StillWaters:Book4oftheSophieGreenMysteries (2 page)

“Have fun in Amsterdam,” I said, thinking, maybe I should get him to bring me some grass back. If anyone could smuggle it, Macbeth could. I’d never tried the stuff, but maybe I should.

“It’s not meant to be fun.” He lifted his holdall out the back and brushed residual Norma hairs from it.

“Fifty grand sounds fun to me.”

He chucked me under the chin. “See you back in sunny Stansted.”

I watched him go, off to earn lots of money for something that was probably highly illegal, sighed, and turned to go back to Port Trevan. Even if I was willing—which, I’m not, not really—I’d never be any good at anything illegal. I’m just not smart enough. I worry about what my mother will think.

Actually, she’d probably ask if they had any vacancies.

Back at the cottage, Maria was beautifying herself in the bathroom, and Luke was reading one of the dull-looking smuggling novels from the shelf in the living room, so I went down to my room to unpack. It was half below street level, and under the carpets I could feel a hard concrete floor. The bed was huge, set under a built-in cabinet with lights to shine down on the pillows. Below the lights, cherubs were frolicking on the wall.

There were also cherubs in the pictures on the walls. There were cherubs on the mantelpiece. There were cherubs fucking
everywhere
.

“This is creepy,” I told Norma, who was lying with her long nose on her paws, watching me with an expression of melancholy that I think was supposed to induce me to feed her. “You want to share it with me?”

“If you’re offering,” said a voice from the doorway, and I jumped to see Luke leaning against the frame, watching me.

I went back to putting my sweaters in the cupboard, my face pink. “Yeah, ’cos that would be a good idea.”

“I was going to ask if you’d consider a swap,” he said, “but on balance…” He regarded the plump-faced cherubs glaring down from all around. “I think I’ll stick with the single. At least now I have a spare bed.”

He didn’t say what for, and I didn’t want to know.

“Are you coming to the pub?” he asked.

“Now?”

“Yeah. For dinner. I can’t imagine they won’t do fish and chips. And it’s about ten feet from the front door.”

In that case, I thought, snapping my luggage shut, how could I refuse?

The pub was literally across the main street—the main street that was just wide enough for one car to wiggle round the bends. It was a proper pub: old, smelling of smoke and leather and beer and the faint tang of the sea that coats coastal places everywhere. There was a real fire scenting the air and real beers on tap.

“There’s a beer called Doom?” Luke looked at the font.

“Doom Bar,” I said. “Named after a sandbank in the Camel Estuary.”

“And what’s ‘natural’ cider?”

“Homemade. Room temperature. It’s a bit of an acquired taste.”

“How do you know all this?” Maria asked.

“I’ve been coming to Cornwall for holidays since we got Norma. You remember things like natural cider.” Smells like manure and tastes like apples going to hell.

Luke frowned and regarded the beers on offer, and silence fell.

I was glad Maria was there, because I really couldn’t have spent too much time alone with Luke. Things were just so horribly tense.

And they’d always been so easy before. We could be together for days on end and not get tired of each other. We worked together, we slept together, and once or twice when things got bad, we even lived together for a few days. It was easy, it was good. Since we broke up, I’d only seen him once or twice—

Okay, I saw him four weeks after the break-up, then six and a half weeks, then eleven, then fifteen. This will be week sixteen. The first three times I saw him in the office, the other at Tesco. All four times I looked a wreck—and consequently took to leaving the house in full makeup and heels even if I was going to the shop for cat food.

Happy now? I’m not over him. How could I be over someone like Luke? He’s completely physically perfect—the body of a Greek god and cheekbones that could actually sculpt marble. I mean they could chisel it. They’re that sharp. He’s golden all over, he’s smart, he’s funny and he can be really sweet when he wants to.

“What are you drinking?” He looked at me expectantly.

“Oh. Er, Diet Coke.”

“No natural cider?”

“No. Thanks.”

“They have Scrumpy…?”

“I just want Coke,” I snapped. “I’m going to find a table.”

I went into the other room and threw myself at a settle. Maria followed me with some menus, her eyebrows raised.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. Aren’t you ever going to tell him?”

I shook my head firmly.

“You know, there is a chance—I mean, it could…”

“No,” I said sharply, “it couldn’t. There’s no chance.”

She backed off. “Okay.”

Luke brought the drinks and we scanned the menu. I was impressed. For a pub that had its fair share of locals in fisherman’s sweaters, propping up the bar, it had a pretty decent selection of food. Most of it was local seafood, and as Maria had said, there was lots of shellfish. But there were also three or four veggie options. I could see myself eating here quite a lot.

Eventually I reverted to comfort food and ordered fish and chips. Maria took our order to the bar, leaving me and Luke on opposite sides of the small table.

I examined my fingernails.

“Well done for driving, by the way,” he said into the silence.

“You see, my driving instructor’s faith was not misplaced.”

“I meant—” he began, and then stopped. “Forget it.”

Damn, why does he turn me into such a bitch? Why can’t I be nice when he’s around? I’m a lovely person, I really am.

This was going to be a long week.

Our food came, relieving the stilted conversation Maria tried to keep going, and the barman gave Luke an envious look. Sitting next to Maria, of course he’d be envious.

She had crabmeat, still in its shell, and I had to keep my eyes averted from it. You could see the eyes. It had been alive this morning. My cod was beer battered and boneless and headless and tailless, and it tasted beautiful—sweet and silky—but it didn’t look like it had been alive at any time recently.

“Go on, try some,” Maria coaxed, holding out her fork to me with a little bit of delicate pink meat on it. “It’s really nice.”

Sigh.

“It’s crab,” I said. “It has a shell.” And claws. And antennae. And those eyes.
Ugh
. “I can’t.”

Maria shrugged and told me it was my loss. Luke watched us with interest. He rarely misses much.

“So how’s your new bird?” Maria asked Luke, and the cod suddenly felt like lead in my stomach. “Carrie, Cassie…?”

“Caro,” he said, not looking at me. “She’s fine.”

“Didn’t fancy a trip to sunny Cornwall?”

“Thought this was an SO17 thing.”

“I’m joking” she bashed him easily. “What’s she like?”

He shrugged. “She’s nice.”

“Well, duh. What does she look like?”

Another shrug. “Blonde hair, blue eyes, quite tall.”

“Skinny or curvy?”

“Neither, really.”

Maria’s eyes slid to me. “I bet she’s curvy,” she said. “Long legs. Big boobs. I bet she has layers in her hair.”

“Shut
up
,” I said.

“So what if she does?” Luke asked threateningly.

Maria laughed. “Luke, you always said you never had a type.”

“I don’t.”

“Right. So it’s just coincidence that your new girlfriend resembles your old one right down to her cup size?”

Luke glared at his
lasagne
. “She’s a C cup,” he mumbled, and Maria laughed out loud, because I’m a DD and proud of it—but everything else was exactly like me. It was frightening. Was I just another identical notch on Luke’s oak bedpost?

Oh God, what if he’s slept with her? Already? It’s only been—

It’s only been four months. Only just four.

God. The amount you can fool yourself. I’m over Luke, I’ve moved on, I’m not jealous. Yeah,
right
.

“Anyway,” Maria changed the subject. “Aren’t you looking forward to a week off?”

“It’s hardly been a busy couple of months,” I said.

“No, well—I mean, you don’t have to carry your mobile around everywhere—”

“Just as well,” Luke said drily, “because I lost signal somewhere around Tintagel.”

“Or your gun—”

“Depends on how much those seagulls piss me off.”

Maria looked at him in despair. “You didn’t bring your gun?”

“I take it everywhere.”

She looked at me and I averted my eyes.

“Sophie…”

“Well, you never know,” I protested.

She rolled her eyes. “You two,” she said, but she didn’t say anything else.

We went back to the cottage, Maria and Luke a couple of pints up and me stone cold sober, and just when I was about to announce my intention to retire, Maria flicked on the stereo and put a Fun Lovin’ Criminals CD in. Then she got out a pack of cards. And a pack of beer.

“Okay,” she said, shuffling expertly. “Who’s in?”

“What are we playing?” I asked suspiciously, knowing I’d never be able to sleep with the music booming through the floor.

“Five card draw?”

“Seven card stud,” Luke said.

“Poker?” I said.

She nodded and fetched a box of matches, handing us a pile each.

“Ante up.”

Luke and I looked at the matches, then at each other.

“Um…”

“I don’t have any actual money,” Maria explained, “and what I have I’m not giving you two. So we’ll play for matches.”

“Oh, I’m so motivated,” Luke said, but he put a matchstick on the table in the ante pile.

I bit my lip. “I’m actually not very good with poker,” I confessed. “I tend to kind of forget which hand goes where.”

“I’ll write it down for you,” Luke said, and did, while Maria and I worked out the kinks in the seven card stud rules. When we thought we’d got it figured out, (actually I’m pretty sure she was bluffing to help me out), Luke handed me my cheat sheet and proceeded to win all my matches.

For you see, there is the difference between my colleagues and myself. They know how to play poker and don’t need to be reminded of the rules. They can charm coffee mugs out of vinegar-faced tea shop owners. They get offered fifty grand jobs—and take them. They eat crab.

I don’t.

It got late, Huey and the boys chilling out on the stereo, beer bottles mounting up but no one seeming to get drunk (that’s another thing they can do that I can’t), and I looked around and said, “How cool are we?”

They both looked at me. Luke was sorting cards in his hand—I’d long since folded.

“I mean, playing poker, listening to the Fun Lovin’s. All we need is some fat cigars and a couple of lines of coke and we’ll be sub zero.”

“Actually.” Maria put her cards facedown. “I might be able to help you there.”

Luke and I exchanged glances as she got up and ran up the steep stairs to her room.

“I was joking,” I said uncertainly.

“Maria?” Luke called up. “We don’t really want any Class A—oh.”

She had come back downstairs and was holding out a box of fat cigars.

“Are those Cuban?” Luke asked, looking at them.

She nodded. “Go on, you know you want to.”

He shook his head. “Not about to start that again.”

What was that supposed to mean?

Maria held the box out to me, and I could feel Luke watching, so I picked one up and ran it under my nose. It always used to make him laugh the way I smelled everything I ate and drank.

I looked right at him and said, “Yeah. Why not?”

Maria produced a cigar cutter and was just about to do mine when she suddenly exclaimed, “Oh! No, you—I mean—no, I don’t think so.”

I glared at her. “I’m sure I’ll be okay,” I said. “It’s not going to stunt my growth.”

“No,” she said firmly. “You’re not going to.”

And with that, she shut the box like a mother withdrawing sweeties and took it back up to her room.

Luke fixed me with his blue eyes, oddly reminiscent of lightsabre blades. “You want to tell me what that was about?”

No.

“Maria thinks it’s unhealthy,” I said primly.

“Which is why she imported them in the first place. Nice try.”

I hate it when he does that.

“Well, it’s all you’re going to get,” I said, rising. “I’m going to bed.”

“Sophie—”

“Goodnight,” I said firmly, going into the bathroom and locking the door behind me.

I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was flushed, my hair was flat. I did not look good. I was shaking slightly.

I went to get some vitamins from my toiletry bag and guzzled them down. Now I felt better. Annoyed with Maria, scared that Luke would get the truth out of her—but Maria was a good spy. She never told anyone anything she wasn’t supposed to.

Even if she had nearly just given me away.

I washed my face and cleaned my teeth and ran down the stairs to my room to get undressed in lightning time, just in case Luke decided to come and try and get the truth out of me.

But he didn’t. I read my book, I glared at the cherubs, I pulled the duvet right up to my chin and I shivered. Sleeping in the basement was chilly—concrete not being the
cosiest
building material. And all those cherubs were creepy. I switched out the light and closed my eyes but all I could see were Chuckie-like cherubs coming at me, their little cheeks bulging malevolently. My heart was hammering. This was ridiculous!

Outside, I suddenly heard angry footsteps, saw the shadow of a woman running past, then someone caught her, and her feet spun back on themselves.

“Just fuck off,” she screamed. “I don’t need you getting in my way!”

“Molly—” a male voice pleaded. “Molly, just listen to me.”

“All I’ve ever done is listen to you,” Molly cried. “Go away, leave me alone!”

And with that, she broke free and ran away, down the alley. The male feet paused, then set after her, more slowly.

Hmm. Maybe Cornwall isn’t as quiet as people think. Certainly my room wasn’t.

The music from upstairs had stopped quite a while ago and so had all the footsteps. I was pretty sure they’d both gone to bed. I heard a noise and stayed very still—but it was Norma Jean’s claws tapping on the kitchen’s slate floor.