a large kitchen knife on the glass of the coffee table next to the note before heading to the oven to find a dish of pasta.
I woke up on the sofa to the sound of the door slamming into the chain. I was relieved to find it was only Emma, coming in from work. I undid the chain and welcomed her inside, though she paid me no attention whatsoever, throwing her bag on the floor and staggering to the couch before collapsing on to it.
‘Nice and warm,’ she purred.
‘You alright?’ I asked, sitting down next to her.
‘I'm fine. Nice and warm,’ she slurred and purred.
I lifted her chin and looked in her eyes, which were black and vacant.
‘What have you taken?’ I asked, watching her tongue chase around her lips.
‘Oh, just a little something for the pain,’ she smiled.
I rolled up her sleeve to check her arms and found tiny bruises in the crease of her left.
‘Who gave it to you?’
‘A customer,’ she mumbled, falling asleep. ‘Dianne.’
‘Where is she now?’ I asked, lacing up my brogues and picking up my coat.
‘No. Please,’ Emma said, struggling to reach out her hand towards me. She found my cheek and stroked it, then hugged me as tightly as her opiate-soaked limbs would allow. ‘Thank you.’
The snow was settling on the roofs of the houses, the cranes of the docks, the pavements of the deserted streets. I could see our reflection in the balcony's sliding door superimposed on to the red-lit circuit board of the city. We were something less romantic and more desperate than lovers, clinging to each other in this haven. We were survivors .
Shaky Jake’s
‘Hello?’ Rachel answered the phone as if she’d just woken up.
‘I need to explain a few things,’ I said.
‘So do I,’ she replied.
‘Let's meet up. You've got the day off as well, haven't you?’
‘Meet me at 10 a.m. at Jake's. I need coffee.’
‘Where did you go last night? I called by the cottage, but no-one was in.’
‘I'll tell you later,’ she said, putting the phone down.
Shaky Jake's was something of an institution amongst the natives. It was a greasy spoon café on the outskirts of town, overlooking the broad and violent river. Everyone seemed to have made the pilgrimage to Jake's, climbing the long steep hill to get their bacon sandwich/black pudding/bitter coffee/builder’s tea. The place looked much better from the inside looking out, with its bare brick walls and Mediterranean décor. The exterior of the building had been weathered by the salt from the river carried on fierce winds up the hill, and attacked by kids with spray paint and a preoccupation with genitalia.
I placed Rachel's coffee in front of her and sat down. She didn't meet my eye, instead concentrating on her mocha.
‘Things aren't working out the way I’d planned,’ she said.
I braced myself for the inevitable:
Rejection.
Dismissal.
Severance.
‘I love you.’
My head felt as if someone had just poured ice cold fizzy water into it and bounced it off a wall. ‘You ...’
‘I love you. That ok with you?’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ I answered, struggling to find the right words.
Rachel shrugged and beckoned for my hand across the table. ‘Well, you don't seem horrified by the idea, so ...’ she said. ‘There's something else.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I know Doyle was responsible for my father's disappearance. That’s why I came to the store: to find out what happened to him.’
‘What do you know?’
Rachel handed me a piece of paper which I unfolded carefully. It was a letter addressed to her father.
David,
You told me today that we couldn’t be together because you could never leave your family.
If you don’t use the enclosed plane ticket tonight, tomorrow morning, police officers will search your house and find evidence of something that will ensure that you never see your wife and daughter again.
You will always be in my heart,
I woke up on the sofa to the sound of the door slamming into the chain. I was relieved to find it was only Emma, coming in from work. I undid the chain and welcomed her inside, though she paid me no attention whatsoever, throwing her bag on the floor and staggering to the couch before collapsing on to it.
‘Nice and warm,’ she purred.
‘You alright?’ I asked, sitting down next to her.
‘I'm fine. Nice and warm,’ she slurred and purred.
I lifted her chin and looked in her eyes, which were black and vacant.
‘What have you taken?’ I asked, watching her tongue chase around her lips.
‘Oh, just a little something for the pain,’ she smiled.
I rolled up her sleeve to check her arms and found tiny bruises in the crease of her left.
‘Who gave it to you?’
‘A customer,’ she mumbled, falling asleep. ‘Dianne.’
‘Where is she now?’ I asked, lacing up my brogues and picking up my coat.
‘No. Please,’ Emma said, struggling to reach out her hand towards me. She found my cheek and stroked it, then hugged me as tightly as her opiate-soaked limbs would allow. ‘Thank you.’
The snow was settling on the roofs of the houses, the cranes of the docks, the pavements of the deserted streets. I could see our reflection in the balcony's sliding door superimposed on to the red-lit circuit board of the city. We were something less romantic and more desperate than lovers, clinging to each other in this haven. We were survivors .
Shaky Jake’s
‘Hello?’ Rachel answered the phone as if she’d just woken up.
‘I need to explain a few things,’ I said.
‘So do I,’ she replied.
‘Let's meet up. You've got the day off as well, haven't you?’
‘Meet me at 10 a.m. at Jake's. I need coffee.’
‘Where did you go last night? I called by the cottage, but no-one was in.’
‘I'll tell you later,’ she said, putting the phone down.
Shaky Jake's was something of an institution amongst the natives. It was a greasy spoon café on the outskirts of town, overlooking the broad and violent river. Everyone seemed to have made the pilgrimage to Jake's, climbing the long steep hill to get their bacon sandwich/black pudding/bitter coffee/builder’s tea. The place looked much better from the inside looking out, with its bare brick walls and Mediterranean décor. The exterior of the building had been weathered by the salt from the river carried on fierce winds up the hill, and attacked by kids with spray paint and a preoccupation with genitalia.
I placed Rachel's coffee in front of her and sat down. She didn't meet my eye, instead concentrating on her mocha.
‘Things aren't working out the way I’d planned,’ she said.
I braced myself for the inevitable:
Rejection.
Dismissal.
Severance.
‘I love you.’
My head felt as if someone had just poured ice cold fizzy water into it and bounced it off a wall. ‘You ...’
‘I love you. That ok with you?’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ I answered, struggling to find the right words.
Rachel shrugged and beckoned for my hand across the table. ‘Well, you don't seem horrified by the idea, so ...’ she said. ‘There's something else.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I know Doyle was responsible for my father's disappearance. That’s why I came to the store: to find out what happened to him.’
‘What do you know?’
Rachel handed me a piece of paper which I unfolded carefully. It was a letter addressed to her father.
David,
You told me today that we couldn’t be together because you could never leave your family.
If you don’t use the enclosed plane ticket tonight, tomorrow morning, police officers will search your house and find evidence of something that will ensure that you never see your wife and daughter again.
You will always be in my heart,
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