Martyn’s involvement with buses was news to Honor but maybe he drove a tour bus? It would explain why he was away from home for a few days at a time. ‘I just rent my place from his sister.’
‘I saw you out running with him.’
‘Yeah, we did, once. He nearly killed me because he’s super fit. I’m not dating him or anything.’ Definitely no ‘anything’.
Ru nodded. ‘That’s good, because Mum’s got a thing about him. She can get . . . intense.’
‘Oh-kay.’ Unease slithered down her spine. She hadn’t really considered Robina’s stalky tendencies. ‘Isn’t she quite a lot older than him?’
‘S’pose. She’s not bothered about things like that.’ His forehead settled into lines that he seemed awfully young to have.
Honor felt bad for him. ‘Thanks for the heads up. So, what are you going to tell Frog, when he asks about the cops?’
He shrugged. It seemed the gesture most familiar to him.
‘Tell him a tourist made a complaint,’ Honor suggested. ‘Just say something like, “I didn’t know I’d hurt him” and refuse to give details. It’ll be just enough to make him wonder.’
He managed a smile. ‘OK. Thanks.’
Honor wished she could come up with something better to stop Frog picking on Ru. Although creating a badass reputation seemed a good idea in principle and it had worked for Stef, who rarely had to get physical to keep trouble at arm’s length, she wasn’t really sure how to go about it.
Chapter Nine
Martyn liked where he lived. It didn’t sound glamorous to say that his place was over shops, but as Starboard Walk was right at the sea end of The Butts he had a fantastic view over the cliffs to the Channel. The small block had been renovated specifically to appeal to those discerning enough to patronise Belinda’s hat shop, Holistic Harmony, a nice Italian restaurant and an upmarket confectioners, the kind that sold sugared almonds in cellophane tied with curly gold ribbon.
He liked the black iron external stairway that ran down past the flint-studded walls at one end of the block and the black iron balcony that bellied out at the other, with enough room for him to sit with the occasional beer and watch the waves and the road disappearing east towards Peacehaven or west to Saltdean, Rottingdean and Brighton.
Before he let himself out on Saturday morning, he did a quick check of the car park from his bedroom. And there was Robina, hanging idly around as if looking for something. He stepped back as she looked up. Waited until, with one last look, she wandered off with thatlife has disappointed melook.
To give her time to get clear, he opened his laptop and spent twenty minutes on Facebook, before he set off on his favourite run along the undercliff to Rottingdean; it didn’t matter if it wasn’t early because the day didn’t threaten to be hot. An army of ragged white clouds marched before a scurrying breeze but it didn’t feel as if rain was on the way. He’d lived all his life on this cliff top, and knew.
Locking the door, he turned to run down the iron stairway only to find Clarissa on her way up. ‘Oh cra — Hello,’ he said.
She gave him A Look but didn’t comment on his unenthusiastic greeting. ‘I was hoping to catch you. Could you please call on our American friend?’
Oh. ‘If you need me to.’ He put the slightest stress on the wordneed.
Clarissa’s sharpened gaze told him that she hadn’t missed the emphasis. ‘Not if you’ve got a full day,’ she said, evenly.
‘Running and volleyball. Then I have to talk to Ace.’
Clarissa’s nose wrinkled. She had never met Ace Smith but disdained as an affectation his having rearranged his name from Jason, through Jace, to Ace. But if you were a Smith, you had to do something if you wanted to be memorable, in Martyn’s view.
‘So does that count as a full day?’
He debated staying where he was, towering above her, but decided it was unnecessarily combatant — exactly the trait he disliked in her — so jumped down several steps until their eyes were level. He even managed a smile. ‘How about you tell me what it is you need help with and then I’ll tell you whether I can do it?’
When she returned his smile, ten years fled her face. ‘It’s that brilliant digital thermostat thingy that Duncan put in at the bungalow. Honor “cain’t figyure it out”.’ She put on a horrible American accent that owed more to Jesse James than to Honor’s musical New England syllables. ‘It’s an uncooperative thing and you have to get it into a certain mode before the water will heat without the radiators.’ She pulled a pamphlet from her pocket. ‘I found the instructions. I’ve been asked to take on a tap class in Hove or I would have gone myself. The instructor is ill and I might be able to keep the class permanently, if I get them out of a hole, now.’
‘OK.’ He took the instruction leaflet and slid it into the pocket on the front of his sweatshirt. He supposed his path was bound to keep crossing with Honor’s, what with Clarissa being her landlady and a pain in his backside. Prickly Clarissa. She was all attitude. Why couldn’t she have explained about the classfrom the start instead of trying to guilt him into helping by hinting he had nothing else to do?
‘Thanks.’ She checked her watch and turned towards her white VW Beetle with pink-and-lilac heart decals streaming along the doors. She took dance classes at some funky gyms and thought it made her look cool, but the car didn’t suit her. A Hummer would better reflect her personality, capable of barging past everything in her way.
As she drove off, he performed his stretches at the foot of the iron stairway, tightening his laces whilst he held position. Then he jogged along the pavement, over the crossing, across the grass and down the steps to the broad concrete promenade at the foot of the cliffs.
Setting the stopwatch on his watch, he set off, letting his stride lengthen, running smoothly, avoiding the litter of chalky rocks at the foot of the cliff lying in wait to twist the ankles of the unwary. The rhythm of his stride was as natural to him as his heartbeat.
Uh-oh. There she was, on a bench.
