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‘I’m sorry.’ He breaks into my sleepiness with his raspy apology in my ear, snuggling deeper into me. The heat he’s kicking off is both comforting and stifling.
‘For what?’
‘For being a twat. For making you feel so desperate that you walked away from me.’
I smile, holding him to me. My head has been in some pretty strange places throughout the night. Scary places. Worrying places. But I’m enough for him. It’s what I’ve told myself repeatedly. Yet I know Becker will still get his vengeance, just in a different way. He’ll continue to rip off Brent Wilson. It’s like his own private satisfaction, since he can’t have the gratification and recognition of finding the missing treasure. I can’t help but feel happy to let him have that.
‘Thank you,’ he says above me, stroking my hair on a sigh. He lifts a little, his hands taking mine to above my head. ‘Thank you for loving me when I didn’t want you to,’ he says, searching my eyes. ‘Thank you for staying when I tried to force you away. Thank you for making me hurt so badly when you left me.’ He winces, like he’s remembering that feeling. I hope he is. ‘And thank you for knowing me better than I know myself,’ he finishes softly, sinking his face into my neck. ‘My search is over, because I’ve found what I need.’
I close my eyes, and we lay there for an age, wrapped in each other’s naked embrace, both of us quiet, until Becker starts to chuckle, knocking me out of my daydream as he emerges from his hiding place in my neck. ‘What?’ I ask, as I gaze up at him.
He puts his finger to his lip. ‘Shhhh . . .’ he hushes. ‘Listen.’
My ears prick up and my eyes dart, listening carefully. It’s silent. I’m just about to question him again, but then I hear something. Becker’s smile stretches, and I search the room, confused. The wet-sounding snort comes again, and Becker starts to unravel our tangled limbs. He gets up and wanders casually out of the bedroom area to the door of his apartment. My eyes are presented with their usual predicament when Becker’s naked and with his back to me, but it’s his tattoo that gets my attention today. It’s glowing at me, as if reminding me of its presence and how it came to be there, but I zoom in on the small empty space in the centre that’s been the bane of Becker’s life, shaking my head at the thought of Mr H keeping it from his grandson all this time. Becker could find the sculpture now, if it’s there to be found. Can it be found?
Eleanor!
My returned curiosity starts to play games with me. It’s caught me off guard. So has the flutter of excitement that’s just sprung into my tummy – excitement that I fight with everything I have to push away. Oh my God, what is wrong with me? It’s like there’s a little devil on my shoulder, one that’s trying to tempt me into stupidity. Go away!
I quickly shake myself back into the real world, watching as Becker opens the door and immediately stands back. I don’t have time to cover myself with the sheets. Winston bolts across the space and launches his stocky body onto the bed.
‘Whoa!’ I fall to my back and accept his attack, his tongue all over my face, his paws trampling over my naked body. ‘Winston,’ I laugh, trying to fight the burly beast off. ‘Winston, get off me!’
I hear Becker laughing as he returns and joins us on the bed, pulling at Winston’s collar. ‘Come on, get down.’
But the bulldog is having none of it, and I recoil, as does Becker, when he growls and bares his teeth.
‘Hey,’ Becker warns, keeping his distance. ‘Get off the bed.’
Woof!
‘Don’t shout at me,’ Becker bellows back.
Woof!
‘No!’
Woof!
‘Forget it.’ Becker bravely swoops in and grabs Winston’s collar, then proceeds to wrestle him from the bed, while I sit up against the headboard, smiling my amusement. Winston puts up a good fight. He clearly hasn’t learned who’s boss, but he’s quickly revealed that he’s all bark and no bite. ‘Didn’t think so,’ Becker grunts smugly, guiding him away from the bed. ‘Now, sit.’
Winston looks to me, like he’s searching for some guidance as to whether he should obey his owner. It cracks me up. ‘Sit, boy,’ I say, laughing, and he immediately does, making Becker bark his annoyance.
‘You listen to me, you daft dog. Stay.’ Becker’s bare feet thump the floor as he makes his way back to the bed, constantly checking behind him to make sure his wayward pet is staying put. I bite my lip, watching Winston follow Becker’s every pace with his droopy eyes, a definite curl of his jowly lip. And I stay still as Becker gets on the bed and inches towards me, keeping a close eye on his dog, worried that he might spring into psychotic mode at any moment. He takes my arm, and Winston lets out a low grumble.
