The Watcher

14. Forgive and Forget?

I thought back over the past 24 hours, but I couldn't pinpoint anything that could have scared her. She had seemed fine when she came back in last night. I could vaguely remember seeing her curled up beside me on the sofa before I'd drifted back to sleep. So what had changed between then and now?

I left her to calm down while I took a shower and started tidying up. It was hours before she came out from under the bed, and even then, she still seemed on edge. I opened the kitchen window for her, in case she wanted to go out. Usually she'd sit on the window ledge behind the kitchen tap, her tail curling around the stainless-steel pipe in happiness. Now she crouched with her tail flicking with irritation while she stared avidly at the stairs leading up to the flat above. She was still perched there when I left for work several hours later.

It had been a busy morning, and for the first time in a long time I was dreading working a full twelve-hour shift. My head was still pounding, despite making my way through half a pack of aspirin and countless litres of water. At least the flat was in a better state than when I'd woken up, and I'd arranged for someone to come measure up for a replacement window. With any luck, it would be fixed in the next few days. The PVC replacement wouldn't be as pretty as the original, but at least it would let some light back into the room. I hated it being so dark.

Heavy fat raindrops started to fall as I turned the corner onto the street where the bar sat. It was a steep street, the kind that made my thighs ache as they worked to stop me tumbling down it. The rain slowly darkened the surface of the slate paving stones, turning them from deep grey to black. Like oil had been spilt across the street, the pavement became slippery and slick.

Despite my steady steps, I felt my heel slip from under me. Before I could catch myself, a strong hand caught my arm. I sucked in a breath as I righted myself. I turned to see whether I should thank my saviour or reprimand them for getting handsy.

"I should have known," I drawled as Book Boy looked back at me. I was grateful he'd caught me, but for some reason I was annoyed to see him there.

"You're in late today," I said as I steadied myself.

He paused and looked at me, shrewd eyes watching me as the rain pattered against his leather coat. He, unlike me, didn't have an umbrella, so the rain was slowly soaking his hair.

He still hadn't spoken, which was unusual, even for him.

"Cat got your tongue?" I asked, as I watched rivets of water drip off the ends of his tousled locks.

"You're talking to me," he responded in a deep gruff voice, an inflection of confusion in his words. A small crease of consternation formed between his eyebrows.

We were almost at the bar now. I could see the painted grey exterior peeking out from its position beside one of the city's more sophisticated strip clubs. The windows were fogged up with condensation as the cool air outside met the warmth of bodies and hot coffee inside.

"And first prize for stating the obvious goes to..." I pressed as I thought back over the conversation we'd had yesterday in my flat. I could remember him sneaking up on me, and the look on the policewoman's face when she saw him, but then he'd left, and I'd gotten on with my evening. Dull and uneventful as always. There was nothing in my memory to suggest why we might have fallen out.

"I thought..." he started but mashed his lips together mid-sentence as we stopped outside the tall glass double doors.

"Yeah?" I pushed, intrigued at the way his eyes searched mine.

"Nothing," he retorted quickly. "It doesn't matter."

All of a sudden, he stopped, leaning against the window frame as I cracked open the door. A welcoming waft of coffee and sweet baked goods snuck through the small slither of space, all warm and enticing.

"OK, then..." I murmured as I pushed open the door, the familiar clang of the bell sounding as I entered. I thought about holding the door open for him, but he wasn't paying attention. Instead he was dialling something on his phone while his now drenched hair dripped onto the screen. If he was bothered by the cold and the wet, he didn't show it.

I frowned but left him to his conversation. I wasn't sure what had changed but he seemed like a completely different person to the playful guy I'd spoken to yesterday. I wondered if it had anything to do with where he'd disappeared to last week, but the thought only lasted a second.

"Turn that frown upside down!" Callum hollered from across the room. He was dancing behind the bar to one of his favourite songs as it played over the speakers.

I chuckled lightly but the motion made my head pound.

"What's up?" Kelly asked as I rubbed my temples. She came around the bar towards me, casting a quick glance behind her to make sure the Callum was serving the customer she'd walked away from.

"Just a headache."

"Do you want some paracetamol or aspirin?" she asked as she touched my arm lightly.

"I've been taking them all day, but they don't seem to make much difference."

She watched me with concern, the green in her hazel eyes catching the warm glow of the overhead lights. "You should have called in sick if you weren't feeling well."

"I'm fine, honestly. I just need to take my mind off it," I said with a tight smile as I shrugged away from her hand. She was a friend, but her sympathy still made me uncomfortable.

"Well, if you need to go home just let me know. I'm just going to be up in the office."

I nodded as I inched past her.

Before I went to hang up my coat, I glanced back to Book Boy standing outside. He was talking on the phone, and even though I couldn't hear what he was saying I could see the agitated way he moved his arms. I realised it was the first time I'd seen him look so emotive.

His call had ended by the time I came back from the staff room. From behind the bar, I watched him shove a hand into his hair, pushing the near black strands back from his face. He dropped his hand to his side and stood for a moment. After a beat of stillness, he rolled his shoulders once. Like he was composing himself from whatever had transpired.

Decisively, he turned, and our eyes locked through the glass. The fog on the glass clouded my view, but for a fleeting second it looked like his face flashed with a frown of disappointment.