Page 33 of Paper Roses

I shift position. “And did you ever regret it?”

His eyes narrow for a moment. “Occasionally. I missed being on the force almost as soon as I left, but I’ve learned not to look back in life too much. What do they say? Look back but don’t stare. Well, I’m not staring, and I can’t regret giving myself extra time with Mick when he was taken from me so quickly. I do love the job now.” He shivers and glances at me. “It’s getting cold, and you’re only in that thin jacket, Artie. Let’s hurry this up and get lunch in the pub we passed earlier.”

Giving me a determinedly cheerful smile, he walks off. As I follow, I remind myself that I can’t put myself in Mick’s position. It would be wrong to judge a dead man, and I feel very guilty about doing it, but I can’t help wondering if he should have helped Jed with his work problems rather than thinking of himself. That’s how that little story came across, anyway. Not that Jed realises that. He idolises Mick.

“Artie?” he roars.

“Coming.” I gasp as I walk into the lounge and survey the damage. “This is worse than I imagined.” There are holes in the walls and graffiti everywhere. The huge mirror over the fireplace that my dad bought in Paris is smashed to pieces. “How could she let it get like this?”

“Spite,” Jed offers.

“You might be right.”

“I usually am, although the people at the office don’t seem to realise it.” He looks around in disgust. “There was absolutely no need for it to have got this way. A squat situation isn’t the easiest to deal with, but she had recourse to the police and the council to help with the squatters the same as anyone else. I’d lay odds she chose to do this to get back at you.”

I nod slowly. “You’d be right.”

“Butwhy?”

“Because she hated me,” I say simply.

“I don’t understand that at all.” The incomprehension in his voice makes me feel warm inside.

“I don’t understand either, but I learnt a long time ago for the sake of my mental health that I don’t need to try. I never did anything to her. I tried to love her when she came into our lives, but she didn’t want that. She didn’t want anything to do with me and only wanted my father. The nicer I was, the worse she became. It was as if she wanted me to act up and be hateful.” I shake my head in disbelief.

“Probably because that would have made it easier for her.”

I look at him in question.

He says, “If you were horrible, she’d have had a good reason to kick you out and be spiteful. The fact you weren’t, probably wound her up to unbelievable levels. Sometimes you can’t help people.”

The sun chooses that moment to shine through a big gap in the boards and a flash of colour from an open cupboard in the corner of the room takes my attention. “That looks like my mother’s Tiffany lamp,” I exclaim. “How onearthis that still here?”

I move round him to look at it, but I step on something, and my foot shoots out from me. I gasp as the marble fireplace looms and I think I’m doomed to hit it, but Jed grabs me, staying my fall with a pained grunt.

We end up in an embrace, his hands clutching me close to his big frame and my arms around his narrow waist. His body heat is irresistible, and I edge closer. His arm tightens and my fingers slide over the soft wool of his cashmere jumper. It’s so soft, and as I flex my fingers, the wool rucks up, allowing me to feel the hot silk of his skin.

“Are you alright?” he immediately says. “Did you twist anything? Artie?”

His sharp voice pulls me from my heat haze. Oh god. I’ve been fondling the skin over his ribs. I blush painfully.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I finally say, pleased that my voice is steady, if a bit hoarse.

He lets me go, and I step back reluctantly. He’s breathing hard. “Are you hurt?” I ask. His eyes are very dark. “Did you hit your hand? Jed?”

He startles. “It’s fine.”

“Let me see,” I order.

He reluctantly extends his hand, and I grimace when I see the cut on it. It’s deep and seeping blood, and the knuckle is already swelling. “How did you do this?” I ask, sliding my finger gently over the back of his hand in comfort. He shivers and I quickly pull back.

“I banged it on the fireplace when you slipped and caught it on something. Maybe a nail.”

“Have you had a tetanus?” I ask, immediately worried.

He rolls his eyes. “Yes. Because of the Fredericks’ wedding in that barn.”

I can’t help my snort of amusement and tap his hand gently. “Well, at least you won’t get lockjaw.”

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