Kim & The Hitman, Sandie Baldry [red novels txt] 📗

jeans. Ripped blue jeans and a tee-shirt, Sunday morning clothes as I call them.

Alex no longer shared her flat with her ex and his boyfriend since they had moved into their own place. The second-floor flat was in an old Victorian house. Converted by developers some years back and a few minutes’ walk from Felixstowe front. Not self-contained since it shared stairs, but nice all the same. Much as I would have expected an Alex flat to be. Wooden flooring, plain walls littered by framed black and white pictures from the nineties film scene. The seating arrangements were a corner unit. And everything was spotless. The kitchenette shone, the worktops polished.

Linda sat me on a stool at the breakfast bar as if I were helpless while Alex fiddled with her coffee machine. Paula had stood by the bay window, having watched us approached and parked out front.

‘What kind of coffee do you prefer?’ asked Alex, boasting the machine could produce five different types.

Not wanting to burst her bubble, ‘Flat white,’ I said, more of a tea drinker. The only time I drank coffee was at our coffee session every other Thursday. I didn’t want to look uncool. Which I’ve missed, so surprised to find myself surrounded by the girls and touched, fighting back the emotion filling my chest. Paula had come up behind me and placed an arm around my waist.

‘You poor thing, what a drama to go through, it’s all over the news you shot the man trying to kill you. Your neighbour has been telling everyone how you saved her life.’

‘I don’t think she’s allowed to do that,’ I answered.

It went silent, stretching out—the sound of a clock on the seafront chiming out the time. I counted; it was eleven o’clock. I might have missed a chime.

I sensed the girls wanted to ask me questions about the event but were tiptoeing around it instead. So, we all watched Alex trying to work out how to use the coffee machine. Flashing an embarrassed smile, she told us the boys worked the thing.

‘Tea would be good,’ I suggested.

‘Excellent idea. Tea all round,’ said Alex, abandoning the coffee machine in favour of the kettle.

‘How are you?’ she asked, kettle on and positioned the other side of the breakfast bar. I was now surrounded by the three girls. Three pairs of eyes staring at me. And there it was, I burst into tears, and arms were fighting to comfort me.

I sniffed myself free.

‘I’m okay.’

‘You’re in shock,’ said Paula, stroking my arm. Linda and Alex nodded in agreement.

‘Are you staying with your neighbours?’ Asked Alex.

I nodded.

‘You can stay here until they release your house,’ she offered, moving over to the boiled kettle, and pouring the boiling water into the cups. I shuddered, remembering the kettle I had thrown at Vincent.

‘Or with me,’ volunteered Paula while Linda shrugged.

 ‘I live with mum and dad, so no room.’

As nice as the offers were, on balance, I had decided I’d rather stay with Mrs Brown. It might have sounded stupid since I wasn’t sure why myself, maybe because she knew what had happened. Which had the advantage I wouldn’t have to keep repeating it over. Although dad had said little since he was deep, keeping his feelings to himself, I wanted to keep an eye on him. I remembered how he was when Mum died. He isolated himself for months and wouldn’t talk to anyone. At nineteen, I arranged the funeral, trying to get out of him whether Mum wanted a cremation or burial. In the end, I opted for the cremation as he kept saying, ‘She’s gone. What does it matter?’ He retired two years later from the Post Office and since then occupied himself with the garden and trips down to the pub where he belonged to the darts team. I wondered how Mrs Brown had managed to open him up.

I shook my head. ‘Thanks, but I’ll stay with dad. He needs me.’ It was an excuse in part. If anything, I needed him. His routine, the sound of his voice. The way he would look at me when he thought I hadn’t noticed. On balance, maybe all he needed was in Mrs Brown.

A minute later, a cup of tea between my hands, I had dried my tears. The conversation ranged from the latest soap storylines to asking my advice on hair products. I liked they were trying to draw me out. But not in the mood, realising it was a mistake coming there.

The silence stretched out again, then Paula, who had been checking her phone, cried, ‘Your beauty blog has an extra thousand subscribers. You’re famous,’ she said, placing her phone under my nose with my blog on the screen.

‘Would you like me to do a couple of blogs for you while you’re recovering?’

I nodded with a glance to the screen. Though not sure Paula, being a doctor’s receptionist, was the right person for the job. And I wondered when it would be polite to ask Linda to take me back to my neighbour.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ This was Alex picking up my cup, ‘More tea?’ She didn’t wait for an answer.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’

‘Just… you’re not saying much. It’s like the time you lost your voice,’ said Linda, causing a titter. Even I had to laugh, feeling the heat rush to my face.

After another hour, Alex insisted she would take me back. Collecting my stuff from Linda’s car, I didn’t argue. Linda looked none too pleased. But it was clear Alex was the leader of our little band. Not me, as I had always thought.

In the car, Alex glanced at me. ‘You know where I am if you need a bolt hole. And I didn’t want to say in front of Linda so to give you the first refusal. I’m going to need