‘But honestly, Ana – I insist.’ He smiled at her and twisted her hand over into an armlock.
‘Are you threatening me with physical violence?’
‘Yeah,’ he said.
‘Are you being a big, fat bully?’
‘Yeah,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ he said, ‘I’m really scared that if you go home on your own, your mother will persuade you that you’re a pointless piece of pond-scum again and that you’ll lock yourself in your bedroom and never come back.’
‘And who’s to say that I don’twantto lock myself in my bedroom, eh? Maybe I washappybeing pond-scum?’ She smiled and grabbed hold of his arm and began twisting it.
‘Well, if that’s the case then you can get the train. But I know it’s not the case. And I know you’re really scared about going home. And I know that, actually, you’ll feel much better about the whole thing if I’m there with you.And, besides, I’ve always wanted to have a little chat with your mother …’
‘But what about work? Surely you’ll be too busy …’
Flint shrugged and let go of Ana’s arm. ‘I’ve got another airport run tomorrow morning, but I’ll be finished by midday. We’ll be in Devon by teatime. Oooh,’ he said, smiling, ‘d’you think your mum will do a cream tea for us?’
Ana traced a fingertip over the smooth skin on the underside of Flint’s arm and smiled. ‘Yes. Without a doubt.’
‘Well, then – I’m coming whether you like it or not.’
Ana smiled at him. ‘What –again’ She got to her knees and straddled him.
He grinned at her lopsidedly and put his hands on her naked hips. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘again. And whether you like it or not.’
As they pulled up on the pavement outside Gay’s house, Flint felt a shiver go through him. For so many years, ever since he’d first met Bee, the concept of the house on Main Street had had this mythical, almost Amityville quality about it. The house where Bee had been miserable. The house where soft furnishings were treated with more respect than children and husbands. The House Where Gay Lived. In his mind’s eye it had yellowish windows, a full moon hanging above it and a wooden gate that creaked back and forth in a perpetual ghostly wind. In his mind’s eye it was 25 Cromwell Street meets the House That Bled To Death. In reality, it was a very smart, flat-fronted townhouse with a shiny red door, sash windows framing expensive-looking swagged curtains and windowboxes full of tumbling ivy and tiny topiaries.
‘You all right?’ He turned to Ana and squeezed her hand.
She exhaled and nodded. ‘I can’t believe it’s only been a week,’ she said. ‘I feel like I’ve been away for ever.’
He squeezed her hand again. ‘Ready?’
‘Uh-huh.’
Flint straightened his tie – he was still wearing his chauffeur’s uniform – and helped Ana out of the car. A middle-aged couple strolling past eating chips eyed them up and down with unashamed curiosity. ‘Hello, Anabella,’ they said.
‘Hello Anne, hello Roy,’ said Ana, hitting them with an impressively fake smile.
‘How’s your mother?’
‘Oh – she’s not too bad. I think.’
They tutted and shook their heads. ‘That poor, poor woman,’ said Anne.
‘She’s in our prayers, Anabella. Do tell her,’ said Roy.
Ana nodded at them, and they nodded at her and looked at Flint before going on their way, leaving an aroma of chip fat and vinegar in their wake.
‘Christians,’ Ana whispered in Flint’s ear.
Flint nodded.
It took a while for Gay to come for the door, but eventually they heard the sound of locks being opened and then, a few seconds later, Gay’s face appeared through a crack in the door.