SEVEN DEADLY THINGS (Henry & Sparrow Book 3) by A FOX (new ebook reader .txt) 📕

he was born, they really regarded him more as a joskin. They were nice enough — and none of them ever called him a pikey — but he still didn’t fit in. It had occurred to him that if there was ever a club exclusively for people who didn’t fit in, he would have to join it. Except that by the very nature of its membership, such a club could literally not exist, because as soon as its members started to fit in by not fitting in, they would have fitted in… and instantly no longer qualify for membership.

He spent far too much time on stupid thoughts like this. And stupid, unhelpful plans that had now led him to the corner of a shuttered ice cream kiosk, trailing Kate and her friends and spying on them from the shadows. What he should be doing was just sauntering over to the small group, and saying hi. They would probably remember him because Talia had. They bloody well should remember, with all the fun they’d had out of him.

He should have taken the chance to go after Kate, back in the bar, when she’d walked past at speed, tapping urgently into her mobile phone. He could have followed her outside and got her alone… but instead he'd waited a bit longer by the bar until she came back in. He’d just stood there, brooding over his glass, as the karaoke ended, and they all gathered together and then left…. shadowed by the awkward outsider from seven years past.

The yellow car — it looked like an old Capri — started up and then backfired. Then they got bored and wandered off again, towards the chalets. He followed them. At a distance. He didn’t need to try too hard; they were clearly drunk and probably wouldn’t notice him if he ran past in his boxers, blowing a trumpet. So… whose chalet were they heading for? And what would happen when they got there?

He felt a surge of anxiety. It was too soon. All of this was too soon. It should be tomorrow. He needed more time. But he loitered anyway, by a clump of lilac trees at the corner of the short avenue of chalets, watching them knocking on the patio doors.

He held his breath as they all waited for a response. Nobody opened the chalet door. And after a little more discussion, they all headed off again, towards the beach.

So… should he go back to the Sprite? Or should he follow..?

14

It was incredible how quickly they all regressed. Bill had stopped by his chalet, en route to the beach, and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels, which he now offered up for everyone to swig from.

‘It’s cheap shit,’ he said, settling back into the shingle on one elbow. ‘I normally only drink fifteen-year-old single malt these days… but I thought we should do some more JD for old time’s sake.’

Nikki took an enthusiastic slurp before passing the bottle to Francis. ‘Hope you don’t mind that I’ve had my tongue around that,’ she said, giving him a broad wink.

Francis laughed, shaking his head, while Bill rolled his eyes. Water under the bridge, like hell. This whole thing was descending into pantomime. Kate was tempted to shout at Nikki: ‘Leave your sticky past BEHIND YOUUUU!’ This whole performance was nothing more than a massive ego boost for Bill — whose ego was quite boosted enough.

‘It doesn’t feel like seven years, does it?’ said Talia, sitting close to Kate and leaning in. ‘Feels like seven minutes where Nikki and Bill are concerned. God, she doesn’t learn, does she?’

Francis passed the bottle along and Talia took a swig before handing it to Kate.

‘I’ll pass,’ said Kate.

Talia shook her head. ‘Nothing’s changed with you, either,’ she snorted. ‘You always were sooooo fucking sensible! No surprise you’ve ended up as a copper.’

Kate felt stung. Some of the decisions she’d made in recent months had been far from sensible… although they’d been right on the money. She remembered how often she had felt this sense of defensiveness around Talia, who was such an instinctive party animal.

‘So… it’s about time we got the inside story on the Runner Grabber,’ said Talia, loud enough for everyone to prick up their ears. ‘And the Gaffer Tape Killers!’ Everyone’s head swivelled towards her and Kate realised her friends must have been talking about it when she wasn’t around. Maybe they had even planned to be sensitive and discreet… but it didn’t take much alcohol to erode that kind of thinking.

‘Look… it’s all been out there in the press… you probably know everything already,’ she said.

‘Oh come on!’ Craig threw up his hands. ‘This is us! The Magnificent… Six.’ He gave a forlorn hiccup. ‘I mean, girl… details! Like… did that BBC guy really die dangling from the top of his own radio car mast? And were you really surrounded by naked Barbies in the Runner Grabber’s basement?’

Kate felt a wave of nausea and took a long slow breath, while Francis reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

‘Most of all,’ said Nikki, grabbing the JD bottle from Craig and taking another swig. ‘How hot was that dowser guy? I mean… he runs in and saves you with his little swingy pendulum… and then he’s back again to save the day with the Gaffer Tape Killers and… I’ll tell you what, he can use his dowsing rod on me any time…’

‘Fucking nonsense,’ said Bill, picking up a stone and skimming it expertly across the breakers and over the surface of the moonlit sea for three skips. ‘Waving crystals and hazel twigs about, making out they’ve got some magic path to all the answers.’

‘But he did!’ protested Nikki. ‘He bloody did. He dowsed exactly where she was and got there just in time to stop her being strung up naked and killed for the benefit of an art installation!’

Kate felt Francis getting tense. She didn’t blame him. ‘You know… this is what I’ve missed most about