Page 44 of After Felix
“Zeb said you can go behind the house and park on his drive.” I see the turn up ahead and exclaim. “Yes, there it is!”
“So, this is a friend of yours?”
“Not really my friend. He’s Zeb’s stepbrother,” I correct him. “And we’re definitely not stopping for long. We’ll drop the papers off, watch him sign them, and then get off back to London as soon as possible.”
As I drive down the narrow lane, I see the big sage-green gates that Zeb mentioned in his instructions. They’re propped open, and beyond is a small garden and the back of Max’s cottage, all honey stone and windows twinkling in the sunshine. My heart picks up speed and my palms get sweaty. I wipe them surreptitiously against my jeans and signal to turn in.
“I’ll back into the drive,” I say nervously. “It’ll make getting out easier.”
“It’s very tight,” Andrew says dubiously, no faith in his voice at all.
I roll my eyes. “Said the actress to the bishop.”
I pull past the entrance and then slowly reverse. It takes three attempts while Andrew sits with a supercilious look on his face and I feel sweat dampen under my arms. Finally, I’ve got the car straight enough, and I start to back in.
“Well, that was interesting,” he says.
I finally snap. “About as interesting as some of your architectural stories, Andrew. Memo: the post-industrial vernacular and spatial composition are not conversational catnip. Maybe you could put a note in your Blackberry for the next time you pick up someone in a club.”
“You know, Felix, I think?—”
There’s a dull thud as the car hits something on the drive.
“Oh myGod.” I jam my foot on the brake and promptly stall the car.
For a long second, there’s silence, and then I jerk back to life like someone just applied an electrical current to my balls. “What thefuckwas that?” I breathe. All I can hear is birdsong.
“Oh God,” he groans. “Has he got a dog? Have you run his dog over?”
“Shit!” I feel sick, and my breathing is far too quick. “Get out and have a look,” I say.
“No, you look,” he says, shoving me.
I get out of the car, sure I’m going to vomit. At the sound of a groan, I dash to the back of the car.
I’m expecting to find a dog, but instead I find Max. He’s lying on the drive, blinking up at me, grimacing in pain and cradling his right arm.
Horror rushes through me. I could have killed him. Instead, I appear to have maimed him.
“Oh my God, Max.” I drop to my knees next to him. “Oh my fucking Lord, I’m so sorry.”
“You ran into me, Felix,” he says through gritted teeth.
I feel stupidly and immediately defensive now that I see he’s sitting and capable of bitching. And that I haven’t killed him. The relief has fled and left only rage.
“What the hell were you doing lying on the drive waiting to be run over, Max?”
“I wasn’t exactly lying on the drive,” he protests.
“Then whatwereyou doing?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him.
The car door opens. Great. Andrew has obviously decided that it’s okay to emerge now I’m not about to be handcuffed and carted off to prison. “Babe?” he says.
Max’s face instantly clouds over. “Who’s that?” he asks sharply.
“Not your business and very much beside the point,” I advise him. “What were you doing on the ground?” I pause. “Were you drunk?”
“Felix, it’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” he says mildly, still staring past me at Andrew. “Even I wait until the sun has gone down. I was just lying on the ground to see the effect of a winter day on a dead body.”
