‘Rhys — setting aside any arguments that we may or may not have had recently… I think Lucy should come and stay with us for a while. Until this whole kidnap thing is sorted out.’
‘I think that’s a terrible idea,’ he said. ‘The trouble is, all the other ideas are worse. Gwen — are you OK with this?’
She drew a breath. ‘If
‘We’re OK,’ he said, and his voice held both warmth and reassurance and love.
‘Then she can move in. But she does her own laundry: I don’t want to see her panties in the wash, OK?’
He laughed. ‘OK. Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
There was silence, as they both waited for the other one to disconnect. That hadn’t happened to Gwen for so long she’d almost forgotten the tremulous feeling it produced. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yeah. I really do love you.’
‘And you. Let’s hang up together. On a count of three, OK? One… two… three.’
They hung up.
Arriving back at the flat she shared with Rhys, Gwen was uncharacteristically nervous. Standing outside the door, keys in her hand, she found herself reluctant to actually open the door. Someone else was in their flat. Someone was trespassing on their privacy. And if Gwen went in, she was worried that she would suddenly feel like the intruder.
She could hear voices from inside, and part of her wanted to flatten herself against the door and listen to what they were saying. Another part told her how stupid she was being, but it didn’t matter. Were they talking about her? Were they laughing? And would there be a sudden awkward silence when she entered?
Idiot. Gwen had quite cheerfully kicked open doors to drug dens and marched in, smiling and shouting instructions, and yet here she was, frightened to walk into her own flat. Get a grip on yourself!
Quickly, before she could stop herself, Gwen shoved the key into the lock, twisted it and pushed the door open.
Down the short hall she could see Lucy curled up in one of their armchairs. She looked, if anything, even thinner than the last time Gwen had seen her: thin to the point of anorexia. Her hair hung lankly around her face, and it looked like she’d been crying. Rhys was across the other side of the room, stretched out on the sofa. He looked tired, but as soon as he saw Gwen he beamed and bounced out of the sofa.
‘Hi, kid,’ he said. ‘Come and sit down. Cup of tea? Glass of wine?’
‘That sounds great.’
‘What does?’
‘A cup of tea and a glass of wine.’ She reached up and kissed him as he slipped an arm around her waist, letting her bag slide to the floor. The kiss was meant to be a peck, but it turned into something longer, something that might have graduated to full-on sex if they hadn’t had a guest in the flat.
‘Hi, Lucy,’ Gwen said, disengaging herself from Rhys. She was perversely pleased to see how their new housemate was overtly studying her fingernails.
‘Hi,’ Lucy responded. Her voice was pallid, toneless. She seemed to lack energy; hardly surprising, Gwen thought, given what had happened to her.
The side table by the armchair had an empty bowl beside it. Noticing the direction of Gwen’s gaze, Rhys said: ‘Lucy was hungry, after what happened. I cooked her some risotto. And bacon. And cheese.’
Gwen glanced over to the empty bowl on the floor beside the armchair.
‘It would have been churlish not to have joined in,’ Rhys added. His hand was fondling her buttocks through her jeans. She tightened the muscles to give him a little more encouragement.
Gwen was about to make a comment about Rhys and food, but bit the words off before she could say them. Partly it was because she desperately didn’t want to start another row, even in the absence of the alien technology, but also it was because she realised with some surprise that Rhys’s T-shirt wasn’t being stretched by his incipient beer gut any more. It was almost flat. Almost strokable, in fact.
‘You’re looking good,’ she said. ‘I can see why muggers would be scared of you.’
Rhys beamed. ‘I’ll make that a
‘How are you feeling?’ Gwen said as she slid onto the sofa opposite Lucy.
‘Shaky. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.’ She winced. ‘You must hear that all the time, in your job.’
‘And I take it seriously every time. Don’t worry — you’re not a statistic. You’re a friend.’
‘Your colleague didn’t seem particularly interested.’
‘Don’t let Andy fool you. He’s a really good police officer. Did you give him a description of the man who attacked you?’
Lucy nodded. ‘As far as I was able. I didn’t really get a good look. It all happened so fast.’ Her face clenched suddenly, convulsively. ‘Listen to me — I’m just talking in cliches!’ Her face relaxed into a forlorn expression. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said plaintively.
‘It’s shock,’ Gwen reassured her. ‘It’ll pass away. A good night’s sleep will do you the world of good.’
‘He was taller than me. Tea’s brewing, by the way.’ Rhys entered from the kitchen carrying two tumblers of wine. He passed one to Gwen and was about to hand the other one to Lucy when he noticed Gwen shaking her head. ‘Shock?’ he mouthed. Gwen nodded, and he smoothly took a drink from the tumbler as if it was what he had intended all along.
‘You know these are whisky tumblers?’
‘Don’t get pernickety just because we have a guest.’
Gwen turned her attention back to Lucy. ‘So, this man: taller than you?’
‘And thinner, the bastard,’ Rhys continued. ‘And close-shaven around the scalp area.’
‘How was he dressed?’
‘You realise this isn’t your case? You don’t need to start an interrogation.’ He smiled, taking the sting out of the words as he slipped onto the sofa beside Gwen. ‘He was wearing those things that men wear that aren’t culottes.’
‘Cargo pants?’
‘Yeah, I think that’s it.’
‘How do you know about culottes but not cargo pants?’
‘Because you’ve got three pairs of culottes in your wardrobe that you haven’t worn for years.’
‘You go through the stuff in my wardrobe?’
‘I don’t go through it — I just know what’s there.’
‘You don’t by any chance wear any of it, do you?’
Rhys shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t fit. Yet.’ He stroked his stomach lovingly. ‘Give it time.’
Lucy was looking back and forth between the two of them.
‘Sorry,’ Gwen said. ‘Look, I know this is awkward for you, but Rhys has mentioned some of your history. Do you think this could be linked to your boyfriend?’
Lucy shrugged forlornly. ‘I can’t see Ricky getting it together for long enough to make a phone call, let alone arrange a kidnapping. And he’s called in all his favours already to get more smack. I just don’t see how he could be involved.’
‘What about his friends?’
‘He hasn’t got any friends. Just people he knows. People he shoots up with. People he buys from.’
‘Might
Her expression crumbled. ‘He wouldn’t notice. He wouldn’t care.’
Gwen was about to ask something else when her mobile bleeped. She reached for it with heavy foreboding.
‘Torchwood?’ Rhys asked, face and tone neutral.
