all packed up, ready to go. So now she’s sulking and whinging because the miracle hasn’t happened.’
Watching the fresh water pour into the sink, creating white suds and a million spherical rainbows from the sunlight streaming through the window, Honor frowned. ‘Are you disappointed because it means that you can’t go, either?’
Eyes saucers of amazement, he laughed. ‘No! I don’t want to go, I’ve had enough of tents and queuing for disgusting pooey toilets. But Mum will give everyone stress because she can’t go if Crusty won’t run the Teapot. Even Mum knows the Teapot has to be open to pay the bills so she can’t just shut up shop because she’s keeping that in reserve for the end of August, in case Crusty doesn’t get better in time for Reading Rock Festival. It’ll hurt her to miss the takings from the whole bank holiday weekend but if Mum has to miss Reading she’ll probably throw herself off the cliff.’ To demonstrate, he dropped a stack of plates into the water, flopping water and suds everywhere.
‘So where is this Global Gathering. Here in England?’
He nodded. ‘Stratford. They have it in other countries, too.’
‘Stratford where William Shakespeare came from?’
He looked vague. ‘Dunno. Did he?’
It was another half hour before Robina flew back into the Teapot with a face of thunder and a tongue full of spite. Ru kept his eyes on his washing up and Honor glided off amongst the tables, taking care not to get any closer to the kitchen than the counter.
Poor Sophie looked ready to burst into tears at being trapped between a Robina who spat like the coffee machine and the silent back of Ru as he jabbed and scrubbed with his washing-up brush. It was a tense morning.
At two, Honor took her break, grabbing a scone and spreading it with jam. The Teapot didn’t do coffee ‘to go’, so she took a bottle of chilled water and prepared to put some distance between herself and the Teapot. But Robina caught her as she tried to swing out through the door and head for a bench on the cliff top. ‘Honor, I’m really stuck for some extra help this weekend—’
‘I know and I’m sorry I can’t help,’ said Honor, quickly. ‘It would mean me working three twelve-hour shifts, at least, when it’s meant to be my weekend off, and I’ve never run the place.’ And she gave Robina’s arm an apologetic squeeze and skipped out.
‘No freakin’ way,’ she muttered, rounding the corner of the shops at Starboard Walk and dodging the Marine Drive traffic, rather than pressing the button at the crossing, intending to jog on across the grassy cliff top to an iron bench to watch the sun dancing on the waves and let her back relax.
It was only as she popped out between a bus and a truck that she saw Martyn on the pavement, waiting to cross in the opposite direction. ‘Are you trying to kill yourself?’ he demanded.
Honor had had about enough of other people’s bad temper. ‘No. I could find much more efficient ways. What’s it to you?’
His snow-white shirt hung out over his jeans and his hair streamed from one side of his head then the other on the whims of the wind. Honor willed herself not to colour up — just because Martyn had kissed her on Friday night as if he was going to drag her off for wild, nightlong sex. But hadn’t. And had then apparently forgotten that she existed.
Today was Thursday, which was awkward. Last Thursday, he’d given her and Ru a ride to and from self-defence class and he’d kind of talked as if that’s what he’d meant to do this week, too. So, if she took the bus then he turned up it would be really rude. But if she mentioned that she was going to take the bus then he might think she was hinting for him to drive her.
His eyes fell on the napkin-wrapped package in her hands. ‘Lunch?’
‘Got to be some perks to the job.’ She smiled politely and began to move on by. She’d take the bus. Chill and Remote Martyn had probably forgotten about the classes.
She trod across the rippling grass, the wind rushing in her ears. At the bench she tried to juggle with the scone and the water to free a hand to brush the seat without dropping anything or letting the wind mix her ponytail up with the jam oozing out of the sides of the napkin. A hand descended over her shoulder and took the water. ‘Let me.’
‘Oh!’ She turned to look at Martyn. The wind must have drowned out the sound of him following. ‘Thanks.’ With a hand freed up, she was able to tuck her ponytail into the back of her black T-shirt and settle the scone on the napkin, on her lap.
Martyn sat down and perched the bottle on the bench between them. He looked out over the cliff. The tide was in and the ocean was its most beautiful blue.
She broke the scone in half and offered one half to him.
Slowly, he turned to look at her. He’d shaved. Really close shaved so that he looked smooth and touchable. If anything, he was more mouthwatering without the GQ stubble. His jawline was a blade. ‘I shouldn’t.’
‘I guess life would be more comfortable for us all if we were never tempted.’
He snorted a laugh and took the proffered half. ‘Or if we were better at resisting things. This is your lunch.’
She shrugged, licking her fingers. ‘I know the tree that these grow on and I’m going right back to it when I’ve taken a few minutes in the fresh air.’ She stifled a sigh at the thought. Her idea of a job without stress didn’t include a boss that acted like a premenstrual pitbull.
After wiping her hands, she offered him the napkin, then the bottle of water. Then they watched the gulls, beady black eyes fixed on tourists to mug for food, as the waves glittered and shushed on to the beach below.
Ten minutes, she promised herself. Ten minutes to chill, to refill her emotional well, before returning to suffer under the black clouds that had rolled into the Teapot. Ten minutes to be aware of Martyn lounging, unspeaking, beside her.
At the end of that time, she climbed reluctantly to her feet. ‘Better get back to it.’
He didn’t move. Or look at her. ‘Shall I pick you up for your class?’
She hesitated. ‘I could get the bus.’
‘No need. Tell Ru.’
I thought that all I wanted was to get a message from you but, now you finally decide to talk . . . Babe, I said I’m sorry. Don’t you care how I’m hurting? When are you coming back? This is crazy. Maybe you’ve gone crazy. It can’t be the end. I won’t let it be. I don’t believe you’re quitting, Honor, because you just never quit.
Honor stared at Stef’s words, wondering why she didn’t feel worse for him. Maybe it was the distance. She thought about Connecticut and found it unexpectedly hard to remember living in their apartment with the view of Main Street, because Stef liked to be in the middle of town where they both worked and he could get around the bars and clubs on foot, rather than living out on the lake, as she’d wanted. She tried to walk her mind through the furniture they’d picked out — the chaise with a broken leg from when Stef tried to prove he could still back flip, the rug with the red wine stain after his birthday party, his end of the sofa splashed with beer from when he got excited during ball games.
Yes, she had no trouble picturing Stef on his end of the sofa.
And, yup, she was in the frame, too — bringing home most of the bacon and picking up the groceries on the way, running the household and battling to undo the Stef effect to make the apartment look nice. A reasonable housekeeper. Not a bad wife — Stef had never stopped reaching for her in bed.
Her response was where her imagination got uncooperative. For there to be want there had to be trust.
Instead, she thought about the big clapboard house she grew up in, pale blue with sparkling white trim, the sloping lawns bounded by field stone walls, the heavy colonial furniture, Karen hosting dinner parties or barbeques, Garvin working on one end of the long kitchen table. The house that her dad bought for Karen, which Karen had made a home for Zach and Jessie. And for Honor — not so much, though she’d tried.
This English bungalow would probably fit into her father’s spacious lounge. The sitting room was bijou — frankly? She’d had bigger closets — but she felt more at home here, looking out to the ocean, than she had in any other place. She counted up on her fingers. Not even six weeks since she had moved into Eastingdean and she connected as well with Ru, Robina, Sophie and Martyn’s thoroughly English lives as with anyone back home. Even compartmentalising her inopportune crush on Martyn, she cared whether Clarissa’s Zumba class folded. She cared whether Robina would have got over her snit by tomorrow or if she was making life unbearable for Ru. She even cared that Kirsty looked like a walking horror movie.
She clicked on reply. Life is peaceful, here. I’m tired of your chaos. I said everything I had to say back in May. And then, It’s better this way.
Send.
* * *
After that, Honor was glad of the chance to relieve her frustrations in the self-defence class, practising snapping kicks to the front or the side of knees and slamming the palm of a curled hand into vulnerable noses.
As last week, Martyn perched on the stage at the end of the room, but Honor tried to put him out of her mind as she concentrated on joking Ru out of his doldrums. Ru managed the occasional smile but, at the end of the class when she suggested, ‘Want to come home for coffee and soup?’ he gave her a startled look, grabbed his backpack from the side of the room and shot into the men’s room, casting back, ‘Can’t. Staying in Brighton.’
He sprinted out two minutes later, transformed by shirt, trousers and proper shoes, a strong smell of deodorant and his hair over his eyes like a windblown dog, making for the door. He had to pause as Martyn intercepted him, jingling his car keys, but Ru, muttering something as he pointed to his watch, just wriggled past.
Honor grabbed her jacket and crossed to where Martyn was frowning after Ru. ‘Where’s he flying off to?’
‘I think he said Spangles.’
She felt a spasm of alarm. ‘Spangles? Does he mean Ali Spangles? The nightclub?’
Slowly, Martyn nodded. ‘I’m rather afraid he might.’
Honor started off in pursuit down the corridor to the stairs. ‘But he’s way too young to get into a nightclub, isn’t he? And I’ve been to Ali Spangles — it’s a dive.’
Out in the street, there was no sign of Ru. Kemptown was a grid, providing any number of corners for Ru to have disappeared around. Honor felt her heart hurry uneasily, in a way that had nothing to do with the exertions of the class. ‘Ali Spangles is a dive,’ she repeated, frowning up and down the street.
‘I’m surprised you know.’ Martyn regarded her curiously.
‘A guy took me there when I was pretty much fresh off the plane,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t stay long.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I don’t know what Ru’s up to but I’m going to go after him. That kid can get himself in a fix way too easily.’
‘You won’t get in dressed like that.’
Impatiently, she glanced down at her sweatpants. ‘Right. If you could drop me straight home, I’ll change and get a cab over there. I don’t know what Ru’s doing because he surely can’t get into a nightclub, but I don’t have a happy feeling about this.’
‘I’ll go with you.’
They turned for the X5, parked on the side of the road. ‘I’ll be OK—’
He glared as if she were a giant pain in his rear as he slammed the door and turned the key. ‘Like you said, it’s a dive.’
In the half hour that Honor had between jumping out of the X5 and climbing back into it, she showered at top speed and wriggled into the only vaguely clubby clothes she had in England, exactly what she’d been wearing when Aaron had taken her to Ali Spangles — the short, stretchy, black dress shot with gold and the rainbow shrug that tied high in front. So as not to feel any tinier beside Martyn than she needed to, she slid quickly into black, spike-heeled mules.
Her hair would take too long to put up, so, with wet hands and a little conditioner she smoothed out the worst of the frizz and then combed it down either side of her face, letting it ripple on to her shoulders. It looked like somebody had been at it with a crimping iron but, hey, people paid good money for that look and she could have it for free. And it left her time to apply blue-green eyeliner and black mascara.
Both the mules and the short skirt made the ascent into the BMW sports vehicle a challenge but she scrambled up and soon the vehicle was bowling smoothly along Marine Drive, past Saltdean and then Rottingdean, the lights from the pier and the Brighton hotels looming closer and closer, twinkling as the sun prepared to dip into the sea.
On this summer’s evening every parking space along King’s Road was taken, but Martyn found a spot to ease the BMW into in a side street. Honor discovered that, worse than scrambling up, dropping down from the perched-up passenger seat of the big vehicle in a short skirt and high heels was damned near impossible without flaunting her underwear or letting her footwear drop from her toes. Watching her struggle, Martyn swore, seized her by the waist and swung her down, as if dragging a naughty child out of a tree.
‘Sorry,’ she said, meekly. ‘I didn’t think about climbing in and out of your SUV.’
Martyn had changed into a midnight blue shirt and he looked exactly what he was — a pin-up. His hair flipped sexily around his collar while hers wiggled around her head like the Gorgon’s snakes.
King’s Road was thronged, unsurprising in a resort at the height of the summer. Martyn grabbed her hand and tucked her behind him, which had the double benefit of advancing their progress and providing relief from the wind. When they reached the well-worn exterior of Ali Spangles he stopped short, bringing her around beside him. ‘Ah. That explains how he can get in.’
Outside Ali Spangles, on a blackboard decorated with silver stars, they read: Under 18s Nite at Ali Spangles! Wickid DJ! Only ￡5!
‘Oh . . .’ Honor deflated. ‘I never even thought of that. I guess he’s just hanging out with his friends. I just jumped to stupid conclusions. I’m sorry I dragged you out here.’
Martyn studied the three doormen, standing in a row like thuggish penguins. ‘Yes, but it is Ali Spangles. As we’re here, maybe we should look around.’
They gazed up the stairs and into the entrance passage. Every scuff on the badly painted walls showed. Teenagers straggled in trying to look cool and mainly looking furtive as electronic music pounded and scratched out into the street.
Martyn approached the biggest doorman, a bald guy with two crosses in one ear. ‘Is it under 18s only? Or can we get in?’
The doorman raised his eyebrows, looking from Martyn to Honor and shrugging. ‘OK with us, mate. You pay your five quid, you go in. Long as you behave yourself.’ He smirked. ‘They might ID you if you try and buy alcohol.’
Martyn gave him a tiny smile and brushed past, paid ten pounds to a different penguin at a window and drew Honor up the narrow stairs and down the corridor that let out into the bowels of the club. Honor didn’t know whether to put her hand over her eyes or her ears at the swooping neon-green lights and shrieking teenage voices over headaching music, trying not to wince at the number of show-off boys barging around squealing girls. It wasn’t lost on her that the girls, who Stef would have termed jailbait, were dressed pretty much like her — tottering on heels, hemlines high, necklines plunging.
Her eyes got used to the wheeling lights but there were a lot of bobbing heads to block her view. She had to rely on Martyn, his gaze raking the room methodically. ‘I can’t see him,’ he said, bringing his mouth down close to her ear, ‘but there’s some kind of big meeting taking place in the far corner. Let’s wander in that direction.’
Tucking in behind his formidable height as he wove along the edges of the heaving dance floor, Honor was able to negate the worst of the mob effect of excitable kids crammed into too small a space. A whole bunch of wide girlish eyes drank Martyn in as he made his way through the throng, sliding on then to check her out. She wondered how many of them were thinking: he could do better —
‘He’s right in the corner, talking to two older guys,’ he said, suddenly.
Now that they’d made it past the dance floor, Honor was able to step out from behind him and crane up to see that Ru and a group of teens around him were listening and nodding as the two men, one white and wholesome-looking and one black and über-cool, talked. Aaron and Jermaine. Fury flamed inside her. ‘Those dumbass morons!’
Martyn’s eyebrows shot up. ‘How come you’re so well acquainted with local dumbass morons?’
She staggered on her tiptoes, trying to become taller even than the spike heels made her. ‘The guy who brought me here before? He’s Aaron, the white dumbass. The guy who he brought me to see, who seems to control the local grey labour market — he’s the black dumbass, Jermaine. Aaron works at an employment agency and if he can’t fit someone into a legit job, he brings them to Jermaine to get them work off the payroll. Aaron was so mad when I passed on the opportunity that it’s obvious he gets a commission.’ She dropped back on to her heels. ‘I’m going to talk to those guys.’
Incensed by the trust on the face of Ru and the teens clustered around him, she flung herself through the horde of clubbers-in-training. With a final shove, she burst into the small clearing about Aaron and Jermaine. ‘Well, hi there!’ She beamed around.
Ru looked astonished.
Aaron and Jermaine looked shocked and wary.
She locked her eyes on Ru. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ He shrugged. His expression switched abruptly to dismay. ‘Wait a min—!’ A groan went up from the other kids.
Honor wasn’t surprised, when she looked back at the yard of floor that Aaron and Jermaine had been occupying, to see it suddenly empty. Martyn was standing close by, watching their departing backs and smiling.
‘They’re going!’ objected Ru. ‘But we hadn’t finished.’
Honor sighed. ‘Shame. I’ve had a bad day and I wouldn’t have minded trying that pressing the button thing. Were they talking to you about a job, Ru?’
The muttering crowd began to disperse as he hid his eyes behind his hair. ‘They said they could get me work in Brighton. I hate working for Mum.’
‘Is it really that bad? It gives you a little money in your pocket.’
Ru stopped hiding with a flick of his head and an incredulous laugh. ‘It doesn’t.’
Honor paused. ‘It doesn’t?’
‘Mum doesn’t pay me. That’s why I hate it. It’s slave labour.’
‘I guess it is,’ she said, slowly. ‘She doesn’t pay you a cent?’
‘Not a cent, not a penny. Not as a wage. She’ll give me money for a particular thing, if she feels like it. But she doesn’t often feel like it.’
‘Oh.’ Honor looked into the eyes that were both wary and trusting. ‘Well, I hate to break it to you but those guys, they aren’t on the level, either. They specialise in getting work for people who want work but there’s some reason that finding it is difficult. Foreigners like me and, I guess, young kids like you. They don’t pay the going rate and I’m pretty sure they don’t pay taxes or any of those tiresome things. It’s not legit. They’re bad news.’
Ru’s lips set. ‘But they would pay me something. Which is better than nothing.’
‘Yeah.’ Honor nodded. ‘But they could get you in a whole lot of trouble. Maybe we can figure something out. Something better. How about you come with me and we talk about it?’
‘S’pose.’ Digging his hands into his pockets, Rufus allowed himself to be shepherded back through the crowd, shuffling disconsolate feet up the corridor and down the stairs, collecting polite goodnights from the doormen.
‘OK,’ said Honor, as soon as she’d somehow clambered back up into the X5 — taking the mules off first, which turned out to be helpful. Turning to face Ru in the back seat, she could watch his deeply shadowed expressions in the half light. ‘Will you work at the Teapot if I make her pay you?’
Ru stilled. ‘Yeah,’ he conceded, suspiciously. ‘But I bet you can’t make her.’
Honor smiled. ‘Bet I can. She wants to go to that Global Gathering thing, right? I’m going to make her an offer she can’t refuse.’
From the driver’s seat, Martyn groaned as he started the BMW up. ‘Fantastic. She’s going to try and reason with Robina.’
* * *
Martyn hadn’t been able to talk her out of it. Half-an-hour later, having struggled once more out of his car after he’d parked it behind the Starboard Walk shops, Honor was seated on an iridescent green-and-purple, crushed-velvet beanbag in Robina’s lounge.
The whole place — two storeys over the Eastingdean Teapot — was like some old hippy hang out. Web and feather dreamcatchers hung in doorways, crystals stood where they’d catch the light, posters covered entire walls and the ceiling was painted dark purple. Jos sticks burned on the mantel and fat white candles lit a room devoid of TV or any furniture that had legs. Surreal.
Even though sitting elegantly on a beanbag in a micro skirt was no easier than climbing in and out of the X5, Honor didn’t feel disadvantaged by her station because Sophie, Robina and Ru were each flopped on beanbags of their own.
Kirsty lay on a futon. On the floor beside her were a couple of crackers on a plate, one nibbled. Honor, dismayed, spoke to her first. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, Kirsty, or tire you out.’ How on earth had Robina hardened her heart sufficiently to ask this shrunken wreck of a female to drag herself into the Teapot to work for even an hour, let alone an entire weekend, so that Robina could go off and enjoy herself?
Kirsty’s skin stretched tight around her smile. Her eyes were sunk into circular black shadows. ‘Nice to see a new face. Newish, anyway.’
‘So,’ interrupted Robina, ‘what’s Ru been up to? And why are you done up like a doll?’
Honor was shaken to realise just how chilly she felt towards Robina. When she’d first arrived at the Teapot she’d considered her quirky and fun, and anticipated that Sophie was the one who would irritate the hell out of her. Instead, Sophie had turned out to be a warm-hearted, hard worker, who just happened to hero worship her best friend, warts-and-all, though occasionally was prepared to stand up to Robina if Robina was being extra warty.
Stef was self-absorbed but Robina had him beaten, hands down.
Honor hid her thoughts behind a smile. ‘Ru and I, we’ve just been having a little chat and we’ve come up with a way that will mean you can go to the Global Gathering.’
‘Fantastic! How?’ In an instant, Robina was as shiny-eyed as a kid who had just discovered Santa Claus.
Honor put up a restraining hand. ‘Whoa! There’s a deal involved. So don’t go agreeing to anything until you’ve heard it. OK,’ she began. ‘Like any other teenager, Ru doesn’t just need a job — he needs to be paid for doing it.’
Robina shrugged. ‘But he’s family.’
‘So what? It’s not written in stone that you have to be mean to your family.’
They stared at each other. Robina’s eyes glittered. ‘What has little Ru got to do with a deal? And why are you making me one?’
Honor ignored the last question. ‘The deal is this: I’m prepared to work whatever hours it takes to run the Teapot this weekend while you and Sophie swan off to your music festival if you’ll leave Ru behind to work with me — and you pay him the same hourly rate as you pay Aletta, not only for this weekend but for every hour he works for you from now on. This weekend is just about doable if we don’t open the back dining room and I think I can make Aletta work a little harder than she has been doing.
‘ And you and Sophie have to get downstairs now and make enough scones and cakes to see us through whilst you’re away.’
‘That’ll take all night,’ Robina objected.
‘But we could do it!’ stuck in Sophie. ‘Let’s, Robbie! I want to go.’
Robina considered. All attention was on her. Her eyes moved from Honor to Ru, to Kirsty. ‘Maybe if you, Ru and Kirsty pitched in tonight—’
‘No.’
‘Ru isn’t as old as Aletta so I can’t pay him the same—’
‘You can. He works twice as hard as her. It’s the only deal on the table, Robina. And if I find out that you’ve dragged Ru or Kirsty down there tonight, the deal is off. You ought to be downright ashamed of yourself even thinking of making poor Kirsty work, anyway.’
Angry roses bloomed in Robina’s cheeks.
But Sophie clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Robbie, we can do it! Then we’ll get straight in the van and head off to Stratford and grab a few hours once we’ve got the tent up.’
‘OK then,’ said Robina, with bad grace. ‘It’s better than missing it.’
Honor waited, but she obviously wasn’t going to get a thank you. Neither was anybody going to ask whether she really felt that she could run a tearoom after working there as a waitress for less than two weeks. Maybe they simply shared her confidence that she’d had enough experience of making things work out to know that she could avoid complete disaster.
And at least gratitude was shining from Ru’s eyes.
She struggled up from the depths of the beanbag. ‘Leave the keys with Ru and I’ll be here at eight in the morning. You, too, Ru, OK? If you’re on the payroll, you have to be punctual.’
‘All right.’ Ru walked her down to the front door, tucked away up the walkway from the street. ‘You were wicked,’ he said, simply, before he shut the door behind her.