‘You expect me to cook you dinner every night when we’re married?’
‘You can do whatever you darn well like. Just marry me.’
I took a deep breath. ‘The fifteenth of next August?’
‘The very next one.’
‘HCC will be booked up right through the summer.’
‘They had a cancellation.’ He quirked one eyebrow, knowing I would guess his hefty sway at the club would have had something to do with that.
‘Let me think about it.’
While Perry drove me home, I did think. About Sam, and my empty bank account, pathetically dependent on Perry since my income had been slashed. About how this rich, charming man had laughed off the disastrous evening, allowing me to avoid answering his questions about my wreck of a brother. About the fun we had together, the simplicity of our relationship. Then I considered the alternative to marrying him, which made me shudder.
Perry walked me to my door, which wasn’t far, the front path of my tiny, terraced cottage stretching three steps from pavement to porch.
‘Are you sure you’re okay? I could come in for a bit.’
‘No, honestly. I just need to sleep.’
He waited while I unlocked the door, then kissed me goodnight. ‘Sleep well. I’ve meetings until late tomorrow. But I’ll call you.’
I took a deep breath as he turned to walk down the path.
‘Yes.’
He froze, spinning slowly back around to face me.
‘The fifteenth of August. Next year. Yes.’
Perry burst into a grin, scooping me off the doorstep and swinging me around before jigging down to the street and back again, kicking his heels up. ‘Fifteenth of August!’ he roared. ‘Eleven months and she’ll be mine! Hallelujah!’
He let out a whoop as I stepped inside, smiling. ‘Keep it down! It’s nearly midnight.’
‘I don’t care! I’m gettingmarried!’ He fist-pumped the air as the upstairs window opened next door and my neighbour called out.
‘Fer mercy’s sake, Faith. Can’t you just invite ’im in like a normal person?’
‘Ah no, kind neighbour,’ Perry replied, ever the gentleman. ‘Surely you know there is nothing normal about Faith Harp?’
I said goodnight and closed the door, leaning on it for a moment while my brain slowed down enough to think.
Perhaps my fiancé knew me better than I thought, because he’d got it spot on. Nothing about me, or my life, had ever been normal.
I certainly didn’t feel normal as I lay awake, listening to the creaks and groans of my ancient house, shuddering with terror at the thought of the evil that was Kane, prowling the streets, hunting for revenge.
The next morning, I stuck my game face on and went to see Sam. I took the bus to the supermarket first, loading up with bags of ready meals, cereal, fresh juice, fruit and other simple food a sick man could eat with minimal preparation. Upon letting myself in, I did a quick walk-through of the flat, searching for the all-too-familiar paraphernalia that accompanies drug use. Finding nothing in the living area but empty cola bottles, ten thousand cigarette butts, piles of dirty dishes, and sticky filth coating every surface (pretty impressive since I had cleaned the entire flat only five days previously), I moved on to the bathroom.
Yuck.
I left the bathroom to its grossness and began to unload the shopping. I was placing a tub of fresh soup in the fridge when the bedroom door opened and a naked cheese string walked out, pointing a six-inch knife at me.
‘What are you doing?’ The cheese string, who on closer inspection appeared to actually be a woman the width of a cheese string with an enormous head of greeny-yellow dreadlocks, jabbed the knife in my direction.
I wasn’t intimidated. The scars on my collarbone and stomach were caused by a knife, and person, about twice the size of those in front of me. Six inches would never pierce my toughened hide.
‘Unpacking some shopping. Do you want a cranberry muffin?’
