I’d have done anything to escape the distorted dynamics at home. When Rocco bundled me into his car and said we were going out, I didn’t argue.
“Any news on the investigation?” We were in his Mini, hurtling to God knew where.
“What investigation? Case closed.”
“Do these coppers have names?” he said with an amused grin.
I cast him a look that told him, if he knew what was good for him, he should back the fuck off. His expression instantly changed.
“I want to understand, Molly. That’s all.”
The warmth in his voice sounded genuine enough. Without disclosing anything that didn’t compute, I gave him a potted version of the police visit: facts without fiction. His eyes flared when I told him that Scarlet had been cleared of deliberately targeting Bowen. “The police found no pre-existing relationship between Richard Bowen and my sister.”
“But that’s fantastic. It must come as a huge relief.”
“I’m pleased. Yes.”
Rocco glanced across, uncertain how to measure my response. “But isn’t that great news?”
I forced a reassuring smile.
He changed down a gear as we headed up hill. “Your dad was a copper, wasn’t he? Sorry,” Rocco said with a grin. “I mean police officer.”
I smiled back. “Even Dad talks about coppers. He retired ten years ago.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Burn out.”
“Comes with the job description, I guess.”
“My older brother, Zach, didn’t exactly help. He was a drug addict at the time.”
“Whoa,” Rocco said theatrically. “On your father’s patch?”
“’Fraid so, a nightmare for my parents. Every time there was a drugs raid, Dad expected my brother to be under arrest.”
“Must have been upsetting for you too.”
“I developed a knack of detaching myself from the daily drama.”
“What about Scarlet?”
“She took a medical interest, which made her more objective than Mum and Dad.”
“And how is Zach now?”
“He’s good.”
“Does he live at home?”
“I don’t think Zach ever lived at home,” I said with a dry laugh.
“Bit of a rolling stone?”
“You could say. Lives in a commune.” I looked out at the road and speeding countryside. It must have been the heat, but I was tired of answering endless questions. Put me on my guard, too. “Where are we going exactly?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Clues?”
“You like ancient things, don’t you?”
“A tour around antique shops?”
“Busman’s holiday. Definitely not.”
“Castle?”
“Not quite.”
“Getting warm?”
“Little bit.”
I smiled. It seemed a long time since I’d had someone take this level of interest in me. Then, with a jolt, I remembered the weirdo who’d broken into my home.
“You okay?” Rocco seemed adept at picking up on my fast changes of mood.
“I’m like a weather forecast,” I said, making light of it. “Sunny periods followed by a big depression coming in from the East.”
He rested his hand on my thigh. “We can turn back, if you prefer.”
“It’s okay. There is no turning back, is there?”
*
“That was amazing.” I gazed back up at eight hundred years of history, Hereford Cathedral.
“Best bit?”
“You first.”
“Well, the Mappa Mundi was pretty cool but, for sheer impact, the SAS Memorial. You?”
“The Chained Library. I’ve never seen so many medieval manuscripts in one place. And what a neat security system – all those rods and locks.”
“Read but can’t nick.”
“Maybe I should adopt something similar for the shop.” I squeezed his hand. “Best first date ever.”
Rocco turned with a suggestive smile, drew me close. “Bit late for a first date, isn’t it?” Taking my face in his hands, he kissed me on the lips in full view of a bunch of Japanese tourists.
“That was nice,” I said. “Fancy something to eat or coffee?”
“I know exactly the right place.”
We headed out of cathedral yard and down aptly named Church Street, a narrow-pedestrianised area with quirky independent craft, art, food and coffee shops.
“I love it here,” Rocco enthused. “When I’m old and grey, this is where I’m going to settle.”
“That’s some pre-planning. Seriously?” I teased.
He turned, dark eyes fastening on mine. No smile. An emotion I couldn’t gauge travelled behind his eyes. The intensity freaked me out. Despite the easy-going veneer, Rocco had an iron will. Something about that didn’t stack with the rest of him.
“Easy,” I said, squeezing his hand, “I get it.”
He snapped on a smile and we headed into a cafe.
In seconds, we were sitting in a walled courtyard amongst lavender-scented rockery, Cappuccinos and chocolate muffins ordered.
I leant back, tipped my sunglasses onto my head and turned my face to a blaze of sunshine. Mellow, beautiful, at odds with the ugliness of another summer day. A simple moment in time, I longed to let go and enjoy it. If only.
When I opened my eyes, Rocco was watching me. He did it a lot, I’d noticed, funny boy. “What?” I said.
“I like looking at you.”
He tipped forward, kissing me lightly. “I’ll have to ruin your view for a few seconds. Does this place have a loo?”
“Bottom of the garden, I believe.”
“Watch my bag?”
“Won’t take my eyes off it.”
So off I toddled, feeling warm and fuzzy with happiness however fleeting it might be.
The loo was more potting shed than bathroom. I had to search around for loo roll. It took me an age to turn on the tap, and when I did, it gushed boiling water. Soap was a dried up sliver. There was no towel. None of this dented my mood, which was absurdly buoyant, bordering on rapturous. Halfway up the path, back to our table, cold fear settled in the centre of my chest. I stopped, blinked, looked again. What the hell?
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
Rocco paused, looked up with a puzzled smile and broke off from his conversation. “Your phone rang.”
“My phone.”
“I thought it might be important.”
“I asked you to watch my bag, not dive into it.” My voice was uncomfortably raised. Several people turned around.
“But—”
“You had no right.”
“It’s Zach.”
“What?” I could count on one hand the number of times my brother had phoned in the last ten years. Most occasions had been thinly disguised requests for money.
“Your brother.”
“I damn well know who he is.” I snatched my mobile out of Rocco’s hand, marched back down the path, out of earshot and into the shade.
“Yes?”
“Did I ring at a bad time?”
Was there ever a good time? “No.”
“Sounds as if you’re having a bundle.”
“A misunderstanding.” Liar.
“Nice guy, whoever he is.”
I cast a long look back up the garden, my cold stare enough to drill holes in Rocco’s face. “How would you know?”
“Because we just had a conversation.” He spoke in a ‘duh’ tone, vaguely reminiscent of my mother. In a bid to calm down, I attempted to count to ten. I managed five.
“Zach, the last time we met you told me not to meddle in things I don’t understand.”
“Ah, well, that’s why I’m calling. To apologise.”
“Really.” Two tones underpin that word. The WOW, surprised ‘tell me more’ version and the cold sarcastic ‘you can’t be serious’ version. Mine fell into the latter category.
“Honest.” An attribute I don’t normally associate with my brother. “Am I forgiven?” he asked, wheedling.
Obviously, in an attempt to broker peace, Mum had put him up to it. “Easy, isn’t it? Shooting shit and then expecting one word to make it all better.” To be fair, Zach rarely said sorry because he considered it a weakness. It must have cost him, but my mood had swung to north of foul and I refused to cut him slack.
“Molly, please don’t be cross.”
I pictured him hopping from one foot to the other; sweat gathering underneath his arms, exploding across his brow, fingernails scratching at itchy druggie skin. “I’m not cross. I’m confused. What did you mean when you told me to back off?”
“I didn’t mean anything. Angry words. Heat of the moment. Jesus, after what happened to Scarlet, what do you expect?”
“Don’t use Scarlet as an excuse for your behaviour. You threatened me.”
“I didn’t, but if you think I did then I’m sorry.” After that, he shut up.
“Okay,” I said finally. “Let’s draw a line underneath it.” Mine was extremely squiggly.
Off the hook, Zach became almost chatty. “Dad told me they have a house guest.”
“Unfortunately.”
“How long is Dusty staying?”
“’Till the funeral, whenever that is. You will be there, won’t you?”
“Yeah. Course.”
“Only—”
“Gotta go. Tanya needs me. Emergency.”
I stared at the phone for several seconds then returned to cold coffee and what I thought would be chilly conversation. Wrong. Rocco’s face was a picture of contrition.
The second my rear hit the seat, he said, “I shouldn’t have picked up your phone.”
I felt my spine stiffen despite him looking genuine enough. I barely knew Rocco and already he was asking a ton of questions and helping himself to the contents of my handbag. “Privacy is something I treasure.”
“I know. It won’t happen again.” He reached across, placed a warm hand over mine. “Are we good?” A smile broke across his face so mesmerising it could give the sun a run for its money.
“Okay,” I said, relenting. “We’re good.”