Her eyes snapped open again. ‘Oh, I don’t think I should… I mean, I’ve invaded enough of your time already. You must have other things—’
‘I don’t,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘Not right now.’
‘But why would—?’
‘Because I wish I’d had someone.’ There was a pause, a moment of heaviness. ‘Someone I didn’t know. Someone who wouldn’t judge me… I won’t judge you, Anna.’
No, he wouldn’t. She knew that already. She’d known that before she’d picked up the phone this evening, hadn’t she?
So Anna talked. She told him about the day Spencer died, the darkness afterwards. She told him about the horrible time she’d had at the beach with Spencer’s family that day. And he listened. He didn’t say anything, didn’t comment, until she finally ran out of steam. ‘Sorry,’ she said again when she’d run out of words.
‘Why do you keep apologizing?’
‘Because… because normal people don’t do things like this,’ she replied.
‘Maybe they should.’
‘Even though I’m bothering you?’
‘You’re not.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not?’
‘I’d have told you if you were, and then I’d have hung up.’
Anna couldn’t help laughing. She didn’t know much about this man, but she knew enough from his direct, no-nonsense answers that this was the truth, and for some reason that made it funny.
‘You know my life story,’ she mused, ‘and I know nothing about you.’
‘Nope.’
She smiled again. ‘Apart from the fact you’re not fazed by strange women phoning you up and pouring their life stories out to you. Is it a speciality of yours?’
There was a little huff that might have accompanied a smile. ‘I have to admit that you’re the first.’
For some reason that warmed her. She sighed. ‘I should probably stop tying up your phone line. Someone else might be trying to get through.’ She imagined friends, a wife, even, getting frustrated with an electronic voice apologetically telling them this person was busy.
‘I doubt it,’ he said in that same blunt tone. ‘This is a new phone number and I haven’t given it to anyone else yet.’
‘Oh.’ Anna shifted and reached behind her so she could readjust the pillows and lean back against the headboard. ‘But it’s been almost four months since I first called. I’m the only person you’ve talked to in all that time?’
‘You’re the only human being I’ve talked to, full stop.’
‘You speak tonon-human beings?’ she blurted out, aware it was the most ridiculous response she could have offered.However, picking up the phone and dialling his number this evening had also been pretty ridiculous, so at least she was being consistent.
And then it occurred to her what he’d just said: he hadn’t talked to another soul in almost four months. That just wasn’t normal. Why hadn’t he? She’d been so focused on what she needed from him, she hadn’t even stopped to consider the truth of what she’d just told him – that she knew nothing about him. He could be in prison, in solitary confinement. That would be a very good reason not to have much social contact, wouldn’t it? He could be dangerous or psychologically disturbed. Or both. And here she was chatting away to him, telling him everything about herself.
He made a noise thatmighthave been a laugh if it hadn’t been filled with such heaviness. ‘I talk to the dog sometimes. I have to, otherwise my vocal cords might atrophy.’
Atrophy. That was a good word, wasn’t it? A clever word. This man had education, so maybe he wasn’t a psychopathic, stalking axe-murderer behind bars after all. And he had a dog. That had to say something about the kind of person he was, didn’t it?
‘Why don’t you talk to anyone?’
‘My choice. I live in the middle of nowhere. Don’t get many visitors.’
Anna frowned. Was he a liar too? ‘And yet you still get a decent mobile phone reception?’
‘It’s weak, but I have a booster that amplifies the signal. When we had a storm just before Christmas and the landline went down for the fourth time in as many months, I decided I needed a backup.’
