Page 83 of Slow Burn Summer

50

Charlie tilted the driver’s seatas far back as it would go, every bit as uncomfortable as you’d imagine a six-foot-two man might be if he was spending the night cramped in a small old sports car. He offered up silent thanks to his father for being of the car rug generation, glad to have something for warmth at least. Not that it was cold, but the suggestion of comfort was welcome all the same. He wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the lingering trace of Jojo’s scent as he’d pulled it over himself, and he’d closed his eyes and allowed the rug and the car to feel like his father’s arms around him. What he wouldn’t give. To the rest of the world Jojo Francisco had been a firecracker of a man, raconteur and fierce competitor, but to Charlie he’d been father, best friend, and protector-in-chief. Charlie hoped that if he could see his son right now, he’d approve of the decisions he’d made of late.

He’d parked the car far enough away from the fancy-dress shop for Kate not to spot him, but still close enough to keep watch for anyone suspicious in a balaclava. She’d told him she wanted to handle things her way and he absolutely respected that, and there was every chance she’d already done enough to put a stop to things. But he wasn’t prepared to gamble where Kate was concerned. Setting the alarm on his mobile for fivea.m., he closed hiseyes and tried to find a position where the gearstick wasn’t jabbing his knees.

—

Kate slept badly and wokewell before her fivea.m. alarm, too full of nervous energy to lie in bed and let her mind race down dark avenues. She’d usually pick up her phone and doomscroll in these situations, but she held steady to the pact she’d made with herself the day before. She was going to wait until after she’d opened up the shop at nine o’clock, then make coffee and dive into her phone. By that time she’d know for sure if her TV appearance had worked. If balaclava man turned up again today, she’d made the decision to say enough is enough and involve the police. A hopeful part of her wanted to feel she’d seen him off herself, although even that scenario had its downside. She’d always wonder who he was, what had driven him to such lengths.

She couldn’t face food, and coffee tasted like ash in her mouth. She showered and clock-watched, putting the radio on for company as she pulled her hair back in a low bun and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Looking in the mirror, she added a slick of mascara and gloss, armor because she was done cowering. She was ready to sit outside, and if balaclava man dared to come again this morning, she was going to film him and file a police report.

51

Heading downstairs just before six,she held her breath as she checked the door in case he’d been by. Nothing. She hadn’t really expected there to be. If he came it was usually half past six; probably en route to whatever it was he did with himself afterward. What did people who committed random acts of petty violence do with their days? It was hard to imagine him carrying on to his office job, washing any traces of cream from his hands before sitting at his desk and cracking a joke with a colleague. The thought of him shoving his balaclava in his pocket and going about his day infuriated her enough to propel her outside to wait.

—

The street was quiet, palemorning sun casting the other side of the road in shadow. She’d grabbed her sunglasses from behind the counter, and she hid behind them now as she scanned left and right, on high alert. It was a typical wide suburban road scattered with a mix of shops and residential flats, chosen years ago by Liv for its footfall and passing trade. Not that you’d know it at that hour of the morning. It was usually deserted, but this morning Kate could see a gaggle of people in the distance. She squinted hard behind her dark glasses, trying to make the figures out. It looked for all theworld like an eccentric hen party, but they’d have to be pretty hardcore hens to still be on it at sixa.m., especially on a weekday. They were making their way along her side of the road. She checked the time again. Six-fifteen. Maybe he wouldn’t come. Or maybe he would and get derailed by the hen party, so she’d have to stand outside and wait again tomorrow.God, please cross the road, girls,she thought,I can’t stay in this state for another twenty-four hours.

The crowd drew nearer and, sadly, they didn’t cross over. Kate was torn between watching them approach and scanning the street, but they were close enough now for her to spot something that made her heart start to thud. Six instantly recognizableBridgerton-inspired dresses, Liv’s beautiful handiwork on full display. Her mind couldn’t put the pieces together. TheBridgertonwedding had been last weekend, she was sure of it, and the dresses weren’t due back in the shop for a couple of weeks at least. But there was no doubt in her head, those bridesmaids were right now marauding their way up the road toward her, along with a gang of other women too, most of them dressed in more usual clothes for a Thursday morning. Except weren’t those a couple of the 1930s glamPeaky Blindersoutfits she’d leased out a few days ago? What the hell was happening here?

She checked the time on her mobile again, thoroughly confused. Six-twentya.m.One of the crowd spotted her outside the shop and called her name, and they all picked up their pace to a trot, louder now as they approached.

“Morning, Kate,” someone said. One of the bridesmaids.

“We’ve come to help,” another said as they clustered outside the fancy-dress shop. There were at least twenty of them, maybe closer to twenty-five. Kate slid her sunglasses into her hair and pressed her hand to her throat, overwhelmed.

“What…? I mean, how…?”

“We saw you on TV,” someone said, threading through to thefront of the crowd. “No way we’re letting some guy harass you like that.”

Kate looked at the women grouped around her, dumbfounded. And then she spotted a face she recognized: Claire, the supermarket assistant whom Liv had thrown the trifle at in the first place.

“We’re all book people, and we get it now, you’re one of us,” Claire said, a tremor in her voice. “I hate how this trifle thing has gotten out of hand, it was all something and nothing and should have stayed that way. I’m really sorry, I wish I’d never posted it.”

“We saw people talking in our online book club about gathering here to help you today,” one of the bridesmaids said. “Liv has been so great to us, we wanted to show our appreciation.”

“Same,” one of the Peaky Blinders said, her feathered headband quivering as she nodded her head.

“The Power of Loveis the best book I’ve read this year,” someone said.

Everyone started to speak over one another about the book, and Kate took a moment to pull herself together as a car drew up.

“Is he one of this lot?” Claire jumped to attention as a bunch of guys tumbled out of the doors.

Kate sucked in a sharp breath; she recognized those soccer shirts.

“Did someone order security?” One of them laughed, rubbing his hands together as if he’d come for a rumble. Kate remembered him as the guy who’d first offered her a beer on the train.

“What are you all doing here?” she said, her hand on his arm.

He shrugged. “We know a thing or two about being judged a certain way,” he said.

“Thought you might fancy a beer,” his mate said, pulling a can out of his pocket which he’d obviously had there for comedic effect.

Kate started to laugh, slightly hysterical as the gold soccer shirts threaded among theBridgertondresses and thePeaky Blindersgirls.

Six twenty-foura.m. “Okay, form a line in front of the shop,” someone called, and everyone shuffled haphazardly into a rowdy barricade.

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