‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘You OK?’
‘Yeah. Anything left in that bottle?’
‘Seeing as you insisted on buying a litre of Chardonnay, yes.’
‘Top me up,’ she said, holding out her glass and snuggling against him.
James obliged. She reached for the remote. It had slipped down between the seat cushions.
‘What’s this called again?’ she asked.
‘
‘-and they’re both lawyers, right, right. Can I wind it back a bit, because I was laughing so much at the thing with the dog, I thought crisps were going to come flying out of my nose.’
‘Give it to me,’ he said, reaching to take the remote.
Both their mobiles rang at once. Hers was on the side, his on the dining table beside his keys. They split off the sofa and reached them simultaneously, glancing at the displays.
‘Jack,’ said Gwen.
James nodded. ‘You take it.’
Gwen put the phone to her ear. ‘Yeah?’
‘Gwen? Is James with you?’
‘Yeah, what’s up?’
‘I wanted to call everyone. No need to come in, but I wanted you to know.’
‘Know what, Jack?’ Gwen asked.
‘My little secret doohickey,’ said Jack. ‘The pattern on it changed about an hour ago. The lights are flashing up a different sequence.’
‘What does that mean?’ Gwen asked.
‘Well, seeing as we have no idea what the original pattern meant, I can safely say I have no clue,’ said Jack. ‘However, it can’t be good. Just a guess, but say a change in Def Con?’
‘You sure you don’t want us to come in?’
‘There’s no point yet. I’ll call you if anything changes.’
He hung up.
Gwen lowered her phone.
‘Fighter Command?’ James asked.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘But the tile thing has started flashing something different. He wanted us to know.’
‘OK,’ James nodded. He dropped back onto the sofa. ‘That thing’s really got him worried, hasn’t it?’
‘Aren’t you worried?’
‘I’m worried Jack is worried. Come on, let’s watch the film. You haven’t seen the witness selection bit yet.’
‘Hang on,’ she replied. She pressed a key to search her phone’s memory, and then pressed redial.
It rang. Rang. Rang.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh, hello. Mr Brady? Mr Brian Brady?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘I’m so sorry to be calling so late,’ said Gwen. ‘My Name is Gwen Cooper, and I’m calling from… from Cardiff CID. Have you got a sec?’
Five minutes later, she came back and rejoined James on the sofa.
‘What was that about?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Come on.’
‘I’ve got a lead, haven’t I?’
‘What, like a dog?’
She cuffed him. ‘A proper lead. I’m going out tomorrow. A little jaunt.’
‘Why?’
‘There’s a chance I can help Jack out. Some things I might be able to learn.’
‘You going to tell me what?’
‘No, it’s a secret. I want to impress.’
James nodded.
‘By the way, did you ever… did you ever call Rhys?’
She snuggled up against him. ‘Yup. I’m seeing him Sunday for lunch.’
‘OK. You OK with that?’
She nodded. ‘Play the bloody movie.’
She laughed. They both laughed. They howled.
After the movie was over, with News 24 playing mute on the TV, they began to kiss.
Ninety minutes later, with Gwen sleeping in a naked, loose-limbed sprawl that dominated the bed, James got up. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face.
In the mirror, he had eyes of different colours, one blue, one brown.
He blinked.
No, both brown. Too much Chardonnay.
He went into the living room and turned the TV off. He picked up the empty crisp bowl and took it into the kitchen, then scooped up the wine bottle and the two glasses. There was a splash left in the bottle.
Oh, what the hell?
He poured it out into his glass, put hers in the sink, and slid the bottle into the recycle bin.
Sipping from his glass, he walked back into the lounge and turned off the uplighters and side lamps. He was wearing her dressing gown. It was soft, and it would be OK so long as Owen never saw him in it.
He peeked out of the window.
The shadows were still there.
They weren’t shadows.
James swallowed. He was being silly. He was a little bit drunk and a little bit strung out. They were the shadows he’d seen before.
He knocked back the last of the wine, then looked back out.
Not shadows. Men. No, definitely shadows. Who stood still that long, who stared up that long?
He pulled off Gwen’s robe and found his jeans and his shirt. He put on his shoes without socks, and had the good sense to pocket his keys.
He slipped out of the flat, squeezing the door shut after him.
His downstairs neighbours, the Aussies, were in. He could hear them having loud sex as he slunk down the dim staircase. Their mountain bikes cluttered the hall.
He edged past the bikes in the hallway blackness, stepping on menu leaflets and junk mail that all three flat owners had discarded on the floor.
He opened the front door.
It was cold outside. Cold as marble. An October night, almost Halloween.
He stepped outside. The sky was a silent black bowl pinpricked with dots of fire.
His breath steamed the air. He wished he had brought a coat.
He walked down the path into the street. There was a distant noise of late traffic. The amber smog of Cardiff stained the low sky in front of him with light pollution. Two streets away, someone was yelling and laughing.
He strode directly across the road, tacking between parked cars, their bonnets and roofs just displaying the first etching of frost. He headed towards the phone box.
He headed towards the shadows of the two men. They were still there. Silent, unmoving, even as the night wind licked the trees and all other shadows rocked and nodded.
A step closer now. They still didn’t move. It had been his imagination, his stupid imagination. Just shadows. Just shadows.
He closed on them.
