nuts?”
John jumped, dropping the milk carton onto the worktop, sending milk and diluted tea all over his hoodie. He turned to see Savannah staring at him with her hands on her hips in disbelief. He shrugged his shoulders. How long had she been standing there? How long had he been in another world? He wasn’t doing so well.
“Mark was murdered this morning,” he said. “My best friend in the whole world. My only real friend, stabbed through his head and through his back.”
Savannah frowned as she studied John. Her mouth was open, and her eyes explored his, searching for something, something to tell her he was not messing her about perhaps? She approached John with her arms held out to him. He tried to back up, but the kitchen was small and there was nowhere to go. As she reached John, she grabbed him with both arms and pulled his head down onto her chest.
“Let it out,” she whispered in his ear.
John let it out. And out it came in guttural wails, many times the volume of Savannah’s in the early light of day. She guided him to the sofa, like a Good Samaritan helping an elderly person across a busy street, stroking his head as they moved, constantly whispering, reassuring, and keeping his head pressed to her.
“It’s okay, let it out.”
For fifteen minutes John lay, face buried in the sofa, as Savannah stroked the back of his head, over and over. Despite considerable effort, he was unable to stop. And then as suddenly as the grief had taken him, it went. He lay quiet for a while feeling weak and foolish, his embarrassment preventing him from turning over. Eventually, he spoke into the cushion.
“I think that the police may be after me,” he said.
“What for?” she said, still stroking the top of his head.
John was beginning to feel like a pet dog, but she had been there for him during his moment of need and he didn’t want to make light of it. His need to unload overcame his dented ego, and he flipped himself over to face Savannah. For the next ten minutes, he recounted the details of his trip to Mark’s apartment. She remained silent, lips slightly parted throughout, shaking her head as if she was listening to something that couldn’t be true. Thankfully, she rested her hand on his calf while he spoke.
“So you’d have to assume that the real police would have come along later, interviewed Parkes and made the assumption that I was the murderer.”
“But you’re not ... right?” she asked.
“Of course not,” John said, sitting upright. “Why would I want to murder my best friend?”
“Because he tricked you into owing me a thousand pounds?”
“You think I’d commit murder for a thousand pounds?”
“It would be my luck to get stiffed by a murderer.”
“Stiffed?”
“Cheated.”
“I never cheated you out of a thousand pounds. That was down to Mark.”
“So you said. Why don’t you call the police and tell them what happened then?”
“Because they’d just tell me to come in.”
“So?”
John exhaled. “So they might not let me out again. In fact, there are probably police on the way here now.”
Savannah pinched her bottom lip between a thumb and forefinger, rolling the soft flesh around, face scrunched up in thought.
“Give me the thousand pounds, and I’ll help you,” she exclaimed.
John didn’t know why but trusting this weird and wonderful girl seemed preferable to being alone. Was he being stupid? Probably. But other than go to his parents where he’d just be the failure causing more bother, he didn’t have much choice. He wasn’t going to be responsible for his mother’s break down and subsequent enrolment into a psychiatric home.
“I don’t have it, I told you.”
“This place must be worth a fortune.” She stared from wall to wall. “Don’t you have any decent possessions?”
“Not really. The place is in Mum and Dad’s name. I just live here.” He lifted his hand towards Savannah. “As for possessions, the only thing worth anything
John jumped, dropping the milk carton onto the worktop, sending milk and diluted tea all over his hoodie. He turned to see Savannah staring at him with her hands on her hips in disbelief. He shrugged his shoulders. How long had she been standing there? How long had he been in another world? He wasn’t doing so well.
“Mark was murdered this morning,” he said. “My best friend in the whole world. My only real friend, stabbed through his head and through his back.”
Savannah frowned as she studied John. Her mouth was open, and her eyes explored his, searching for something, something to tell her he was not messing her about perhaps? She approached John with her arms held out to him. He tried to back up, but the kitchen was small and there was nowhere to go. As she reached John, she grabbed him with both arms and pulled his head down onto her chest.
“Let it out,” she whispered in his ear.
John let it out. And out it came in guttural wails, many times the volume of Savannah’s in the early light of day. She guided him to the sofa, like a Good Samaritan helping an elderly person across a busy street, stroking his head as they moved, constantly whispering, reassuring, and keeping his head pressed to her.
“It’s okay, let it out.”
For fifteen minutes John lay, face buried in the sofa, as Savannah stroked the back of his head, over and over. Despite considerable effort, he was unable to stop. And then as suddenly as the grief had taken him, it went. He lay quiet for a while feeling weak and foolish, his embarrassment preventing him from turning over. Eventually, he spoke into the cushion.
“I think that the police may be after me,” he said.
“What for?” she said, still stroking the top of his head.
John was beginning to feel like a pet dog, but she had been there for him during his moment of need and he didn’t want to make light of it. His need to unload overcame his dented ego, and he flipped himself over to face Savannah. For the next ten minutes, he recounted the details of his trip to Mark’s apartment. She remained silent, lips slightly parted throughout, shaking her head as if she was listening to something that couldn’t be true. Thankfully, she rested her hand on his calf while he spoke.
“So you’d have to assume that the real police would have come along later, interviewed Parkes and made the assumption that I was the murderer.”
“But you’re not ... right?” she asked.
“Of course not,” John said, sitting upright. “Why would I want to murder my best friend?”
“Because he tricked you into owing me a thousand pounds?”
“You think I’d commit murder for a thousand pounds?”
“It would be my luck to get stiffed by a murderer.”
“Stiffed?”
“Cheated.”
“I never cheated you out of a thousand pounds. That was down to Mark.”
“So you said. Why don’t you call the police and tell them what happened then?”
“Because they’d just tell me to come in.”
“So?”
John exhaled. “So they might not let me out again. In fact, there are probably police on the way here now.”
Savannah pinched her bottom lip between a thumb and forefinger, rolling the soft flesh around, face scrunched up in thought.
“Give me the thousand pounds, and I’ll help you,” she exclaimed.
John didn’t know why but trusting this weird and wonderful girl seemed preferable to being alone. Was he being stupid? Probably. But other than go to his parents where he’d just be the failure causing more bother, he didn’t have much choice. He wasn’t going to be responsible for his mother’s break down and subsequent enrolment into a psychiatric home.
“I don’t have it, I told you.”
“This place must be worth a fortune.” She stared from wall to wall. “Don’t you have any decent possessions?”
“Not really. The place is in Mum and Dad’s name. I just live here.” He lifted his hand towards Savannah. “As for possessions, the only thing worth anything
Similar Books
