‘I’ve eaten,’ Bex said. Four bowls of cereal and half a loaf of bread.
‘That’s a relief,’ Jon said. ‘I’ll just go and dispose of the evidence.’ He disappeared back into the kitchen and Bex heard the sound of a plate being scraped into the bin.
‘When’s Ben back?’ His mountain bike had been missing from the hall.
‘Oh, he’s staying out tonight,’ Jon called back.
Bex ignored the treacherous flair of excitement and joined Jon in the kitchen. ‘He’s missing film night, again? You did invite him, right?’
‘He’s busy,’ Jon said, opening the fridge and getting two beers. ‘You know Ben.’
Not really, Bex thought. Jon’s housemate was more elusive than the yeti. ‘Does he hate me, or something?’
Jon had a funny look on his face when he said ‘No, of course not’, which made Bex think the real answer was ‘Yes, he finds you deeply irritating. Soon, I will have to choose between you and you will come off worse; after all, I live with Ben.’ It was a lot to get from one funny look, but Bex was highly trained at deconstructing and decoding Jon’s every move, word, smile and gesture.
‘I’ve got the perfect thing to take your mind off things,’ Jon said, clinking his bottle against hers. ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ Bex said, trailing back to the living room.
‘I got this.’ He held up a DVD case and Bex let out an involuntary squeak of excitement. It was Walk the Line. They’d both been looking forward to seeing it after missing it in the cinema and Bex had watched Reese Witherspoon pick up her Oscar for her performance with great delight.
Too late, as she watched the love story between June Carter and Johnny Cash unfold, Bex realised that this was possibly the worst film he could have picked. At the time of the evening when they were usually cheerfully singing along with Eric Idle to ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’, they were instead treated to the sight of Joaquin Phoenix staring at Reese Witherspoon with sparkling, soulful eyes while they sang together. Reese/June was smiling back at Joaquin/Johnny with a naked love that her professional smile couldn’t quite disguise.
Bex looked away from the couple on the screen and focused on her feet. She had taken her trainers off and she looked at her stripey sock-clad feet, concentrating on swallowing down the sudden pain in her stomach.
Joaquin Phoenix stopped singing abruptly and Bex looked up to find him frozen on the screen. Jon was watching her, his hand on the remote. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah.’ Bex forced a smile. ‘Fine.’
‘It’s not working for you, is it?’
‘I’d better go,’ Bex said. ‘I’m knackered. And I’m not fun to be around.’
‘It was meant to distract you,’ Jon said, indicating the television.
‘That’s all right.’ Bex stood up and stepped into her trainers, forcing her feet into them as quickly as possible. ‘I’m just in a terrible mood. It’s a waste of a good film.’
‘Another time, then?’ Jon looked subdued.
Bex wanted to tell him what was wrong, but she couldn’t, because he was what was wrong. And what could he say?
‘Sorry to spoil your evening. You could call Nicola.’ Bex wanted to hit herself in the head as soon as the words were out. Why give him ideas?
‘Maybe,’ Jon said. He didn’t meet her gaze. ‘She was very enthusiastic.’
‘She’s a blast,’ Bex said.
‘You think I should call her?’
Bex walked into the hallway without answering. She did not want to discuss Jon’s love life. Why had she brought it up? Why was she so bloody masochistic? ‘Night, then,’ she said, not looking over her shoulder, not stopping.
‘Bex …’ His hand was on her arm. She looked down at it. His beautiful big hand, enveloping her arm. Those knuckles she had spent hours staring at; fingers she was pretty sure she could pick out of a line-up.
‘You don’t have to go,’ Jon said. ‘We could talk.’
God, she must look even worse than she felt. She forced another smile, her whole face feeling weird and numb. ‘See you tomorrow, yeah?’
Chapter Seven
At End House, Iris Harper’s evening was not going according to plan. She had hoped to do some cooking while listening to a play on the radio. But there was something about the girl, Rebecca, that stopped her from relaxing. Her image kept elbowing its way to the front of Iris’s mind. Rebecca had said something she had not intended to say. Not out loud, of course, but Iris had heard it nonetheless. It was a truth so naked and painful that it shone from her being. Iris had spent so many years listening to people and their problems that she heard things they didn’t say louder than the things they did. Rebecca had been wronged by Alistair Farrier and she felt too weak to do anything about it. Iris knew she wasn’t a weak person – she’d shown a quick wit and a sense of responsibility that Iris liked and admired – but Rebecca was scared. Iris realised that she had been staring at an empty saucepan and missed the first ten minutes of the play. She could feel Rebecca’s fear and it made sense to Iris that she would be scared of Alistair Farrier; like father like son.
Iris went out to her work room, which was set at the bottom of the garden. The whitewashed building had a single-glazed window and an ill-fitting door and Iris pulled on the thick cardigan she kept on a hook on the back wall. She never used to feel the cold, used to be so absorbed in her work that nothing short of a bomb could’ve disturbed her. Of course, Iris thought ruefully, she used to be young.
She pulled a mixing bowl from the stack on the table. She didn’t quite admit to herself what
