Dead in Time

Chapter Twelve

“Nice,” I said, proud of my measured tones and lack of excitement or, indeed, expletives.

“I have my uses.”

“I’ll bet. Um. I’m going to go and put the kettle on.”

I stood the shampoo back on the side of the bath and headed off to make the coffee. It just seemed like the safest thing to do. In the kitchen, I felt him behind me, like a shiver outside of the body.

“Listen, I was thinking…. Why don’t I take you out, baby?”

I turned, and he slunk around me, smile on his face.

“Whaddya say? Hmm?”

Hand on the fridge door, ready to fetch milk, I frowned. “Out?”

“Yeah. You deserve a break. And… well, y’know.” Day gave me one of those semi-shrugs that affected complete nonchalance, though he couldn’t quite meet my eye. He reached past me—ice on the shoreline and cold weather chills—and plucked the little blue leaflet off the front of the fridge. “I sorta thought it might be fun. Y’know?”

With darkly sinking dread, I looked at the bad block printing and exclamation marks on the flyer. I’d forgotten about Open Mic Night at The Crown. 

“You want to play at my local? Tonight?”

“Well, if you don’t wanna go, baby,” he said with the hint of a pout. “I just thought maybe you’d like to come. Y’know. I’ll buy you dinner an’ everything. Show you how much I appreciate what you’re doing. But if you’re not in the mood….” 

He folded the leaflet up and tucked it into his pocket, a picture of wounded feelings. I shook my head in something that didn’t make it quite all the way to disbelief. So little left I found hard to believe, after all. Day gave me a sly look and raised his eyebrows.

“Well?”

I was tempted to poke fun. Oh, in an amiable way, of course… but to poke fun all the same. Did he really need it that much? Or did he just miss it? Either way, I knew I wouldn’t refuse; I couldn’t help but think of Mum. Dinner and a Damon Brent gig, all in the company of the man himself….

When I thought about it like that—thought about what he’d been, to her, and to Auntie Jan, Auntie Gail and all those other girls who should probably have known better—it seemed so ridiculous that I started to feel dizzy.

“All right,” I said.

“Cosmic!” He shot me a disarming grin. “Well, ’course, I say buy… ain’t got any bread, babe, so technically you’ll be paying. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

I rolled my eyes.

* * *

Dinner turned out to be fish and chips on the prom, eaten out of oil-smudged paper as we idled away a few minutes en route to the pub. Day had given me time to take a hot bath and change. He’d been waiting at the door for me, a pair of cherry red platform boots added to his outfit and a guitar case slung over his shoulder. I looked quizzically at the latter, but he just smiled and started to question me about my interview with Joss.

I let him get away with it for a while but eventually I crumbled and, as we walked, I had to ask. The streetlights painted orange smears against the tarmac, and the occasional souped-up speedster throbbed past on the road. The salt smell of the sea seemed strong tonight. 

“So, where’d you get that? The guitar, I mean.”

Damon shot me a guilty look. “Does it matter?”