wishing that he wasn’t there, dressed like an idiot, but he was also glad that he’d accompanied the girl home. It was worth the hassle just to catch sight of this woman, to see her leaning out into the landing and clutching her shirt collar shut across her pale throat.
“This is Tom. He brought me home.” Hailey’s voice had lowered an octave, her whole manner changing and becoming surly, that of a stereotypical teenager.
“Hello… listen, I’m sorry.” Why the hell was he apologising? He’d done nothing wrong. “I found her out in the street, near Far Grove. She’d fainted. I just brought her home. So she’d be safe.” He was backing away, raising his hands and probably looking like he was trying to escape. He might as well be wearing a T-shirt with ‘Guilty’ printed across the chest, rather than the message about the Beer Tent.
The woman turned to Hailey, her brow furrowed with worry. “Did it happen again? Did you black out?” She pushed fallen hair out of her face with a thin hand. Her hair was so black that it looked blue beneath the cheap hallway lighting. Her hand was like a small animal, snuffling along her neat hairline.
“It’s okay. I’m fine. He helped me.” Hailey turned to face Tom, pouting. She suddenly seemed much younger than she had before.
Tom smiled. He didn’t know what to say.
“I suppose I should thank you.” The woman stepped out of the flat. Her feet were bare. She was wearing an ankle-length skirt along with a white blouse — the outfit made her look vaguely bohemian. “I didn’t mean to be so unwelcoming. People round here… well, you know. Some of them are a bit grim.” When she smiled her dark eyes blazed. Her cheeks flushed red.
“I didn’t do anything. Just brought her home. I thought she might’ve been mugged.” He was poised for flight. Just one wrong move on her part and he felt like he might flee. What was wrong with him? Was she so alluring that he was afraid of her?
Yes. Yes, he was. She was terrifying.
“Please. Come in. Have a drink. Let me thank you properly.” She stood aside, and he caught a glimpse inside the flat. It was small, poky really. Bland white paper on the walls. Cheap carpet on the floor. “You must think I’m terrible. Fancy a beer before you go running off again?” She gestured with her head, raising one eyebrow as she looked at his shorts.
“Oh. Yeah, I was out for a run. I don’t usually wander around the streets in this get-up. Not after dark, anyway.” This exchange finally broke the tension; he felt calmer now, in control of his emotions.
“Drink?” She made a drinking motion with her left hand. He noticed that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
“That would be lovely,” he said, and took a step forward. A single step that felt like he had recommenced the journey started outside, when he’d decided to escort Hailey home. “If you don’t mind, that is.”
“If I minded, I wouldn’t have asked. By the way, my name’s Lana. Lana Fraser.” She held out a hand. Her fingers were extraordinarily long — he hadn’t noticed before, but they seemed distorted above the top knuckle. He reached out and shook her hand, feeling those weird fingers. They were cold to the touch.
Tom walked into the flat. Hailey was already inside, vanishing into a room — presumably her bedroom — on the right hand side of an entrance area that was too small to be called a hallway. Another door up ahead — this one open — led into what must be the living room.
“Go on in. Make yourself at home.” Her voice was close to his back. He imagined that he could feel her breath on his neck, but that was silly. He knew that she was standing a few paces away, closing the door, locking it behind them. “I’ll be just a moment.”
The living room was small, but cosy. There wasn’t a lot of furniture, just a TV, a slightly battered two-seater leather sofa, two mismatched armchairs, a coffee table, a bureau shoved against the wall and a bookcase stacked with hardbacks. Tom made for the latter, crossing the rug that lay over the laminated floor. He had always been an avid reader, and loved to check out people’s book collections.
He could hear voices in the other room, the one Hailey had entered. They were raised, but not shouting. A concerned mother checking that her daughter was okay.
He ran his fingertips along the worn spines of Lana’s books, noting the fact that these were well-thumbed copies.
“Tea, coffee, or a nice cold beer?”
He turned, surprised for a moment that she had managed to sneak up on him so quickly. “Oh, I think a beer would hit the spot.”
“I think I’ll join you,” said Lana, heading for the open-plan kitchen that took up one whole side of the room.
The cooking and living/dining areas were separated by a series of floor-to-ceiling wooden shelves and a narrow breakfast bar, which helped give the impression of two rooms where there was really only one. Tom watched Lana moving behind the shelves, catching sight of her through ornaments and knick-knacks as she bent to the fridge and then crossed to the sink. Then he turned back to the bookcase. He spotted a couple of Graham Greene novels immediately, and nodded his approval. The books were in no particular order that he could make out — unless it was a purely personal system — and each one was a hardback edition, either with or without a dust jacket. Steinbeck stood next to John Irving; Tom Sharp rubbed shoulders with Dickens; Shakespeare snuggled up next to Stephen King.
“Are you a reader too?”
He turned, clutching a battered copy of Norman Mailer’s
“Good,” said Lana, handing him a glass of pale beer. “That’s something we have in common from the start, and I think that potential friends should start off from a shared interest.” Her smile was radiant… it was also cheeky; he felt as if she were teasing him.
“So we’re going to be friends, are we?” He took a sip of his drink. It was ice-cold. He closed his eyes briefly, savouring the taste.
“I think it’s the least we should do, don’t you? Seeing as you were kind enough to help my daughter.”
“Is she okay? I mean… unharmed?”
A flicker of something dark passed across Lana’s already dark eyes. She shook her head; a vague gesture that Tom failed to read. “She’s been having these mini blackouts. They don’t last long, just a few minutes. The doctor says it’s nothing to worry about, just stress from the move and some stuff that went on back where we used to live.” She waved her hand, dismissing the subject. “Yes, she’s fine. Thank you for being so concerned.” She smiled to show him that the comment was genuine, but her eyes remained shaded.
“Shall we sit?” She moved across the small room, heading for the sofa, then changed her mind and lowered her thin body into one of the armchairs. Tom followed her, and sat on the sofa. He had almost finished his beer. “Refill?”
“Only if you are,” he said.
She nodded, stood, took his glass. Their fingers touched again, and this time it felt strange, like a tiny electrical current had passed between them. She stared at him with those dark, dark eyes, a puzzled expression on her face.
When she returned from the kitchen she was carrying a tray. Upon it were their refilled glasses, and two more cans of beer. “One for the road,” she said, winking.
“So,” said Tom, a panicked feeling welling in his chest. “You say you haven’t lived here long?” This woman was confusing him. There was a mutual attraction here, he could feel it, but it seemed that they were both trying to ignore the connection.
“Do you live here, in the Grove?”
Tom shook his head. “No. I… not that there’s anything wrong with living here, of course.” He felt his cheeks burning. He was talking himself into a corner. “I mean… shit. Sorry.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry. It
