‘Oh, Henry,’ she whispered, her body softening under his warm embrace.
It was only meant to be a grateful hug; a thank you for being there but Henry was overcome with need and longing. He was drowning in an ocean of despair and Rita was keeping him afloat. The sweet smell of bluebells and peach shampoo caused him to lose his head. His lips brushed hers. Not innocently, but hot, fiery, passionate and demanding. He wanted to pull away before he lost himself totally in her delicious fragrance. In that moment his senses had been seduced and he could no longer think straight.
‘Rita,’ he whispered.
Rita’s heart fluttered at his voice. Never before had her name sounded so wonderful. She closed her eyes and when he kissed her, the world fell away. His mouth tasted of chocolate and was warm and soft on hers. Rita was completely unprepared. She’d spent so long watching Henry talk, laugh and smile and thought she knew all there was to know about his lips. But she hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against her own.
The ear-splitting wail of a car siren jolted Henry to his senses.
‘My God, what am I doing,’ he exclaimed. ‘Rita, forgive me.’
Rita stumbled back. The loss of Henry’s arms leaving her unsteady. She struggled to hide her disappointment.
‘Oh, Henry …’ she began, her voice thick with emotion.
‘I’m all at sea, that’s what it is,’ explained Henry.
‘Yes,’ agreed Rita, who for once didn’t agree with Henry at all.
Henry turned from her and looked out of the window.
‘It’s raining cats and dogs,’ he said with a small sigh.
Rita was still standing where Henry had left her. She didn’t know where to go. There were no other rooms to escape to. She stared at Henry’s back. His shoulders were slumped like he was carrying a dead weight on them.
Henry watched the rain and wondered how he could possibly stay the night. A policeman strolled by and Henry thought he could rush down and explain his predicament but what would be the point? The policeman wouldn’t see him. Henry would get agitated all over again and he really didn’t have the energy to get agitated any more.
‘I’ll get you a towel,’ Rita said as she rummaged through the drawers of her wardrobe.
Henry wasn’t sure he could trust himself to stay the night. Rita’s warm body was comforting, and he was in dire need of comfort. His life as he’d once known it, was dead, just like him. Life, he decided, sucks.
‘I must go home,’ he said, while every beat of his heart said, ‘I want to stay.’
Rita bowed her head and said softly. ‘I understand. I do.’
He leant forward and kissed her softly on the forehead. Rita was suddenly overcome with emotion and wished she had her hot chocolate to calm her, but it was getting cold again. It wouldn’t feel right going to bed without having the hot chocolate.
She quickly turned from Henry before he could see the tears welling up in her eyes and placed her mug again into the microwave. If she didn’t have the hot chocolate she was likely to drown in the river of her tears and that would be very embarrassing with Henry there.
‘I’d better warm this up,’ she said, switching on the power.
‘I should be off,’ said Henry, while not moving at all.
‘Yes,’ said Rita, who desperately felt the need to be alone with her tears.
‘I have to go home. There must be a way to find out why I was murdered,’ said Henry.
He didn’t want Rita to know how hopeless he really felt. That he’d reached the end of his tether. Billy was watching some kind of quiz programme now. Henry could hear the sound of the buzzer when the contestants hurried to answer. The sound of it made him quite overemotional. It was a programme he and Imogen use to watch together. Henry usually got most of the answers. He wondered what day it was. He’d lost track. Was Imogen still upset? He should have stayed at the house. It’s funny, thought Henry, that the sound of a quiz show should have such a profound effect on him. The air was thick with the scent of hot chocolate. The cosiness of it coupled with the sounds of the quiz show brought tears to Henry’s eyes. He hadn’t deserved to be murdered, and by drowning too. That was a horrible way to die. He’d rather Imogen had stabbed him like those female murderers in those true crime programmes he and Imogen sometimes watched. Henry wondered if perhaps that was where Imogen got the idea from. They say television is a big influence on the public. He dismissed the idea immediately and apportioned all the blame onto Jim.
‘Lazy good for nothing,’ he muttered.
Rita stared at him, confusion etched on her face.
‘Jim,’ he explained.
She nodded and sipped the scalding chocolate.
‘I’ll be off,’ he said, pulling on his soggy coat.
