Page 36 of A Touch of Magic at the Comfort Food Café
‘I enjoyed it tonight, Sarah. The girls are lovely. Your sister was a lot of fun.’
‘And my dad was a pain in the bum?’
He shrugs and pulls a face. ‘Hey, I’m the last one to judge. Families are tough. You can love ’em, but that doesn’t mean you have to like ’em. Me and my dad… Well, I’ll tell you that story one day. It’s a humdinger. It calls for popcorn.’
I glance up, filled with curiosity. I like knowing about other people’s lives, especially his. It certainly makes a nice change from obsessing about my own.
‘Your face looks like a giant question mark!’ he says, smiling.
‘Well, you can’t say something like that and not expect me to be interested. I’m a very interested person.’
‘Is there any danger I’ll end up in your next book?’
I’ve been asked this many times over the years, whether my characters are based on real individuals. The truth is that none of them are directly modelled on anybody I know, but I do use elements of those I’ve met– not just people I’m close to, but chance encounters as well. Conversations overheard on the bus, chats in the supermarket queue. Random psychos who stalk vulnerable women. That kind of thing. I always say that writers are like magpies– we spot the bright, shiny things and carrythem away with us. Except, you know, in our minds and not in beaks.
‘Not directly,’ I reply honestly. ‘Though I might steal your eyes.’
He frowns and looks confused. I like the fact that he’s caught off-guard for a second. ‘My eyes? And what do you mean, steal them? I know what kind of books you write…’
He’s correct. It’s entirely possible that I could create a morbid plotline around an actual eyeball collector. He could have an apprentice, and I could call it The Pupil…
‘I just mean that you have lovely eyes. I might give them to a character.’
‘Ah. Well, thank you. And make sure he’s the love interest.’
‘Not a lot of love interests in my books, but I’ll bear it in mind.’
Cherie pings back a reply to the photos, saying that Aidan should invest in some cowboy boots and start a line-dancing club at the Comfort Food Café. He laughs, and says he’ll take it under advisement. I chat to Cherie for a few messages, knowing that she’s up late and alone. She was the only person I told about Aidan coming with me to the party, and against the odds she’s kept it quiet. She at least deserves an update on how it went.
Before long we have arrived, and Aidan beats me to it to pay the driver. It feels odd having someone do that. I’ve always been financially independent, and stubbornly insistent on it. It is a small thing, but the fact that I find it intrusive says more about me than it does about him. I’ve always found it difficult to let people in, but I suspect I’ve become even worse in the last year. Since Martin. Budbury is undoing a little of that resistance, I think, and I’m not sure yet if that’s a good thing or not.
My apartment is located on the top floor of a rather grand Victorian building. The lobby is quiet at this time of night, but we are greeted warmly by Frederick, the night-duty doorman.
‘Nice to see you back, Miss Wallis,’ he says, looking at Aidan with the barest flicker of curiosity. ‘No, uh, problems while you were gone.’ He nods at me while he says this, and I know he’s referring to Martin. I’m relieved that he hasn’t been spotted here, but also know that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He is cunning when he wants to be, and managed to hand-deliver notes to my door even after the staff were told to look out for him. All it takes is a busy time, or for the person on reception to be distracted, and he could easily sneak through.
I wonder if Aidan picks up on the interaction, but if he does, he doesn’t comment. I’m silent in the lifts, feeling the tension in my belly build as we rise through the levels. My place is the only one on the top floor, and as the lift opens up onto the landing, I hesitate before stepping through. Had I been here alone, I would have chickened out at this point. I realise that I have reached out to grab Aidan’s hand without even noticing, and he gives my fingers a reassuring squeeze as we walk towards my flat.
I have only been away for three weeks, but it is enough for the sights and smells of this building to feel slightly alien. I’ve never felt especially comfortable here, but it was in a good location, had the nice roof garden, and was private and secure. At least I thought it was, until I invited in trouble. Now, it just feels like stepping into potentially hostile territory. I walk along the thickly carpeted floor as though it is littered with land mines.
I pause outside the front door, biting my lip as I unlock it. My hands are trembling as I slot the key in, and push it open. The alarm activates in a slow beep, telling me it is still on and that nobody has been inside, and that helps to calm me as I type in the code.
We go through into the long corridor, Aidan behind me. Without even asking, he puts the security chain on. Perceptive. I gaze around, inhaling the slightly musty smell that places get when nobody lives in them, and flick on the lights.
‘You’ve got mail,’ he says, bending down to pick up an envelope from the mat. He holds it towards me, and I immediately recognise the handwriting. It’s from him. He’s been here, again.
I freeze on the spot, unable to reach out and take it. Unable to move at all. I feel the familiar terror creeping over me, the sickening way my vision blurs at the edges, my fingers curling into tightly balled fists.
Aidan steps towards me, then stops when he takes a good look at my face. ‘You’re okay,’ he says quietly. ‘It’s just me and you. You’re safe. You want me to take a quick look around?’
I manage a tight nod, one quick jerk of my chin. ‘I’ll come with you.’ I have no option. I can’t bear the thought of standing here alone for even a second.
The movement helps, because my body is forced to take in air. I slow down my breath as much as I can, knowing that it will have a controlling effect on my insane fear reaction. It’s very hard to panic and do deep breathing at the same time. I keep my eyes on Aidan, his big, solid form walking slightly ahead of me. He glances back every now and then, checking in, and I feel a little better each time.
The first room off the hallway is my office, which is now a little forlorn without its desk and shelving. Next come the bedrooms. One is pretty much empty, because I took most of my stuff with me, and the other is a small guest room mainly used by the girls when they came to stay. It has two single beds, and a few posters on the walls. One fromMamma Miathat we got after we saw the musical, the K-pop bands that Lucy used to obsess over, and Libby’s preferred indie classics, vintage Blondie, Nirvana, Arctic Monkeys.
Without me needing to ask, Aidan opens the wardrobe, and crouches down to look beneath the beds. He also checks the window locks are still tight, and investigates the en-suite. Oninto the main bathroom, with its pretty white and green tiles, the shelving crammed with toiletries. He examines the inside of the airing cupboard, and makes sure the window is secure.
Down to the open plan living room and kitchen, and the patio doors that lead out to the roof garden. All of it is thoroughly checked, every cupboard door opened, every dark corner lit, the remaining sofa vetted. Martin is not hiding in the house, and my relief is now mingling with a touch of embarrassment. Nobody likes to be seen at their most vulnerable, when their behaviour is based on dread rather than logic.
