Page 44 of Catch of a Lifetime
I stood at my sitting room window, gazing out at the garden. The dog roses that were in bud when I started looking out for Dave’s yearly return were long over. We’d had a solid week of rain, so the lawn hadn’t turned fully brown, but even in the softening light of evening, everything seemed hard-edged and summer-tired.
“I don’t know,” I hedged.
“I do. Come on. It’s a lovely evening, me and Patrick have got one of the picnic tables, and if you get over here in the next thirty minutes, pint’s on me.”
My garden slipped slowly into shadow as the sun moved behind the house. It was July in the north of England and the sun wouldn’t set for a long time still, even though it was eight o’clock and I’d had supper two hours ago. At this time of year, unless it was cloudy, it never even seemed to get fully dark. Not in the way it did during the endless winter nights when I curled up by my fire, waiting for Dave.
I hadn’t expected to be waiting for him now.
“Throw in a bag of kettle chips,” I said to Jerry, “and I’m there.”
“Deal.”
When I arrived at the pub I went straight around to the beer garden, where Jerry and Patrick were lounging at a picnic table, a few empties before them. Also before them was a huge plate of chips—I could smell the salt and vinegar from here—and a sweating bottle of pale ale.
I sat beside Patrick, knocking his shoulder in greeting.
“You good, Joe?” he said.
“Yep. You?”
“Can’t complain.”
“Here you go, mate.” Jerry pushed the chips at me.
I didn’t hesitate. “These aren’t kettle chips,” I pointed out through a mouthful of hot, salted, battered heaven.
“Knowing you, you had something like a poached egg on wholewheat toast for supper. You could do with building your energy up.”
The poached egg was onsourdoughtoast, with a portion of steamed spinach on the side. I didn’t share that with Jerry.
I did share the chips, however, and spent a good couple of hours enjoying the uncomplicated company of the Barnes brothers—minus Vinny, who preferred haring off to the clubs in the city to coming to the pub, and Sam, who was still running around the world working on oil rigs, although he’d done a full one-eighty and these days he was decommissioning them and turning them into coral reefs.
Jerry, as usual, had been right.
Spending a summer evening with friends in a garden that came with beer and chips was infinitely better for my mental health than sitting in the oppressive silence of my kitchen, listening to my wall clock tick and poking half-heartedly at an undercooked egg and a blob of wet spinach.
He was also right about needing to build my energy up, as I was soon to find out.
I pulledup in my drive, climbed out of the car, beeped the locks, and stilled. Everything in me went on high alert. My skin prickled, the hairs on my arms lifted, and my heart threw out a triple beat.
Dave was here.
I couldn’t see him, but I felt him. Oh god, Ifelthim.
“Dave?” I said shakily, taking a slow turn and looking all around, peering into the shadows. It was a new moon and the sky had clouded over on my drive home. The only light came from the small security light above my front door, and it did very little to illuminate the surroundings.
Even if my garden had been lit by stadium lights, I wouldn’t have seen him. He was a predator, after all, and right now, I was under no illusions. I was the prey.
My harsh breathing was loud in the quiet of the night. Very distantly, I heard the high tide crashing down on the beach. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the apple trees.
“Dave?” I said again.
He didn’t show himself.
I waited for another couple of seconds. Nothing. I turned and stuck my house key in the door. Before I could turn the handle and go inside, I sensed a rush of movement behind me. Large hands hit the wood to either side of my head, and a large body bumped mine flat.
The night was still quiet, but now I heard Dave’s harsh breathing laid over mine.
