Page 43 of 56 Days
“Can he come here right now? We’ll need his assistance.”
“I’ll tell him to.”
“As quick as he can, okay?”
Kevin nods firmly like he’s just been tasked with alife-savingmission, and turns sharply on his heel.
When he’s gone, Karl rejoins her, sticking his phone back into his pocket.
“So KB Studios is indeed a firm of architects,” he says. “The office number is redirecting to the mobile phone of a receptionist who’s at home. She doesn’t know anything and she says that kind of info is with the office manager. She’s going to get him to ring me back.”
“We’ve got a problem.”
Karl snorts. “Just the one?”
“The CCTV only goes back seven days.”
“Well, if it’s an accident, we won’t need it. And that’s still, what? Nearly a hundred and seventy hours of video we’ll have to watch? I can hardly wait.”
Lee sighs. “And here I was thinking I might treat myself to a curry and veg out on the couch tonight...”
“Why? Because you’re overdue a break from your hectic social life? You know, I was thinking this morning, Lee—have you even noticed we’re in lockdown? Like, how has your life changed, actually?”
“When were you thinking this? Was it before or after I had to get your naked arse out of two sets of handcuffs?”
“We’d both be alotmore emotionally scarred if they’d been anywhere near my arse.”
“Thank God for small mercies.”
“So, wait, we have no ID? Was there no wallet or—”
“There’s an envelope in the letterbox,” Lee says, remembering. “But if it’s not a permanent residence, it’s probably not even for him. Could just be junk.” She nods toward the building. “Let’s go check.”
Karl motions toward the cordon. “After you, boss.”
34 Days Ago
Early the next morning, Ciara wakes up in the warmth of Oliver’s bed.
After dinner, they’d finished the wine, and after that she’d expressed regret that they didn’t have more of it. Oliver had suggested a walk to the Spar and then, gently, that they should carry on to his place after that. She’d spent the whole day cleaning the apartment from top to bottom and money on things she didn’t actually need—like threegod-awfulpurple throws—because he’d never been to her place but had been pushing to see it for at least the last ten days. It was getting mildly annoying, so she’d given in. Now, two hours after he’d arrived there, he was suggesting they leave.
“You can have a look at your new room,” he’d joked.
She’d already seen it, actually, but she couldn’t tell him that. A few days before, when he was in the shower, she’d taken a peek behind the only door in his apartment that always seemed to be closed. On the other side was nothing more exciting than a spare bedroom.
A single box spring with no headboard was pushed up against one wall, opposite somebuilt-inwardrobes. The mattress was pristine and there was a protector still neatly folded in plastic packaging lying at one end. Theroller-blindson the window were pulled all the way down and the air in the room smelled faintly of new paint, as if no one had ever stayed in there for any length of time.
“You just don’t want to sleep in mybed-that-comes-down-from-the-wall,” she’d said to him. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
He’d grinned. “Oh, I’d have no problemsleepingin it...”
And she’d laughed and looked away so he wouldn’t see the sudden flare of heat on her face.
Their sex isn’t as awkward and fumbling as it had been the first two or three times, back when it came like full stops at the end of evenings where Ciara, knowing what was coming, had made sure to drink enough to make it possible, to silence the parts of her that screamed she shouldn’t be doing this, that reacted as if Oliver’s touch was something her skin was allergic to. She’d taken to closing her eyes and trying to shut down her brain, telling herself that this, too, was another excruciating beginning that, if she managed to get past it, would lead to better things, better feelings, a betterlife. And it did get a little easier with each go, like a dance she was gradually learning the steps to, the moves slowly becoming muscle memory. But still, she found herself occasionally shocked by the cold bareness of Oliver’s skin, the restriction of his weight on top of her, parts of his body in hers like some kind of foreign invasion.
She rolls onto her side now and looks at him.
He’s still sleeping, his bare back to her, as far away as he can be while remaining on the bed. His breaths are deep and regular. This is how they always end up when she stays over: repelled, even though they begin the night in each other’s arms, her head resting on his chest.
