Page 50 of A Good Heart is Hard to Find
If Jane hadn’t been right behind me I’d have bolted.
‘What’s up?’ she said in her rather piercing voice. ‘Why have you stopped?’
Casting a nervous glance at the bar I muttered: ‘Nothing – come on, Orla and Jason are over there in the corner.’
‘IsthatJason? He’s not bad, is he, you dark horse!’
The feeling seemedto be annoyingly mutual, because Jason stood up as we got there and eyed Jane approvingly. I felt like hitting him with the ashtray, because if he had a sudden yearning for a blonde he might at least have the good taste to choose Orla; and going by her sour expression Orlathought so too, though she quickly hid her feelings: ‘Hi, Cass! Gig go OK?’
‘Yes, fine: I much prefer children to stag parties,because at least they are onlylittlemonsters. Oh, and speaking of monsters, this is my sister, Jane. Jane, Orla and Jason. I know you’ve heard me mention them.’
‘This is yourtwinsister?’ exclaimed Orla predictably. ‘I can’t believe it! You’re such absolute opposites.’
‘Yes, ineveryway,’ Jane said, smiling sweetly at Jason.
He smirked fatuously back until Orla and I kicked him under thetable from opposite sides, but although it wiped off the smirk it didn’t stop him leaning over and saying, like no one had ever noticed before: ‘You look so unlike each other it’s hard to believe you are sisters, let alone twins.’
‘Ho-hum, boring conversation,’ I said to Orla. ‘I see Marilyn Monroe is making an appearance tonight: where are you going?’
‘Oh, I just love the dress!’ Jane said.‘But doesn’t bleaching your hair like that ruin it?’
‘It’s natural,’ Orla said coldly.
‘Of course it is,’ I agreed hastily. ‘Whereareyou going? Or have you been?’
‘It’s a private party later, which sounds respectable, and it’s not far away so I don’t have to leave for another hour.’ She nodded and lowered her voice: ‘Did you see who is at the bar? I’ve just introduced him to Jason.’
‘DoesCass know who he is?’ Jason demanded, overhearing. ‘How come? He’s only been here a couple of days, and he seems to have spent most of those sorting his house out and setting the police on to Jack Craig!’
‘I bumped into him the other night when I was out ghost-hunting,’ I said vaguely. ‘He introduced himself.’
‘Who?’ demanded Jane, and twisted to look over her shoulder.
Dante’s face was half-turnedtowards us, giving me a glimpse of an arrogantly aquiline nose and angular cheekbone. His hair looked like the most attention it had had in months was having fingers run through it (including mine), and it didn’t so much need cutting as shearing.
‘What’shedoing here?’ I hissed at Orla, and she widened her eyes innocently at me.
‘Why not? This is his local now too, you know. Shh … he’s comingback.’
‘Comingback—’ I began, half-rising to my feet in a panic. Then I sat down again, because if the man was actually going to live here I was going to have to get used to meeting him.
There’s supposed to be a time and a place for everything. The one for meeting large, morose strangers you have irrationally done intimate things with is probablynotwhile under the suddenly suspicious eyesof your sister, close friend and would-be lover.
It was too late for escape anyway. Dante put a pint down in front of Jason (male bonding rite) then took the chair opposite me and next to Jane, which I now noticed too late had a bulky scuffed leather jacket draped over it.
All his clothes hung on him a bit, like they belonged to someone bigger, and I could see that even Orla, the most unmaternalof women, was looking at him as if she wanted to take him home and feed him up. And then maybeeathim up.
I sort of half met his eyes and smiled, like you do when you vaguely recognize someone but can’t quite remember who, what or when. Inside, though, I was doing the hot and cold thing again during which some evil gremlin in my head ran an edited Highlights of the Night tape at fast speed.
‘Hello, Cass,’ he said as easily as though we’d known each other for ever, and if there were any gremlins inhishead they were in the back room asleep. ‘I was beginning to think you were a figment of my imagination. Would you like a drink?’
Yeah, but only if they stock Instant Cup’a’ Poison: Just Add Hot Water And Stir, I thought, trying hard not to succumb to the urge to look at him.
Some hope.
‘No, it’s OK, thanks, I’ll get one in a minute when I order some food,’ I mumbled, stealing a glance at him only to discover that he was looking so unconcerned and even, truth to tell,uninterested, that I began to seriously doubt that anything intimate had ever taken place between us.
Was it a dream after all? Or something that was, to him, so unimportant that it was instantly forgettable?
