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Chapter 129
Itwas after midnight when Poe heard Doyle get up, and as no one but him had ever slept in his bed, he misinterpreted the footsteps. He thought she was going to the bathroom, so when she said, ‘Poe,’ he jumped.
She was standing at the top of the stairs. She was still wearing his old Clash T-shirt, but this time her legs were bare. They were long and pale and toned and Poe was reminded that she fenced in her spare time. He didn’t know much about the sport but he imagined when you got to her standard, you had to be fit and supple.
‘What’s up?’ he asked. ‘Can’t sleep?’
‘Come to bed,’ she said, her voice smoky. ‘I don’t want to be alone tonight.’
Poe cleared his throat. Tried not to stare at her. ‘I can’t, Estelle. You’ve just been through a traumatic experience. You’re grieving. It wouldn’t be right.’
‘Do I not have agency?’ she replied. She was smiling now, sensing his resistance was crumbling. ‘Am I not in charge of my own mind?’
‘You are.’
‘Do youwantto come to bed?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Well get up these bloody stairs then. There’ll never be a perfect time, Poe, and life’s far too short to worry about every little thing. Let Edgar be our eyes and ears tonight.’
He didn’t respond.
‘Come on, Washington,’ she said. ‘Come to bed. We both need this.’
And without a backwards glance, she returned to the bedroom.Poe stared achingly at the space she’d just left, all his reservations melting away. He looked at Edgar, spread out on the couch next to him, head resting on his paws. The spaniel was watching him.
‘You reckon you can handle this shift on your own, buddy?’
Edgar whined and thumped his tail on the cushions. Poe got to his feet.
‘OK then,’ he said.
