Truth Dare Kill by Gordon Ferris Page A

or maybe old Mrs White from downstairs.
    She does my laundry but wouldn’t leave the light on. She hates extravagance.
    I stood swaying at the doorway and saw there was no one in my office, but the door to my bedroom was open. There was no light on, but a fire threw guttering shadows against the wall. I slid softly over to the door and pushed it wide.
    She was sitting on my bed. There were few alternatives; it was that or the sagging old armchair that the landlord should have burned to curb the fleas.
    She’d made the fire. The room was warm and welcoming.
    “Hello. You’re back, then?” I said stating the glaringly obvious, and feeling stupidly pleased to see her.
    Val smiled. “Am I welcome?”
    “Seems you’ve made yourself welcome.” I nodded at the fire. A couple of briquettes were half-eaten.
    “Do you mind?” She frowned.
    I shook my head, then clutched it as the pain ripped through the base of my skull. I took a deep breath. “Depends how long you stay and why you’re here.”
    I wasn’t going to give in so easily to a woman’s warmth. There were things I hadn’t noticed last night: her hair wasn’t just black, it had chestnut depths; her eyelashes were the longest I’d seen; and though she was as skinny as a ferret, she had nice legs. I didn’t want her to vanish again.
    “I’m here, now. Isn’t that enough?” She should have known it was enough. Women usually have a true sense of their worth to men. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
    “Head. Got a bit of a headache.” I could hear the words slurring.
    “Any aspirin?”
    “They don’t work. Not on these.”
    I struggled off my coat and tried to hang it up behind the door. It fell in a heap, like I would any second. My words sounded a long way off. “Want some tea?
    Don’t have much food. Couple of sausages, maybe. Wasn’t expecting company.”
    “Tea’s smashing. I don’t want to eat all your rations.”
    I fumbled in the little shelf above my two ring stove and found the little package. “Three. One and a half links each. Let’s shove them on. There’s some bread. Brown sauce too.”
    I smiled as encouragingly as my head would let me and she got up. I took my jacket and tie off and wrestled with the collar stud until I wrenched it off and dropped it on the chest of drawers. We found the dripping and dropped the bangers in the pan. The rich smell of hot fat quickly filled the little room.
    There are few finer sounds than sausages sizzling. I lit two fags and gave her one.
    “Ta. What happened?” She pointed at my lip.
    “Ran into a fat policeman.”
    I brewed the tea and filled two mugs. “Milk? Sugar?” I asked. She gave Churchill’s salute.
    We sat there on the bed, supping like a couple of old marrieds, not speaking, just enjoying the sight of each other and the sounds from the frying pan.
    Despite my head, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a bit of hope gather. I even felt the black weight lift a little from behind my eyes and wondered if she was some magic talisman against the pain that would normally have begun to incapacitate me.
    The bread was a bit stale so we put four slices under the grill. Made two rounds each out of the toast and sausages. Made a bit of a mess with the marge, and the sauce ran down our fingers. Didn’t mind licking it off. Not something I could have done with Kate Graveney. Those white gloves. Not sure I’d want to. The pain was steady now, but bearable. The food helped. Sometimes it does, sometimes it just makes me throw up.
    I said between bites, “You should have stayed. This morning I mean.”
    She cocked her head to one side, like a budgie. “I shouldn’t have stayed last night. Give you the wrong idea ‘bout me. I’m not that sort. I was cold and a bit fed up. And I’m not used to whisky. God, my head! As bad as yours now, I expect.”
    I doubted that.
    She looked down. “Look
    I needed a pal. Can we be pals? Nothing else – for a bit anyhow. See how it goes? There was a bloke. Bit of a mess. You know.”
    I needed a pal too. Needed