Chapter 9

Back in the house, Michael sits by the kitchen table, Charlotte dabbing at a cut on his face with a cloth.
Noticeably, she’s not making a lot of effort to be careful about it and he winces as she nurses him with
ungentle hands. One eye is swollen and rapidly closing. The other will be a wonderful colour by
tomorrow.

Chad is no better, gushing blood from both nostrils. Sebastian has him leaning over the sink and is
pressing a bag of crushed ice to the bridge of his nose. “You stupid bastard. What the fuck do you think
you were doing?”

“We were only…” Chad’s voice is muffled against the bag hanging by his face and has a nasal twang.

“I know what you were ‘only’… I could smell the fucking testosterone.” Sebastian sounds furious, but as
he speaks, his eyes lift to Charlotte’s and they exchange smirks.

“Was there a point to this?” she says to Michael. “Something to be achieved?” Her tone is acid. “You
have a face like strawberry jam gone bad.”

Richard, Beth and I each perch on stools by the breakfast bar, taking in the circus. “Drink?” I murmur.

“A glass of red would be good,” says Richard.

“I’ll have one too,” says Beth.

I pour the wine, adding a couple more glasses and placing one each by Charlotte and Sebastian. Then
I slice up a Brie and pass it around with a few crackers.

*****

Wounds tended, Chad and Michael take seats on opposite sides of the kitchen table. I sip wine and
help myself to a morsel of cheese. Charlotte, Sebastian and Beth have formed some kind of gossip



group and appear to be exchanging notes…

I don’t want to know…

Richard presses a cracker to the plate, mopping up crumbs. “Do you have any more of that excellent
Brie, James?”

“No, that’s the last of it, but there’s a Camembert? Or I have a Stilton in the larder I was thinking of
opening up.”

“Excellent idea. But don’t you think that Tempranillo would be overwhelmed by Stilton?”

“Good point. I’ll fetch a bottle of port.”

After a while, Michael says, “Do you feel as stupid as I do?”

“I'd say so. Probably, yes.” Chad looks around at the audience. “You got it out of your system?”

Michael clasps hands on the table. “Yeah….” Then he looks around too. A smile cracks over his face
and he winces as his upper lip begins to bleed again. “Maybe if we talk to each other, they'll talk to us?”

The pair swing to Charlotte and Sebastian, his face impassive, hers frosty.

“Maybe they will.”

Michael stands, limping to the fridge. “Beer?”

“Sounds good.”

*****



“Why don’t we start this again?” I suggest. “I think it’s established that Chad can well teach self-defence
at any level that will be needed here. So why don’t we say that’s all settled and you two come over for
Sunday lunch?”

“I’d like that,” says Chad. “Seb?”

“Sounds good.”

“Excellent,” I say. “Beth, Richard. Will you join us on Sunday? I think Charlotte would enjoy having her
growing family all around her.”

Richard beams. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

*****

“Growing family?” mutters Michael, when all are out of earshot.

“Family matters. I think Chad qualifies as family for Charlotte, don’t you?”

“You’re not trying to manipulate events are you?”

“Would I?”

“Yes, you fucking would. You’ve done it often enough before now.”

I maintain the silence of the wise man.

*****

 

Charlotte



Sunday arrives.

Sebastian steps out from the driver’s seat, reaching for a bag which clinks as he moves. Chad exits
from the other side, stepping forward, hand outstretched. “Michael, thanks so much for the invitation. I
really appreciate it…”

“You’re welcome.”

“James, great to see you.” They shake. “Charlotte…” He turns, giving me a peck on the cheek and a
light hug on the shoulders, then he sniffs the air. “Smells great. Who’s the cook?”

I nod towards my Master. “James. But I helped.”

He cocks a brow. “What kind of help?”

“Well, I peeled the potatoes and the carrots.”

“Thought so.” He grins to Michael. “Her cooking’s okay, but you wouldn’t want to live on it, would you?”
Before I can react, he jerks his head to the back of the car. “Got something for you.”

Chad opens the trunk to lift out a battered cardboard box. “This is yours. It's books mainly but there's
some other stuff too.”

The box is dusty, cobwebby, crushed at the corners and collapsing at the base. Tight loops of packing
tape wind around it in all directions. With a fingertip, I trace a line over the gritty top. “You kept it all this
time?”

“After you left, I went back to my parents for a while. You didn’t take much with you, but there were
some of your things left with Mrs Collier I reckoned you would want if you could. I brought it with me to
the City to make sure my mother didn’t have her way with it.” He hefts the box against his chest. “It’s
pretty mucky. I’ll carry it. Where would you like it?”



“Um… the lounge is fine for now. Come on through.”

My Master vanishes briefly, reappearing with an old towel, one we use for cleaning boots, laying it on
the table, then as Chad places the box on top, he passes me a knife before standing back a little by
Michael.

Sebastian sort-of fades into the background. “I’ll just wait,” he says. “Personal stuff. Y’know…”

The four of them watch as I slit ancient tape and the box sags and falls apart.

*****


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