damp spikes. Its face was thin, maybe a bit too thin, the cheekbones high, the skin pulled tight around the jaw line. Its nose was long, bony – I think the polite term is aquiline – and its eyes, though I say so myself, were a fairly startling blue (before she went loopy Kate’s mum, Lyn, used to describe them as ‘Paul Newman blue’).
Though a fair number of women seem to have taken a liking to my face over the years, I’ve always thought it a bit shifty. I know I’ve got a tendency to frown a lot, narrow my eyes and not smile much, because people have remarked on it.
‘Don’t look so mean,’ Lyn used to say when we were out together.
‘I’m not,’ I’d reply.
‘Yes you are. You always scowl at everybody. You look at people like you want to rip their heads off.’
Her words always surprised me, and for a while I’d make an effort to smile more. But eventually my face would slip back into its default expression of ‘moody git’. I must admit, it’s got me into a few of those ‘What you looking at?’ situations over the years. On the other hand it was a boon in my younger days. If you looked anything but mean on the estate where I grew up the jackals would quickly close in.
I got dressed and made myself coffee and toast, then carried it through to the front room. I watched the news while I waited for the hammering on the door that would herald Kate’s pyjama-clad, tousle-haired arrival.
By 7.10 she still hadn’t turned up, though, and I wondered whether she’d insisted on breakfast with Hamish before heading home to get washed and dressed. I had a quick smoke out on the balcony, then brushed my teeth and crossed the landing to knock on the Sherwoods’ door. I half-expected to hear the shrieking of excited children from within, the rapid thump of elephant-like feet, Paula’s voice raised in encouragement bordering on exasperation.
But all was oddly silent, and no one responded to my knock. I put my ear to the door and knocked again, louder.
‘Hello?’ I called. ‘Anyone there? It’s me, Alex.’
The silence was eerie. I felt discomfited by it – not exactly worried yet, but baffled all the same.
I took out my phone, dialled the Sherwoods’ number. After a moment I heard a strange double-ring, the phone in the flat and the same one in my earpiece. The phone rang five times and then Paula’s voice broke in, its tinnier echo, coming from my phone, telling me to leave a message. Instead of doing so I cut the connection and dialled Paula’s mobile number. This time, when her voicemail cut in, I did leave a message, trying to keep my tone light, as if that alone would make everything okay.
‘Hi Paula, it’s Alex here. Just wondered where you were. It’s twenty past seven. I’ve just popped round to get Kate, but there’s no answer.’ I hesitated, toying with the idea of speculating aloud where she might be, but then I said, ‘Call me when you get this message, just to let me know everything’s okay. I’m sure it is. Bye.’
I put my phone away and hovered for a moment on the landing. I felt out of sorts, wondering what to do next. I couldn’t go to work not knowing where Kate was. As I wandered back into my flat I was already formulating theories and explanations.
Maybe one of the Sherwoods’ parents had been taken ill and they had been called away unexpectedly. But if that was the case would they have taken the children with them? Wouldn’t one of them have gone and one of them stayed at home? Well, maybe it was Adam who had been taken ill then? Or Paula? Or maybe Adam was working away from home – he did that sometimes – and Paula had had no choice but to rouse the kids and take them with her? But in that circumstance, wouldn’t she have called me and left a message? It was the silence that was odd. Paula was usually so efficient, so reliable. Although if she’d had a shock – if one of her parents had had a heart attack, say, or if they’d been involved in an
Though a fair number of women seem to have taken a liking to my face over the years, I’ve always thought it a bit shifty. I know I’ve got a tendency to frown a lot, narrow my eyes and not smile much, because people have remarked on it.
‘Don’t look so mean,’ Lyn used to say when we were out together.
‘I’m not,’ I’d reply.
‘Yes you are. You always scowl at everybody. You look at people like you want to rip their heads off.’
Her words always surprised me, and for a while I’d make an effort to smile more. But eventually my face would slip back into its default expression of ‘moody git’. I must admit, it’s got me into a few of those ‘What you looking at?’ situations over the years. On the other hand it was a boon in my younger days. If you looked anything but mean on the estate where I grew up the jackals would quickly close in.
I got dressed and made myself coffee and toast, then carried it through to the front room. I watched the news while I waited for the hammering on the door that would herald Kate’s pyjama-clad, tousle-haired arrival.
By 7.10 she still hadn’t turned up, though, and I wondered whether she’d insisted on breakfast with Hamish before heading home to get washed and dressed. I had a quick smoke out on the balcony, then brushed my teeth and crossed the landing to knock on the Sherwoods’ door. I half-expected to hear the shrieking of excited children from within, the rapid thump of elephant-like feet, Paula’s voice raised in encouragement bordering on exasperation.
But all was oddly silent, and no one responded to my knock. I put my ear to the door and knocked again, louder.
‘Hello?’ I called. ‘Anyone there? It’s me, Alex.’
The silence was eerie. I felt discomfited by it – not exactly worried yet, but baffled all the same.
I took out my phone, dialled the Sherwoods’ number. After a moment I heard a strange double-ring, the phone in the flat and the same one in my earpiece. The phone rang five times and then Paula’s voice broke in, its tinnier echo, coming from my phone, telling me to leave a message. Instead of doing so I cut the connection and dialled Paula’s mobile number. This time, when her voicemail cut in, I did leave a message, trying to keep my tone light, as if that alone would make everything okay.
‘Hi Paula, it’s Alex here. Just wondered where you were. It’s twenty past seven. I’ve just popped round to get Kate, but there’s no answer.’ I hesitated, toying with the idea of speculating aloud where she might be, but then I said, ‘Call me when you get this message, just to let me know everything’s okay. I’m sure it is. Bye.’
I put my phone away and hovered for a moment on the landing. I felt out of sorts, wondering what to do next. I couldn’t go to work not knowing where Kate was. As I wandered back into my flat I was already formulating theories and explanations.
Maybe one of the Sherwoods’ parents had been taken ill and they had been called away unexpectedly. But if that was the case would they have taken the children with them? Wouldn’t one of them have gone and one of them stayed at home? Well, maybe it was Adam who had been taken ill then? Or Paula? Or maybe Adam was working away from home – he did that sometimes – and Paula had had no choice but to rouse the kids and take them with her? But in that circumstance, wouldn’t she have called me and left a message? It was the silence that was odd. Paula was usually so efficient, so reliable. Although if she’d had a shock – if one of her parents had had a heart attack, say, or if they’d been involved in an
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