by Helen Cox
Charley looked Evie up and down for a moment. ‘Whatever makes you feel comfortable,’ she said.
Fourteen
Evie spent much longer upstairs getting changed than she meant to. Her top priority was removing the silicone sheets from her scars and applying some of the make-up she’d bought to cover them. After that, however, things became more complicated. For some reason, she could not decide what to wear. It shouldn’t have been a difficult decision given that she and Charley weren’t planning anything more extravagant than sitting in front of the TV with a takeaway. If she had been doing the same thing with Kitt, she would have thrown on a pair of leggings and a hoodie but, perhaps because she didn’t know Charley that well, she didn’t feel comfortable wearing something that casual in her company.
Things went a bit too far in the other direction, though, when Evie tried on a vintage evening dress in blue velvet before catching her reflection in the full-length mirror and tearing the garment off as quickly as she could. Charley herself was only in a tank top and jeans. There was no way she could go downstairs dressed as if they were off to a black tie event.
In the end, Evie settled for a yellow tea dress which came just over the knee and a thick lilac cardigan to go over the top.
When she at last made it downstairs, Charley was already examining the range of trinkets on a chalk-painted wooden dresser standing in the corner. Though the officer had had cause to search Evie’s house a few weeks back, she was good enough not to bring that up and behave as though this was the first time she had seen the various ornaments on display. Evie always forgot what a good conversation starter the general make-up of her house was. Most collectors of vintage items settled on one particular era. Or at the very least, one era in each room. Evie, however, had never managed to be this organized and as a result every room in the house was like wandering into an Aladdin’s Cave of sorts. It still made her smile to walk into the kitchen and see retro Babycham glasses sitting next to a Victorian tea-set. Any company she had never failed to comment on the strange assortment of wonders. The living room housed everything from a 1930s gramophone to the chaise longue Charley stretched herself out on the moment Evie made it clear it would be polite enough to do so.
Evie hoped the pair would talk some more about the burglary case to see if there was a way forward, but it was quickly apparent Banks would rather be talking about lighter topics. Thus, once they had exhausted the stories of just about every piece of furniture in the room, the pair somehow got onto childhood stories and it wasn’t long after that that Evie found herself in a fit of hysterics, clutching her stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed this hard. Weeks and weeks, it seemed. Her cheekbones and her ribs ached, pleading for mercy.
‘Wh-wh-what did your dad do?’ asked Evie, in response to Charley’s story about the time she’d cracked an egg on her dad’s bald head while he was sitting in the living room watching the darts one Saturday afternoon.
Charley wiped small tears from her own eyes and tried to contain her own laughter enough to speak again. ‘Oh, he went nuts. I got a real hiding for it. But in his defence, I think that’s the sort of behaviour you’ve got to clamp down on. You can’t have your bairns cracking eggs on the heads of bald strangers just for laughs. You can get into real trouble for stuff like that, especially in Glasgow.’
Evie started giggling again. ‘I – I just wish I could have seen his face.’
‘It was dark as thunder, I can tell you that. I thought it might be my last act on this planet.’
‘But you survived,’ Evie said, before reaching over to the mahogany coffee table sitting at the side of the sofa, tearing off another piece of the naan bread, and shoving it into her mouth. The gin made her worry less about the calories. Evie knew from previous occasions that there was a definite correlation between a person’s alcohol consumption and their disregard for calorie intake but whenever this thought had occurred to her she had always been too intoxicated to set it out in her head as a measurable formula.
‘Yes, I did survive,’ said Banks. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned doing what I do, it’s that it’s amazing what people can survive.’
Evie’s giggles fizzled out and she felt the smile drop off her face.
‘Everything all right over there?’ asked Charley, from her lolling position on the chaise longue, which was cushioned in green velvet.
Evie nodded and tried to smile even though she felt the sudden and ridiculous urge to cry. How could she swing between emotions so violently? Was it the gin having its way with her? She dare not look at Charley for fear she would see how close she was to tears.
‘Oh, Evie . . .’ The hard notes in Charley’s accent had softened. It seemed Evie hadn’t even had to look at Charley for her to know that something was wrong. When Evie thought about it, that made sense. She was a detective. She was highly unlikely to miss the small details.
Charley manoeuvred herself into a sitting position and looked harder at Evie. ‘What’s going on? Is it . . . are you still hurting over Owen?’
‘No . . .’ said Evie, feeling a sudden chill, despite the central heating, and wrapping her arms around herself to compensate. ‘I mean, I still feel bad about what happened to him but I could feel a lot worse if I were a better person.’
Banks shook her head. ‘That’s just blether. You’re one of the nicest people I know.’
‘And yet, all I’ve thought about since Owen’s death is myself, how it’s affecting me,’ said Evie.
‘I don’t believe that’s true. And even if it was, being accused of a person’s murder will do that for you; self-preservation kicks in. It’s not something you should be beating yourself up over.’ Charley paused and took another gulp of her gin. ‘If you’re not feeling so badly about Owen, I’m glad. But I would like to know what is causing you worry . . .’
Evie shook her head. ‘It’s difficult to talk about.’
‘So are a lot of things. You don’t think I tell everyone about cracking an egg on my dad’s head now, do you?’
In spite of herself, Evie smiled again at that image but then let out a sigh.
‘You don’t have to tell me, of course you don’t,’ said Charley. ‘It’s just that telling people about something that’s bothering you is often the first step on the road to feeling better about it.’
‘I know, you’re right,’ said Evie. ‘It’s just a bit embarrassing.’
‘You don’t have to be embarrassed with me.’
Evie looked over at Charley then, wondering if that were true. Evie felt more embarrassed around the officer than she did around anyone else she knew and she couldn’t understand why. Determined to push through this strange, and unnecessary, shyness around someone who had been nothing but kind to her, Evie ran her fingertips over the scars on her temple and jaw. ‘It’s . . . it’s these.’
As she touched her scars, the urge to cry grew even stronger. When she sank into that river, she had soaked up grief like a sponge. Now it was squeezing out of her.
Charley was quiet for a moment and then stood. She walked over to the sofa and sat on the arm. Leaning down, she brushed Evie’s face with her hand, swiping off a few of her tears as she did so. ‘These? I think these make you look rather dashing. Like you’ve had an adventure or two.’
Evie frowned. Never had she thought of her scars in that light. She thought about the men she’d fancied over the years, some of whom had had scars. Some had even had them on their faces. They weren’t as severe as her scars but they were still more than noticeable. It hadn’t stopped her dating them. So why did she believe other people wouldn’t look past her scars as she had theirs?
‘The scars, they’re part of you now,’ Charley said.
Charley was sitting close enough for Evie to breathe in her perfume. It had a dark, fruity flavour to it. ‘I just can’t see anything beautiful when I look in the mirror a
ny more. When I look at myself all I see is the scars.’
With a sigh, Charley rose once again, took a couple of paces away from the sofa and turned her back to Evie.
‘Lots of us have scars,’ she said, crossing her arm over her body and tugging up her black tank top to reveal the cinch point where her waist curved in and then jutted out at her hip. A long, white scar slashed across her tanned skin, cutting upwards towards the base of her shoulder blades.
Distracted from her tears, Evie stood and took a step closer to examine Charley’s body. ‘What happened?’
‘Trained as a copper in Glasgow. A lot of knives in Glasgow. This one was like a machete. I was lucky not to bleed to death.’
‘God. I – I’m glad you didn’t,’ said Evie swallowing hard and staring at the scar. She knew the pain of that kind of cut. How deep it went. How much it hurt. ‘I mean, that would have been very inconsiderate of you. If you weren’t around I’d have to drink this bottle of gin myself. And that wouldn’t be pretty.’
Charley turned her head so that Evie could see her smile in profile. ‘Don’t sell yourself short.’
The strange tingling Evie had felt earlier out in the garage returned now. ‘At least you can hide your scars if you want to – that’s something to be thankful for.’
‘This doesn’t stop me wearing a bikini, you know?’
Evie took a deep breath, giving herself just a second to imagine Charley in a bikini. ‘Not much bikini weather going on in York anyway, but it’s good that you seize the opportunity when you can.’
Charley didn’t laugh. ‘Evie, your scars aren’t ugly. They’re like tattoos. Tattoos that mark your survival.’ She began to lower her tank top but Evie reached out, putting her hand on top of Charley’s to stop her. She wasn’t finished looking at the way the silver river wound across the plain of Charley’s waistline. She traced her fingertips along the scar that passed under her own jaw and then along the path Charley’s scar marked out on her bared back.
A shiver pulsed through Charley’s body.
‘Oh . . . sorry,’ Evie said, snatching her hand away.
‘No.’ There was a shake to Charley’s voice. ‘I liked that.’
Evie’s breathing deepened. She had liked that too. Liked touching Charley. Liked feeling the warmth of her skin, there was something reassuring about how firm she was.
Evie’s hand reached out a second time, her fingertips once again grazed that silver scar and she watched as Charley’s back arched.
The smallest touch from Evie had made Charley bend with pleasure. Evie’s stomach turned over at that thought. Something about that idea made her feel more powerful than she ever had before.
‘I want to . . . kiss it,’ she heard herself say.
For a moment, Evie wasn’t sure if it was her talking or the gin. But when Charley, without a word, lifted her top over her head in a slow striptease Evie’s eyes fixed on the muscular shape of Charley’s upper torso. Inch by inch, it slid into view and it was then Evie knew that the words had belonged to her, completely.
‘Then kiss it,’ said Charley, her words still coming out with a noticeable quiver. ‘Kiss . . . me.’
Evie took another step closer and stared at the back of Charley’s black bra. Her eyes riveted on the clasp, her mind absorbed by the joyous thought of undoing it. She had never been this eager to take clothes off a man. It was an unspoken opinion of hers that men were designed in such a way that they looked better with their clothes on. It wasn’t until now that she realized that might be a rather odd thought for a heterosexual woman to have, which was perhaps why she had never voiced it to anyone.
Leaning forward, Evie pressed her lips against the scar.
‘Oh God,’ Charley whispered. ‘Is this really happening?’
This comment made Evie smile. She circled her tongue around the swerve of Charley’s hip, kissing her there the way she wanted to kiss her on the mouth.
Looking up, she saw Charley’s charcoal eyes smouldering down into hers. Charley’s hands stroked blonde curls as Evie kissed upwards from her navel to the point between her breasts.
Gasping, Charley put a hand on either side of Evie’s head and pulled her face close enough to kiss. Instead of leaning forward so that their lips could meet, however, she tilted Evie’s head back and stared into her eyes.
‘Are you sure you want this?’ Charley asked.
The bigger implications of that question made Evie feel dizzy. She didn’t want to think about them right now. The question was: did she want this, and right now she did. She ached to be tangled up in a tight knot with Charley long enough to forget everything and everybody else.
‘Yes,’ Evie said with a nod. ‘I want this . . . I want you.’
She saw a small smile creep over Charley’s lips.
‘Arms up.’
‘Am I . . . under arrest for kissing an officer?’ Evie said, smiling herself now.
‘Arms . . . up,’ Charley repeated in a voice so soft, Evie couldn’t help but comply. She raised her arms in the air, her heart thumping as she watched Charley lean down to catch hold of the hemline of her tea dress and begin to lift the skirt.
Fifteen
The lush, fruity fragrance of another body in her bed was the first thing Evie noticed when she awoke the next morning. The first clue that what had happened the night before hadn’t been a dream. The first hint that she might have to work through the consequences of what had, at the time, seemed like a dizzyingly stellar idea.
The next thing she was aware of was a buzzing sound. She groaned and reached over to her phone on the bedside table even though some part of her already knew that the rhythm of the vibration was different to that of her own phone. Sure enough, there was no sound or movement from her mobile.
Evie could feel Charley’s body starting to stir. That soft, warm body that had been such a comfort and a delight the night before. Taking a deep breath, she turned over to look at her.
In the rose quartz light sifting through the curtains, Evie was able to make out that Charley’s hair was tangled after a wild night of little sleep. Her eyes were half-closed. More than anything, she wanted to lean over and kiss her awake but she managed to check herself. To shuffle backwards so that there was a little distance between her body and Charley’s before she spoke.
‘I think that’s your phone,’ Evie said, just as the buzzing stopped.
Charley put a hand up to cover her eyes but a small smile formed on her lips. ‘Good morning to you too.’
‘Sorry, I thought it might be important police business. I have to get into work, myself.’
Charley’s smile disappeared, something about those words had jolted her from her half-daze and she reached her hand up to Evie’s cheek. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Your boyfriends may have bought that but I’m not them. I’m a woman. I know what “I’m fine” really means.’
‘I’m fine, really,’ Evie insisted, shaking her head and shaking off Charley’s hand too. ‘Just need to use the facilities.’
Evie sat up to manoeuvre herself out of bed and realized, just as the bedsheets slipped downwards, that she wasn’t wearing any pyjamas. She wasn’t, in fact, wearing anything at all.
She squealed, and grabbed the sheet to cover herself up as quick as her hands would move. Ensuring one hand was gripped tight around the bedding, she covered her face with the other and let out a nervous giggle. ‘Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to flash you.’
‘You’re not going to hear any complaints from me,’ Charley said with an amused note in her voice.
Goosebumps rose on Evie’s skin at that comment but still she pulled the covers up to her neck and said: ‘Could . . . could you not look?’
Charley lowered her eyes and nodded. ‘Whatever makes you feel comfortable.’
Evie cou
ld hear the disappointment in Charley’s voice but she didn’t have the head space to process that right now. This was totally new to her and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Or perhaps she was sure she liked it, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Charley turned her back to Evie and picked her phone up off the bedside table. The moment Charley’s eyes were averted, Evie made a dash for her dressing gown and then the bathroom.
Evie locked the door and leant her back against it. She caught her reflection in the small mirror fitted over the sink and peered more closely at herself.
She looked a fright. Her hair was stuck out at angles she didn’t know were physically possible, and in her drunkenness she hadn’t thought to remove the make-up she’d slapped on the night before so her mascara had formed a dark, menacing line under each eye. She looked like she was moonlighting as a villain in a Star Wars film. Her foundation, meanwhile, had almost completely evaporated so her scars were on full show.
Evie ran some water and splashed it over her face. Grabbing the soap bar, she did what she could to get rid of the dark lines under her eyes and then concentrated on trying to arrange her hair as neatly she could over her scars.
Now that it was possible to look at her own reflection without cringing, it was also possible to work out a plan on handling the situation she’d got herself into.
‘Just . . . be honest,’ Evie said to her reflection. ‘Not too honest but just the right amount of honest.’ She wasn’t sure what the right amount of honest was in this scenario but she couldn’t let Charley think that this was the start of something.
Yes, last night had been great. Better than great, actually. Probably the most fulfilling sexual experience Evie had ever had but that was probably fuelled part by curiosity and part by how vulnerable she had been feeling about her appearance. Of course it felt extra-intense to receive sexual attention when she had thought she would never receive any again. But this was a blip. Just one of those things. Not something she planned on repeating.
