I close it behind me as an unholy racket strikes up. Dogs—dozens of them, by the sounds of things—bark a discordant frenzy. They’re either very excited to see Eve or about to tear her apart. I begin after her, running—skidding, thanks to the wet ground and the leather soles of my shoes.
Bloody English weather. Bloody women, throwing themselves in harm’s way—
“Shut the fuck up!”
I almost halt at the sergeant major–like tenor of a woman’s voice.
“What the hell are you doing, setting them off?”
I round a corner to find an older woman, Nora presumably, standing over Eve, who is sitting on the wet concrete, being mauled by a large, fluffy teddy bear. Or a large, fluffy teddy bear’s tongue.
“Eww, Bo,” Eve complains laughingly. “No face kisses—I don’t know where your tongue has been!”
On second glance, the teddy bear appears to be a dog. If my tailor could see the muddy paws on his masterpiece of a jacket, he’d probably faint.
“He hasn’t had his tongue on his nuts. Not since you chopped ’em off,” mutters the other woman—her accent is pure East End, her tone a husky twenty-a-day habit. She has steel gray hair that looks like wire wool and wears faded jeans, the legs half-obscured by black Wellington boots. The woman leans down against the shovel she holds. “If I was him, I wouldn’t give you the time of day.” She pushes a sleeve of her puddle-brown cardigan to her elbow. “What you doing ’ere, anyway?”
“You talking to me or Mr. Bojangles?” Eve asks without looking up.
“I know what he’s doing here. The little shit has escaped his run again. I ain’t never had a dog that could climb fences like a squirrel,” she says. “You, what are you doing here, girl?” Her thick accent renders the wordgel. “Why ain’t you on your honeymoon?”
Eve turns my way, her cheeks flushed. If she’s thinking about kisses, I hope she’s remembering mine rather than the dog’s more recent attempts.
“I had a change of heart.”
“So I see.” The woman’s mouth pinches, her eyes skimming over me in an uncomplimentary way. “Change of Heart gotta name?”
“Oliver Deubel.” My name rings across the small yard, and I’m almost certain the woman curses under her breath.
“Oliver, this is Nora.”
“A toff, Evie,” the woman laments. “Where’d you pick ’im up?”
“It was more the other way around.” She murmurs her response into the dog’s fluffy pelt. “Oliver was my escape.”
“Men.” The word leaves the woman’s mouth likebah!“Rich men.” She eyes me like I smell offensive. “His type will bring you no joy.”
I spike a brow. Saturday night was the embodiment of joy. It strikes me that joy might be part of the reason I’m pursuing her.A welcome, secondary reason.I know she feels it. I see it in the ways she looks at me. Even when she seems like she doesn’t know whether to hug or strangle me.
“Don’t I know.” Eve chuckles unhappily. “But don’t let that accent fool you. Oliver here is the salt of the earth. Or was it moresalt the earth?”
My mouth twists, though her assertion reminds me of my purpose today. Why do I find it so easy to become sidetracked by her?
“Anyway, it’s not like that. Oliver here helped me escape.” She smiles sadly as she stands. “Things didn’t go quite to plan on Saturday.”
The woman frowns. “I warned you that Mitchell was ten pounds of shit in a five-pound container.”
“I know you did,” Eve responds in the kind of tone that suggests this isn’t the first conversation of this kind.
“More dick in his personality than I bet he has in his pants.” She pauses as though awaiting confirmation.
“You made that clear too. Try not to be offended,” Eve says, turning briefly my way. “It’s not just men. Nora is an equal opportunity hater. Isn’t that right?”
“People.” She sniffs. “Only good for spare parts.”
“Speaking of parts ...” I push the dog away as he sticks his nose into my crotch.
“Don’t be flattered,” Eve says. “Bo isn’t very selective.”
