'We bloody can.'
'Yes,' Fay said. 'I suppose we can.'
And she turned her back on the town, albeit with an uncomfortable feeling that one day they might feel they had to come back.
They got into the car. They were going to Titley, to Henry Kettle's cottage, which Joe had said was the best sanctuary he could think of. For a few weeks at least, he said, there'd be danger of residual nasties from Crybbe clinging to them. Grace type things.
Fay said, 'Can we handle that?'
'Count on it,' Joe Powys said grimly.
From the back seat, Rasputin the cat mewed in protest at his confinement in the laundry basket.
Fay said, 'When you said you, er, needed me… what did you mean exactly?'
'I don't know. It just came out. Heat of the moment.'
He turned on the engine.
'However.. Joe said, looking straight ahead through the windscreen. 'I know what I'd mean if I were to say it now.'
Fay smiled. 'What did the police say to you?'
They said, 'Don't leave town.' '
Joe Powys grinned and floored the accelerator.
Phil Rickman
