Chapter 47

47

Katie wasn't sure Jackson was who he claimed to be. Then she thought that he hadn't really claimed to be anything in particular. He'd fudged about, saying he was in the entertainment industry. She wasn't letting it go.

She raised her wine glass to her lips without drinking. Rasco's restaurant was now empty except for themselves and the manager, who was throwing tired looks their way.

‘Entertainment?' She raised an eyebrow. ‘That's such a wide spectrum. Are you an actor, film-maker, photographer to the stars, or what?'

‘Or what, maybe.' He winked, but she didn't like his attitude. Maybe this was a big mistake.

‘Well, you were such a smooth talker chatting me up in Fallon's, but now you're dodging my questions. That makes me think you have something to hide. Have you?'

‘We all have something to hide. I'm sure you do.'

‘No, I told you straight up I'm the mother of a three-year-old. That's something most women might keep hidden in order to get a date.'

‘But you weren't looking for a date, were you?'

‘In fact, I was. My sister told me to get a life, and that's what I was trying to do.'

‘By sitting at a busy bar on your own, chatting to no one except the pretty barmaid.'

‘That was my sister.'

He grimaced. ‘I've put my foot in it now, haven't I?'

‘You're good at dodging questions.' She drained her wine and stood. ‘I'd like to leave now. Maybe you can lose the act for a few minutes to drive me home. If not, I'll get a taxi.'

‘Hey, Katie. Sit down. I'll explain.'

‘These guys want us to leave. Let's split the bill and go.'

‘I'm paying, and I'm driving you home. There's a murderer out there somewhere. Who's to say he's not a taxi driver?'

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel safe,' Katie said drily.

She fetched her coat from the stand by the desk while Jackson keyed his PIN into the card machine. This had been a big mistake. She wasn't sure she even liked him any more. She should just keep going out onto the street and hop into a taxi, but what he'd said about the murderer had scared her a little. She'd have to let him drive her home, and then she was done with him and all men for the foreseeable.

Life was too short to waste on shitheads.

The shouting was still going on downstairs. Rex put his hands over his ears, then his pillow over his head. He was terrified. Afraid they would divorce and he'd be like Conor in his class, having to go to his dad's at weekends and live with his mother during the week. It was the fault of this house. He'd loved their old house, so why did they have to move here? It wasn't nice. And he still had no friends.

He thought of the woman he'd found by the cinema. He'd heard her name was Laura. She'd looked so sad lying there, with that blood on her clothes and her bare feet all muddy. He felt sorry for her. He hoped someone had put a blanket over her to keep her warm.

He shot up in the bed at that thought. She couldn't be hot or cold. She was dead.

He ran to his window and raised the blind so he could look out. There was no one there now. The woman was gone. The tent was gone. It was like she'd never been there. Maybe she hadn't. Maybe his mind had played tricks on him.

Another shout from downstairs made him jump back into bed and pull the duvet up over his head. He didn't know whether to be more scared of what was going on inside the walls of his house or what was outside them.