‘The PTSD is just a bonus?’
‘Some women love a reclamation project.’
Gabriel thought for a minute he’d pushed it too far, but James laughed. ‘Aye, I’m a real fixer-upper.’
‘Good basic frame, though,’ Gabriel said, grinning, ‘And the garden’s nice.’
‘What does that even mean?’ demanded James, merriment bubbling up.
‘I haven’t the foggiest,’ admitted Gabriel, laughing with him, ‘But I suppose the next tortured analogy should relate to a splash of paint.’
‘Well, you’re the man for that.’ James’s smile faded. ‘I guess… bed for me then. See you in the morning.’
‘Goodnight. I’m expecting a visitor tonight, by the way. I’ll go downstairs to see her. You sleep well.’
James, on his way to his room, hesitated. ‘You too.’
Gabriel flicked the kettle on and stared at it, proving that contrary to old wives’ tales, the damned things would boil while watched. He put a teabag in the cup, then thought better of it and prepared a plunger of coffee. He took the coffee to his room and waited by the window.
Hannah whistled up to him after midnight. Gabriel whistled softly back down, then made his way out of the flat and to the garden in the dark, pulling on his jacket to keep out the chill.
‘Hannah. Thank you.’
‘Don’ thank me Gaby. Ain’t told you nuffin’ yet.’
‘Thanks for coming, anyway,’ he said. He placed a hand carefully over hers, moving slowly so that she could see the gesture coming.
Moving equally slowly, Hannah patted his fingers. ‘That Daryl Mulloway what dosses under Chelsea Bridge.’
‘I know him.’
‘He reckons he seen Alicia last week, down the river tunnel, what the Westbourne comes out of in the Thames. He’s a liar, but.’
Mulloway was rarely sober, so it was a question of whether he was a liar or just addled.
‘Thanks, Hannah. I’ll go speak to him.’
‘He’s a liar an’ he pinches stuff,’ Hannah said darkly. She tilted her head to one side to regard him critically. ‘You done a paintin’ of me, dincha?’
‘I did. Thank you so much for letting me do that.’
‘Dja sell it yet, Gaby?’
‘Helene’s got it in the gallery. She says someone made an offer.’
‘You paid me twenny. You promised me a hundred.’
‘I’ve got it here.’ Gabriel drew an envelope from his pocket, but she patted his fingers to halt him.
‘Nah. Hang on to it, Gaby. I just git robbed if I got it wiv me. Just gimme anuvver twenny for now.’
Gabriel opened the envelope containing four twenty pound notes, and drew one out for her. Hannah snatched it up and stuffed it down the front of her grimy clothes.
‘Daryl,’ she said, returning to the previous topic, ‘He reckoned he saw our Benny too. Not at the river, but. He don’ remember where, he reckons. Liar. Cos he said he’d tell me tomorrer.’
Hannah fell suddenly silent as the back door opened and a bar of light spilled into the garden. She jerked away from the light as Gabriel turned.
James popped his head out of the gap, then hovered uncertainly by the door.
‘I know you’re busy,’ he said quietly into the garden, ‘But I thought you might…’ He blinked at Hannah, who glared at him with suspicion. ‘Sandwich?’ he asked, and offered the plate that he held in one hand.
Gabriel stared from the plate of sandwiches, to Hannah’s troubled frown, to James’s hesitant expression.
‘I’d love one,’ he said. James approached them, not seeming to notice the coolness of the night in just a khaki tee. Gabriel took a sandwich and bit into it. Ham, cheese and pickle. Nothing fancy, but it was fresh and tasty. ‘Here.’ He offered one to Hannah, who was always too thin, and after she watched him take a second bite, she shoved half a sandwich into her mouth.
‘Beer too, if you like,’ offered James in a voice so carefully neutral that Gabriel knew that the doctor was deeply unsure of his welcome. ‘Or we’ve got… uh…’
‘I’ll take the beer.’ Gabriel took the two bottles, noticing that there wasn’t a third.
‘That’s me off, then,’ said James, handing the sandwiches to Gabriel. ‘Night.’
‘Night,’ said Hannah around a mouthful of food, which she washed down with a posh German beer.
Gabriel watched her eat most of the sandwiches – from his own kitchen supplies, since James never had anything in the cupboard except tea – and gave her the rest of his beer as they talked about Daryl and the things he said he saw.
‘Be careful, Hannah,’ said Gabriel at the end, when Hannah had wound down to mumbling. ‘If you could come to me after you talk to Mulloway, I’d like that.’
Hannah gave him the side-eye. ‘Get your boyfriend to make more sammiches,’ she said.
‘He’s not my–’
But she’d gone.
Chapter Five
Hannah didn’t come to see Gabriel the following night, or the one after. He had two other visitors, though, each with no more than rumour and hearsay for him. Nothing tangible.
James was nowhere to be seen for the first visitor. Gabriel left the flat soon after and was away the whole night. He returned mid- morning the next day, covered in grime, his old shoes caked in stinking mud. He left the fouled shoes in the laundry and went home to shower and sleep.
The next night, however, when Switchblade Roy (so named for the switchblade scars on his cheek) arrived in the small, cold hours, James brought out mugs of sweet milky tea and a plate of biscuits.
‘Thanks Doc,’ said Switchblade, spraying crumbs through his mouthful. ‘Wotcher.’
James withdrew into the flat again.
Switchblade swore he’d seen Hannah that morning, and that she’d sent a message saying Mulloway had disappeared. Then he stuffed his pockets full of biscuits, drank the rest of Gabriel’s tea as well as his own, and left.
When Gabriel went back indoors, the light was visible under James’s door. Gabriel tapped on it. When no answer came, he tapped again and said, ‘James?’
He thought James was going to ignore him, but finally there came a resigned, ‘Come in.’
Gabriel pushed the door open and stood in the gap. James was sitting at the open window. He grimaced ruefully at Gabriel.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere. I heard Hannah downstairs the other night.’
Gabriel hadn’t thought they’d been speaking very loudly, and remembered again that James’s hearing was spookily exceptional.
‘She’s not one of my patients,’ James continued. ‘but I see her around the clinic. She doesn’t eat properly. Most of our patients who sleep rough don’t. I know Roy, though.’ James shoved a hand through his short fringe. ‘I’m sorry if I interrupted.’
‘No,’ said Gabriel mildly. ‘It was fine. Hannah appreciated it, and Switchblade. He’s got a sweet tooth. He loves biscuits, that man, the sweeter the better. Jammy Dodgers were just the ticket,’ he added drily. It had once more been his own groceries that James had so freely offered to the visitors, a fact