Page 10 of Reinventing Cato
Vigge let Hendry sling his arm over his shoulder and he supported his weight as they stumbled down the hall. As Hendry sat on the bed, he suddenly lurched towards the bedside cabinet and shoved it closed. Vigge caught a glimpse of something black and white, and a magazine.
“Porn stash,” Hendry muttered and slumped back on the bed. “Nearest I get to the real thing.”
Moments later he was snoring. Vigge levered off his boots, pulled a duvet over him, set the keys on the bedside table and left the house with his violin.
Walking back through the falling snow, he thought back to that night. How frantically everyone had searched for both Fi and Anders. Almost the entire village had come out to look. If there’d been any footprints, they’d been obliterated. But no one was thinking of anything more than finding two youngsters on a snowy night.
As he approached the house, Vigge could see his parents had left the outside light on, their bedroom light too. He kicked the snow from his boots and unlocked the door. He left his footwear on the mat and put his father’s violin back in the living room before he crept upstairs. As he opened the door of the guestroom, the line of light at the bottom of the door to his parents’ room blinked out. His mother wouldn’t have settled until she knew he was back safe. That said something, didn’t it? That she still cared about him.
Just as well that she had no idea he’d been shot at last week.
Chapter Three
When Cato woke on the first day of the year, he thought there was something wrong with his eyes. Ah no, with the light. He rolled out of bed, padded naked to the window, pulled back the curtain and his jaw dropped.Shiiit.Short-sighted as he was, he could see the world was blanketed in snow, and it was still falling. He checked the time and swore again. What had happened to the alarm he’d set?Hadhe set it? He’d ordered a cab for nine. Five minutes from now.Double shit.No time to lose.
He pissed, cleaned his teeth, gave his face a quick wash and grabbed his deodorant. No time for lenses, he put on his glasses and yanked on everything he’d worn last night. Playing the priest for a little longer might help him if he was delayed getting to the airport. Would they hold a plane for a priest? One quick check that he had all his belongings, and he bolted downstairs to reception, carrying his coat.
He tossed his room key on the counter. “Is my cab here? Cato Smith.”
“Probably be a little late because of the weather.” The receptionist tapped on her computer. “Do you need a paper copy of your bill?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.”
Cato pulled on his coat, turned up his collar, then went over to the glass doors and looked outside. At least the drive had been cleared. But he needed the cab to come now, and the roads to be okay so he could catch his plane. The interview for the job with NASA was tomorrow morning.
He went back to the desk. “Could you check the cab’s on its way, please?”
He fidgeted as she made the call.
“Hi, Geoff. Are you…? Yep, great, thanks.” She smiled at Cato. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Cato went to sit on a chair in the foyer. He regretted coming up here even more now. Regretted not factoring in the chance of Max and Louise turning up, because he should have known it was a possibility. He regretted his plan to show Max he was fine, because he’d not fooled him. But he didn’t regret not taking the gladiator up on his offer. What would that have proved? That he could still pull?So fucking what?Cato had wanted to have fun, wanted to be seen having fun, to prove he was over everything and that hadn’t happened. Instead, he’d achieved what he’d denied to himself that he’d intended. Max still wanted him. Unfortunately, it didn’t make Cato feel very happy.
Fifteen minutes later, he was tapping his foot repeatedly. On the point of asking the woman on reception to check again, she called, “Your cab’s here.”
Cato pushed to his feet, picked up his bag and hurried out, almost blinded by the winter wonderland facing him.
The driver lowered his window. “Mr Smith? Er…Father Smith?”
“That’s me.” Cato tossed his bag onto the back seat and climbed in the front. “I have a flight at ten forty.”
“Ah,” said the driver, a middle-aged guy with big veiny hands.
“That doesn’t sound very positive.”
“The roads are bad. The airport’s bad too.”
Oh no.
“Best you get praying, Father.”
No point in that since Cato didn’t believe, but he threw in a mentalPlease, God,just in case. As if that was likely to work. Especially for him.
The snow was still falling, transforming the landscape into something unrecognisable. Cato liked snow, but not driving in it, one of the reasons he’d not bothered with a hire car from the airport. But he’d known snow was forecast. It had been falling all over the UK on and off since Christmas Eve. Why the hell had he come up here and risked missing that interview? A little voice in his head provided an answer to that, and it had nothing to do with Louise and Max.
Sure you want that job?Really sure?How could he not? And yet… There was that niggle of doubt.
The road conditions improved once off the country lanes and the driver was able to speed up. Even so, time was ticking away. Cato checked his flight. It still showed as leaving on time, but a lot of flights were delayed or cancelled.
