He was like an addiction she couldn’t kick, and every tiny drop of time with him made her want more. She racked her brains for a reason to stop him leaving. ‘I keep going over and over the night of the accident. I wish I could recall more about the car. Maybe if we talked about what we both remember it might trigger something.’
He paused and turned back. ‘Maybe.’
‘Well …’ started Regan, ‘we could go to the pub and discuss it there?’ She bit her lip in anticipation.
‘Hmm.’ His furrowed brow told her he was considering it.
‘I would invite you in, but I can’t trust myself now I’ve got a mattress,’ said Regan, trying her hardest to make light of the situation.
‘Okay, it had best be the pub then,’ he said, but he sounded reluctant.
She didn’t give him a chance to change his mind, quickly flicking off the lights and pulling the door shut. ‘Come on. The first glass of water’s on me.’
They spent the first round of drinks going over exactly how each of them remembered the events of the accident, using beer mats for props. They had similar memories. The rain, the screech of tyres and brakes, the bodies on the crossing and the spray of water as the car left the scene.
‘I think the car must have been an ordinary colour,’ said Charlie. ‘Because if it had been red or purple or something bright I reckon we would have noticed it more.’
‘Good point. The rain made visibility really hard. Maybe it was rain coloured.’ Charlie laughed. ‘What colour is rain?’
Charlie took a swig of his pint. ‘Oh, you’re serious?’
‘Completely.’ Regan did her best serious face.
‘Well, then … I’d say grey.’
‘Brilliant. So the car was likely either grey like the rain or maybe black like the sky, which would explain why we didn’t notice it.’
Charlie didn’t look convinced. ‘Or it was bright green with giant yellow spots and we just didn’t look at it.’
Regan growled her frustration and whizzed the beer mats across the small table. She felt totally useless.
‘Hey, I’m kidding. Even you would have spotted giant yellow spots,’ he said. She gave him a thump and he feigned pain. ‘Ouch. That’ll be a bruise tomorrow,’ he said, giving it a rub.
He made her smile, made her forget her frustrations with the world. She felt he had let her into his bubble where, for now, it was safe. She wanted to stay in it for as long as possible. She’d deal with the pain of the fallout later.
‘How’s Elvis?’ he asked.
‘Doing really well and starting to cause havoc.’
‘That’s good. And how are your plans for world domination of the jam industry?’ he asked playfully, but at the same time engaging her with interested eyes.
‘Stocks are good. I need to start making a profit by week two because Cleo will be back and I need to afford to rent a room.’ She sipped her beer.
Charlie wasn’t blinking. ‘Isn’t that a bit optimistic?’
‘I have to be optimistic, because this has to be a success.’ She had no space for contemplating the alternative. Animage of her on her mattress in an alleyway loomed into her mind and she dismissed it.
The pub door opened and two blokes walked in laughing. ‘I thought I was shit at barbecues!’ said one. A waft of acrid smoke wafted in with them, and Charlie was off his seat and out the door in a heartbeat.
Regan downed her beer and followed him. She caught sight of him sprinting down Ditchling Road and she gave chase. And her father had always said to never run after a man.
He turned left into Hollingbury Road and disappeared. Regan had a stitch, but she kept going until she reached the source of the smoke, where it seemed a family barbecue had turned into a bonfire. There was no sign of Charlie. A group of people were gathered on the street.
‘Is everyone okay?’ shouted Regan, over the hubbub.
‘Yeah. Knobhead tried to get the barbie going with petrol,’ said a woman in heels, and the crowd laughed.
‘Has anyone called 999?’ The smoke was billowing now as the breeze coaxed the flames higher.
