Authors: Barbara Elsborg
She finished the Parma ham—one slice; the last of the peanut butter—two large spoonfuls; and although this couldn’t strictly be defined as part of the hoovering up binge, she also ate the two bars of chocolate Kirsten had hidden on the bookshelf. After she’d consumed a cup of margarine, sugar, flour and milk whisked together with a fork—the nearest she could get to raw cake mixture, Flick slumped on her bed feeling ill and felt worse when she remembered she’d not fed Hannibal.
As the psycho pet rolled around the floor in its plastic ball, Flick cleaned out a couple of sections of the unit. The whole system needed a wash but she hadn’t the energy, so limited herself to replacing sawdust, changing water and adding a fresh scoop of dried food. Flick was struggling to entice her nemesis to walk from the ball back into one of the tubes when the phone rang. Hannibal scuttled backward, resisting attempts to tip her in so Flick gave up and tried to twist the top back on the ball only now the hamster wrapped her feet over the edge and poked a nose into the air, whiskers twitching manically.
The phone was still ringing and Flick thought it might be Beck but she needed to get the hamster back into captivity before she answered it. It was almost as though Hannibal delighted in her desperation. Flick tried to push her down with the plastic lid but the creature levered herself up the side of the ball and Flick began to panic. She couldn’t let her get out. She’d seen Beck grab the flesh at the back of the hamster’s neck to lift it, but fear made her move too slowly. Hannibal bit her finger, Flick shrieked and the phone stopped ringing.
———
Beck picked a route from York to take him past Timble. He still buzzed from the discovery on the dig. After looking at the photographs Stanley Hunter had agreed the students could continue to work on the field without bringing in a more experienced team, then gave Beck a lecture about making sure the site underwent a thorough investigation to ensure a representative sample. Beck felt like asking if he thought he’d never supervised a dig before but he bit his tongue.
He got on okay with Stanley, although his boss always pestered for more articles. A chart hung in his room with the names of each member of the department and the number of articles they’d had published. It reminded Beck of the star charts his mother used for him and his brother. A star for not picking your nose, another for not eating it.
Beck had no interest in producing a certain number of words for the sake of it, nor in submitting the same article, slightly amended for several different publications. He’d nearly worn his fingers down to the knuckles to get his professorship. He needed a break which was partly why he was working on his gory thriller. He’d told Stanley he was doing research with a view to producing something new next year, but that would only put him off for a while. The aggravating thing was the only reason Stanley had his name on so many books was because he either edited them or wrote brief, slimy introductions. That way he didn’t actually have to come up with anything new at all. The man was a shallow as a saucer.
Deciding he’d better not arrive unannounced at Flick’s house, Beck pulled up a short distance away and called on his mobile. No answer. Since he’d already turned off the A59 he decided to drop in anyway. The lights were on and he perked up at the thought of seeing her.
He knocked and as he stood waiting, he heard Flick behind the door.
“Ow, ouch, ooh. You little bastard. Let go. Oh, no, no, no. Not harder no, please don’t do that, it hurts.”
Then the door opened and she stood there pale-faced, her hands behind her back.
Beck grinned at her. “You sounded like one of those sex lines.”
“And how would you know?”
“Do you have a problem?” He looked at Flick’s feet. Blood dripped onto the floor behind her.
“Yes, could you come back later?”
“When?”
“Next January?”
He laughed. “I don’t think I’m going to be around that long. Show me what you’re hiding behind your back.”
Flick brought her hand around to show the hamster hanging off her finger. Beck winced.
“I’ve tried pleading, squeezing, stroking and threatening. I’m thinking sharp knife.”
Beck put his hand under Fluffy’s feet and stroked the back of her head but the hamster stayed put. “Let’s try food. Got any cheese?”
“I just ate the last piece. It probably knows.”
“Chocolate?”
“I ate that, too. Don’t ask for Parma ham, peanut butter or crisps.”
They moved through to the kitchen, with the hamster sitting on Beck’s hand, teeth still fixed in Flick’s finger. Beck opened the fridge. Fluffy refused everything Beck offered.
“It’s hopeless. It only wants my flesh.”
“Well, she can’t have it.” Beck turned on the tap.
Moments later Fluffy was not fluffy. She sat in the bottom of the sink with soaked fur, looking half her previous size, a murderous glare in her dark brown eyes. Flick grabbed a sheet of kitchen roll and as she wrapped it around her finger, Fluffy grabbed the other end and proceeded to stuff it into her pouch.
“For Pete’s sake,” Flick yelled, dragging it away from the hamster. “Why do you hate me? Are you some distant relative of Fudge trying to get your own back?”
“Who’s Fudge?” Beck asked.
“The school hamster.”
Beck knew he was going to regret this, but went ahead and asked anyway. “So what happened to Fudge?”
“My turn to look after it for the weekend and I built it a house of pink modeling clay. Next morning the house had gone. I thought Stef had taken it, but turned out Fudge had eaten it. Months later he pulled it from his cheek pouches and piled it up in his cage. The mound was bigger than him. A week later he died.”
Fluffy looked up and began to clean her fur.
“Probably no connection,” Beck said.
“You’d be the only person in the world who thought that. In assembly, the head demanded to know which stupid child had fed modeling clay to the hamster. Because the pink gloop hadn’t appeared in the cage until later, I might have got away with it but this little voice piped up from the front. Stef saying, ‘Felicity did it.’ Her three favorite words. I was hauled out in front of the entire school. They knew I hadn’t meant to kill it but that didn’t stop the headmistress using me as an example of the very worst sort of girl. Apparently she now had her eye on me. And a mad, staring eye it was too. Though it went nicely with her beard. So that was my school career doomed.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
Beck chuckled. “You’re funny. Would…you like to go out with me?”
Flick stared straight at him and he felt a burst of desire for this redhaired weirdo.
“Well?” he asked, a little disconcerted she’d said nothing.
“Yes, if you put Hannibal safely back in her cage.”
“Damn, I should have held out for sex,” Beck said.
“If you accidentally drop her and step on her on the way upstairs, I’ll think about it.”
He glanced at her.
“Sadly, if she dies, Stef will kill me.”
“But not before we’ve had sex.”
Flick laughed.
“Hamsterville still in the same place?” Beck asked.
“Yep.”
Flick didn’t follow. He wondered if she was worried he’d drag her into bed. Beck didn’t want to push her. He’d fix the date and then leave.
“You can sleep safely now,” he said as he came back down. He walked toward the door.
“You’re not going already?”
“You wouldn’t sleep if I stayed.”
Flick gulped.
“I love it when you do that.”
“What? Breathe?” she asked.
“No. Get overexcited. But I’m going to go before it happens again. I’ll be here at 7:00 tomorrow. We’ll eat in. I’ll cook. I want you breathless with anticipation.”
“I’m not sure I can wait that long.”
A rush of heat flooded his body.
“Can I make you a drink before you leave? Coffee? Tea? Screwdriver? Staple gun?”
Beck’s curiosity got the better of him. “What’s a staple gun?”
“My own recipe but it’s very alcoholic. If you drink two, you’ll be stuck to the floor and won’t be able to drive.”
Beck swallowed. “I’ll try one then.”
He followed her into the kitchen and sat on the edge of the table. Flick opened the fridge, took out the orange juice and poured a healthy slug into two glasses.
“I hope you’re not watching me. This is a secret recipe handed down from generation to generation.”
“Good job I know how to keep secrets,” Beck said.
Flick tipped in small amounts of gin, whiskey, brandy and a larger measure of some green liquid.
She opened the fridge again. “Olive?”
“No, thanks.”
“Anchovy?”
“I’ll pass on that too.”
Flick handed him a glass. “Cheers.”
Beck waited. She took a tiny sip.
“Umm.”
“How bad is it?”
“Pretty bad,” Flick admitted.
Beck took a mouthful and swallowed. Good grief. “Needs the anchovy.”
“How can it taste so revolting? I like everything that I put in it, except for that green thing. I’ve never tried that,” Flick said.
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to drink one of these, let alone two.”
Flick took it out of his hand and poured it down the sink. “With my ability to cause you serious harm, I don’t think you’d better drink anymore. I’ve probably inadvertently created rocket fuel.”
“I need something nice to get rid of the taste,” Beck pulled her toward him and hooked his legs round the back of hers. “I know just the thing.”
Flick had expected a hard kiss but it didn’t happen. He teased her mouth, trailing his tongue along the edge of hers, winding all her internal organs into a frenzy of longing. Beck’s hands slid up her spine and slipped into her hair, altering the position of her head so he could kiss her more deeply.
Their tongues tangoed, waltzed and jived. Her heart rate rocketed and she could feel the beat in her head. No doubt now that he wanted her. The evidence lay hard between them, pressing against her belly. Flick’s hands swept over his chest, around his nipples, tweaking them through his shirt before she dropped her fingers to the back of his jeans, dipped under his shirt and touched hot skin. Beck groaned into her mouth.
The front door banged and they jolted apart. Beck got off the table, but they didn’t stop looking at each other.
“Flick?” Josh called.
“In here.”
Giles and Willow came in with Josh and Kirsten, and Flick knew something was wrong. Giles’ face was flushed with anger and Josh wouldn’t look at her. It had to be bad.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Lost the quiz?”
No one said anything and then Giles stepped forward, his eyes flint-hard. “I’m sorry, Beck. I wanted to talk to you first but this won’t wait.” He turned to Flick. “How long have you been having an affair with my father?”
“What?” Flick gasped and then gave a short laugh, but any thought this was a joke slipped away. Her heart began a slow insistent thudding. Beck stood tense and rigid beside her.
“It’s no use denying it. I heard you. I saw you,” Giles said.
Flick’s knees shook. “I don’t know what you think you heard or saw but you’re wrong. I’m not having an affair with Henry.” This was bloody Sally Greene all over again. Flick hated being accused of things she hadn’t done. She had no interest in her boss Gordon and no interest in Henry. Not like that.
Giles took another step toward her. Flick held her ground.
“He had his arms around you. He kissed you. He gave you a hundred quid and said when you came to the Hall, not to let my mother see you. How long has he been fucking you?”
Flick flinched. “I’m not sleeping with your father. Henry’s my friend.”
“Friends with an old man? How likely is that?” Giles spat.
“He’s not old and he’s kind to me.”
Flick wanted to run away, she didn’t want to hear this, but knew that would make her look guilty.
“So he’s a friend who kisses you and puts his arms around you?” Giles asked.
Flick’s breath caught in her throat. Josh still wouldn’t look at her but Kirsten, Willow and Giles stared grim-faced. She couldn’t bear to look at Beck. She tried to close off her heart from the wave of cold water trying to sweep her away.
“Did he kiss you and put his arms around you?” Kirsten asked in a quiet voice.
“Yes, but not like that, I was upset.”
“What about?” Kirsten asked.
“That’s my business.” Flick put the barriers up. She wouldn’t tell them about Grinstead’s.
“What about the money? How do you explain that?” Giles asked.
“I earned it. I spent the day cleaning.”
“A hundred pounds for a few hours cleaning?” Giles scoffed. “Dad said he enjoyed your little games and that you have a secret. What little games? What secret? What do you do for your money, Flick? Wear short skirts and tight tops and parade around in front of my mother? You tried to kiss me when Willow was only feet away. You’re nothing but a slut.”
The walls of the kitchen closed in, crushing her until she couldn’t breathe. It was happening again. Just like Grinstead’s. They’d made up their minds she was guilty. Kirsten and Josh were supposed to be her friends but hadn’t stuck up for her. Giles’ words twisted her heart, squeezed the life from her. Beck had said nothing but what must he think? Flick glanced at him. He looked confused and hurt.
She tried again. “There’s nothing going on between me and Henry. Does he say there is? We do play a game but it’s a word game. There is a secret, but it’s mine, not his. It has nothing to do with any of you. I didn’t try to kiss you, Giles. You’re lying. You were drunk. You tried to kiss me.” Flick’s skin turned cold and her muscles tightened ready for flight. She forced herself to stand still. “Josh, Kirsten, you’re supposed to be my friends yet you’ve listened to Giles and made up your minds without even speaking to me. If I’m ever tried by a jury I hope you aren’t selected. You haven’t heard the whole story and you’ve already decided what you want to believe. I…I…” Flick gave up. “You know, I don’t give a shit what any of you think. You can all fuck off.”
She stormed out of the room and slammed the door. Flick glanced toward the stairs then turned the other way and slipped out of the front door. She set off walking down the lane toward the reservoir and then began to run.