“You have to go.”
“I don’t do funerals.”
“Neither do I but I’m not going to miss our sister’s. For God’s sake, Zach.”
I was trying to prepare a fancy salad with couscous and glazed chicken, well outside my range of culinary expertise. At this rate we’d be eating at midnight.
“I suppose I could hang around outside.”
“Skulking in the graveyard isn’t going to cut it. Think of Mum and Dad’s feelings.” So little dinged on Zach’s emotional database, I doubted anything I said would persuade him.
“Churches creep me out. Couldn’t I just come to the wake?”
I gave a cross sigh. Zach hadn’t suddenly decided not to attend the funeral. He never intended to go. Just the mention of family gathering, and he was off. “And get pissed? I don’t think so. Look, I have to go. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
Fortunately, Rocco turned up later than expected. “Got caught up in a meeting.” He set a bottle of red down on the kitchen table. It had a distinguished-looking label and a silver medal award from a proper wine club.
“Would you mind opening it?”
“Not at all, but first—” He wrapped his arms around me, tilted my chin and kissed me long and softly on the lips. “Better.” He smiled warmly. We stayed like that for a little bit, which was lovely. All the tetchy feelings I’d harboured care of Edie and Zach vanished. He drew away. “Where’s the corkscrew?”
I pointed to a drawer, watched as he deftly uncorked the wine and poured out two glasses. He handed me mine and we chinked and sipped. It tasted glorious, at least as good as some of the stuff Dad served up. Dad, I thought, my mood clouding. I hadn’t heard from him since our last frosty exchange. I began to tell Rocco about my morning.
“Shall we eat first?” He seemed to want to extend the moment, to engage in something uncomplicated that didn’t require answers that inevitably led to more questions. It frustrated the hell out of me. I’d made a vital discovery. It felt like a disservice to Scarlet to put food before justice.
We talked about books he’d read – I wasn’t much of a reader – and films, which, for me, was safer ground. It turned out that Rocco was a blues fan, which wasn’t really my thing. I was more of a Florence and the Machine and Adele kind of gal, although Scarlet and me had been crazy about Dido in her heyday.
“That was great,” Rocco said, leaning back. We’d moved through to the sitting room and the sofa. “Seriously good.” He took a long swallow of wine, looked around the room. Feet firmly planted apart. Friendly. Open. Expansive. I didn’t care for the way he took control, occupied the space and set the pace. “You can tell you’re in the antiques business.”
“Makes it sound grander than it is. Posh up-cycling is closer to the truth.”
“You do yourself down. Why is that?”
The hairs along my arms collectively stood erect. I took a gigantic swig and almost missed my mouth. I quickly wiped a dribble of wine from my chin. “Habit,” I said.
He viewed me with such focused concentration I dropped my gaze, keen to escape. Rocco would make a damn fine interrogator.
“What did you want to tell me?”
I wasn’t sure I did anymore.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” He rested his hand lightly on my thigh, waited a beat.
Oldest trick in the book: no pressure, no sweat, open your mouth. The gleam in his eyes gave him away. He wanted to know all right. “Heather Bowen was leant on.”
“By whom?”
“The police.”
“Seriously?”
I told him what she told me.
“That’s pretty bloody awful. Poor woman.”
I agreed, although I suspected that Heather Bowen, a strong individual, would be all right in the end. She’d recover and build a new life. The same could not be said for the rest of us.
“Not sure how to say this,” Rocco said, “but is it remotely possible that your dad had a hand in it? I mean I could understand him wanting your sister to come out of this with dignity and her reputation intact.”
A lick of fear, like flame, scorched my skin. I had to admit that the thought had crossed my mind, not that I cared to openly admit it.
“Rocco,” I said sternly, “it’s not his way to influence an investigation. His integrity wouldn’t allow it. Besides, even if he wanted to, he no longer has that type of leverage.” I can’t fix everything, woman.
“Yes, I see,” he said, although he didn’t particularly sound as if he did. “Do you have access to Scarlet’s stuff? You might find answers there.”
“Already done,” I said crisply.
“Seems you’ve looked at all the angles.” He flicked an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m not really helping. This is all way above my head.” Reaching across, he placed a hand on my arm, his touch solid, dependable and reassuring, only I wasn’t entirely reassured.
*
“Here,” Rocco said, “Let me.”
Eyes fixed on mine; he unbuttoned my shirt, slipped it off slowly, his lips gliding along my shoulders up my neck, kissing the side of my mouth, my face, my lips, reverently. He talked so low it was almost a whisper. Every move measured. Tender. Every touch weighed. Light. Intense. I felt shy, like this was the first time between us, the first time ever.
Afterwards, we lay in the dark, arms circling each other, the moment so perfect, I wept. For this. For me. For Scarlet. And he let me.
With stars twinkling through the Velux window above our heads, I drifted off; fell into the deepest sleep I’d known since Scarlet’s death. I don’t know how long I’d been out for the count. When I woke, bright moonlight shone like a spotlight, illuminating the room. I reached out for Rocco, fingers grasping empty space. My hand dropped to the sheet and pillow, both cold as ice.
Puzzled, I slipped out of bed, crossed the landing and looked out of the front bedroom window to the gravelled parking space. Rocco’s Mini was still there.
Dragging on a robe, I checked the bathroom then went downstairs, through the sitting room and the kitchen. The back door ajar, a sliver of light crept in and onto the kitchen floor.
I slipped outside, tried to focus. The night was warm and sticky, bearing down, moonlight encircling the garden in a passionate embrace. I strained my eyes to see, pulse racing, primed for something unholy to strike from the shadows.
“Rocco,” I called. From down the path, he emerged, naked apart from his boxers. “What are you doing?” What the fuck?
“Getting some air.”
“Without clothes on?”
“I’m decent. Nobody can see me.”
I inclined my head, looked up at the houses on either side. Mercifully, windows open, curtains closed. “Half the town’s population can see you.”
“Lucky them.” He flashed a grin, slid his arm around my waist and gave it a squeeze. “You coming in, or what?”