Taunting the Dead by Mel Sherratt

man.’
    ‘Yeah, I must be.’ Phil slouched down on the settee. He pretended to watch the lunchtime news on the television.
    Seeing his forlorn face, Steph straddled him and put a hand on each shoulder. She could do something that would cheer him up. ‘We do need to be careful though, don’t we?’ She kissed him gently on the lips. ‘I mean, if Terry gets wind of anything happening between us,’ she moved to his neck, ‘we might have to stop seeing each other and,’ her hand rested on the buckle to his belt, ‘I wouldn’t be able to do this anymore.’
    ‘Don’t. I’m not in the mood.’
    ‘Precisely why you need something to take your mind off things.’
    ‘No! You’re not listening to me.’ Phil grabbed both her hands to stop her. ‘I said I’m not in the mood.’
    ‘Okay, okay, don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ Steph sighed dramatically. ‘Honestly, I’m only trying to give you a blow job. What sane man would refuse that?’
    ‘It’s all about sex with you, isn’t it?’ He pushed her to the side and got up.
    Steph pursed her lips. She hated it when he went all moody on her. ‘Fine.’ She got up slowly. ‘You let me know when you’re ready to see me again, then, huh? Because I can call and see you any time, can’t I? Like, it’s so easy to get away.’
    ‘Steph,’ he cried as she barged past him. ‘Steph!’
    She stopped at the door and turned back. The pained expression on his face made her relent.
    ‘Terry’s next in Derby on Friday,’ she told him. ‘I’ll call and see you in the morning.’
    ‘I have business to sort out then.’
    She shook her head. There was no pleasing him at times. ‘Fine. I’ll see you whenever.’
    She was out of the door before he could say anything else. Men! Why did they always think they were so important?
    Still, what he had told her about Friday was perfect.
     

CHAPTER SIX
     
    It was nearing two thirty when Steph finally walked into The Orange Grove restaurant. It had started to rain heavily during the last hour and, mindful of her hair, she quickened her step and almost ran through the door.
    The Italian eatery was owned by her friend Carole and her husband Shaun, and had been there for twenty years now. Situated off Piccadilly in Hanley, it was in the city’s Cultural Quarter, a pedestrianised area that encompassed two theatres and a museum and tried to encourage its residents to enjoy a little class. Due to the economic climate, The Orange Grove was busy in peaks and troughs. A night out at the theatre could see the restaurant filling up quite quickly after a show had finished. No good acts, however, and the restaurant often had more staff than customers. Lunchtimes were particularly good for trade. Today, though, there were only two tables occupied. A party of six celebrating a fiftieth birthday were finishing a long lunch, and two women laden with Christmas shopping enjoyed a bowl of pasta, red wine and good conversation.
    ‘About bleeding time,’ a voice shrilled out.
    Steph shook out her umbrella and pulled herself up onto a bar stool at the counter. Shopping bags fell at her feet. ‘Chill out, woman. I had an emergency earlier.’
    ‘Your life is one big emergency.’ Carole sighed as she slid a glass of white wine over to her. ‘I hope you have some gossip. It has been as dead as Barry White in here this week. I can’t wait for the panto season to get going properly. December always brings in the crowds. If it wasn’t for that, I don’t know why we’d bother.’
    ‘Honestly, I don’t really know why you bother at all.’
    Carole ignored her cynicism. ‘Has that bug cleared up that you had?’
    ‘Kind of.’ Steph had been feeling off for a couple of weeks. Nothing too serious; sickness for a few days and thick headaches. ‘But I’ve been to see Doctor Turner and he did some tests. I still can’t shake it off altogether.’ She pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between her teeth. Carole pulled it out