Read Online Someone Else's Skin by Sarah Hilary - Free Book Online Page B

awkward ghost of his adolescence. ‘How’s that working out?’
    ‘Not great, if I’m honest.’ She kept her voice light. ‘If it were up to him, he wouldn’t see me. But his solicitor says it’ll look good, going forward.’
    ‘It’s a long drive.’ Ed’s hair was in his eyes. ‘If you want company . . .’
    ‘You don’t want to spend your weekend like that.’
    ‘True. I could watch Buffy reruns and try to beat my personal best for cramming Kettle Chips.’
    She smiled at him. ‘All right, now I have to take you. Seven o’clock start, though.’
    She thought this would put him off, but he nodded. ‘I’ll be ready.’
    ‘About Simone . . . I know you said you couldn’t tell me, but Lowell . . .’ The threatening letter was folded in her pocket. ‘Is he part of the story?’
    He was surprised. ‘She told you?’
    ‘Hope told me. She said Lowell threatened Simone.’
    Ed’s eyes clouded. ‘Recently?’
    Marnie took the letter from her pocket and unfolded it, handing it across to Ed, who read the scrawled words in silence.
    ‘No date.’ He handed the letter back.
    ‘No date,’ she agreed. ‘Does it sound like Lowell to you?’
    ‘From what she told me? No. But I haven’t seen his writing.’
    ‘Where is Lowell?’ she asked. ‘In London?’
    ‘Yes. The last I heard . . . Yes.’
    ‘So if he’s traced Simone to the refuge . . . Do we need to move her?’
    ‘ If he has.’ Ed paused. ‘She didn’t tell me about the letter.’
    ‘Should she have done? As a condition of her place in the refuge, or to keep you in the picture?’
    ‘No. No, there’s no requirement for that. Just . . . I thought she trusted me.’ He smiled a bit. ‘My ego. Sorry.’
    He didn’t have any ego. Or if he did, she’d seen no evidence of it. ‘Speak with Simone. I’ll make sure someone’s here with the women over the weekend. At least we know the place is secure again.’ Her Friday night all sorted out. No space for second thoughts about tomorrow’s trip.
    ‘I’ll pick you up,’ she told Ed. ‘Tomorrow at seven.’
    ‘I’ll be ready.’

15
     
    By 8 p.m., King’s Cross was shaping up to sleazy, on the safe side of its rush hour for sex, drugs and dodgy music. Outside, the club was a blaze of blue neon. Inside, it was packed with people, none of whom was Dan Noys.
    Dan had texted to say he was running late. Noah ordered a shot of vodka, to get a head start on the night. He needed to forget about his day. The refuge, all those lives twisted out of shape by hate and fear. The mirror behind the bar gave back a slice of his face, faceted by glass. He swallowed the vodka and turned to look around the club.
    Music thumped from a sound system, inviting couples to dance. Two men were circling with the rhythm, hands on each other’s hips. Away from the dance floor, other couples were drinking or chatting, groping or kissing. Noah started to relax; this was his version of daytime television: the definition of normal . . .
    A warm hand touched his shoulder.
    ‘You’ve pulled . . .’ Dan kissed his neck.
    Noah reached up, curling his palm to the shape of Dan’s face, holding him to the kiss until he was done conveying relief, gratitude and raw need.
    ‘Vodka?’ Dan poked at Noah’s empty glass. He was wearing his oldest jeans and a white T-shirt, with Red Chili climbing shoes. ‘We’re drinking tequila.’
    They took the shots to a dark corner, where Dan leaned Noah up against a pillar and revived the kiss, urgently, as if his day had also been something he wanted to forget. He spent his week managing artists and their egos. Some nights he came home more knackered than Noah.
    ‘Thank fuck,’ Dan said hazily, ‘for Friday.’
    He came up for air eventually, going to fetch another round from the bar. After which, there was licking salt off each other’s necks and sucking lime from each other’s lips, until Noah’s mouth started to buzz and sting.
    ‘You guys want something