Witch Hunt. Syd Moore

       Chapter Ten

      The tide was out. Mud filled up most of the view from my window. It had a dark sullen pallor to it, the colour of an angry toad. You could see a paler line of grey further out: the water slithering to Chalkwell. A light fuzz above it suggested it was bringing in a mist.

      And there was something else out there in the air that occupied the space between me and the creeping sea. Something I couldn’t yet make out but could feel – like a million unseen eyes watching me. Or perhaps they were just early stars?

      It would be a cold night tonight.

      I shivered and turned away from the gloom.

      The mirror above my fireplace had a woman in it who looked slightly nuts; sad eyes, as grim as the dirty river. The pink skin underneath my lower lids had taken on a shade of damson plum. My bob had shaken free of any style and formed itself into something more brush-like. I peeled a strand away from my cheek. I needed a trim and several nights’ sleep but for now hairpins, some good foundation and lipstick would have to do.

      I was finishing off the repair job when Joe arrived. To be honest, I was a little surprised to see him a) in uniform and b) accompanied by a female officer, who he introduced as Lesley.

      I led them into the living room and offered them cups of tea. They refused. I saw that Joe, though quite bouncy as usual, had assumed a brusque air of efficiency. In fact he didn’t waste any time and asked to see my computer straight away. ‘I’ve filled in Lesley with the details,’ he said.

      Lesley nodded from the sofa. She was a short woman. Probably weighed about the same as Joe, and wasn’t particularly forthcoming. She had the kind of face that made you feel sorry for her, like a bowl of rice pudding with two raisins in it. I imagined she was tolerating Joe’s detour to my place as a favour.

      I opened the laptop and began to type in my password. ‘I did exactly what you suggested – closed the lid and left it. So everything should be here,’ I told Joe.

      He came over and leant his hands on the table, lowering his head to look at the screen. Our faces were only a couple of inches apart. I could feel his body heat and smell him. A quick glance reminded me that he looked fit in uniform. Always had. Looked pretty good out of it too.

      I recalled meeting him at an old friend’s thirtieth three years ago. He was with a large group of people and I think he had a girlfriend there too. But it was okay, his sunny demeanour wasn’t dented by embarrassment. On the contrary, he looked genuinely pleased to see me and presented me to his friends as ‘an exceptionally talented writer’, or something along those lines. I followed him with the usual self-deprecation and he smiled at me, almost as if he were proud. When I met his eyes, later that night, while Christopher was off at the bar and his girlfriend was dancing, there was definitely a twinkle there, like he was letting me know that there was something for me whenever I was ready. There was no pushiness about it or any sense that he was demanding an acknowledgement. It was more like an open-ended and unspoken question that lingered in the air between the two of us; ‘would you ever … ?’ Nothing more.

      Anyway there we were, by my desk. Joe met my gaze and smiled. I sucked in my abdomen and registered a small thrill.

      He seemed oblivious to the effect he was currently having on me: his eyes swivelled over the living room to his partner on the sofa.

      ‘Let’s have a look.’ This from Lesley. ‘Dragged me all this way, might as well sort it out.’ She plodded over to the chair next to me and heaved her large behind into it.

      ‘What were you doing?’ Her voice was gruff and fat.

      I sniffed and sucked in her smell. She reeked of nights on the computer, microwave meals for one and two cats. ‘I was working on Word – ah – here it is.’ The document was there, cursor still flashing halfway down the third paragraph after the date 1589. ‘And I’d just been on Google to check that date. I minimised the window.’