‘Trust me. Robina’s love for me is no more real than the word “relationshippy” is.’
Finally, Honor turned the key. ‘Trustme. Both are real in her mind. I can’t explain how uncomfortable it makes me.’
He walked back along Marine Drive telling himself that she was right not to have invited him in. He’d told her he stayed away from other men’s wives; she’d told him that she was married.
End of.
Endof. Except here she was living under his nose and getting under his skin. And there was no actual husband to be seen . . .
He rounded the corner in The Butts, feeling for his keys. For a moment he hesitated, looking across the road at where the Fig Leaf’s burning bright windows were open to allow the sound of laughter to lift on to the evening breeze. The idea of strolling in and leaning on the bar for an hour was hugely tempting. Therewas always someone he knew, someone who would laugh and chat and be undemanding.
But last time he’d gone in for a quiet beer Robina had paid the girl behind the bar to take him over a drink, like in some cheesy movie. So he’d ended up standing there with a drink in each hand, feeling conspicuous and uncomfortable. And Robina had winked at him, which had made people snigger.
He turned across the car park. And then halted. Stared into the black shadow behind the straggly line of bushes that, to someone’s mind, constituted the landscaping of the area, positive he’d seen movement. Fuck’s sake. Robina? Frog?
He stared into the darkness in silence, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. And, as hesitant as a bird, Rufus Gordon stepped into view.
Martyn frowned, not letting himself relax. ‘I thought I’d seen you home.’
Ru nodded. He put his hands in his pockets and scuffed his feet.
‘So what are you hanging around for?’
‘I’m not waiting for you.’
‘So who are you waiting for?’
Ru scuffed his feet again. His trainers looked overlarge for his skinny legs. ‘Not anyone. It was you came charging around the corner. Made me jump.’
Martyn stared at him, tapping his keys against his leg, trying to work out what was going on. ‘Did Robina send you?’
Ru looked up, startled. Wounded. ‘No!’ He turned away. ‘I’m not here for anything, OK? I just don’t want to be there. I’m on my way down to the beach.’
Martyn’s conscience pricked. ‘Have you had a row with your mum?’
Ru slowed. Shrugged. ‘Kind of.’
‘Was it anything to do with you coming here, earlier tonight?’
Ru swung back. ‘I told you I wouldn’t tell herand so I didn’t. OK? Just take a chill pill, will you? Not everything’s about you.’
Unwillingly, Martyn laughed. He let his shoulders unbunch. ‘Sorry. So what’s the problem?’
‘It’ll blow over.’
Perversely, now Martyn wanted to prevent Ru from melting into the night. Unhappiness radiated from the kid like a bad smell. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?’
Ru looked up at the stars that were just beginning to prick through the sky. He shook back his hair. Finally, he muttered, ‘Crusty came out of hospital a day early and Mum and Soppy got drunk on Malibu, to celebrate. Crusty went to bed, probably feeling like shit and wishing she was back in hospital, and Mum and Soppy are being really stupid. They’re dying their hair and they wanted to dye mine, too; coming into my room and getting hold of my arms and trying to drag me into the kitchen, giggling like twats. Mum got really stressed because I wouldn’t do it. Screeching at me.’
Martyn’s lips twitched. ‘Crusty and Soppy?’
‘Kirsty and Sophie,’ Ru clarified impatiently. ‘Who live with us.’
‘Yes, I know who you mean. So what colour did they want to do your hair?’
Ru began scuffing again. ‘Flamingo.’
A pause. ‘Like . . . pink?’
