Page 67 of 56 Days
She thinks that’s who it is, anyway. What she looks like up close matches what the woman on the balcony looked like from far away. Blond, late thirties/early forties, with a body only a gym could maintain. Unlike Ciara, she’s properly dressed—jeans, socks and sneakers, an oversized cardigan—and there’s no trace of sleep on her face.
She’s smiling at first but then the smile starts to fade and Ciara realizes she hasn’t reacted to this woman’s presence at all, hasn’t said a single thing yet, just looked at her blankly, and now might be the time—
“Sorry,” Ciara blurts. “Miles away there. I think I’m stillhalf-asleep. And yeah. It was so loud in there, I couldn’t think.”
“I’m Laura.”
“Ciara.”
“I would shake your hand, but... We can bump elbows.”
Ciara thinks the other woman is joking until she raises an arm and proffers it for a bump.
“Have you just moved in?” Laura asks then.
“Oh, I don’t—I don’t live here. I’m just staying with a friend. For now. During... all this.”
“Kind of like a lockdown buddy?”
Ciara isn’t confident that this isn’t a euphemism, and Laura’s knowing smile suggests that itis. So she mumbles, “Something like that.”
“I should’ve got one of those. I’m on my own and going a bitstir-crazy.” Laura looks back at the building, turning her body directly toward the nearest streetlight. It illuminates her features, including a thin, white scar across the base of her throat. She frowns a little. “He must be a very deep sleeper, this buddy of yours.”
Ciara feels a ripple of dread at the prospect of having to talk to him, of having to go back in there, withhim, afterthat.
He pulled her into that bathroom and then physically prevented her from leaving.
Or did he just do a very bad job of trying to get his point across?
And who was texting him at four in the morning?
Over Laura’s shoulders, Ciara catches a glint of light: a reflection on one of the glass doors as it swings open.
Oliver steps onto the street, looking around, scanning.
For her.
But when he turns and sees her, he abruptly turns on his heel and goes back inside.
What the...?
Laura turns around to follow Ciara’s gaze.
“Everything all right?” she asks.
“Fine,” Ciara says absently.
“I wanted to—” Laura starts, at the precise moment the siren wail stops. “Oh.” She smiles. “Well, there we go. Hallelujah.”
“Finally.” Ciara takes a step toward the doors. “I’m getting such a bad headache. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to take much more of it.”
“I have some paracetamol if that’s any—”
“Oh no. Thank you.” Ciara turns back, smiles gratefully. “I have something.”
“Are you sure? I’ve got the good stuff.”
“No, no. Really. Thank you, though.”
