StillWaters:Book4oftheSophieGreenMysteries (5 page)

“Yep. I don’t know how bad cigars are for you…”

“Bad enough.” Luke drank about half of his pint in one go. “I think I need something stronger.”

“It’s half past two in the afternoon.”

“So?”

“Luke, I’m okay now. You don’t have to do the shocked worried ex-boyfriend thing. And there’s no way you could have got anything, I mean I came out clean for hepatitis and HIV and besides, we…” I trailed off, blushing.

“I know. I mean—just—Soph. God.” He got up and ordered another pint, looked over at me and said, “Are you sure?”

“Sure. Sort of gone off it anyway.”

This earned me another look of disbelief, but there was a faint smile there as well.

A couple of hours later, when I had read a few more chapters of my book and Luke had gone to take Norma Jean for a walk along the beach (it must be a guy thing), Maria flew in to tell us that as it was getting too dark to surf, she was going into Newquay with “the guys” for the evening. She’d get a cab home. Was that cool?

I shrugged. “Have fun.”

“You want to come?”

“Nah. I’ve had a hard day of sitting and reading. I think I need to go back to the cottage and chill.”

“You’ll be all right with Luke?”

“I think I can manage to keep my hands off him.”

Her eyes glittered. “You didn’t last night.”

“Nothing happened last night.”

“Sure?” She looked disappointed.

“Nothing at all. My bedroom is creepy—”

“Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so. Aunt Nerea is weird about cherubs.”

“And there’s a leak above the other bed in Luke’s room.”

She made a face. “I’ll tell Nerea. You know, you could have slept on the sofa.”

“It was too short,” I explained.

She grinned. “Any excuse…”

I was beginning to feel like that myself.

Luke came back and I told him Maria was off. We walked back up the path to Ted, sitting there looking shabby and immovable.

“You ever think about getting a new car?” Luke asked into the dusky silence, and I looked up, appalled.

“Would you ask a mother to trade in one of her children?”

Luke grinned. “Probably. Why do you love this car so much?”

I ran my hand over Ted’s dented fender as Norma jumped in and made herself comfy on my seat. “We have history. He comes through for me.” I shrugged. “He’s family.”

Luke said nothing, but got into the dark car beside me and was quiet all the way home.

It started raining halfway there, and by the time we pulled up on the harbour platt, Norma Jean was cowering in the back of the car, her ears flattened defensively against the thunder.

“There goes your last walk of the day,” I told her, and she didn’t look too distraught at the prospect. Norma’s a girlie girl; she hates getting her fur wet, walks around every puddle. And I’m grateful, because when she’s wet she stinks.

I looked out over the harbour. There was a bit of blue and white police tape fluttering over the pub cave, but no other reminder that someone had died there last night.

“Do you have a key?” I asked Luke, picking up my bag and his, and he nodded. “You’re faster. Take Norma and unlock. I’ll follow you.”

He dashed off through the rain, over the cobbled streets, and I got out and locked Ted up, said goodnight, then started running.

I’m not a good runner. My legs are long, but they’re very lazy, and besides, I wasn’t wearing the right bra. Plus I’m damn clumsy, so it came as no surprise when my feet found the one loose cobblestone and sent me sprawling on the wet ground.

Swearing, I grabbed the two bags and pulled myself upright. My clothes were totally soaked even after a minute of rain, and my hand was stinging. Great.

Soaked, I trudged back to the cottage and squelched upstairs.

Luke looked at me and bit his lip.

“If you laugh at me I’ll castrate you,” I said, dumping his bag on the sofa.

“Would I laugh at you?”

I sent him a heavy look.

“Okay, all right. Am I safe if I smile?”

“Only if you make me some coffee and see if there are any muffins left.”

Luke obliged, while I went downstairs and stripped off my wet clothes, replacing them with pyjamas. I wasn’t going anywhere tonight. I came back up, scraping my damp hair back into a clip, and took my coffee from Luke. Rich, strong and black. Sort of like Macbeth.

“Are you sure coffee isn’t bad for you?” Luke asked anxiously, and I groaned. “What?”

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you.”

“What? I’m just concerned.”

“Exactly.”

He looked offended. “So you’d rather I didn’t give a damn?”

I looked down at the coffee. Suddenly I didn’t want it so much any more.

“I think I’ll go and read a bit,” I said, getting up, but Luke pushed me back down.

“You would, wouldn’t you?”

I closed my eyes and carefully set down my coffee before I spilled it all down my jammies.

“Luke, do we have to have this conversation again?”

He stood there, hands on hips, smelling of salt and the sea, looking mad, and I was glad I wasn’t holding the coffee or I might have got some very painful injuries by spilling it all over my lap.

Although that might have got my mind off Luke being in the same place…

“Not if you’re just going to say the same thing again.”

“Well.” I folded my arms obstinately (I'm very good at this). “I am.”

Luke looked furious. “You,” he said, “are a bloody stupid cow.”

Is this supposed to be news to me?

I stood up and walked out.

“Sophie,” Luke ran after me and caught me just as I took the first step down the stairs, and I nearly fell and broke my neck. But he grabbed me and swung me round and held me by the arms.

“Let go—”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re not a stupid cow.”

I opened my mouth and he disarmed me with a smile.

“Well, you are,” he amended, “but I’m sorry I called you it.”

I blinked. “You never really got the hang of this apologising lark, did you?”

He pouted and did his puppy-dog eyes. “Don’t go. Stay. We can—I don’t know, watch a video or something.”

“What,
Barney’s Greatest Hits? Titanic? Terminator 2
?”

He released me and I nearly fell backwards. There weren’t many videos on the small bookshelf, just one or two, I guess, for rainy days. Such as this.

I looked them over, and sullenly said, “
Much Ado About Nothing
?”

He picked it up, looked it over. “I haven’t seen this version.”

As far as I knew, it was the only version.

He put it in the player and we eventually figured out how to get it on screen, and I tried not to snort when Emma Thompson said, “Men were deceivers ever.”

“Hey,” Luke said, “don’t you snort at me, missy. I never deceived you.”

I tried to think back. Apart from this one time where he let me think he was in love with me when he was about to dump me, just so he could shag me one more time… No, he never had.

We got to the bit where Beatrice and Benedick have the first of many arguments, and Luke grinned and looked over at me and said, “She’s just like you.”

“No, she’s not! I’m taller and my hair is straighter and I never tan like that.”

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean Emma Thompson; I meant Beatrice.”

“Oh.” Was that a compliment, or not?

We watched a while longer.

“Where’s this supposed to be?” Luke asked.

“Erm. Spain? I think.”

“Nice place.”

“Yeah.”

On screen, Hero screamed and fainted as she was accused, and Benedick told Beatrice, “I do love nothing in the world so well as you,” and I was glad it was dark in the room, because my eyes were glistening.

God, what’s wrong with me? I’m crying at a Shakespearean comedy? I’m pathetic! It’s just because Luke’s so close and so hot. It’s all his fault. Not my fault I’m weak. Not my fault at all.

Sniff.

We watched the film through to the end, and then it was pretty much time to go to bed. I stood, awkwardly, trying to think of a way to ask Luke where I was supposed to be sleeping.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said. “Wash this salt off before I go to bed.” He went into the bathroom, not looking at me, and I stood there feeling a little bit silly. That was a brush-off if ever I heard one.

I sighed and rinsed out my mug for the dishwasher, filled it up and started a cycle. Aren’t I a good little housewife? I checked Norma Jean’s water bowl, took the key out of the front door so Maria could let herself in, and went and sat on the sofa. Just so I could look at the view out of the window. Of roofs. And walls. And roofs.

And wait for Luke to come out.

When he did, dressed in only a little towel, I really had to work hard not to drool. Because you should see him with no clothes on—I mean, really. He looked like a god. A damp, tousled, towel-clad god.

I think my bosom might have been heaving.

“Well,” I said brightly, standing up so fast I nearly fell over again. “I’m going to bed, ’night then,” and I tried to get past him as quickly as possible without looking at his legs, or his washboard stomach, or his chest or his arms or his face or any of him, because there was no safe part of him at all. He was hot all over.

God, I was glad he had a towel around his waist.

There was no possible way I could share a bed with him now. Not looking like he did. I’d never let him get near his pyjamas. All my resolve would go flying out of the window.

But Luke, bloody Luke, caught me by the arm and spun me round to face him, his bare chest and his slicked back hair and his cheekbones and his eyes…

“What?”

But I didn’t get any further, because Luke pulled me to him and kissed me, startling and sharp and soft and sweet, and I fell into his arms, feeling his hot skin through my pyjamas. The towel fell away, and then my sweater followed it and Luke started sliding down the straps on my shoulders.

I wrapped my arms around him, needing him as much as wanting him, trying to touch as much of him as I could, all at once, all over. My fingers slid up into his hair, feeling lines and ridges under the wet mass, scars from previous days—

—and then I remembered—

“Would you really look after me if I was really sick?”

“Course I would.” Luke kissed my neck.

“What about if you had a job to do?”

“I’d stay with you.”

Tears were flowing freely down my cheeks. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this.”

“Say what?” Luke looked a little apprehensive. As well he might.

“I wouldn’t do the same for you.”

—and I ripped my head away from his, looking up into his startled eyes.

“Sophie—” he reached for me, naked and hot and
wrong
.

“I can’t,” I said, backing away, grabbing my sweater and running down the stairs. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

I slammed the door to my room, trying hard not to cry.

That’s it, the reason we broke up. I did it. I pushed him away, because I cared about him too much, and if I was going to do this job with any degree of success then I needed to put it first. Not him. Not Luke. I couldn’t let myself fall for him.

And I hated myself for it. I left him to die so I could catch the person who’d killed him. I didn’t know he was still alive. I didn’t let myself cry until I’d got the vicious creature who’d smashed a spanner into Luke’s face, nearly breaking his jaw, slamming him against a concrete wall until his skull cracked and bled. I did my job and got commended by Karen, and I lost my boyfriend.

So I’m a heartless cow. I’ll never love anyone or be loved. I’ll be alone forever and die alone and get eaten by the army of cats I’ll have amassed to try and prove that someone wants me or needs me. And I’ll be found weeks later, rotten and fleshless, when someone tries to read my gas meter, and I’ll be so unidentifiably decomposed I’ll be buried in an unmarked grave, and no one will ever know or care about me ever again.

I sat there in the middle of the cherub bed, sniffing and crying for ages. Norma Jean padded down the stairs and scratched to be let in, and I let her up on the bed to cuddle her, let her lick my hand, to look up at me with adoring doggy eyes.

“It’s no good, kiddo,” I sniffed. “I can’t love you, either. I’m not allowed.”

I lay back and tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. The cherubs annoyed me, Luke’s mouth and his hands haunted me, sense memories imprinted on my face and body, not helped by Norma, who occasionally licked my fingers, trying to comfort me.

Eventually I looked at my watch and saw it was after midnight. I’d never get to sleep. I felt like I’d been here a whole night already.

I made a decision and got up and put my clothes on. Jeans and T-shirt and sweater, and my fleece, hat, scarf, gloves, thick socks and Doc Martens. I went upstairs to wash my face and put some moisturiser on, to make myself feel a bit better, and then I told Norma Jean to be very quiet as I slipped her lead on, grabbed the big, heavy flashlight from the kitchen, and locked the front door behind me.

I’d checked the tide table before I left and knew it was about half an hour to low tide. The causeway that led down one side of the harbour was about a foot above the water level, and the pub cave was high and dry—well, sort of damp really, but drier than it had been this morning when I stood on the harbour wall and looked out with Maria and the young copper.

There was still a bit of police tape fluttering in the breeze. Thank God it had stopped raining. I picked my way across the causeway, Norma sniffing about on her own, the heavy metal buckle of her lead hanging ready in my hand. I’d learned this trick when I used to take her for long solo walks when I was younger. I always felt better for having something to defend myself with.

Could I have taken my gun? Well, yes, but I'd nowhere to put it; I needed my hands free and anyway, I was still kind of scared of it. Besides, I was terrified I’d drop it in the water and break it. It was all right for James Bond to dive underwater with his shooter, but that was on TV. I wasn’t going to risk it backfiring or something.

I reached the cave and told myself my shivers were just because of the cold. I never got nervous when it was hot.