Page 10 of You Can't Hurt Me

“That’s not true at all—”

“I wondered what happened to that insatiable curiosity of yours. I thought you’d maybe try to do a bit more digging, at least for the sake of the article.”

“So we’re a tabloid now, are we?”

“You’re the one who’s obsessed with the case, Anna.”

“Of course I’m still skeptical. I’m not stupid. I just like to get all the facts. So far, I’d say he’s genuine enough, maybe a little nerdy and strange, if you can call that a crime.”

“So what else did he tell you abouther?” She shifts forward in her seat.

“Well, he didn’t exactly...” I hesitate.

Amira looks at me and I see my own anxiety mirrored in her features. Her face falls, her mouth opens in disbelief. “Did you actually get a proper interview out of him?”

“I’ve got bits and pieces, but after the experiments we ran out of time.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “Anna, no. I’ve been working on this cover for weeks, ever since you first mentioned it to Jess last month. Now, somehow, I’ve got to explain it to her this afternoon that you let him weasel his way out of it.”

“Amira, listen. It’s not that bad. I’m trying to tell you there’s good news too.”

“Really, how?”

“Well, after the tests, he basically gave me the cold shoulder, asked me to follow up any other questions via email and, regardless of what you might think, I got snippy with him. I told him that he’d got it all his own way but now he had to play by my rules. Guess where he invited me?”

She shakes her head, unconvinced, but opens her mouth a little.“Go on.”

“Algos House. This Friday. Only the first journalist to get into his home since Eva died there.”

She squeals, claps her hands, her faith in me restored. “Brilliant. But will you have enough time to file?”

“I’m sure I can. He’s promised me it’s all on. I’ll work on it over the weekend and file first thing Monday. He owes me—I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”

“Just don’t let him ply you with coke.” She half smiles at me, retrieves her card to pay the bill. We both laugh, any tension between us dissolving. We chat about next Saturday morning, the logistics of her moving into Tony’s box room, the small amount of possessions she’ll be bringing. She looks at me, her expression clouding.

“It won’t be too weird, will it?”

“In what way?”

“For Tony, I mean. The thought of me staying in his room—would it upset him?”

“He’s not like that at all. He’ll be pleased you’ve got somewhere to stay.”

She looks relieved. “Thanks again for putting up with me. I’m sorry for being a bit stressed over this interview. Jess must be getting to me.”

“Apartment rule number one. No talking about work at home.” I smile at her as we both get up to leave, knowing if anything I’ll be the first one to break it.

As we walk out there’s a queue of people waiting to be seated. Diners lean in closer to hear each other above the rising clatter. The man in the paisley waistcoat is reclining in his seat, sipping cognac and digging in for the rest of the afternoon. No one except us is in any rush to leave.

“So promise to file Monday morning?”

I nod. “Of course. It’ll all be fine.”

“Don’t give him an easy ride, Anna.” She winds a pale pink cashmere scarf more tightly around her neck. “And take care,” she adds, almost as an afterthought as we hug each other goodbye.

When I get home, I lie on my bed, a biblical weariness washing over me. I stare up at the rain streaking the attic windows and think back to the knife cut I had told Nate about, the memory of that day. The physical pain had been fine, eventually, once Tony drove me to A&E. Just a simple mistake. Reflex reactions beyond my control.

All this will pass, I tell myself, if I don’t let it break the surface.

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