Page 67

‘I think the line’s clear now,’ Temperance mumbled, the wind taken out of her sails. Abel untwisted the pipe and moved over to the new barrel. ‘Could she not make it then: Cass?’

His eyes flicked up at her. ‘I told you: we’re not serious. Besides, I didn’t think I was coming until last week, until you all ganged up on me.’

Fury puffed up Temperance’s cheeks. ‘I didn’t do anything! Jesus. Sorry for asking just an innocent question.’

Abel snatched a beer glass of the shelf behind him and turned on the tap in the new barrel, drawing out a few inches of beer. ‘Here,’ he thrust the glass in Temperance’s direction.

‘Oh, peace offering, is it? I graciously accept your apology.’ She curtsied, taking the beer and swilling back a mouthful.

‘Nope. Just needed to test the barrel and I didn’t want to be guinea pig,’ A cheeky flash of the teenage Abel lit up his face with a smile for a split second.

She smacked her lips. ‘Charming!’ But she couldn’t stop herself smiling back in response to his very brief show of warmth. ‘Tastes OK to me.’

‘Good.’ He started screwing on the hose.

Temperance didn’t really know what to do with herself while he worked. She suddenly felt totally incongruous in her skin-tight fifties pin-up outfit, her red lipstick and winged eyeliner. Like she was a supermarket egg who’d stuck on some plastic gemstones and fancied herself a Faberge. Abel would see through it all – he knew who she really was. The girl who always had sand in her scalp from beach cartwheeling; the teen who’d tried to ‘style up’ her own goth fishnets and ripped one leg clean off.

She thought about making an excuse to go first and leave him to it, but she didn’t want to give Abel the impression that he was actually succeeding in bothering her, that his wall of grump was actually an obstacle in her day.

‘Done,’ he muttered, standing up and brushing his hands off on the back of his thighs. He kept his gaze on the wine racks behind her. ‘We should get back. After you.’ He motioned towards the door.

Temperance twisted the old ceramic handle. Nothing. She yanked her elbow back sharply. Not budging. ‘Of course,’ she said to herself.

Abel sighed behind her shoulder and leaned over, nudging her out of the way. ‘Here. Give it a bit of muscle.’ She picked up the smell of him again as he moved near: honey on almost-burnt toast, salty seawater.

Temperance stepped backwards, feeling the rough stone wall on her bare skin. Although she tried not to pay attention to how Abel’s jaw clenched, how the muscles in his forearms jumped into action as he heaved at the door, there was hardly anything else to watch, seeing as she was squeezed into a tiny galley with him.

‘What?’ he spat. ‘No, we can’t be . . .’ He pulled and pulled but the ancient wooden door wasn’t even creaking.

‘It must have expanded after the rain last night,’ Temperance offered.

He glared at her, as if she’d drawn up the weather report herself to cause just this problem.

‘We have to get out,’ Abel said gravelly. He kept yanking and yanking for another five minutes before kicking at the door and throwing his hands into his hair. ‘Perfect!’

If Temperance had been looking for a final summary of just how much Abel Gulliver disliked her, before he packed his bags for the city again, this would have done the job nicely. The idea of being cooped up in a cellar with her made him want to tear his hair out. But Temperance fought back against the cold, clammy feeling behind her ribs. ‘At least we have plenty to drink,’ she said lamely.

‘It’s not funny!’ His face was pale.

‘I didn’t say it was!’

He strode back to the door, pummelling it with both fists. ‘Hello! Hey! We’re stuck! We need to get out.’

Temperance grimaced. ‘Susie might still be on tour guide duty, or already outside with the others.’

Abel growled and squeezed his eyes closed.

‘Alright, calm down. I’m not infectious or anything. Ten minutes won’t kill you.’

At the mention of ten minutes, his eyes pinged open, as if she’d said ‘three millennia’ instead. ‘It could be longer than that, you don’t know.’

A realisation suddenly jabbed Temperance painfully: what if this was the doom? What if it was sealing them into the pub so they’d be cooked slowly while a wildfire took the village and everyone in it? Temperance pressed her hands against her sides to stop them shaking. ‘You could be right.’

‘Let’s do it together, OK?’ He nodded her over to where he was standing.

Temperance walked closer, the fitted dress only really allowing her to take small, sauntering steps.

Abel cleared his throat. ‘You touch it first. The knob. The door knob,’ he stuttered.