Текст книги "The House on Fever Street"

Автор книги: Celina Grace

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Chapter Five

 

“You going to be okay?”

Jake bent over her to kiss her. Bella sat propped against the headboard of the bed, duvet tumbled about her hips. As she nodded, he put a finger to her exposed nipple, and she shrieked as he pinched it gently.

“Ow!”

“Don’t tease me then,” he said, grinning. “How do you expect me to leave for work when you’re sat there like that?”

“You should learn to control yourself.”

“As if.” He kissed her again, more deeply. “God, you’re driving me wild.” He stood up, making a warding off gesture with his hands. “Stop trying to seduce me, you wench.”

Bella hadn’t stopped laughing since the pinch. She pulled the duvet up to cover her breasts.

“There. Better?”

Jake made a sad face.

“No. Now I feel rejected.”

Bella poked out her tongue at him.

“They’ll still be there when you get home,” she said. “Promise. Now, you’d better go if you’re going to get there on time.”

He came forward to kiss her again. “Right you are. What are you up to today then, before I come home and ravish you?”

Bella pushed her hair back from her face. “One thing and one thing only. Getting a bloody job.”

“Good call.” One final kiss and he stood up decisively. “See you later, sweetheart.”

She heard the front door close behind him and lay back against the pillows for a moment. She felt excited and scared and turned-on and exhilarated and altogether a frantic fizzing mess… Suddenly she scrambled out of a bed and did a little dance on the carpet, naked, all the energy and excitement bubbling over for a second so that she had to disperse it through physical exertion. Then she realised that the curtains were open and dived face-forward onto the bed, giggling again at the sight of herself in the mirror.

After a while, she made her way to the bathroom and set about her ablutions, trying to move with her mother’s brisk efficiency. She was determined to make a real start on her job hunt today; she’d go through the papers and the websites, play around with her resume, see what was out there. She was very conscious that she was not only the newest member of the household, but also the only one unemployed. She had some money that her father had given her, which would tide her over for a while and her mother kept phoning and making concerned noises about supporting her whilst she looked for employment, so she wasn’t desperate, but… Bella wanted to be able to say ‘I can afford it’ and ‘Let me get this round’. She wanted to be self-sufficient. She wanted Jake to be glad he’d asked her to move in.

She climbed under the hot gush of the shower and tipped her head back. Veronica’s expensive shampoo stood next to the taps and Bella picked up the bottle hesitantly. The alternative was Jake’s bottle of supermarket home-brand stuff. Like washing up liquid… but then, she had more right to use it than Veronica’s lotions and potions. Reluctantly, she put the expensive brand back down.

Carefully she shaved her legs and under her arms, rinsed all over, climbed out, rubbed herself down and anointed herself with body lotion. When was it safe to let yourself go? She wondered. She was still at the stage of waiting until everyone was out of the house before she used the loo.

Back in the bedroom, she stood for a moment in front of the mirror, regarding herself critically. Her body felt different, more complete, somehow. She weighed her breasts with her hands, and ran her palms over the curve of her hips. She remembered the conversation with Jake this morning and grinned; it was funny but even in the space of a week, she’d lost so many inhibitions. Bella thought back to when they’d first slept together and how shy she’d been the morning after, and how she was now, quite shameless, walking around naked, sitting brazenly topless in bed. They controlled themselves in front of Carl and Veronica but the second they were out of sight, they would touch and kiss and grapple with one another, pressed up against the kitchen cupboards, entwined under the streaming water of the shower. God, I love him, said Bella to herself, staring at her expanding pupils in the bedroom mirror.

She got dressed, brushed her hair and tied it back from her face. Since she moved to Fever Street, she seemed to be in a constant state of low-level arousal. Luckily Jake was there to assuage it – or perhaps he was causing it? They made love every night and most mornings before Jake went to work, sometimes three or four times at the weekend, but even that didn’t seem to be enough. This was probably the honeymoon period she’d read about in one of Veronica’s magazines. So make the most of it, she told herself.

In the corridor, she paused. Bella hesitated on the landing. The urge to have a look around, to have a bit of a snoop, was irresistible. After all, it's your house too now, she told herself, trying to justify her curiosity. The door to Carl's room was firmly shut. Bella put her hand out, drew it back, shifting from foot to foot. No, she couldn't do it. Briefly and crazily, she wondered whether he’d set a trap for her, so he’d know she’d been in his room. A mark on the carpet… a hair pasted across the door… Feeling slightly foolish, she turned and looked down the corridor.

Veronica's door stood half open, the just-glimpsed space inside illuminated by bright sunshine coming through the windows. Bella walked softly down the corridor, almost tiptoeing. Even the movement felt illicit. I’m not doing anything wrong, she told herself defensively. I’m just getting a feel for the place, that’s all.

It was the first time she'd seen the room in full daylight. Before it had only been glimpsed in the dim light of the hallway at night, or by the flickering light of a candle. Veronica liked candles – when she sat downstairs in the lounge, there would be no light other than the archaic golden glow of a row of tea-lights on the mantelpiece. Bella paused in the doorway. The sunbeams were so bright the room appeared lit by a spotlight. Her gaze fell first on the battered but still sound floorboards, partly covered by an intricately woven, faded carpet. A large double bed dominated the room; neatly made, the iron headboard heaped and softened with cushions, a coverlet of faded pink silk pulled taut across the duvet beneath. Bella hesitated a moment longer and then, giving in, moved towards the bed. The coverlet had tiny green and yellow flowers embroidered on its edges. She ran her fingers gently over the thin faded silk, feeling the delicate bumps of the stitches beneath her fingertips. The room smelled faintly of perfume, of cocoa butter, a delicious waft of scent from three white roses in a vase on the windowsill. Bella put her nose to the damp creamy petals. Jars of skin cream, ointments, cut-glass perfume bottles and a silver powder compact were neatly arrayed on the top of the dressing table. Bella opened the compact and saw her own face reflected in the powder-dusted mirror in the lid. She looked guilty. She snapped it shut and replaced the compact on the dressing table, careful to put it back in the same spot. She thought of her own bedroom, of the chaos of her bedside table; slipping piles of paperbacks, empty mugs gone sour and greened with mould and felt ashamed. Veronica's bedroom – this whole silent, sweet-smelling, beautiful abode – was the room of an adult. You knew in one glance that the person who lived here had a good job, was sophisticated, educated, worldly. Compared to this, she and Jake were still living like students.

She paused by Veronica's wardrobe, a giant piece of polished oak with curving embellishments on the door and four sturdy legs carved to look like animal paws, complete with claws. The sort of wardrobe you could use to journey to Narnia. A tarnished silver key was turned in the lock. Bella stood for a moment, biting her lip. Being inside the room was one thing – surely if she was concerned for privacy, Veronica would have shut the door? – but looking inside her wardrobe seemed a step too far. But Veronica had such lovely clothes... Bella wrestled with herself for a moment and lost. She carefully turned the key and opened the wardrobe door.

A carefully organised row of clothes met her eyes, graded for colour, type of clothing, even – could it be true? Bella reached out to check – yes, even graded for fabric. She felt a moment's awe. Again, the comparison with her own messy pile of clothes leapt to her mind. How did people manage to be this organised? She ran a fingertip over the serried rows of garments;, jackets, shirts, blouses, vests, skirts, dresses. She lifted one from the rail – a simple dress of turquoise blue, silk underneath topped with a floating layer of aquamarine chiffon. It looked expensive, very expensive. How could she afford all of this? What did her job pay? Jake had been fairly vague about what she did – something in, what was it, PR? Was it Carl? Did Carl pay for all these wonderful clothes? And her shoes... Bella looked at the pairs and pairs and pairs, neatly stacked on shelves at the bottom of the wardrobe, side by side, soldiers in a parade. Boots, jewelled sandals, satin heels. The kind of shoes that demanded weekly pedicures and taxi rides everywhere. Bella found herself curling her toes downwards, as if to hide her ragged toenails from prying eyes.

Her stomach rumbled, loud enough to startle her, and in the same moment she realised she was extremely hungry. And she had a job to find. I’ve done enough snooping for today, she told herself, and walked from the room, taking one last glance back at the sunlit, peaceful, sweet-scented solitude of Veronica’s bedroom.

Chapter Six

 

It was a beautiful evening, the sun gradually descending in a cloudless sky, flooding the busy streets with molten gold light. A sunbeam crept across Bella’s hands as she sat at her keyboard and she watched its slow progress across her fingers, mesmerised. Much more interesting that what she was supposed to be doing, some immeasurably boring bit of data inputting. She put her head back, feeling the stretch of the muscles in her throat and the half-pleasurable ache of her neck. God, this was boring. She felt a momentary qualm that this was all her job was going to amount to; that she’d spent the rest of her working life sat in front of a computer, pecking away at a keyboard. Oh well – she checked the clock up on the wall once more. Five more minutes – hardly worth continuing. She opened up a new email and typed the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog, just to prove to the rest of the office she was doing something. She deleted it and then typed it again. Once more. There, it was half five and time to go. Joyfully she began to shut down the various programs on her computer.

“Coming out for a drink?” said Tracey, who sat opposite her and had a mass of frivolous blonde curls. Bella knew she was thirty-two, married, and liked Robbie Williams. She was always pressing Bella to join her and the other admin clerks for an après work drink but Bella had resisted so far. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her co-workers – it was just she didn’t really like them much either. What, apart from their jobs, did they have in common? She didn’t want to tell them her history and she certainly didn’t want to talk about what had happened to her over the summer. The only person she really wanted to spend time with was Jake. She felt sometimes as if she were enclosed in a bubble, set apart from everyone else but her boyfriend, separated by a rucksack full of explosives.

“Sorry,” she said, smiling and trying to sound regretful. “I’m meeting my boyfriend for a drink.”

She popped to the Ladies and brushed her hair, slicked on lipstick, removed a fleck of mascara from the corner of her eyelid. It was hard to tell but she thought she’d gained a little weight. Certainly her face looked a bit less gaunt. Mum would be pleased, Bella thought, and felt a sudden rush of longing for her mother. I’ll call her later, she told herself.

She said goodnight to the porter at the reception desk of the building and made her way out through the revolving glass door. The streets were heaving with people, the roads snarling with traffic. Pigeons scuttered out of her way as she turned the corner, heading towards Dean Street. She waited at the kerb, watching as the number 55 bus passed her. For a moment she held herself rigid, sure she would see the vehicle’s side bulge out in a spray of jagged metal, the windows shattering, the passengers disintegrating in a splatter of blood and flesh. Then the bus was past her, whole, undamaged, and Bella tried not to shudder as she walked on across the road.

The pavement outside the pub was thronged with people, spilling from the doorways and onto the road. The sight of Jake lounging against one of walls of the pub cheered her. He caught sight of her and waved and she felt a jab of excitement hit her in the pit of her stomach. She slid through the crowd towards him, tipping her face up to him for a kiss. He wore aviator shades and for a moment she saw her own face reflected in each one, tiny and white, lips pursed and eyes eager.

“How was your day, sweetheart?”

“Dull. Incredibly dull. My workmates are all…”

“Dull?” said Jake, grinning.

“You got it.” Bella leaned to kiss him again, twining her fingers through his. He kissed her back briefly and then leant back against the wall. Bella watched him happily, loving the sight of him.

“I got you a drink,” he said and proffered it. She took it gratefully. He was so thoughtful. She pressed herself up against him, sliding her hand around his waist and down, to slip her fingers into the back pocket of jeans. For a moment, the crowd around them faded away – her consciousness narrowed itself to the warmth of his body and the twin black mirrors of his sunglasses.

"Mark! Over here mate – over here."

Jake was waving to someone over her shoulder. Bella turned, her fingers slipping out of Jake's pocket. A man was making his way towards them, wading through the throng of people on the pavement. Mark was tall, black and wore a smile that seemed to split his face in two. Bella felt her own mouth stretch wide, almost unconsciously. It was the first of Jake’s friends that she’d met and she tried to compose herself.

"Hi Jake, haven't seen you for ages. How's it going?"

"Good, good, man. Mark, this is Bella – Bella, Mark."

"Hello." Bella held out her hand, which was engulfed by a warm, firm palm.

"Bella, hello. Lovely to meet you."

For a moment he hovered. Jake gestured to the empty space beside them.

"Slot yourself in there, man. We’ve got this windowsill, at least."

"I'm not intruding?"

"Of course not. Come in here. How the fuck are you?"

Bella stood smiling uncertainly. She felt oddly bothered by Mark's – intrusion was too strong a word – Mark's presence. It can’t be because he’s black, she told herself, almost blushing at the thought. Come on, you’re in London now. She edged her hand out to take hold of her glass, trying to both efface herself and sneak a peek at this newcomer. With a small shock, she realised he was the man from the photograph pinned to Jake’s bedroom wall.

She was used to sitting silently when she was with Jake and Carl. The two of them would talk to each other and occasionally Jake would talk to her, but Carl acted as if she wasn't there, most of the time. It was almost a shock, therefore, for Mark to turn to her and begin to ask her questions; about her job, about what she thought of London, what she liked to do. She was shy at first; she worried a little about what she said, stuttering a little as she answered him. After a few more drinks, her tongue smoothed out and she began to enjoy herself.

Mark was dry and funny and made her laugh. It took a little while after his last quip for her giggles to subside and for her to realise that Jake, who'd been holding her hand, had let go of her fingers.

She looked at him, suddenly aware she'd barely acknowledged him over the past hour. His brows were lowered, giving him that glowering look that she'd seen more and more frequently over the past couple of weeks. Instantly, Bella was swamped with guilt. She reached for his hand again only to have him jerk it away.

Her face heated up. It felt as if all the blood had rushed to her head, to the extent that she was worried that Mark would notice. Picking up her drink to cover her confusion, she sipped at the tepid wine and tried to breath normally. He was talking quite loudly, gesturing with the hand not holding his pint.

"How crazy is it on the tube at the moment? Everyone looking around, one heartbeat away from a panic attack. Everyone not wanting to sit next to anyone of a vaguely brown persuasion. Even those of us who are of a brown persuasion. Stupid tourists with their bloody rucksacks, thinking they’re about to get lynched by a terrified mob of commuters. If you’re not worrying about bombs, you're worrying about being shot by the police – man – this is not the London I know..."

Mark trailed off. Bella waited for Jake to answer him and when she heard nothing, forced herself to speak. She wasn't sure if Jake was angry with her for talking to Mark or at Mark for talking to her... Amidst the confusion, she was conscious of her own slowly rising annoyance.

"It’s crazy, isn't it?"

"I was at London Bridge the other day and there were coppers there with machine guns. Fucking machine guns! This isn't Sierra Leone, this isn't  – isn't Beirut. Seriously, I mean – what is happening? It’s like something from Orwell. It’s like we’ve been catapulted into the future. The bad future.”

"It's all fucked, is what it is."

Jake said his first words for thirty-five minutes. Bella looked at him, uneasily.

Mark drained his pint glass. "Too right it is.” He checked his watch. “Shit, I’ve got to – listen, it was lovely chatting with you guys but I'm going to have to split. See you again soon? Make sure you give me a call, Jake, you hear? Bella, make sure he does. It’s been too long, man, too long. Let’s catch up again soon."

Bella dredged up a smile from somewhere. "Sure."

"Nice to see you again, Mark." Jake shook the hand that his friend held outstretched to him. "Give me a ring sometime and we'll go out properly."

His use of the pronoun didn't escape Bella. Give me a ring...  Briefly she considered taking him up on it and decided not to, for the sake of future harmony.

They watched Mark walk away, springy and straight-backed, into the crowd.

"Nice guy," Bella ventured.

“Yeah, well, I could see you thought so.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean, Bella. Flirting. Laughing at his jokes like that. It was embarrassing.”

“What?”

“Oh come on, you know you were doing it. What’s the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with me?” Her voice squeaked up an octave and the people stood nearby turned to look. Bella swallowed and spoke again, in a lower tone.

“What’s the matter with me? What did I do? I was just being friendly.”

Jake stared at her for a long moment, the black look that she’d come to dread covering his face. She stared back, refusing to drop her gaze.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence and then he smiled – a little strained, but a real smile. He reached for her hand again.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I’m being unfair. It’s just – oh, I’m just fed up at the moment, Bella. I really am. I’m sorry darling. Come here.”

He kissed her. She was still angry and unresponsive but after a moment, she felt her mouth relax under his.

Jake drew back and looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“Do you forgive me?”

Bella sighed. “Of course.”

“Great. I’m really sorry, darling. Come on, let’s go home.”

Back at Fever Street, he made love to her but in an absent-minded sort of way. He was still abstracted, still quiet. His body moved against hers, in the right rhythm and making the right sounds, but Bella could tell that Jake, the real true Jake, was miles away. They lay together afterwards in silence and she tried to breath normally, all the while fighting down confusion and the remnants of anger and a vague, shapeless unhappiness. The house had been empty when they returned but as they lay there, Bella heard the door open downstairs and the clop of Veronica's heels on the hallway floor. She felt Jake stiffen slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if his entire body were straining to hear. After a moment, he got up and muttered something about fetching a glass of water.

Bella watched the door close behind him and felt a surge of misery. What was wrong with her? Jake didn't want to be with her – he'd rather spend time with anyone, with his brother's girlfriend, than with his own. She stared at the ceiling and felt slow tears begin to leak from her eyes, running down her cheeks to pool wetly and uncomfortably in her ears.

After a while, she got up and put on her pyjamas, bought specially for Jake’s eyes, pale pink with a lace trim; tight shorts and a second-skin vest. Her nipples pressed against the material in tiny, stiff points. Good – let them. She had bigger tits than Veronica, at least. Bella brushed her hair, wiped the streaked mascara from under her eyes and dabbed her neck with perfume. Thus caparisoned, she went downstairs, trying not to rush, aiming for casualness. She could hear voices, laughter and music from behind the closed door of the living room. She paused outside the doorway, took a deep breath, put her shoulders back, stuck out her chest and turned the handle.

"Oh, hi Bella. How are you?"

Veronica sat curled on the sofa by the wall, long legs tucked beneath her. Jake was sitting on the floor by her side, his face turned to hers and laughing.

Bella swallowed, the shaft of body-confidence that had propelled her downstairs ebbing fast.

"Hi. I’m fine, thanks."

"Want a drink?"

Veronica waved a glass at her. Bella nodded, reluctantly. She edged into the room and hovered for a moment, wondering where to sit down. Veronica was glugging pale yellow wine into one of the big wine glasses. She held the brimming glass out to Bella, who took it, numbly. Veronica’s nails, recently painted, were like ten little iridescent pearls glued to the ends of her long fingers. Bella clutched the glass, conscious of her own nails, bitten ragged.

“So, what are you two doing home on a Friday night?”

“Oh, you know. I’m really tired. I can’t be arsed to go out every Friday,” said Jake. He was looking at Veronica, with the same eager, laughing expression on his face. Bella felt her stomach cramp and felt her fingers tighten on her wine glass.

Veronica’s mouth quirked upwards.

“What about you, Bella?”

“Oh, the same,” said Bella, unhappily. She could hear the misery in her voice and made more of an effort. “It’s been a really vile week at the office. I wouldn’t have believed a job that’s so dull could get so stressful, ha ha.”

“That’s often the way.” Veronica threw back her head to drain the last of her glass. Jake and Bella watched her long neck ripple as she swallowed. “Why don’t you look for something better?”

“Well – “

“Don’t tell me, I know. God – interviews – all that shit – it’s enough to bore you to tears. So you just hang onto to a tedious situation, don’t you, just hoping to get through it day by day. Waiting for the weekend…”

Bella nodded. As was usual when Veronica spoke, she couldn’t help but watch her, silently, almost in a trance. It wasn’t that Veronica was boring. It was just her face was so mesmerising. But why is it, Bella asked herself in the privacy of her own head, watching Veronica’s face as she raised the glass to her lips, the momentary flash of pink tongue as she took a sip of wine. It wasn’t a face that was particularly mobile, or expressive. There was just something about her bone structure, the lift of an eyebrow, the curl of a lip… she drew the eye. Bella couldn’t stop watching her sometimes, despite the pain of knowing that in terms of beauty, Veronica left her squirming in the dust. It doesn’t matter, she told herself fiercely. Jake loves me, he’s with me. Not her. Not anyone else. Me.

She shifted her gaze to Jake. The last few days of sunshine had tanned him and his stubble was particularly heavy tonight. He looked like a dissolute pirate. Despite his earlier behaviour, she felt a sudden stab of desire and shifted on the sofa, pressing her thighs together. She wondered if he could hear what she was thinking. Let’s go upstairs, she thought, trying to beam her thoughts into his head.

Not a chance. He’d barely glanced at her since she entered the room. Bella swallowed another mouthful of wine and wondered whether she had the courage to cross the room and sit next to him, under Veronica’s satirical eye.

The front door slammed and there were footfalls outside the room. Carl barged into the living room. Bella jumped, unnoticed she hoped, by the others.

“Hi.” Carl slung his bag into one of the armchairs and divested himself of his jacket. He looked hot and dishevelled. “Fuck me, it’s hot out there. What are you all doing sat inside?”

Veronica and Jake said nothing. Bella screwed up her courage and made a suggestion.

“That’s true, we could all sit in the garden.”

“No.”

Veronica and Jake spoke simultaneously, looked at each other and half-laughed. Bella felt annoyance rise at their instant dismissal of her proposal.

“Why not?”

Nobody answered her for a moment. Then Veronica spoke. She spoke slowly, as if considering.

“It’s an absolute jungle out there, Bella. I can’t even remember the last time we cut the lawn.”

“But – we could sit on the patio – “

Bella’s voice faltered. All three of them were shaking their heads.

“It’s crawling with bugs out there too. Mosquitoes. There’s a pond somewhere at the back, I think they’re breeding in it.”

“Yeah, fuck sitting in the garden.” Carl stared at Bella appraisingly and she felt herself start to blush. She looked away, breathing deeply. “Let’s go down the pub; I need a beer.”

“Good idea, honey,” said Veronica.

“The one at the end of the road’s got a late licence,” Jake said, unfolding himself from the floor. He hesitated and then held out a hand to Veronica who regarded it blankly for a moment, as if she’d forgotten who he was. Then she gave a tiny shake of her head and let herself be pulled gently to her feet. Only then did Jake turn to Bella and hold out his arm.

“I have to get changed,” she said, quietly so that the others wouldn’t hear.

“Not on my account,” said Carl, who’d overheard despite her efforts. “I prefer you like this.”

Bella half laughed. She scurried for the door and the stairs, horribly conscious of Carl’s gaze on her tiny, sexy shorts.

It was almost eleven o’clock but the pub at the end of the road was still crowded. It was barely dark, the air still thick and sultry from the day’s heat. The three of them squeezed onto the end of a trestle table whilst Carl queued for the drinks. Cigarette smoke drifted across the table in a long, wavering blue scarf. Jake waved it away. Veronica smiled and lit a cigarette of her own.

“Have you two got any holiday plans?” she asked.

Bella looked quickly across at Jake, unsure of what to say. Did they?

“Not really,” said Jake. He shifted position on the wooden bench. “Not as such.”

“Carl and I are going to Venice.”

“Really?” Jake’s eyebrows went up. “When? Why Venice?”

“Not sure yet. Probably at the end of August.”

“It’ll be really crowded. Isn’t that the height of the tourist season?”

“Probably.” Veronica sounded bored. She tipped her head back, stretching her long neck. “It’ll still be good to get away. I’m tired of London. I’m sick of it.”

“You know what Doctor Johnson said about that.” Bella surprised herself by speaking. The two of them, Jake and Veronica turned to her and she hesitated a little at the sight of their expectant faces. It’s okay, she thought to herself. Don’t be intimidated.

“What?”

Jake asked it but softly. Encouraged, Bella went on.

“’When a man is tired of London, he’s tired of life.’”

Veronica laughed. “That’s good. I’ve never heard that before.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Bella smiled. “So, is that what you are?”

“What?”

“Tired of life?”

The smile fell from Veronica’s face.

“I – well, I – “

“Of course you’re not.”

Carl crashed a tray of drinks down on the table. Veronica looked up at him, frowning briefly.

“I’ve got an alternative aphorism for you. A modern day version. When a man is tired of London, he’s tired of being shat on from a great height, and ripped off for every penny he owns, every day of his life.”

“That’s not quite so catchy,” Bella said carefully.

Carl laughed.

“Too right. Come on, enough philosophising. Drink instead – it’s better for you.”

They did as they were told and for a moment, there was silence around the table. Laughter rose in a gust from the door of the pub.

“I read the other day that Doctor Johnson was mentally ill,” said Jake.

The others looked at him.

“That is by far and away the dullest thing you’ve ever said, Jake, and by God, that’s up against some stiff competition.”

Jake flicked beer at his brother.

“You probably don’t even know who Doctor Johnson is, do you Carl?”

“Of course I do. He’s Robbie Coltrane.”

“What?”

“You know, in Blackadder. Wasn’t that supposed to be Samuel Johnson?”

“And what else?”

“What?”

“What else is Doctor Johnson famous for, apart from being Robbie Coltrane?”

Carl looked at his brother and smiled a little.

“Stop showing off, Jake. It’s me who patronises you, remember?”

There was a moment’s silence and Bella watched as Jake’s face contracted in momentary anger. She held her breath, ready for his response.

“Don’t fight.” Veronica said it softly, casually, but the two men both took notice. The hackles went down, the bared teeth were covered. Bella sighed inwardly, wanting a little, just a little, of Veronica’s power.

“We need to have a party,” said Veronica.

Jake flinched. Bella stared at him.

“What do you mean?” he said.

Veronica smiled.

“I mean, we should have a meal or something. Something to welcome Bella into the house. Christ, she’s been here for a couple of months. Don’t you think that would be a good idea? Bella? Jake? Carl?