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I sigh.
‘Honestly, I don’t know that much yet. It’s only just happened.’
But I tell him everything I know so far about the death of poor Jane Holland, and my upcoming return visit to the police station tomorrow morning, and when I’ve finished he shakes his head slowly.
‘Mary, you can’t risk it now. Not after this. I know the threat to “Mary in Cheltenham” isn’t for a while, and yes, yes, before you say it, I know we don’t know for definite that it’syou. But you need to start making plans, OK? And, as I’ve said before, this is whatI’ddo: why not just get on a plane to somewhere nice and hot at the end of March, and not tell anyone where you’re going? I’ll come with you, in fact. I could do with a holiday.’
I pick up my wine glass and take a sip, then another.
‘I don’t know, Pete. Not yet. I’ve thought about it, of course I have. Maybe go abroad, yes. Or maybe the police can sort of take me into custody or something on the 1st of April. Put me in a nice safehouse for twenty-four hours, where nobody can get me?’
He frowns at this.
‘Maybe,’ he says slowly. ‘I’ll come there with you too, if you like. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I think I’m more nervous about this than you are.’
I reach out and touch his hand.
‘You’re sweet. Look, it’ll be OK. I’m sure the police will protect me if it comes to it. Well, once they starttrustingme; at the moment they’re clearly still a bit suspicious I might have something to do with it all. Hopefully when they check out my alibi for New Year’s Eve that will reassure them. And they might catch him quickly, who knows? There’s ages yet. A month until poor David in Cardiff, whoever he is. And two months until the Cheltenham threat. So let’s not panic. Iamnervous, of course I am. I felt completely freaked out when I heard the news about Jane. But at leastIknow what might be coming. She didn’t. So I’ve got a massive advantage. Stop worrying, OK? And remember, don’t breathe a word, to anyone.’
He shakes his head, mouth set in a grim line.
‘Iwon’t, I told you. But you’re my best mate, Mary Ellis. I love you. Of course I’m going to bloody worry. You’ve been through tough times before though, haven’t you, and come out the other side? So I’ll keep the faith. Don’t let me down, right?’
‘I won’t let you down. Love you too,’ I whisper, suddenly feeling a little tearful, and he takes a big stride towards me and pulls me in for a hug.
‘Anything you want me to do, just shout,’ he murmurs into my hair.
‘Can you pour me another glass of wine?’ I mumble back, and he laughs and lets me go, heading for the fridge again with a cheeky wiggle of his bottom which makes me laugh too. After dinner though – Pete serves up a yummy, spicy chicken arrabiata – I start feeling jumpy again, and retire to my room on the top floor to try to call Lucinda. She’s one of my oldest friends, one of the very few people I’ve kept in touch with from back in my teenage years, but I don’t see her very often because she’s a zoologist, and now lives in Africa. Over the past few years she’s worked on a lion conservation project in Zimbabwe and at a gorilla sanctuary in Uganda, and now she’s just signed up for a year at a wilderness centre in Botswana, helping a team who are monitoring changes in the wildlife population in the Okavango Delta. It sounds incredible, and I know she loves her job, but it does mean I can’t speak to her as often as I’d like to; her mobile phone signal can be patchy, to say the least. Tonight, I manage to get hold of her for about ninety seconds, so the conversation doesn’t involve much other than ‘how’s it going out there?’ and ‘I miss you!’, but just hearing her cheery voice makes me feel better.Maybe I’ll fly out and join her for a couple of weeks in April, I think, as the signal fades and we lose the connection. She’s always telling me they need extra volunteers, and what potential killer is going to find me there? I’m not even sure where the Okavango Delta is myself.
‘Things will be absolutely fine,’ I say, aloud and resolutely, as I head back down to the lounge again to watch an hour of TV with Pete before bed.
Just think about what an incredible story this is, landing right in my lap. The story of a lifetime. And Pete’s right. I’ve been through tough times before, haven’t I, and survived? This is nothing.
My left hand moves automatically to my right wrist, the skin rough and ridged under my fingers. Then I take a deep breath, push the lounge door open, and go and join my housemate.
