‘Hello, Borrow-a-Bookshop?’
‘Good evening, may I speak with Elliot Desvaux?’
This has to be Elliot’s dad. Posh, formal, a bit stiff. The curious streak I’m developing about Elliot’s home life takes over and the questions queue up. Has he mentioned me, by any chance? Do he and Mrs Desvaux have any plans to visit Clove Lore again soon? Though I don’t even know if his parents are still together, come to think of it, so that might be rude.
I scramble for a sensible reply and manage, ‘He’s not here at the moment. This is Jude Crawley, his… colleague in the bookshop. Can I pass on a message?’
‘This is Dennis Alleyn at the CPS. Please ask him to return my call urgently.’
That’s disappointing. I thought I’d fast-tracked to meeting the parents, just like we fast-tracked everything else.
Mr Alleyn spells out his surname and I write his message down on the notepad. ‘CPS?’ I echo.
‘Crown Prosecution Service.’
This jolts me. ‘Do you mind me asking what this is about?’
‘I’m sorry, that information is confidential. But he needs to ring me immediately, do you understand?’
‘OK. Got it,’ I say, and the line goes dead.
Elliot stays away all of Saturday evening and when he finally gets home just after nine he makes straight for the shower. By then, I’m in my PJs with the duvet pulled up to my neck. I didn’t really know what else to do with myself but tried to concentrate on reading the Vera Lancing book for Monday night’s meeting at the Siren, while eating toast and drinking tea, waiting for him, and then I gave up waiting.
‘Sorry I’m late, I couldn’t stop running,’ he says, emerging from the bathroom, a towel around his waist. He sits on the end of my bed raking his fingers through his damp hair before resting his head in his hands.
‘You ran for five hours?’ I say, and not in an especially kind way. In fact, he’ll be left in no doubt that I’m fuming.
‘Kind of,’ he says, evasively.
‘And did Dennis manage to get you on your mobile?’
I see him freeze at my words before he turns to me with a searching look. ‘Yeah, he did. Did he say anything to you?’
‘No, he told me he needed to talk to you, and that it was confidential. It frightened me a bit, if I’m honest, Elliot.’
He looks away again and I hear him exhale as he rubs a hand over his face. ‘I’m so tired after that run. Should I take the mattress down now?’
‘What?No! You’re going to sit there and tell me what all this is about.’
‘I can’t.’ His voice is so firm, all of its playfulness and warmth that I’d basked in gone.
‘But you can tell me anything,’ I plead, and I hate the way it sounds. I see myself standing at Mack’s door with my toothbrush in my hand and him turning me away. It’s happening again, only this feels worse because I understand that it’s happening this time.
Elliot’s face is grave and immobile. ‘Not this, I can’t.’
I sit up now as the anger hits me. ‘Youcan’ttell me this, and youwon’ttell me about your family or your work. You won’t tell meanything! What are you, Elliot? Are you a spy or something? A criminal investigator? Are you under cover? For God’s sake, tell me. Is this witness protection or something?’
I know I’m clutching at straws, but anything’s better than the more likely possibilities circulating round my brain now: the possibility that he doesn’t trust me enough to tell me who he really is, or the possibility that I shouldn’t trust him and that the few scrappy details I think I know about him are all lies. ‘Are you going through a messy divorce? A legal dispute?’ I say, hoping it’s something simple like that. I could cope with that. It wouldn’t be a problem, and it shouldn’t be a problem for him to let me know either.
‘No,’ he protests. ‘I’m sorry Jude, I can’t tell you any more than I already have.’ At least he has the decency to look pained.
‘After everything that’s happened between us this last week? Youstillcan’t tell me?’
He shifts across the bed and takes my hand. ‘I want to tell you. I wish I could,’ he says, his voice deep and insistent. His hand trails up my arm and into the nook between my neck and shoulder and I let him cup my face, absorbing the warmth, trying to imprint the feeling in my brain, knowing I’m going to miss this so much. ‘My life isn’t my own right now. I should never… I should never have come here when I knew there was an innocent person—’
‘Innocent? Elliot? Are you… are you some kind of criminal?’
He pulls his hand away and I already know that’s the last time he’ll ever touch me.
