Page 62 of We Chase Shadows

Tony is right. He might.

But, if he does, Felicity, cradling her lover’s face, his tears on her fingers, swears she will be waiting for him.

‘Don’t tell Steve I cried,’ says Tony.

‘What would he say?’ says Felicity. ‘He’d understand.’

‘I know he’d understand,’ says Tony. ‘I just don’t want him to worry.’

Felicity holds Tony and lets him weep. ‘So this is what you were thinking about? Not invisibility?’

Tony sniffs. ‘Honestly, I’ve been thinking about both. Can I ask you a question?’

‘Of course,’ says Felicity. ‘Anything.’

‘While I was crying, did I see Martin Clunes with a gun?’

‘You did,’ says Felicity.

‘What’s he up to, then?’ asks Tony. ‘Something.’

‘Yes, something,’ agrees Felicity.

Felicity strokes his hair again and decides that answering phones is no longer enough. Nobody hurts Tony Taylor and gets away with it.

32

It is hot in Palm Springs.

It is so hot that Steve has just taken his denim jacket off.

He hasn’t gone so far as to join Rosie and Amy in the pool, despite Rosie’s pleas. Get a man in a pool and you’re ninety per cent of the way to getting him naked. Sure, you’re still missing some important information, but you get a good idea.

Rosie lies on a lounger submerged in the pool, under an umbrella fixed into the pool. Amy lies next to her looking disgustingly fit. Her face is hidden under a splayed copy of And the Devil Blinked First. Amy had been reading it on the plane, and Rosie had pretended not to be touched. Steve is drinking a Diet Sprite under an awning.

If Amy is enjoying the book, surely other young people might enjoy it? There will be more sales figures through next week. If they’re bad, then Rosie is in trouble. Maybe they’ll be good? Hard to imagine bad news in this house, under this sun.

The house belongs to Rosie’s friends, Craig and Craig. They are not here ‘because it’s August, darling, and August is Toronto’.

The sky above is brilliant blue, the mountains in the distance a dusty pink, the parasols and loungers are vibrant yellows and greens, and Steve’s T-shirt is a dark grey, with even darker grey patches under the arms.

‘What does he do?’ asks Steve. ‘Craig?’

‘Which Craig?’ Rosie asks. ‘It really is cool in the pool, you know?’

‘The main Craig,’ says Steve. ‘The richer Craig?’

‘He designs furniture,’ says Rosie.

‘How do you mean?’ asks Steve.

‘What do you mean, “How do I mean”?’ says Rosie.

‘How does someone design furniture?’ says Steve. ‘A table’s a table, isn’t it?’

‘You can have different types of table,’ says Amy, from under her book.

‘I know that,’ says Steve. ‘But once you’ve had a big table and a small table and a medium table, and a table made out of wood and a table made out of metal, what else is there to do?’