Guilty Conscious, Oliver Davies [small books to read TXT] 📗

I shivered again, kissed the cat’s head and let her down, walking to the shower. I stood there for a while, in the hot stream, then forced myself to get out, dry my hair, put on my work clothes, and fought down the anxiety that spiralled about inside me, plastered a smile on my face, and locked up the flat, walking back into the café.

Working helped. Agnes put me on the coffee machine, the routine, mindless fray of grinding beans and frothing milk helping to take my mind off of everything. I could feel her watching me with concern, Paolo too, sending me looks every time he walked past me.

“You should eat something,” Agnes told me, leaning against the counter.

“I’m not hungry,” I muttered, cleaning up the mess I’d made when my shaky hands had jerked a load of coffee grounds over the surface. I really wasn’t. My throat felt like it had closed up, and the thought of eating anything made me feel sick.

“I don’t suppose you are, but a little something, Billie.” She reached over, rubbing my arm affectionately. “A bit of bread?”

“I’m really not hungry, Agnes,” I told her. “I’ll eat something later, though, I promise. I think we have some tomato soup upstairs.” I paused, waiting to see if she’d correct me. She didn’t, and I turned and looked at her with a smile.

“Some sugary tea then,” she ordered, shooing me away from the coffee machine. “Always good to help with shaking, get something in the blood.” I sighed and took up the spot she had just left as she set herself to work brewing me a large mug.

“I’m still on to lock up today, right?” I asked, trying to remember the rota.

“I can do it,” she said.

“That’s alright. I’d like to feel a bit more normal. Besides, it’s exactly far for me to get home,” I added with a dry smile. Agnes rolled her eyes but smiled back and handed me the mug.

“No, I suppose it’s not. One of us can stay with you, if you like?”

I shook my head, taking a tentative sip of hot, sweet tea. “I’ll be alright. Paolo’s here late today, isn’t he?”

“He is,” she confirmed, but I could tell she was reluctant. “You know, Billie,” she said softly. “I do have a spare room sitting there all bereft. You can always come and live with me.”

My heart twinged at such an offer, and I smiled warmly. “I know. Thank you, Agnes.”

She smiled back, gave me a motherly flick with a tea towel and walked over to clear a recently deserted table.

It only got quieter after that. Agnes took off early after giving me another round of questions to which I promised not only would I eat, but I’d send her a text to bloody well prove it. Soon it was just Paolo and me, leaning against the counter, staring at the empty tables.

“You might as well go,” I told him. “We close in an hour, and I’m not exactly rushed off my feet.”

“You sure?” he asked, peering round at me.

I nodded. “Yeah, go on. Say hi to George for me.” He grinned and patted my head, wandering off to get his coat. I looked around and decided to get a head start spraying down the tables and stacking up the chairs. Paolo waved as he left, and I turned the music up slightly so that I wasn’t completely alone in the silence with my thoughts. Tonight would be a bad night, I already knew. Maybe moving with Agnes wouldn’t be such a bad idea. She was more a mother to me than anyone else had ever been.

I got lost in the idle work, so when the door opened, it startled me, and I swung around, hand clasped to my heart as a customer ducked in out of the rain. I tried no to glare at them for coming in this close to closing when they could see that I was already cleaning up and managed a smile as they pushed the hood of their raincoat back, looking over at me. I froze, almost dropping my spray bottle.

“Freya?” I asked, taking a hesitant step towards her. She gave me a pained sort of smile.

“Hi, Billie.”

She looked well, not different, really, but she stood a little taller than she used to. More confident. I couldn’t believe she was here; it had been so long. Maybe she didn’t know I worked here, but she didn’t look surprised to see me.

“How’re things?” I asked awkwardly, wanting to move back behind the safety of the counter.

“You know,” she shrugged. “Not great.”

Right. “I heard about Edward,” I said in the most sympathetic voice I could muster. “Hope you’re doing okay.”

“Was a bit of a gristly thing,” she said.

“Sorry,” I offered.

Freya fixed me a look. “No, you’re not.”

I blinked, surprised, and slowly walked around to the counter where my phone was hidden on a shelf, just within reach of my hand.

“No, not really,” I admitted. “Though I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, no matter what they did.” My eyes hardened, waiting for her to argue with me, to defend him all over again, but Freya just sighed and walked over to the counter.

“You don’t think he deserved it?” she asked, looking directly at me. I squirmed a bit under her direct gaze. “Not even after what he did to Stella?”

A flash of anger ran through me. “I don’t remember you being of that opinion a year ago, Freya,” I reminded her coldly.

“No,” she said, sounding strangely remorseful. “I might have been wrong about that. About you and Stella. I should have believed you.”

“Why? A newfound faith in female solidarity?” I asked bitterly.

Freya smiled a cold smile. “Because you were telling the truth. Edward assaulted Stella.”

I froze, my fingers stilling on my phone and an unpleasant feeling settled over me. “What?” I asked, managing to unlock my phone, keeping my eyes on her the whole time.

“He did,” she said simply as if she were telling me