Never Tell. Claire Seeber

reaction.

      ‘I’d rather not,’ I muttered. I was still haunted by the vacant look on Huriyyah’s face. The fact she hadn’t really been present despite her body being in the room; the body that had been no more than a piece of meat. The vague rumours I’d heard since that both boys and girls had been lining up to take turns with her.

      ‘Come on,’ James persisted, ‘we’d never have got together if he hadn’t held that party. And it was a laugh, you’ve got to admit.’

      ‘I suppose so,’ I smiled weakly.

      We both jumped as Jen knocked on the glass window, her short hennaed hair blowing upwards in the December wind, cheeks ruddy from cycling.

      ‘Gotta go.’ I gathered my things, relieved suddenly to be leaving the steamy little café. ‘I’ve already paid for mine. See you soon, yeah?’

      ‘Oh, right.’ He looked put out. ‘Like when?’

      The bad-tempered little waitress was watching us. I realised with a jolt it was Twiggy from the Hallowe’en do. Instinctively I leaned over to kiss James full on the mouth.

      ‘I’ll be in the college bar later, I think,’ I said. ‘About six.’

      ‘And what shall I tell Dalziel?’ James swung back dangerously on his chair’s back legs.

      ‘About what?’

      ‘He’ll want to know who’s in.’

      ‘I don’t know,’ I frowned. ‘I’m not that bothered, to be honest, J. I’ve got a lot on. I’ve just had another article actually commissioned for the Cherwell. It’s got to be in by next week.’

      Jen knocked again more urgently, pointing at her watch in elaborate mime.

      ‘I’m going to be late for my seminar.’

      ‘All right, Goody Two-Shoes,’ James taunted.

      I let it go. ‘I’ll see you later.’

      Cycling through town, my fingers frozen round my handlebars despite my woolly gloves, my mind kept darting back to Dalziel and how I’d felt when he kissed me that cold winter night, and how I’d felt when I’d watched him kissing that boy. But most of all, to the face of the girl on the divan: how utterly lost she had been.

      Leaving my tutor group later, I realised I’d lost my scarf; on the way home I popped into the café to see if it was there. The sulky waitress was cleaning the coffee machine behind the wooden counter.

      ‘Haven’t seen it,’ she muttered, and I had no choice but to believe her.

      ‘Really fancies himself now, that boyfriend of yours, don’t he?’ she said as I opened the door to leave.

      I paused and turned. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘You should have seen him last year.’ Her pretty face was flushed. ‘He was like a – a lost puppy and he dressed like a right bloody spod, carrying that stupid guitar everywhere. Only too glad to mix with the likes of me then.’ She wiped the steam pipe so savagely I thought it would snap. ‘Not that I was interested in him.’

      ‘Oh,’ I said rather helplessly. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Don’t be. Much better fish in the sea.’ She turned her back on me again before I could read the expression on her face. Her voice was strangely muffled. ‘You’re welcome to him.’

      There wasn’t anything else to say really. I saw her in town a few weeks later with another boy; she was wearing my scarf. I decided she could keep it.

       Chapter Five GLOUCESTERSHIRE, MARCH 2008

      The morning after the Kattans’ party, the taxi dropped me at the gates in the overgrown lane. I had a feeling of foreboding that I tried to dispel, but my stomach was churning slightly even before I began the long walk up the drive.

      Last night it had been my turn to lie awake, sleepless beside a snoring James, recalling events I had blocked for years. And as I stared into the darkness, craving sleep and peace, I couldn’t understand why all these events were conspiring to meet now. But whatever the reason, the past seemed to be travelling inexorably towards me – and there was nowhere to hide. All night I’d pondered the portrait in the bedroom, until finally I’d decided that James was right: that I’d been mistaken: that one sloe-eyed beauty might look rather like another. But still I couldn’t quite push Huriyyah’s face from my mind.

      The gravel crunched satisfyingly underfoot as I set off, my hand clasped round the car keys in my fleece pocket. In the past few weeks the earth had yawned mightily and begun to waken, and I was flanked now by creamy yellow daffodils that flickered lightly in the breeze, the great glossy camellias behind them festooned with buds as big as my fist. The temperature at night was still close to freezing, but this morning had dawned fresh and bright – a mismatch for my sense of apprehension. I intended to fetch the car and leave the property as quickly as I could.

      My phone rang. Xavier.

      ‘Where are you?’

      ‘Fetching my car from Hadi Kattan’s house in Gloucestershire.’

      ‘You got in there then? Good girl.’

      ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And now I’m getting out.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘It’s not for me, Xav.’

      ‘Don’t be a pussy, Rose.’

      ‘I’m not. Like I said, I’m flattered, and I think you should follow it up – but you need to get someone else to do it.’

      ‘But you’re in already. I’ve got more juicy stuff coming through; rumours that Kattan may have financed a trainingcamp from his home in Tehran. Plus he’s been the subject of a CIA investigation.’

      ‘Really?’ I thought of the man last night at the party, of the helicopter, of the hysterical and now apparently missing daughter.

      Detecting my hesitation, Xav pounced. ‘Come on, Rose.’

      ‘I’ve already been warned off by his laconic idiot of a driver.’

      ‘A nice bit of rough? Right up your street.’

      ‘Up yours, you mean.’

      ‘Darling! All those coarse farmers are having a terrible effect on you.’

      I thought of Hadi Kattan’s firm handshake and the way he held back from the rest of the crowd; the assurance in his stance. ‘Kattan’s much more my type.’ For all his inherent sexism, no man had smiled at me like that for years.

      ‘You’re a happily married woman, let me remind you, Rosie.’

      A sudden breeze sent a flurry of blossom skittering before my

      feet.

      ‘Not sure about the happily bit right now,’ I muttered.

      ‘At last she’s seen the light,’ Xavier drawled. He’d never bothered to hide his feelings about James.

      The blossom whirled in circles on the ground before me.

      ‘Anyway, Kattan’s certainly a character. Very old-school polite, but a will of iron, I’m sure. And his son, Ash, is apparently disenchanted with Britain, and running for Parliament.’ I was rounding the last bend in the drive now, heading towards a stable block and garages on my right, walking into shadow beneath great elms that blocked the sun from my path. The gargoyles on the roof were still screaming silently as I neared. I had the unnerving feeling that I was being watched and I felt a shiver of apprehension. ‘But I’m sorry, I just can’t do it, Xav.’

      ‘Fuck, Rose,’ Xav swore softly. ‘It’s not like you to wimp out.’