York jumped from the gurney. ‘And I thought you were going to say women.’
‘Them too,’ smirked Charles. Then his smirk transformed into an infectious laugh and suddenly York couldn’t help joining in. It was what he needed. When the laughter died down, he plucked his hat from the side and rested it on his head. ‘So what do I do, Charles?’
‘While you were out I administered a dose of Methadone. That should help with the cravings for a while. Come and see me tomorrow and I’ll give you some in tablet form. And look, I’m here if you need me. I can always use a conversation. I don’t get much down here.’
‘Charles, about the Methadone…’
‘Off the record, Nicolas, you have my word.’
‘I appreciate it,’ he murmured.
Then he was gone.
*
Roy Sunnily had disappeared from the room. Abigail Fuller was alone. Roy said he’d gone to fetch some water. Perhaps he had.
Abbey shifted uneasily on the seat and fingered the pages of a tattered celeb magazine. She’d heard them talking in the background about packing her off to some facility until they could relocate her, but she didn’t fully understand what that meant. It sounded okay, though. Maybe there’d be others there who she could be friends with.
Images of the dark man flashed into her head like snapshots. The steely glint of his eyes in the light from the streetlamps, the way he attracted shadows, she’d been mesmerised. The way he’d moved, the way he’d shifted across the room, there was something magnetic about him. She wanted to see him again, though she wasn't quite sure why.
Pushing the thoughts down, she glanced up when she heard the door click open. That sad-looking policeman with the funny hat was back. What was his name again? Nicolas, that was it! She wondered what was wrong with him. He didn’t look well, like he had a bad cold and hadn’t slept.
‘Couldn’t find him,’ the Nicolas muttered as she sat down opposite.
Abbey frowned.
‘But he’s around here somewhere, I'm sure,’ he added.
‘Couldn’t find who?’
‘Keanu Reeves. I thought you wanted me to find him for you?’
Abbey smiled. ‘Shut up.’
Nicolas smiled back.
‘You think I’m stupid, don’t you?’ she said suddenly. ‘Just another stupid kid.’ Nicolas held her eyes, his silly hat perched on his head. ‘I’m not, you know. I know how to take care of myself.’
Still, Nicolas remained quiet.
‘The first time they left me alone, I was seven,’ she revealed. ‘They filled the freezer with pizzas and took off. Said they’d be back in a couple of weeks. I walked to school and back every day while they were gone. I cooked my own food. Still don’t know where they went, but they came back with tans. And the second they walked in the door I was their precious little darling. After they did it a handful of times I knew I wasn’t precious to them, I was no more valuable to them than some fancy jewellery or expensive watch.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘One day it just kind of hit me. I realised I was on my own. I knew this wasn’t normal, only because other kids at school talked about their lives and their mums and dads and their homes, and I knew I was the freak, not them.’
As the room descended into quiet once again, she watched Nicolas’s tired face carefully.
‘It’s okay. You don’t need to say anything. I know what people think of me.’
Nicolas leaned forward and took her hands in his. She noticed the sadness in his eyes again. ‘I don’t think you’re stupid, Abbey. That’s the truth. I think you’re quite remarkable.’
‘I’m a freak.’
‘No, you’re not,’ said Nicolas vehemently. Your parents were the freaks for not wanting to watch you grow up. Things will only get better for you now, I promise.’
She listened to the detective’s words. Just listened. She didn’t know if he meant what he was saying, but she couldn’t help liking him and his big sad eyes.
‘Nicolas,’ she uttered, ‘are you my friend?’
The sad detective nodded. ‘Of course I am.’
Abigail glanced back at her shoes. ‘But you’ll leave me too. Everybody does.’
27
The mist had lifted and the bruised clouds had blown over by the time York and Newport reached Janine Bluestock’s flat in Clapham. The sun was on the rise, colours flowing across the sky in long purple brushstrokes. With no wind, the day was looking to be another hot one.
The law student’s flat sat in a courtyard just off the Common, centred in a modern block. Judging by most of Clapham the little estate was a diamond in the rough, a genuine find. Standing in the dusky morning smog between a Mercedes and a Lexus, York looked the building up and down - too high end for a student. Daddy’s dollar perhaps?
‘So what did he say?’ Newport asked, fracturing the morning still.
‘What did who say?’
‘You know who I’m talking about.’
‘Do I?’
‘Fine, you don’t want to tell me, I can live with that. Next time you collapse, your arse stays on the floor.’
He looked sideways at his partner. ‘I know you’re wondering how I know about Kellie,’ he threw in. It was the one thing he could think to say to get her off the topic.
‘You don’t know about Kellie.’
They found the narrow staircase and began the ascent.
‘Maybe I should,’ he said.
‘And maybe I should know why you collapsed!’
Eyebrows raised, York turned to look at his partner. ‘Kilroy thinks I might be diabetic.’
‘Bollocks, Nick. You’re doing it again, telling me what you think I want to hear. It’s not going to cut it anymore.’
‘I’m allowed some secrets, Holly.’
‘Not from me you’re not!’
‘Listen,
