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Mark followed Le
“Make yourself at home,” Le
“Are you sure it’s all right?” Mark asked. “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Oh, don’t worry about Sal,” he said. “She’ll come around. She always does.”
Mark had seen the expression on Sal’s face, and he wasn’t too certain about that.
Le
Mark reached in his pocket. “I’ve got some money…”
Le
“But-”
“No arguments. You can buy us pizza on payday, all right?”
“Okay.”
Le
Tears pricked Mark’s eyes. He couldn’t cry, not in front of Le
The snooker game droned on. Sal poked her head around the door and said, “Tea’s ready. Can I talk to you a minute, Len?”
Len pulled a long-suffering face for Mark’s benefit, as if to say, Women! Then he dragged himself away from the TV set and went into the kitchen.
When Mark thought of Tina’s stepdad, he felt the voiceless anger boil in him until his hands shook. He had no doubt that Aspern was responsible for Tina’s drug addiction. She had told him that she started doing morphine to dull the pain and humiliation of his sexual advances, and when Aspern caught her at it one day, he started using the drugs as a reward for sexual favors. He’d already given her sedatives before, to make her easier to handle. And he was supposed to be a doctor. The mother knew more than she let on, but she was scared shitless of Aspern, Tina had told him. A mouse. If he so much as raised his voice at her, her lower lip would start to tremble and she’d run away in tears. Tina had nobody to stand up for her. Nobody but Mark. But now it didn’t matter anyway.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he heard Sal saying in the kitchen. “Bringing him here. The kid’s just come out of jail, for Christ’s sake. It’s been all over the news. I knew it was him when I first heard about that fire.”
“I’ve been in jail myself, love,” Le
“That’s different. That was years ago. We can’t be responsible for him.”
“Have a heart. The poor kid’s just lost his girlfriend and his home.”
“Home! A clapped-out boat. Le
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, no doubt he’s spun you a sob story of some sort. Got you thinking he’s the son you never had-”
“Now, wait a minute!”
“No! You wait a minute. You bring him here without asking, without even ringing first to let me know, and you expect me to cook for him, clean up after him? What do you think I am, Le
“Come on, love.”
“Don’t you ‘love’ me.”
“Sal…”
“Have you thought for just one moment, has it even crossed that tiny little brain of yours, that he might have been the one who set the fire? Have you thought of that?”
“For crying out loud, Sal, Mark wouldn’t do anything like that. Besides, the police let him go.”
“The police are always letting murderers go. Just because they don’t have enough evidence. But it doesn’t mean they don’t know someone did it.”
“Oh, come on. He’s a good kid.”
“Good kid! You won’t be saying that when the bloody house is burning down around you, will you!”
“Sal, I’m not-”
But Mark didn’t hear any more. Tears finally blurring his vision and anger seething inside him, he snatched up his overcoat and dashed out of the door. He was halfway down the street before he heard Le
The Angel was reputed to have the finest chef east of the Pe
She had also done the best she could to hide her red nose with cu
Phil was already waiting at the bar, a half pint in front of him, and he waved her over. “They’re just preparing the table,” he said. “Won’t be a minute. Drink?”
“Mmm, I think I’ll just have a grapefruit juice for now, thanks.” That way, A
Phil ordered the drinks without comment. That was one of the things she liked about him. He never questioned you or made a snarky comment the way some people did when you didn’t order real booze, or if you happened to be a vegetarian. All he’d asked her the first time they went out to di
“Busy day?” he said.
A
“Yes, of course. Any leads yet, or shouldn’t I ask?”
“Probably best not to,” A
The maître d’ came over and led them to their table. It was in a quiet corner of the restaurant, a table with a scarlet cloth, lit by a shaded lamp, polished silverware gleaming. Wallpaper music piped softly in the background, Beatles via Mantovani, not loud enough to interfere with conversation, but audible enough to create an atmosphere of soporific calm. Cozy and intimate.