Page 57 of Goodnight
Nick was silent for a long moment. ‘Goodie?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you know what you just called me?’
Goodie smiled. ‘Nick, I am Russian. I think I know my own language.’
He swallowed, his own eyes feeling suspiciously wet (which as far as Nick was concerned was down to the excessive furniture polish employed by an over-exuberant Mrs B.). ‘You know I love you too, right?’
‘I think I figured that out by now. It’s either that or you really are clinically insane.’ He smiled (and if Goodie hadn’t been totally sure of her decision, that dimple would have sealed the deal), then he took her face in his hands, running his nose along hers and kissing her briefly before muttering, ‘You’ll stay with me? You promise.’ She nodded, then kissed him again, laughing as he pushed her back into the sofa. Unfortunately by the time they heard the soft knock at the door things had heated up sufficiently for neither of them to notice or care.
‘Ah!’ a red-faced, horrified Bertie said from the doorway. ‘Er … Tasha sent me to check … well … um … looks like everything’s chugging along nicely here, I’ll just …’ and he backed out hurriedly through the door. Goodie face-planted into Nick’s neck, and then, to his shocked pleasure, she burst out laughing.
*Vous parlez couramment Francais!Ou avez-vous appris?– You speak fluent French! Where did you learn?
*Er … la Gare est la prochaine a gauche?– Er … The station is the next left?
Chapter29
Heat from thin air
‘The bladeyou are throwing is double-edged, Benji,’ Goodie said from her position sitting on a tree stump, ‘it needs a hammer grip: four fingers wrapped around and thumb over the top.’ She watched as Benji readjusted his hand and then smiled. ‘Great. Okay, weight on dominant leg.’
‘Which one’s my dominant leg?’
Goodie sighed and stood up slowly, giving a very patient Salem a quick stroke before she picked up her crutch and hobbled over to Benji.
‘Give me the knife a sec,’ she said, holding out her hand. After she’d put the knife back in its holster, she turned to Benji. ‘Now, look at the target again.’ He stood with his back to her and she gave him a firm shove, making him go forward on his right leg.
‘Oi!’ he said as he righted himself. ‘What was that for?’
Goodie laughed. ‘Now we know which is your dominant foot,ebanashka.’*
‘I am not crazy,’ replied Benji, and Goodie laughed again.
‘You are little bit –’ she held her thumb and forefinger millimeters apart, still smiling ‘– crazy. But luckily for you I like crazy, so this is okay.’ Benji rolled his eyes as she handed him back the knife, and then stared at her as she hobbled back to her log. He saw her wince as she sat down, and he scuffed his shoe on the ground, looking down at his feet.
‘I’m sorry you were hurt, Goodie,’ he mumbled at his shoes.
‘This was not your fault,’ Goodie told him, and he shrugged.
‘Still, it must make you bloody cross. Especially you. I mean, you were like a Russian Lara Croft or something.’ Goodie laughed again.
‘I don’t mind this,’ she said, lifting the crutch slightly and looking down at her leg.
Benji frowned at her in confusion. The Goodie he knew didn’t laugh and definitely wouldn’t accept an incapacitating injury so easily. ‘But you’re …’ he trailed off, shifting uncomfortably in front of her.
‘Weak?’ Goodie finished for him, and he flushed red with embarrassment.
‘I didn’t mean –’
‘There are other ways to be strong Benji,’ she said. ‘And besides, weakness can be an advantage, it can give you power.’ Benji tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
Goodie smiled and waved her hand through the air dismissively. ‘Enough sharing and touchy-feely nonsense,’ she said. ‘You want to learn to throw knife with skill or not?’ Benji looked at her for a moment longer, his sharp mind ticking over at an alarming rate. Goodie waited patiently and held his gaze until he sighed and turned back to the target.
‘Raise your hand higher. Straight wrist this time. The tree is further than before; you don’t want the blade to spin as fast. Breath in, out, and throw.’ The knife flew out of his hand and hit the tree, dead centre.
