Icefall (18 page)

Finn grinned, not in a friendly way. ‘That was him teaching me to swim. Damn, that river was cold. Remember those scars on his chest? I bet you do.'

‘How did you—' My mother was pale and furious and frightened.

‘Easy. I mean, that was
ages
ago and I remember it all. See how clear it is when you concentrate? Now it's your turn.'

Aileen's eyes widened. ‘But I can't…'

‘It'll flow from the first memory, once you connect. Aren't you always bringing him to mind? Well, do it again for your daughter.'

There were tears in my mother's eyes, but she nodded.

Seth took Finn's hand again. ‘Let's go,' he said. ‘She'll do it.'

The door closed on them, and I was more alone than ever. I felt shy, and that made me furious with myself. What a coward, to come over all timid as soon as my bodyguards left the room.

Then I realised it wasn't my mother who frightened me. It was
him.

All her aggression had leached out, too. ‘Do you really want me to do this?'

‘I really, really want you to do this.' Perching on the stool, I took her face in my hands. I did it gently, much more gently than I'd meant to. She closed her eyes, then jerked them open again.

‘Relax,' I said. ‘Please. Relax. Think. Think about him.'

So she did.

It was one of those bars with no soul at all. That was what I liked about them. I didn't want some local pub where everybody knows your name. Couldn't think of anything worse. I liked impersonal, I liked mass-market, I liked anonymous.

I liked
him.

Blinking, I focused on the man at the bar. He was sitting a body-length away from me, but he hadn't looked at me once. He looked out of place, uncomfortable and tense, but as I watched he took a gulp of his drink. Something golden; probably whisky. As he ran his hand across his head, I followed the motion, the eye movement making me a bit dizzy. I took another drink to steady my brain, and watched him again.

He was lovely-looking. Grey-eyed, a wide mouth with smile creases at the corners. His features were a little hawkish, but I liked that. Blade-sharp cheekbones, a strong angular face. I bet the rest of him was strong too. I could tell from his hands and his wrists. There were scars on them, white and long-healed. I was amazed at myself, being able to make that out in the dimness and my befuddled state. I liked the way his dark blond hair spiked out over his forehead. When he rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, his fingers tousled the hair a little more. I rested my jaw on my hand, my elbow on the bar—it helped to steady my swaying body, too—and stared at him shamelessly.

The barmaid was ignoring both of us, way too wrapped up in her chatter with the young barman. I wasn't surprised she was ignoring me, but I did wonder why she wasn't taking more notice of the cute guy. Nobody was. It should be wasps round honey, but he sat on alone.

‘It's enough to make you believe in the little people,' trilled the barmaid.

‘So where'd you find it?' The barman didn't sound that interested. But it was a quiet night.

She lifted her left hand and waggled it so the emerald on her wedding finger sparkled in the bar lights. ‘On the shelf down here, can you believe it? I must have looked there already, a hundred times. I was sure somebody had nicked it.'

The silent customer at the bar shifted uncomfortably, and stared into his drink.

‘Away,' said the barman. ‘You're just getting dottled in your old age.'

‘Cheeky wee sod,' she said, and slapped his bum.

I looked back at the cute guy, swirling his whisky in his glass. He looked tired, and a bit sad. There's an opening, I thought. With any luck his girlfriend's just dumped him. Rebound on me, baby. I'm soft as a mattress, me …

‘Hi,' I said.

He didn't turn. He blinked at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I shuffled my stool closer to his.

‘Hi,' I said again, and this time he glanced round, as if surprised to be spoken to.

‘Hi yourself,' he said, and turned back to his drink.

‘You on your own?' I asked.

He looked to his left, then to his right. Then he shrugged and smiled. The most gorgeous smile I ever saw in my life. Even though he was managing to make me feel really stupid.

‘Want some company?'

‘To be honest, love? Not really.'

‘Drinking alone, that's really bad for you.'

Pointedly he eyed my own glass. ‘Uh-huh.'

‘Ah, but I'm just bad,' I said. ‘You don't look like such a bad guy.'

He laughed hoarsely. ‘Anybody ever tell you your lines are rubbish?'

‘No,' I said. ‘I never used them on anybody before.'

He gazed at me, so intently I actually shivered.

‘Liar,' he said.

Nobody, nobody in my life had ever called me a liar right out like that. Not after two minutes' acquaintance. He happened to be right, but that didn't mean he had any right to say it.

‘Piss off then,' I said angrily. On an afterthought, I told him to go and do something physically improbable.

I was so angry I swung off the barstool without really taking time to think about it. That's why my legs tangled, that's why I toppled forward and fell flat on my face. Some guys at a nearby table laughed and stared, and laughed again. I'd chatted to them earlier and I knew they liked a good laugh but I hadn't intended being the cause of it.

Cute-guy-with-cheekbones grabbed me by the arm and hoisted me to my feet.

‘You made me do that,' I snapped, swaying. The room wasn't the right way up yet.

‘You're drunk,' he said matter-of-factly. ‘You've been vaguely and pleasantly tipsy but see that last drink? It's tipped you over the edge of no fun. Go on home and sober up before you do something you regret.' His eyes glittered as he held my eyes again for long moments, and his grin was sudden. ‘Like last week.'

I shook him off, trying simultaneously to glare at him and stop the room whirling. ‘Have we met?'

‘No.' He smiled. ‘Believe me, I'd remember.'

‘So what do you know about … oh, never mind. Piss off,' I told him again, and grabbed my bag. I stalked haughtily from the bar, though it didn't help that I bumped into the doorframe. Still, I carried it off as well as I could in the circumstances.

I was ragingly angry and humiliated—okay, I was drunk, but was I ugly too?—and it never even occurred to me to look back. I certainly didn't think he'd follow me, not after that performance.

So it was embarrassing how enthusiastically I turned when I heard a male voice behind me, felt a hand on my arm. Yes, I was going to give him a piece of my mind, but after that? Who knew where a piece of my mind might lead? Maybe to other, better bits of me.

‘See that tosser back there? Nae taste, hen.'

It wasn't him: I worked that out fast. Actually it was three of them: the guys I'd been chatting up. The sniggerers.

‘Yeah, but he's my type,' I said. ‘Unlike you.'

‘Hen, you're the type who doesn't care what type I am.'

The other two giggled.

‘Says who?' I yanked my arm away, but he gripped it again.

I was starting to be sorry now: sorry I'd flirted with these chancers, sorry that I'd stormed out in a huff at just the wrong moment. No point in breast-beating, though. I had to get my head together and do something about this.

I didn't know what, that was all.

‘Here, c'm'ere.' He pulled me against him and his mouth went over mine. Dis-gusting. Sucking like a hoover. His fat wet tongue seeking mine. Dis-gust-ing. I bit it. Hard.

‘Ayya wee—!' Shrieking, he thrust me away but kept his grip on my arms as I struggled and swore. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, and glanced down at it, smeared with blood.

‘Bitch,' he said, stunned. And backhanded me across the face.

It didn't hurt so much as sober me up. Now I was scared. I was more aware now that the cobbled side street was deserted, that even the main road twenty yards away was devoid of pedestrians.

‘Hold her,' said the first guy, and hit me again. That one hurt. While my head reeled, I felt his hand tugging at my waistband. His mate reached to rip my flimsy top. I was sober enough to panic now, so I kicked out, but a leg hooked round mine, and then Number One kicked me back. I yelped. He kneed me between the legs, a pain that took my breath away.

‘You asked for this,' he said.

‘Indeed,' said one of his mates, and a fist slammed into the side of Number One's face. It sent him sprawling onto the cobbles, his erection sticking ridiculously out of his undone fly.

Oh. Not one of his mates after all.

The third one was just gaping at the vacant spot where his friend had been. He got his composure back in time to turn on the intruder, but the edge of a hand chopped into his throat. He jerked back like a marionette, catspraddled on the cobbles.

The guy gripping my arms was obviously in two minds: let me go and run, or keep hold of me and use me as a human shield. I made up his mind for him, reaching back to grab a fistful of his greasy hair.

‘Yuck,' I heard myself say. Then there was a big shape in front of me, saying ‘Scuse me' and reaching over my shoulder to grab the man's hair himself. I let go just in time, just as the greasy head snapped back and cracked against the wall.

‘Don't even think about it,' said my rescuer mildly.

He must have been psychic. The first guy was on all fours behind him, still conscious and ready to attack again. My hero turned and lashed a foot into his belly, and he crumpled, moaning.

‘Are you okay?' Hero-with-cheekbones shut one eye and looked at me, then touched his thumb to the corner of my mouth, delicately wiping blood. ‘You're going to have some shiner.'

‘Fine,' I said. It didn't occur to me to knee him in the balls, not even when he carefully tugged my top back over my breasts. I fastened my jeans myself.

‘You're a halfwit,' he said.

‘Yeah,' I said. I was in no mood to argue, but I kicked Number One between the legs as I stepped past him, just to salvage my pride.

‘Where do you stay? I'll walk you home.'

‘Will you hell.' As I picked up my bag, I saw my fingers judder, and suddenly the rest of me was shaking too.

‘Yes. I will.'

‘Look, pal, I'm not in the mood any more.'

‘I never was in the mood, smart arse.' His fingers closed round my arm to stop me falling on my face, but he didn't get any closer. ‘I said I'll walk you home.'

‘I'm sober, y'know.'

‘About time. I'll walk you home.'

‘Okay.'

We walked in silence. After a while my feet hurt so much in my high heels I stopped and yanked them off, and walked on barefoot, my shoes hooked into my fingers and swinging at my side. I had the nasty feeling my companion was amused, but it was my only nasty feeling. Funny, that, after what just nearly happened. Here I was walking home with a strange man, and I didn't feel the least bit nervous. It was like I trusted him, instinctively. Like I'd always known him and I knew his mind and I'd be okay with him.

By the time we got to the communal door of my flat, I wanted him again.

‘My name's Aileen,' I offered.

‘It would be. I'm Conal.'

‘Come on up for coffee, Conal,' I said.

‘I'll see you in,' he said. ‘But I'll pass on the coffee.'

‘Right.' I winked knowingly.

He rolled his eyes. ‘I'll pass on the coffee because I'm
leaving
.'

And the bastard did. I couldn't believe it. I was suddenly so exhausted I could have fallen asleep on my feet, and he had to half-carry me upstairs. He had to find my key in my bag and open the door for me. He had to pick me up and lay me down on the bed—fully-clothed—and tuck the duvet round me, and click on the heating an extra hour while the place warmed up. And then he stepped back and said he was going.

‘Don't go,' I said, very drowsily.

‘You're tired.' He reached out a hand to touch the side of my head but I caught his wrist and stopped him. I don't know why. I wanted him to touch me, after all. Maybe it was my instincts kicking in again, but I did
not
want him to touch the side of my head.

He frowned slightly, as if he couldn't quite make me out.

That made two of us.

‘I'm really tired,' I said. ‘You can take advantage of me if you like.'

‘Uh-huh.'

He leaned down. Kissed my forehead. Then at last his fingers touched my temple, very lightly. I only had a fraction of a moment to enjoy the sensation before I was more tired than I've ever been in my life. I couldn't even move and for a horrible second I thought he'd spiked my drink, but I stayed awake long enough to see him go out the front door and hear the latch click behind him. And then I was asleep.

*   *   *

I laughed. I couldn't help it. I shook off my mother's frustration like a dog shaking off water, and I laughed some more.

‘That was so him,' I said.

My mother couldn't quite focus. She blinked as if she was drunk again. ‘I thought you hadn't met him.'

‘Only in dreams,' I said, ‘like now.'

‘You're strange,' she said. ‘You would be. You're his.'

‘I'm not really like him though.'

She shrugged. ‘No-one is.'

‘Mister Chivalrous,' I said, and smiled.

Mum smiled back at me. ‘Yes. But everybody has their tipping point.'

‘Obviously. Or I wouldn't be here.'

We both laughed, and I felt closer to her than I had for years.

‘What happened?'

Same bar. There was a distinct danger here that they were going to get to know me. A place where everybody knows your name, God forbid. But he drank here. So I went back.