Page 76

He gave a chuckle. ‘You’re strange, Fleur.’

Fleur shrugged. ‘I’ve been called worse. Anyway, Jimmy, your father has just outlined to me the new arrangement, so I’ll say goodbye and wish you well.’ She took several steps forward and held out a hand.

He shifted awkwardly, not removing his hands from his pockets. She remained in place, hand outstretched. Now he was cornered.

She watched the Coglins exchange a glance.

‘Well, get on with it, lad!’ Jimmy’s father rasped with disgust, flicking away the stub of his cigarette into the nearby bushes.

Come on, Jimmy, Fleur thought, smiling sweetly. Shake my hand.

Slowly, reluctantly, Jimmy removed his right hand from his pocket. He reached for hers, but she pulled it back. She could see all his knuckles were bruised.

‘You coward! How many of you did it take, Jimmy?’

‘What are you talking about?’

She nodded at his battered knuckles. ‘I know you got them that way by beating Tom Catchlove in a cowardly gang.’

He shrugged, clearly realising there was no point in denying it. ‘Had it coming.’

‘Did he? Because he asked me to dance? I was the one who said yes. I was the one who asked him to take me home. I was the one who was yearning for anyone but you to dance with,’ she hurled at him. ‘Where is he?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Where was he when you set upon him?’

He gave another careless shrug. ‘At the cemetery. He’s obviously like you – prefers the dead. He’s probably frigid like you as well.’ At that, he raised his gaze to hers.

She blinked once at him and looked away as if dismissing him; he wasn’t worth talking to any further. Instead she cut a scathing look towards his father.

‘You can both go to hell. Don’t ever come back to Appleby’s looking for work.’

Fleur turned on her heel and, with her head high, walked away from the coffin-makers for good. She’d have some explaining to do to her father, but the feeling of taking control felt powerful . . . like a moment to remember.

19

Tom woke, confused to find himself on his back with a young woman in a starched uniform peering over him. It was as though he was reliving a previous scene in his life. His mother had told him there was a French expression that summed this up but for the life of him he couldn’t bring it to mind.

‘Hello, handsome.’ The young woman grinned.

He groaned. ‘Where . . .?’

‘You’re in the casualty hospital. I’m Jenny, but everyone calls me Jelly . . . always have since primary school.’ She chuckled, smacking her wide hips. ‘What’s your name?’

He was sure they would have checked his pockets and wallet, so this was likely a test to be sure he hadn’t cracked his head too badly. ‘Tom Catchlove,’ he ground out.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Tom. Good that your memory is intact. Looks like you’ve taken a thorough beating, or you were trapped in a room with a bull or something. Your face is a bit of a mess, but can’t hide your good looks entirely,’ Jenny said.

‘What day is it? I mean, I know this happened on Monday evening, but—’

‘It’s Wednesday, Tom.’ At his fallen expression she gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Is there someone we can ring for you?’

‘Please,’ he said. ‘Fleur Appleby from—’

‘Oh, gosh, I know Fleur. We went to school together. How do you know her?’ Jenny frowned with amused intrigue.

‘Long story,’ he croaked.