The Visitors(30)

Chapter Twenty-Four





Holly





At lunchtime, Holly took her salad and a tatty paperback up to the top floor. There was a pleasant roof terrace area there where customers and staff could get coffee.

She found a table next to the large windows that overlooked the cityscape, then opened the plastic container and poked unexcitedly with her fork at the spinach leaves and flaked tuna she’d cobbled together that morning. Not the most appetising meal, but it was still a while until her first payday, and watching the pennies was mandatory.

She opened her book at the folded-over corner, resolving to buy a bookmark when she saw a nice one. Anyone who valued books knew that bending page corners wasn’t the done thing.

It seemed that everything she touched held a memory just waiting to spring free. Take this book, for instance, A Kestrel for a Knave by Barry Hines. It was the only book she owned, the only one she’d kept from her school days.

She remembered sitting night after night in the furthest corner from the door in the library with this book. For a short time she’d been able to lose herself in its pages, forget how shitty her life had become.

Ironic, she thought now, that what she’d considered a bad life back then had actually turned out to be the better times.

Regardless, the book still had the power to hold her entranced and, munching on a few tasteless spinach leaves, she began to read. Within moments the story pulled her in and she was there with Billy Casper in the school assembly, holding his breath when the boy coughed and invoked the wrath of the headteacher, Mr Gryce…

‘Hello, Holly.’

Surprised, she looked up at the sound of the hesitant voice.

‘Oh, hello, David!’ She placed the book face down on the table and laid down her fork. ‘Cora only just told me you worked here. Apparently you spotted me the other day?’

‘I didn’t know it was you. I wasn’t following you around or anything, I just had to tell Mr Kellington something important and Cath, the receptionist, said I might catch him as he was about to interview someone for the new job, and then I realised…’

He stopped to draw breath, his face growing redder by the second.

‘And then you realised it was me,’ Holly provided.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I realised the person being interviewed was you. Mrs Barrett’s… visitor.’

He shifted from foot to foot, staring at the book on the table but saying nothing more.

‘Small world, isn’t it?’ She smiled. ‘Join me if you like.’

His face flushed further still.

‘I… I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’m just getting a coffee to take back to my office. But thank you. Thanks for asking me to sit here with you.’

‘Hey, it’s no big deal.’ She shrugged and picked up her fork again.

David didn’t move.

‘I’ve worked here for ten months and nobody’s ever asked me to sit with them. In here.’

‘Oh!’ Holly paused before continuing. ‘Well, you’re always welcome to join me, maybe when you have a longer break.’

‘I don’t take breaks as a rule.’

‘Why not? You’re entitled, you know.’

‘There are drivers around here who’d take advantage.’

‘Parking up outside, you mean?’

‘Violating the rules,’ David said gravely. ‘There are a handful of regular offenders who’d love to get one up on me.’

‘I see.’ Holly jabbed at her salad with the fork. She was getting a little tired of the stilted conversation. ‘Well, don’t let me stop you then.’

‘Billy Casper,’ he remarked.

‘What? Oh yes.’ She patted the book. ‘Good old Billy Casper.’

‘I’ve read it,’ he said. ‘It’s rather sad at the end.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she agreed. ‘But I think there’s hope there too. Wouldn’t you agree?’

He thought for a moment. She waited for his opinion on the story, but it didn’t come.

‘I’ll get my coffee then,’ was all he said. ‘Goodbye, Holly.’

‘See you around, David.’

She smiled to herself as he moved away without replying. He was an odd one, for sure, but it took all sorts and she was used to taking a chance on people. It was often the people who appeared most normal that you had to watch.



* * *



Ten years ago, she’d really had no choice in the matter. She’d had to trust Markus and agree to his plan to stay for one night in that hellhole of a house.

But at the time it had certainly felt like she’d made a mistake putting her faith in him, as they’d lugged their cases and rucksacks upstairs.

They’d had to squat down in a filthy corner in the upstairs front bedroom. It had stunk in there too, of unwashed bodies and worse. As her eyes had adjusted to the near darkness, Holly had spotted a foul-smelling bucket under the window, spotlighted every time a car drove down the street.

She’d clutched a handkerchief to her mouth and nose and drawn her knees up under her chin. She could smell, very faintly, Aunt Susan’s perfume on the lace-edged hankie. She recalled her aunt giving it to her when Holly had got upset one night over her mother’s death.