Silk Over Razor Blades (7 page)

‘Go ahead. Don’t mind me.’
Grinning, he stepped past her and fumbled with his boxers. Seconds
later, as she squirted toothpaste on to her brush, she heard the
thunderous gush of his morning relief.

‘Aaaah,’ he moaned.

‘Gross.’

‘You love me anyway, né?’

Shaking her head, she noted
that she did. Playful banter like this was one of the many reasons
she’d agreed to married him.

Lenina watched her reflection
as she cleaned her teeth. She spat and watched pink-tinged froth
slide down the plug hole. ‘My mouth is bleeding.’

‘Don’t brush so hard.’ Nick
planted a kiss on her cheek and washed his hands. ‘See you
downstairs.’

His reflection vanished from
the mirror.

Lenina looked at her face
again.

Her features remained the same,
despite the horrific events of the night before. Somehow, she
expected that her experience would stain her but the only visible
change was the scratch on her cheek. And the bite marks between her
neck and shoulder.

She touched the fresh bandage,
wincing as the light contact sent an ache racing up and down her
throat. For the first time she considered that the hospital might
not be such a bad idea.

A phone rang, making her jump.
Leaving her reflection behind, Lenina ran back to the bedroom and
snagged her mobile from the dresser. ‘Hello?’

‘Hey, chuck,’ the bright voice
echoed against a backdrop of road noise.

‘Daddy?’

‘Yeah, how are you?’

She glanced at the clock. ‘Do
you know what time it is?’

‘Sorry, did I wake you?’

‘No.’ She froze. ‘Is everything
okay? Mum? Jordan . . . ?’

‘They’re fine. Don’t
worry.’

She exhaled. A long breath she
hadn’t been aware of holding. ‘Not that I don’t love hearing from
you, but why the early morning wake-up call?’

‘I’m in the neighbourhood. Can
I stop by?’

‘Now?’

‘Sure.’

She carried the phone
downstairs. ‘What are you doing in Leicester?’

‘Work meeting. I had to stay
over.’

‘You drive buses.’ She
chuckled. ‘What sort of meeting brings you all the way up
here?’

‘Important ones.’ His voice
became guarded. ‘If you don’t want to see me, just say so.’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s just
early. I’m tired.’

‘You don’t sound yourself.
Everything okay?’

She paused. Her breathing
quickened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You sound different.
Stressed.’

‘Switch off your radar, Daddy.
I’m fine.’

‘Can I come over? I’m ten
minutes away.’

Lenina caught up to Nick in the
kitchen. She smiled her thanks as he handed her a mug of tea.
‘Seriously?’

‘I’m at the Holiday Inn.’

Nick raised a questioning
eyebrow.

‘Dad,’ she mouthed at him.

He nodded and returned his
attention to the toaster, snatching the slices from the air as they
popped up. He took a large bite from one before adding a generous
slather of honey.

‘You can if you want, I
suppose.’ She glanced at Nick. He shrugged.

‘Becalm your enthusiasm, chuck.
You’ll bowl me over.’

‘Funny. See you soon.’

He hung up.

Lenina put the phone beside her
mug and ran her hands through her hair. ‘Bloody hell.’

‘What, babe?’

‘Don’t know. I feel weird. And
now Daddy’s coming. He’ll freak out.’

‘About last night?’ Toast
crumbs flew. ‘Don’t tell him.’

She pointed to her neck.

He shrugged. ‘Like you’ve never
had to hide a love bite before.’

Anger surged through her. ‘This
isn’t a love bite.’

‘Sorry, sorry, I know. Calm
down. Look, you don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want, but
it would help, né? And how do you think he’ll feel if he finds out
another way? You know how he gets.’

‘That’s exactly why I don’t
want to tell him.’

‘Your choice, babe, but he’ll
know for sure if stay I home.’

She stared at him.

‘You really think I’d leave you
after last night? They can manage without me for one day. Just like
the museum can manage without you. We’ll skive off together.’

‘I don’t want to stay off work.
It’s important to me.’

‘They’re just bits of broken
pottery.’

She scowled. ‘It’s not
just
broken pottery. It’s my career. Don’t dismiss it. I
don’t do that with your stupid interviews or sports
commentary.’

‘Dismiss— what?’ He put down
the toast. ‘Where’s this coming from?’

‘You! Making jokes . . . this
is a big deal. What if that guy is outside our house? What if he’s
following me around? What if I’m sick?’

He looked vague.

‘Weren’t you listening? I told
Tristen that the guy bit me.’

‘Who?’

‘The detective! The homeless
guy bit me, but then I bit him back and got blood in my mouth. What
if I caught some horrible disease?’

Nick swore, another of the few
phrases in Afrikaans she really recognised. He continued in
English, speaking as he might to a petulant two-year-old. ‘You had
a whole conversation with the detective upstairs, remember? While I
was down here defending you to his domkop partner. I didn’t know
about the blood. We’ll go to the hospital—’ she stamped her foot.
‘Fine – the GP – and get all the tests you want. But you need to
calm down.’

‘I am calm.’

‘Then why are you shaking?’

Lenina looked down at her
hands. A tear slipped free and traced a stinging path along the
scratch on her cheek. ‘I’m sorry. I know this isn’t your fault. I
feel so . . . and the wedding . . . look at me! I’m a mess. All
this won’t heal before the ceremony. And
you
look like
you’ve been in a boxing ring. It’s a complete disaster.’

‘It’s not. We just have to take
things one step at a time. We’ll go to the GP. We’ll talk to the
make-up artists. Both of us can wear make-up if we have to. Your
bridal consultant will be thrilled.’

‘You’d wear make-up for
me?’

‘I’d do anything for you. You
must know that.’

She stared at him, drinking in
the softness in his eyes, the downward tilt of his lips. ‘I do. I’m
sorry.’

‘Come here.’

Lenina ran to him and let him
put his arms around her.

For the first time since the
attack it felt right to be there. His warmth, his strength, even
the shape of his muscles beneath his dressing gown.

‘Let me call Donna,’ he
whispered. ‘I’ll tell her you threw up this morning.’

‘Don’t you dare. She’ll be
picking out cots and babygrows before you know it.’

A smile further brightened
Nick’s features. He pressed a light kiss to her uninjured cheek.
‘Would that be so bad?’ he whispered. ‘Pregnant? A baby? You
wouldn’t like that?’

‘It would ruin our
honeymoon.’

Nick’s laughter filled the
kitchen. He kissed her again, harder this time. ‘Is that all you
think about?’

‘Yes. And my dress.’

‘Bimbo.’ After one last squeeze
he left her. ‘Don’t forget to call the doctor. I need the
appointment time if I’m coming with you.’

She hesitated, toying with the
rim of her mug. ‘No, you go. Daddy can come instead.’

‘I thought you didn’t want him
to worry.’

‘He doesn’t have to know
why
I’m going.’

‘Your funeral.’ He carried his
plate, toast and all, into the living room. Moments later, Lenina
heard the sound of the local news from the TV.

In the still of the kitchen she
sipped her tea, thinking back over the night before. The pain in
her stomach had subsided somewhat, but the headache remained.
Sharp. Piercing. Each time she glanced through the window to the
garden outside, bright shafts of watery sunlight made the feeling
still worse. Squinting against the glare, she stood and pulled the
blinds down. As artificial twilight fell on the room, the pain
receded slightly.

‘Great,’ she murmured.

Fishing in a drawer unearthed a
blister pack of ibuprofen and she swallowed two with another glug
of tea.

While waiting for the drug to
kick in she heard the trill of the doorbell. Nick grumbled from the
other room. Seconds later, two voices floated through, one light
and playful, the other deep and strong, like a drill sergeant. The
second voice came closer.

A quick swivel on the chair had
Lenina facing the door in time to see her father plough into the
room. Tall, broad and dark in faded black trousers, and a battered
leather jacket. His white shirt was open at the neck, framing a
flash of gold jewellery against his hairy chest.

For all that his clothing was
neat and tidy, his face didn’t match. A worn, tired look lived in
his eyes and his forehead showcased a liberal collection of
wrinkles. More so than the last time she saw him.

He shrugged off the jacket,
wiped both hands over his shiny bald head then swept her up. His
massive arms curled around her body, lifting her off the floor. Her
toes scraped the tops of his shoes.

Gasping, she turned her face
sideways to free it from his chest. ‘Daddy?’ she wheezed, ‘put me
down.’

He squeezed harder. ‘I heard
what happened. I’m so sorry.’

Lenina groaned, making a mental
note to flay Nick for his wagging tongue. ‘I’m fine. I’m not
hurt.’

‘Hurt? Why would you be
hurt?’

Her feet hit the ground so hard
her teeth knocked together. ‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘The wedding caterers? They
pulled out.’

She stumbled then righted
herself, tilting her head to get a proper look at her father’s
face. ‘When?’

‘They didn’t tell you? They
phoned me yesterday because the company’s gone into
administration.’

The sick sensation returned to
Lenina’s stomach. ‘How am I going to get new caterers at this
point? I knew this would be a disaster!’ She gnawed her thumbnail.
‘Maybe I can go back to that place on Harrow Road. If we offer them
extra they might be able to squeeze us in . . .’

‘I’ll handle it, chuck.’

‘But we were going to have
vol-au-vents and canapés.’

He chuckled. ‘Any caterer in
the East Midlands can handle that.’

‘But they need to be gluten
free. And what about the main course? I’ll have to go through all
the allergy details again. There’s no time.’

‘I said I’ll handle it. Why
don’t you tell me what
you
were talking about?’

Lenina returned to the table
and hid behind her tea. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Chuck . . .’ His voice
deepened. Took on that warning edge she remembered from her
childhood years.

‘Honest, Daddy, it’s nothing.
You’re going to make me late for work.’

The doorbell rang again.

‘Is this a morning tea party or
something?’ Nick’s agitated voice carried over the low drone of the
breakfast news. Lenina glanced towards the living room then back to
her father. She opened her mouth, ready to speak again, when Nick
put his head around the door.

‘Nina, the detective is here
again.’

She looked at her father. Saw
the frown on his face deepen.

‘What detective? What’s he
talking about?’

She sighed. ‘Coming . . .’

Lenina sat on the sofa beside
her father while Sergeant Blake stood close by. She held her mug
with both hands, sipping slowly as if that might steady the race of
her heart. It didn’t, but the show of calm made the reality easier
to attain.

Nick, after glancing at his
watch, sprinted upstairs to get dressed. She heard him banging
drawers and slamming cupboards, searching for a shirt that didn’t
need ironing.

‘Good morning,’ the voice came
from her left. Low. Soft. Smooth like the sweet silk of expensive
chocolate. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tristen Blake.’ He extended his
hand. ‘You look very familiar; have we met before?’

After a glance at the proffered
hand, Ray folded his own in his lap. ‘I’m Raymond Miller and no we
haven’t. What do you want?’

Blake retracted his hand,
eyebrows arched towards his hairline. He glanced at Lenina, then
adjusted his tie, running a finger along the inside of his collar.
‘I’m following up last night’s attack. I’m sure you already know
the details from Lenina?’

Ray pursed his lips. ‘No, my
daughter hasn’t told me anything of the sort. Though I’m sure she
was planning to.’

Leaning further over the mug of
tea seemed safer than answering.

Tristen cleared his throat,
‘I’m sorry to come unannounced, but I need to ask Lenina— Miss
Miller— more questions.’

She glanced up, surprised by
the correction. He caught her gaze and widened his eyes before
looking past her. When she followed his line of sight she realised
her father was staring at them with pursed lips and a wrinkled
brow.

Freeing one hand from the mug,
she placed it on his knee. ‘It sounds worse than it was, Daddy.
Some madman attacked me in the park last night.’

Ray gnawed his bottom lip. ‘I
assumed you were hiding a love bite.’

Lenina flashed back on the
sensation of blood dripping down the side of her neck. The wet
crunch as the ginger stranger plunged his teeth into the side of
her throat. ‘No,’ she whispered.

‘Did you get an appointment for
those blood tests?’ Sergeant Blake spoke softly.

Ray frowned. ‘What blood
tests?’

The look in the detective’s eye
showed he realised his mistake. Little spots of pink formed on his
cheeks. ‘I suggested that Miss Miller book in for some blood tests
against blood-borne diseases.’

‘He bit me, Daddy.’ Lenina
spoke to the floor. ‘And I bit his hand.’

‘This was last night. Why
didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because I knew you’d freak
out.’

‘Am I not allowed to worry
about my daughter?’ He turned away, rubbing his mouth with the tips
of his fingers. Fine tremors rippled over his shoulders, tension
singing through every limb.