‘Mm,’ she murmured dubiously. There was an accusing look in her eye which put him on his guard. He swallowed nervously. Over the past few hours he had faced a madman who tried to kill him, witnessed fatal shootings, tried valiantly to prevent a drive-by killing, seen a shaved vagina, cracked skulls with an escaping gunman and found a body riddled with bullets. None of these things induced as much terror in him as the look on this woman’s face, even if he did love her truly, madly, deeply, passionately.
‘You didn’t phone or text me,’ she said simply, looking closely at the wound and then squeezing some antiseptic cream into it.
He winced and rubbed a hand towel through his short-cropped hair, which didn’t need much drying. He gave her his best remorseful expression. ‘Things kind of spiralled out of control.’
‘I gathered.’ Thin-lipped, not impressed. She rooted through her first aid kit and pulled out a pack of butterfly strips, peeled one free.
‘I mean — all night long,’ he said.
‘And there was no time whatsoever in all those hours to call or text me?’ She squeezed the sides of the wound together and gently thumbed the butterfly strip into place.
Henry pouted. ‘Somebody tried to shoot me.’
‘As you were texting me?’ She positioned another strip into place.
‘Uh, no, not exactly.’
She applied a third one and inspected her handiwork by taking Henry’s chin between her finger and thumb and holding his head to the light. She seemed reasonably pleased by the surgery.
Then she turned his face so it was head-on to hers, eye to eye. ‘Just let me know. I know it’s old ground even for us, but I expect to be kept in the loop. Nay — demand.’ She paused. Her eyes criss-crossed his face. He tried to keep up with her. ‘Not a lot to ask, even on busy nights. . and by the way, I wasn’t making light of someone pointing a gun at you.’
‘I know.’
‘I just want to know you’re safe, OK?’
‘Point taken.’
She pulled his face to her and their lips met softly, then meshed. Drawing away, she said, ‘When are we going to tell your family?’
‘About what?’ he said stupidly.
She raised her left hand and waggled the significant finger, on which was the ring Henry had placed there what seemed a million years before. His innards sank at the prospect.
‘Haven’t they seen it? They’re women, after all. They home in on things like that. Primed from birth.’
‘I didn’t have it on when I arrived. I didn’t wear it at work just in case it went in the soup.’
‘Do we have to? I need my bed,’ he said dramatically.
Her look of contempt at his cowardice gave Henry the answer.
‘I’ll put my dressing gown on.’
When he’d landed home, his daughters had just arrived from a night at the hospital, reporting that their grandmother had had a good few hours’ sleep. They were downstairs in the kitchen chatting to Alison, who’d arrived before them, while Lisa was upstairs sleeping in Jenny’s old room; no one knew where she’d been, but at least she was safe.
Now, half an hour later, they were all assembled in the lounge, drinking tea, catching up with gossip as a hesitant Henry and a beaming Alison entered. His three relatives stopped talking, turned towards the couple, who were holding hands like gawky teenagers.
Henry cleared his throat, which seemed to have had concrete poured into it.
‘Alison and I have a little announcement,’ he said, noting the instant downward glances of all three women towards Alison’s left hand, then back up at Henry. There was horror on Leanne’s face, delight on Jenny’s and despair, or something like it, on Lisa’s.
Responses he expected. Leanne had mostly been very negative about Alison from the start, constantly making unfair comparisons to Kate. Henry believed this had something to do with her own rocky relationships with men. Jenny, from afar, and who had only briefly met Alison, was pleased for them. Lisa, Henry thought, was also happy for them, but her facial reaction puzzled him somewhat.
‘Jesus — you’re not up the duff, are you?’ Leanne blurted unkindly. ‘I couldn’t stand some bleeding half-brother or sister, or whatever.’
Henry tried not to get mad; his mind was muzzed enough from his night of action. So he forced a crooked, fatherly grin and said sweetly, ‘No, nothing like that.’
He held Alison’s left hand aloft like a boxing referee lifting up the winner’s hand.
‘We’re engaged to be married.’
‘Oh, Jesus Christ — even worse,’ Leanne said.
Jenny beamed, clapped delightedly, got up and hugged them both. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks. ‘I’m really happy, Dad. You’re great together.’
Alison’s bottom lip quivered and her eyelids fluttered. Henry started to blubber a little, too.
Leanne emitted a dreadful moaning noise, showing total disapproval and rolling her eyes.
‘Stop it, Leanne,’ Jenny admonished her.
Leanne’s mouth twisted like wire. Obviously there was an internal wrestling match going on. Then her face softened, and she stood up and embraced Henry as her tears also began to roll. She stepped back from him and turned to Alison. ‘It’s not you,’ she said and opened her arms. The two women embraced.
Henry watched, his own blubbering becoming hard to control, as the girls suddenly decided to examine the engagement ring. Soon they were cooing and clucking over it.
He glanced at Lisa, sitting there with her hands tucked palm to palm between her thighs, her expression forlorn, little girl lost. Their eyes locked.
Henry disengaged his fingers from Alison. He stepped over to Lisa and held out a hand. ‘Come on, sis,’ he said gently. She took his hand and followed him like a puppy into the kitchen. Henry caught Alison’s eye and got a nod from her.
Lisa leaned against the cooker, head bowed.
Henry stood in front of her and tilted up her chin with the tip of his forefinger, forcing her to look at him. ‘What’s going on?’
Her chin wobbled and she blinked rapidly as tears began to fall in perfect droplets. He could see the weariness in her eyes, smell the stale alcohol on her breath and just a whiff of body odour. None of these things fitted with his perception of his kid sister. As whacky as she was, she was always turned out immaculately, day or night, and always smelled great. But here in front of him was a different creature, tousled uncombed hair, make-up that had run, smeared lipstick. She looked a mess — and, Henry was forced to admit, she looked her age.
She shook her head. ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake,’ she admitted quietly.
Henry did not fill the next pause. That was up to her.
‘I. . I thought I wanted something else — as usual,’ she snorted in contempt of herself. ‘Always looking for the next best thing. Greener grass and all that. Been doing it all my life — but never looked back before.’
He could not disagree. Although he didn’t have a leg to stand on and was in no position to judge, having lost count of the number of times he’d put a bloody good marriage in jeopardy for stupid, cock-driven reasons. He and Lisa were alike in so many ways, not always good ones. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
‘I met Mister Bloody-What’s his name. .’
‘Sherbet Lemon, the jeweller?’
‘Perry Astley-Barnes, actually,’ she chuckled. ‘Met him through the business and he’s rich and rakish and good-looking, like a character from a bloody Wilbur Smith novel. He’s divorced, drives an Aston, got a lot of successful shops, makes a mint. .’
‘Ticks all the right boxes. What’s not to like?’
‘Nothing. He’s actually a good guy. I’m the arsehole.’ She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘But I realized I actually had everything I needed in every way with Rik. And I’ve treated him appallingly.’