CHAPTEREIGHT
Martha stopped at the door to the stairs, weekend bag in her hand. ‘Listen,’ she said, looking uncertainly at Millie. ‘I can cancel my trip?’ She placed the bag on the floor and crossed to the breakfast bar where Millie was staring into a cooling, congealing bowl of porridge, occasionally prodding it with a spoon.
‘Well? Do you want me to stay?’
Millie looked up. ‘No. You go see your family. I’ll be fine.’
‘Do you want me to get Sharon to stay instead? I could call her, get her to come back here after work?’
‘No, I’ll be fine.’
‘But what if he comes round?’
‘Why shouldn’t he?’
Martha sighed, moved the porridge bowl to one side and placed her arms around Millie’s shoulders, giving her a sisterly hug. ‘I thought we had this out last night, Millie. Both Sharon and I think he was very creepy. We’ve always had our doubts about him, and there was something dodgy about the way he didn’t want the police called. And that thing he said about it not happening again. That was weird.’
‘He was in shock.’
‘So were you. Maybe you still are. Which is why you should listen to Sharon and me. He’s keeping things from you. You shouldn’t see him again.’
‘But I want to.’
Martha shook her head. ‘I think you have a homing instinct for bad guys, my little love bunny.’
‘George is not bad.’
‘Well, there’s something not right about him. Think about it. He’s a student without a summer job, he’s always got plenty of money. Pays for hire cars and takes you away on expensive trips. All his clothes are top brands and you said yourself he told a lie on that first date you had.’
‘That thing about him being Prince Harry was a joke.’
‘Hmph. If you say so, but if you ask me, he was trying to cover something up.’
‘Please!’ Millie sprang off the stool and gathered her breakfast things. ‘Please go. Have a fun weekend with your family. I will be all right here. If George comes round, I will be okay. I can look after myself.’
She hurried into the kitchen area, viciously scraped the solid beige blob of cold porridge into the waste bin, clattered the bowl and spoon into the sink, and with hands on hips, she scowled at Martha. She would not admit it, but Martha was right. George had been weird. But she did not want to face that fact.
George turnedthe corner into the street where Millie lived just in time to see Martha, weekend bag in hand, climbing aboard a bus, heading west. That pleased him. At least he would only have to contend with one of Millie’s protectors, and Martha was by far the more intimidating of the two. Of course, if he was really lucky, maybe Sharon had also already left for her long weekend.
He waited until the bus transporting Martha had disappeared beyond the curve in the road; then straightening his aching spine, he walked up to Millie’s front door and pressed the buzzer.
Millie was a long time answering. So long George began to think she, too, had gone out. Perhaps she’d gone home for the weekend as well. He shook his head. No matter how shaken up she might be after last night’s attack, she would not let Pete down. She’d promised she would work both evening shifts over the holiday weekend and she would. George pressed the buzzer again.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s me.’
The lock clicked, and the door swung open an inch. ‘Come on up.’
He stepped into the cool shade of the corridor, trying not to read something into the way she’d spoken. It was perfectly normal, wasn’t it? Ordinary. Identify your visitor and let them in if they are welcome. So why did he feel unwelcome?
Despite his stiffness, he took the stairs two at a time, his muscles aching, his footsteps sounding off the concrete and echoing down into the darkened stairwell, until he arrived in front of the apartment door, his chest heaving and his heart hurting.
The door swung open, and Millie peered around it. George saw her eyes widen and heard her sharp intake of breath.
‘Your face!’ she said, hiding her own with both hands.
‘It’s only bruising.’
