Witch(25)

Letting go of his wrist, I turned away and said, “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” he said, coming up behind me.

“I’m sure,” I said.

“Okay.” And I heard his coat crinkle as he shrugged again.

I turned to look at him, wanting to tell him about the nightmare I’d had. He would think I was mad, right?

Looking back at me as I stood before him, Vincent suddenly said, “Do you want to go to bed?”

“What?” I gasped, surprised by what he had said.

With his cheeks flushing scarlet, Vincent mumbled, “Holy shit, that’s not what I meant. Oh no! I wasn’t like...you know...suggesting we went to bed together...nothing like that. I mean we could if you wanted...no I’m just fooling about when I say that...oh, shit I’m just making things worse, aren’t I?”

Feeling kind of embarrassed for him, and trying to mask a smile, I said, “I think I know what you meant.”

“It’s just like I said...you look really tired...” Vincent continued to stammer and fluster. “...so when I said do you want to go to bed...I didn’t mean with me...I wasn’t suggesting that we...you know...had jiggy-jiggy or anything like that...”

“Jiggy-jiggy?” I laughed. Vincent, although a little annoying with his nosy ways, definitely had a way of making me laugh. There was a kind of endearing innocence about him. “I’ve never heard it called that before.”

“No?” he said with a frown. “You know what I mean...I just meant to say that perhaps you should get some rest...have an early night...”

“If I were you, I’d leave now, Vincent, before you really put your foot in it,” I smiled, guiding him towards the door.

“Okay, you’re probably right,” he said, stumbling backwards into the edge of the sofa. I gripped him by the arm before he spilled onto the carpet. “Thanks,” he said, glowing scarlet again.

“It’s okay,” I said, opening the front door.

He stepped out into the dark. It had started to rain. Zipping up the front of his coat, he said, “It was nice meeting you, Sydney.”

“You too,” I smiled, watching him set off towards the street. Before he had gone too far, I called out to him. “Hey, Vincent!”

“Mm?” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at me.

“If you find anymore paperwork from that file, could you bring it over for me to have a look at?” I asked.

Vincent turned to look at me. “I don’t know if that is such a great idea,” he said thoughtfully. “Mac made it quite clear that you were to be left alone – you know, while you get your head around what happened – the accident. I don’t want to start pissing off the skipper – your father.”

“I promise I won’t say anything if you don’t,” I hushed. “It will be our secret.”

Vincent looked down at the ground as if thinking, then back at me. “Okay,” he said. “But the next time I come over, you better have some biscuits in.”

“I promise,” I smiled.

Vincent turned away, and disappeared up the street.

I closed the door, and with my back pressed flat against it, I knew I had gone and created yet another secret.





Chapter Thirteen

Vincent had been right. I did need to go to bed. I needed some serious sleep. Sleep undisrupted by nightmares of the people I had killed on the road. I went through my apartment, switching out the lights. Picking up my iPod, which Vincent had returned, and a set of small earphones, I went to my bedroom. I peeled off my clothes and climbed into bed. With the light from my iPod casting eerie shadows about the room, I hit the music icon with my thumb, expecting to see the album cover for Adele –21 to appear on the screen, as that had been the track which had been playing before switching it off. I was surprised to see Sting staring back at me. The Police – Greatest Hits the screen read. I frowned, unable to remember ever downloading the album to my iPod – it was too 80’s for me. Perhaps I had in some drunken stupor or perhaps Vincent had downloaded it. Would he have? Vincent admitted to searching through my iPod to see what music I liked; perhaps he had downloaded this album for a joke or something. It was The Police after all. Perhaps one of my colleagues had downloaded it? But why?

I pulled the duvet up under my chin, pressed play on my iPod, and closed my eyes. The song Message in a Bottle started to play...Just a castaway...an island lost at sea...another lonely day...with no one here but me...Sting sang. The words swam through my mind as I lay alone in my bed in the dark. Maybe whoever had downloaded the album to my iPod was trying to send me a message...I’m sending out an S.O.S...I’m sending out an S.O.S...or perhaps they were asking for my help, I wondered as the song went around and around in my head. But who would need help from someone like me? How could I help anyone else when I couldn’t even help myself?