Isla sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. Yes, I’m good. Just a little nervous. I want it to go well for him. He was in a really bad place last time. Mentally and physically. Oh Jesus, it can’t get much fucking worse thanthis.”
Amil leant across and patted the back of her hand. “It’s alright, Sarge. I’m here with you.”
And as Johnny glanced between them, he realised that they were actually a lot closer than either of them let on.
Just then, a door opened into the corridor and three people stepped out. Isla and Amil stood immediately, brushing off their clothes and nodding at each other.
Because there he was. Reuben Atkinson.
He had handcuffs around his wrists, a long chain hanging between them like a fucking dog. He was clutching a drink in a paper cup, sipping from it as a man and a woman gripped both of his shoulders.
Johnny blinked, feeling Taylor tense at his side.
Ru looked… Johnny couldn’t describe it. Strangelynormal, for a murderer.
His shaved hair was a dull brown, and he had big, dark eyes that looked unnaturally blank. He was skinny, his bony cheeks and sharp chin giving him a dramatic profile beneath his washed-out skin.
But then he did something odd. Something that made Johnny’s breath catch.
He smiled.
A genuine, warm smile that lit up every inch of his face. It was directed at Isla, of course, but it made something tug at Johnny’s heart. Something aching and regretful. He wanted to hate him, truly, but then their eyes met for the briefest of moments, sending a shiver through Johnny’s entire body.
Taylor gripped his hand, bumping him with his knee. Johnny let out a breath, bumping back.
Clearing her throat, Isla smoothed the front of her jeans. “Hello, Ru,” she said, stepping towards the bars.
Ru’s smile brightened. “Hello,” he replied, voice so soft it was almost lost in the hum of the air conditioning. He lifted the paper cup to his lips as if to drink, but then lowered it again. “Would you like a hot chocolate?”
Isla’s hand drifted to Amil’s arm, as though she was steadying herself. “That would be lovely,” she replied, nodding gently. A look of determination pulled across her face as she turned to Johnny and Taylor and said, “See you on the other side?”
Johnny nodded, squeezing Taylor’s hand. “Yeah. See you on the other side.”
EPILOGUE
Taylor
Three Months Later
Warm air blastedacross Taylor’s face as he stepped into La Fourchette. It was damned cold outside, and as he wiped his nose across the back of his hand he was pretty sure he had icicles hanging from his nostrils.
After scraping his muddy boots on the mat, he stretched and slung his jacket over the coat rack.
Chatter and music hit him like a wall of noise, and waitstaff hurried past with stacked trays. The restaurant was booming as usual, and he found that the sensory overload tickled his brain in a comforting way.
“Man alive, I’m tired,” he sighed, the parquet floor squeaking as he strode towards the bar.
“Taytay!” came a high-pitched squeal, followed by the thud of Marty’s feet as he barrelled head first like a fucking rhino into Taylor’s chest. Marty threw his arms around him, and as Taylor buried his nose in the top of his head, he could have sworn he’d hadanothergrowth spurt.
“Evening, buddy,” he said, squeezing him tight. “Good day at school?”
Marty beamed up at him, gripping his hand as he tugged him towards the bar. Johnny was mixing drinks in a black sleeveless shirt, and holyhell,the way it made his arms look was actually criminal. He glanced up, giving Taylor a lopsided smile.
“Yep!” Marty replied. “We made Diwali lamps from clay. Look!” Shoving Gabriella aside, Marty reached across the bar and handed Taylor a purple and green blob with a tea light sticking from the top. “Namaste,” he said, nodding sagely and slapping his hands together whilst standing on one foot like a monk.
“Amazing,” Taylor replied, eyeing the so-called lamp.
“It’s for you,” Johnny said, poking out his tongue. “To put on your desk at work.”
