Beneath the Skin by Nicci French

maybe.”
     
     
    I saw Fred before he saw me. He was at the far end of the long back garden of an amazingly grand house. He was moving sideways along a border with a trimmer that was suspended from his shoulders by straps. He was wearing a baseball cap with the peak backward, torn jeans, a white T-shirt, heavy work boots. He also had an eye visor and ear protectors, so that the only way I could make myself known to him was to tap him on the shoulder. He started slightly, even though I had rung ahead to warn him I was coming. He switched off the machine and unclipped the straps. He pulled off the visor and the ear protectors. He seemed dazed by the noise, even though it had stopped, and by the bright light. We were standing in bright sunshine by a border of lilies. Fred was soaked in sweat.
    He stood back and stared at me in surprise and even anger. He’s one of those people, I thought, who like to keep everything in their separate compartments: Work and relationships were absolutely separate, like sex and sleep were. I’d leaked over. He wasn’t pleased.
    “Hello,” he said, making the greeting into a question.
    “Hello,” I said, kissing him, touching his wet cheek. “Sorry. They said they wanted to talk to you. I told them it wasn’t necessary.”
    “Now?” he said warily. “We’re in the middle of a job. I can’t just stop.”
    “That’s nothing to do with me,” I said. “I just wanted to say to you face-to-face that I was sorry you’re being dragged in.”
    He seemed suddenly unyielding.
    “What’s all the fuss about?”
    I gave him a potted version of what had happened at school, but he didn’t seem to be taking it in. He was like one of those awful people at parties who glance over your shoulder at a better-looking girl over by the drinks. In this case Fred kept looking at Aldham, who was hovering over at the other end of the garden by the door into the house.
    “And so she said I should stay away from my flat for the next few days.”
    There was a pause and I looked at Fred. I waited for him to speak, to commiserate, to say that of course I could stay with him until all of this had been sorted out, if I would like to. I waited for him to put his arms round me and tell me everything was going to be all right and he was here for me. His face, under the sheen of his sweat, was like a mask. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all.
    Then his eyes dropped to my breasts. I felt myself beginning to flush with humiliation and the first stirrings of a hot anger.
    “I . . .” he began and then stopped, looking around. “All right. I’ll talk to them for a minute. Nothing to say, though.”
    “Another thing,” I said, without even knowing I was going to. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”
    That stopped his wandering, mildly lecherous eyes; his vague and disconnected air. He stared at me. I could see a vein throbbing in his temple, the muscles of his jaw clenching and unclenching.
    “And why would that be, Zoe?” he said at last. His voice was icy.
    “Maybe it’s not a good time,” I said.
    He unstrapped the huge trimmer and laid it on the grass.
    “Are you breaking off with me?”
    “Yes.”
    A flush spread over his handsome face. His eyes were completely cold. He looked me up and down, as if I were on display in a shop window and he was deciding whether he wanted to buy me or not. Then he allowed a little sneer to twitch at his mouth.
    “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he said.
    I looked at him, his sweaty face and bulging eyes.
    “I’m scared,” I replied. “And I need help, and I’m not going to get it from you, am I?”
    “You cunt,” he said. “You stuck-up cunt.”
    I turned and walked away. I just wanted to get out of here, to be somewhere safe.
     
     
    Her hair is hanging loose on her shoulders. It needs washing. The parting is dark, a bit greasy. She has aged in the past week. There are lines running from the wings of her nostrils to the corners of