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He went upstairs to get changed.
“I’m sorry,” Rainne said through sobs.
It seemed that the only things she did these days were cry or apologise.
“Come here,” Alastair said, and pulled her in through the door of his tiny house.
“Who is it?” his flatmate Stephen shouted from the kitchen.
“Rainne,” Alastair called back.
Rainne was about to say that she would leave, that she couldn’t face anyone else.
“We’ll be in my room,” Alastair shouted.
He took her hand and led her up the narrow staircase. At the top were two doors. He opened the one on the left. Rainne hesitated on the threshold.
“It’s okay,” he said, and tugged her gently inside.
The walls were grey, the curtains were standard rental house brown and the carpet was a colour she couldn’t describe. The closest she could come was baby-poop green. There was a double bed wedged in the corner under the sloping roof, an old wooden wardrobe, a desk covered with fishing gear and a laptop sitting on a chair. The place was surprisingly clean and tidy.
“Sit down,” he said.
She looked around but didn’t know where to sit. The bed seemed like the wrong place.
“Ah, okay, wait a minute,” Alastair told her.
He disappeared. She heard pounding on the stairs, then he reappeared with a large beanbag. He plopped it in the middle of the poop-coloured carpet.
“Sit, I’ll get soup. Stephen made potato.”
Then he was gone again.
Rainne lowered herself onto the beanbag and instantly felt better. No matter where they’d lived growing up, she’d always had a beanbag. It felt comforting and familiar. Brushing a tear from her cheek, she studied the room. The posters on the walls were science-fiction-based, mainly Star Trek, and from her position close to the floor she could see that the space under the bed was stuffed with books. It made her smile. Alastair was a geek.
“Here,” he said as he entered the room. “This will make you feel better.”
He handed her a large mug filled with steaming potato soup. Then put a plate with bread and a spoon beside her. She picked up the spoon and stirred the soup. Alastair crouched in front of her. He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, but he didn’t say anything. More silent tears slid down Rainne’s cheeks. She was so incredibly lost.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” she said in a small voice she didn’t recognise.
“You came to the right place.” His voice was so strong and soothing.
“I don’t always cry,” she said to her soup.
“Good to know.”
It sounded like a smile in his voice. Rainne felt herself relax for the first time in weeks. She looked up into her boy’s eyes and nothing else mattered. Somehow she knew, in those few seconds, that Alastair would make everything better.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lake wasn’t stupid. If he planned to get through the days before the relaunch of his shop without further sabotage, then he needed to know what Kirsty was up to. He waited patiently until the early hours of the morning, when people were in their deepest sleep, to act. Carrying a torch, a knife and his iPhone, he crept around to the back door of Kirsty’s shop. One swipe of his knife and the door was open. He shook his head in disgust. She needed to get better locks; a kid could break into this place.
Years of training enabled him to move silently through the office space. There was no noise from the flat above him. Kirsty was sound asleep. He was surprised to find that she was designing her own lingerie. Surprised and kind of impressed. He fingered one of the bras. They were pretty. He shook his head to clear it. Spending all his time around lingerie, and mad women, was affecting his brain.
He rifled through the desk, making sure that everything was put back exactly where he found it. He smiled when he came across her plans for a Christmas fashion show. Now that was interesting. He could do something with that. He booted up the laptop and wasn’t even surprised to see that there was no password to protect it. Her browser bookmarked her bank account and, lo and behold, she’d let the browser save her password. He cursed under his breath as one click let him have access to her financial information. He seriously had to do something about this woman. She was completely vulnerable; anyone could come in and rip her off.
Her bank details made for grim reading. She was in a worse spot than he was. Looking around him, he couldn’t figure out why that was. She had a nice shop, good merchandise and a decent business plan. As far as he could see there was no reason she shouldn’t be raking in the cash. It didn’t make any sense. He clicked on the other bookmarked site and grinned—her new website. He’d heard rumours. Obviously, it was now up and running. The visitor counter at the bottom of the page read thirteen. He cringed. She wasn’t going to sell through the site if no one was looking at it.
