“Never been clearer,” he said, softly, stroking soft circular patterns at the bottom of my spine. My body felt tight, like another touch would make it snap. Neither of us were pulling back, but at the same time neither of us were moving forward. He sighed deeply and I slowly moved my face against his, inviting more but not pushing us over a line. “Remember how we always used to go for late-night walks on the beach?’ he said.
“I remember.”
“Let’s go now.”
He pulled back, pushed my hair behind my ear. It felt intimate and close and I couldn’t fathom what was different. He’d done it a million times before and I’d never cherished it as much as I did now.
“Stacey will be home from work soon.”
“We can ply her with chocolate later,” he replied. I laughed at his immediate response to her heartache. Things were not going well with her male escort and chocolate seemed to lighten her load.
“Give me a minute and we’ll go.” I watched as he headed for the bathroom, unable to stop myself from smiling when he disappeared and I was left alone.
I started putting chairs on tables and wiping up the last of the mess when I heard the door.
“We’re about to close,” I said barely looking behind me.
“Have I got time for coffee and a chat?” I turned to find Stacey’s male escort, AKA Matt Shaw looking dejected and depleted and I knew we were in for a long night.
11
Will
Coffee and a chat? More like a night of therapy and couples counselling. I loved Stacey, counted her as one of my closest friends, but I didn’t need her relationship troubles tonight. I just wanted a night with Skye.
Don’t get me wrong, I liked Matt instantly, but he didn’t pick the best time to profess his love for Stacey to two of her best mates. Skye immediately saw it as her duty to sort this shit out. My plan to lay out my guts and open up my heart had taken a major diversion.
I’d left them to it. Had to. Otherwise I would have banged Stacey and Matt’s heads together. As he has the physique of a man who could hurt you with one fist, I decided it wasn’t the best tactic to tell them they were made for each other and to stop fucking about.
Stacey was on her way back to Turnip the Beet in a taxi. I’d managed to manoeuvre Skye into the kitchen, reminding her of my earlier invitation to go to the beach. Midnight strolls were our soul food. We had some of the best times exploring Brighton by night. She was at her most open and vulnerable and I needed that side her of her to come out. I could tell she was conflicted, wanting to help Stace but needing whatever the seafront gave her just as much.
“Woohoo!” A voice came from above. Skye was waving and shouting as she leaned against the famous turquoise green metal fences that lined the promenade. “They’re in love!” I laughed as she ran down the steps joyfully dancing and springing around. She looked like a rock idol. Leather jacket and skin-tight jeans with thigh-high velvet boots. Her hair was blowing around and her red lips where curled into a huge smile. I walked towards her, appreciating how amazing she looked but knowing that underneath those sexy thigh-high boots, she was most likely wearing Hello Kitty socks. “I hid outside so I could see what was happening through the window and I’m thinking sexytimes is part of their plans for tonight!”
Lucky them.
“All sorted?”
“Yeah. Ah! I’m made up for her!” she squealed. “They’re so good together.”
“I like him. He seems like a good guy.” She nodded and took a deep breath of air. She loved the beach. There was something about this place that soothed her. After Elliott’s death, I would know exactly where to find her if she’d escaped Stacey and me, and needed to look for peace. She wrapped her arms around herself.
“Are you cold?” I asked.
“A little,” she replied, passing behind me to start walking. “Come on. Let’s get moving.”
I followed behind her. Man, her arse looked good. I reached into my bag and took out a small camera I carried around with me for those just-got-to-capture-it moments. Carrying my professional camera wasn’t always practical, but, as a photographer, I never wanted to miss anything. I held it up, noticing the lights of the Palace Pier ahead. Her pink hair whipped around in the breeze, perfectly blended with the bright lights and the darkness of the night.
“Hey!” She laughed. “Always warn a lady before you take her picture.”
“I was capturing the scenery,” I lied. “I love the lights of the pier.”
“That’s OK then,” she said making her way to one of the many late-night shops selling Brighton rock and other sweet seaside treats. “Elliott used to love these.” She picked out a large sugar dummy on a ribbon. “Used to send him hyper though. Wouldn’t sleep for hours after one of these.”
She bought the dummy and some cinder toffee and as she hung the dummy around her neck, she offered me the bag. “Urgh, no thanks. Hate that stuff.”
“I know,” she replied as she popped a piece in her mouth. “More for me.”
“Cruel,” I taunted as she took off laughing.
“I’ll buy you some chips!” she shouted over her shoulder.
“I can’t be bought with chips!”
“I can,” she replied, arching her eyebrow and laughing as she sat down on a bench. “Have you heard anything about your interview yet?”
Ah, the senior journalist interview. The holy grail of jobs. “I spoke with my manager who basically told me it was mine, but
