“You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” said Mickey, sticking out his tongue and running it over his rubbery lips. “But all right.
Seeing as it’s you. And if you come running out screaming before your five minutes are up,
“You’re on.”
They shook hands and the group headed toward Castle Road, past The Fountain, which Chelsea noticed was already closed. Maybe F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
2 5 3
what had happened last week had affected their business, she thought.
Chelsea was beginning to wish she hadn’t been so impulsive as to accept Mickey’s dare. But what had she to fear, really? Everyone was saying that Hayley Daniels’s ex-boyfriend, or someone else she knew, had killed her, and he’d hardly be likely to do it to Chelsea as well, would he? Besides, she knew her way around The Maze, knew shortcuts and ways out most people had no idea existed. And a tenner. That would be a bit extra to spend at The Sage tomorrow. Why not? She’d do it, she decided. She’d take stupid Mickey’s dare and win the tenner.
W H Y I T always seemed to take forever for people to say good- bye at the end of a dinner party was beyond Banks. Urgent new conversations began, it seemed, at the eleventh hour, and people finally got around to saying what they had been wanting to say all eve ning. Eventually, maybe twenty minutes or so after they had made their first moves toward the front door, they all drifted away in the directions they had come from. Trevor and Gemma needed help, which their neighbors kindly gave them. Daphne seemed to be able to walk without Quentin’s assistance, and insisted on doing so with a wobble in her step.
Banks thanked Harriet and David, promised not to be such a stranger in future, and wandered down the path in the mild night air, looking up at the clear sky. The lightest of breezes blew, hardly even ruff ling the new leaves. It felt cool on his skin after the warmth of the dining room.
Somehow or other, he found himself leaving at the same time as Sophia, and they both ended up at the bottom of the path under the glow of a street lamp. Sophia was waiting for Harriet, who had dashed upstairs to fetch an old family photo album she had promised to lend her.
It was the first time they had been alone, and Banks didn’t quite know what to say. He was also seeing her for the first time away from the table, and he noticed that she was wearing skin-hugging jeans, which suited her long legs, and that she was taller than he had first imagined.
Finally, they both spoke at once. It was one of those embarrassing moments you can laugh at, and it broke the ice.
2 5 4 P E T E R R O B I N S O N
“I was going to say,” Sophia went on, “that I met you once before, years ago.”
“I don’t remember that.”
She made a mock pout. “I’m hurt.” Then she smiled. “It was twenty years ago. I was at uni, visiting Harriet. I think you’d just moved in and she introduced me to you.”
“Twenty years,” said Banks. “A lot’s changed since then.”
“For you and me both. Look, I was thinking. Even a big hotshot detective like you must get a few hours off once in a while. I just wondered if you’d fancy going on one of those long walks you were telling me about? Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’d love to,” said Banks.
“Great. I’ll give you my mobile number. Got some paper? And I don’t mean your policeman’s little black book. I don’t want to end up in there with all the usual suspects and perverts.”
“Don’t worry.” Banks pulled a Somerfield’s receipt from his trouser pocket and a pen from his jacket. “Go on.”
She told him the number. He hurried to scribble it down on the back, for some reason feeling as if they were doing something furtive, something they didn’t want Harriet to see.
“I’ll give you a ring tomorrow when I see how things are going,”
he said, “but I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”
“Excellent.”
They both stood in the pool of light from the street lamp. For a moment, Banks had the strangest feeling that the world outside of it no longer existed. “Right, then,” he said. “I’d better be off. Can I give you a lift anywhere?”
“No. Really. It’s not far. I like to walk.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Here’s Harriet.” She turned away. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she whispered over her shoulder.
“Yes,” said Banks. Then he walked out of the strange light back into the real world of shadows, where he immediately heard shouting and a bottle smash in the distance. Saturday night in Eastvale. He got in the Porsche, turned on the iPod and cranked up the volume on The Jesus & Mary Chain’s “Just Like Honey” as he sped off toward Gratly.
F R I E N D O F T H E D E V I L
2 5 5
D E S P I T E H E R show of bravado, Chelsea was feeling decidedly nervous as she walked down the arcade off Castle Road, past the closed shops—Past Times, Whittard’s, Castle Books—and entered the dark Maze. Five minutes could be a long time, and a lot could happen.
Her footsteps echoed from the high walls, and the occasional dim overhanging bulb over a warehouse door cast her long shadow on the cobbles. She almost tripped over a cat, which screeched loudly and ran off, causing her heartbeat to speed up and get louder. Maybe she shouldn’t have taken Mickey’s bet. Ten quid didn’t buy you much these days. But it wasn’t the money—she knew that—it was her pride.
