using each other as far as I can tell,’ admitted John . He thought about it for a moment, but couldn’t find the way to say no. ‘I’ll put you up for a few nights. Only a few, mind …’
Sandy smiled. ‘That’s great, thank you so much …’ She drained her tea. ‘Do you think we could talk more tomorrow? I’ve had enough of today. I just want to … I want to switch off, you know?’
John thought about it for a moment, suddenly uncomfortable that he had given in so easily. Was he such a pushover? Yes, he supposed he probably was. But there had been a selfish reason for letting her stay, hadn’t there? ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you up.’
He gave her the main bedroom. It was clean and empty of everything but his fears. He no longer thought of it as his room any more.
‘There are clean towels in the airing cupboard, help yourself to whatever toiletries you need. You can always pick up some more things tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She looked at him and her face took on that same, soft look of relief she had shown earlier when he had turned his anger towards her stepmother. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re really very kind.’ She stepped forward and gave him a light kiss on his cheek.
He didn’t quite know how to respond so just stood there as she stepped back into the room and closed the door behind her.
He stood on the landing for a moment, listening to her move around the room, then went into the spare bedroom and undressed for sleep. Lying in bed he listened to the noises beyond the wall and finally admitted to himself that it was far nicer to be haunted by someone who was alive.
‘And where the hell have you been?’ cried a woman’s voice from the bedroom.
Llewellyn Probert sighed, flung his overcoat on a chair and crept manfully towards the whisky decanter. He had been craving a drink for hours. Now, just as he could almost taste it on his lips, he had to endure an earful from the vicious creature he had the misfortune of sharing a marriage with. When would the Almighty give him a bloody hour off?
‘I’ve been at the police station,’ he shouted, pleased at the shocked response he knew such an answer would cause.
‘You’ve been where?’ The partition doors that sealed the main bedroom off from the rest of the Probert’s open-plan apartment rattled apart and his wife stood, wild-eyed between them.
He looked at her, ruffled hair, silk gown awry and – most importantly – a face on her that could make a Dobermann flinch. God, he thought, I could almost fancy the volcanic sow. He knew better than to pursue that thought. A sane man didn’t try to sleep with Kathleen; she’d emasculate them with a single bite of her sex. Mistresses, that was the safe way forward.
Which made him think of Thana calling for her Helly, and his mood soured yet further.
He took a sip of his drink. A large one. Then added a dash of water. All of which prevarication served only to make his wife more furious.
‘Well? What’s wrong with you, you silly man? Out with it!’ Normally her attempts at such English phraseology amused him, given her origins across the Atlantic. The one thing Kathleen tried to hide the most was her heritage.
‘I have been helping the police with their enquiries after having had the misfortune of witnessing a man commit suicide.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,’ she pushed him out of the way and poured a drink for herself. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Just that,’ he replied, going some way towards finishing his drink, eager for a crack at another. ‘I was at a dinner party – as I told you – when one of the guests, a priest no less, decided he could no longer go on and opened his throat with a carving knife.’
‘Absurd!’
‘Quite, he didn’t even have dessert.’
‘Oh! How could you? What have you really been doing?’
‘All flippancy aside, my dear,’ he eased his way back alongside the decanter and made a solid use of its
Sandy smiled. ‘That’s great, thank you so much …’ She drained her tea. ‘Do you think we could talk more tomorrow? I’ve had enough of today. I just want to … I want to switch off, you know?’
John thought about it for a moment, suddenly uncomfortable that he had given in so easily. Was he such a pushover? Yes, he supposed he probably was. But there had been a selfish reason for letting her stay, hadn’t there? ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you up.’
He gave her the main bedroom. It was clean and empty of everything but his fears. He no longer thought of it as his room any more.
‘There are clean towels in the airing cupboard, help yourself to whatever toiletries you need. You can always pick up some more things tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She looked at him and her face took on that same, soft look of relief she had shown earlier when he had turned his anger towards her stepmother. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re really very kind.’ She stepped forward and gave him a light kiss on his cheek.
He didn’t quite know how to respond so just stood there as she stepped back into the room and closed the door behind her.
He stood on the landing for a moment, listening to her move around the room, then went into the spare bedroom and undressed for sleep. Lying in bed he listened to the noises beyond the wall and finally admitted to himself that it was far nicer to be haunted by someone who was alive.
‘And where the hell have you been?’ cried a woman’s voice from the bedroom.
Llewellyn Probert sighed, flung his overcoat on a chair and crept manfully towards the whisky decanter. He had been craving a drink for hours. Now, just as he could almost taste it on his lips, he had to endure an earful from the vicious creature he had the misfortune of sharing a marriage with. When would the Almighty give him a bloody hour off?
‘I’ve been at the police station,’ he shouted, pleased at the shocked response he knew such an answer would cause.
‘You’ve been where?’ The partition doors that sealed the main bedroom off from the rest of the Probert’s open-plan apartment rattled apart and his wife stood, wild-eyed between them.
He looked at her, ruffled hair, silk gown awry and – most importantly – a face on her that could make a Dobermann flinch. God, he thought, I could almost fancy the volcanic sow. He knew better than to pursue that thought. A sane man didn’t try to sleep with Kathleen; she’d emasculate them with a single bite of her sex. Mistresses, that was the safe way forward.
Which made him think of Thana calling for her Helly, and his mood soured yet further.
He took a sip of his drink. A large one. Then added a dash of water. All of which prevarication served only to make his wife more furious.
‘Well? What’s wrong with you, you silly man? Out with it!’ Normally her attempts at such English phraseology amused him, given her origins across the Atlantic. The one thing Kathleen tried to hide the most was her heritage.
‘I have been helping the police with their enquiries after having had the misfortune of witnessing a man commit suicide.’
‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,’ she pushed him out of the way and poured a drink for herself. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Just that,’ he replied, going some way towards finishing his drink, eager for a crack at another. ‘I was at a dinner party – as I told you – when one of the guests, a priest no less, decided he could no longer go on and opened his throat with a carving knife.’
‘Absurd!’
‘Quite, he didn’t even have dessert.’
‘Oh! How could you? What have you really been doing?’
‘All flippancy aside, my dear,’ he eased his way back alongside the decanter and made a solid use of its
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