“He must have had them lining up down the street.”
“Oh, of course.” She gave another of her sad smiles.
“Thank you for telling me that, Katrina,” I said sincerely. “I hope the fresh start in Lilbury will be helpful for you. For all its quirks, I decided to stay here after Tarquin and all that, and I’m glad that I did.”
“Yes,” she said. “Lilbury’s been just what I needed.” She smiled. “I like you, Arden. You’re one of the good ones. I’m glad you haven’t got too mixed up in all this nasty business. Best you keep it that way.”
She put the photo of her son back down, and his eyes looked up at me as his mother fussed, tending to my wounds.
Chapter 20
Have you ever been knocked off your feet by a speeding car? No? Well, I can tell you now, it fucking hurts. In fact, it hurts more the next day. So much so that the very thought of getting out of bed is too much for you. Especially when you haven’t trained your dog yet to bring you food and painkillers.
Kennedy dropped the cat he’d carried up the stairs in his mouth at my feet and looked proud of himself. Roosevelt hissed and fled back downstairs.
“Ugh” was my answer to that situation.
Both my arms were bruised and swollen. My right elbow hurt too much to bend, and the grazes on my left arm and leg seemed to catch on everything and feel like the skin was being ripped off.
I gave up on being conscious and decided Tuesday would be better. I should have known.
Bang bang bang.
“Oh, come on,” I begged the gods in heaven above. “You have got to be kidding me?” I rolled over in bed and was glad that it mostly didn’t hurt anymore.
“FUCK OFF!” I yelled in the direction of the front of my house. Whoever was knocking, I didn’t want to see them.
My bedroom window was open, and I heard my name being called. “Arden? Are you awake?” came Simon’s voice.
Oh, no. He was the absolute last person I wanted to speak to. He wasn’t going away, though, was he? I harrumphed and threw back the covers. It was late, already well into mid-morning, and I was in no mood for visitors or for doing things. I took my time opening the door. I went to the loo, brushed my teeth, and kept him waiting. If the prick was going to turn up at my houseevery fucking day with no bloody warning, he could learn to be patient.
Eventually, I deigned to open the door. No running gear today. He was back in those clingy skinny jeans and a blue polo shirt, which had capped sleeves and – goddammit – emphasised how huge his upper arms were.
“I don’t want to see you or talk to you or … see you, did I say that already? Anyway, whatever, we’re not speaking.” I went to close the door.
Simon, being much stronger than I was, stopped me from doing that and peered in at me. “It’s all over the village that you got hit by a car. Katrina told Roz at the shop, and now everyone knows. I had three people tell me about it this morning on my run. Odette thinks you were dogging.”
I rolled my eyes. “It was a case of mistaken identity.”
He frowned. “It … it was on purpose?”
“I’m an enigma wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in … something else, Parma ham? I don’t know. I forget that quote,” I snapped.
“Are you okay, though?”
I shrugged. “Nothing to worry about.” I went to shut the door again. Simon kept himself in the way. “Fine, come in, why don’t you?”
I walked off and left him to it. I needed coffee.
“You’re limping.”
“I got hit by a car,” I reminded him through gritted teeth. “It’s fine, as soon as I’m fully awake, it’ll probably subside.”
“We need to talk about the other night.”
“Oh, do we?” I answered in a sneery tone. “What, so I can hear more lies? Frankly, Simon, I’m not in the mood. You asked me for my help. I gave you my help. When push came to shove, you weren’t interested in telling me what was going on.”
“I went to see Jed yesterday.”
