“Sorry,” he murmured. “You really should have seen a doctor for this, Charlie.” When I remained stubbornly silent, he went on, “Anyway, no, we haven't had any more unexpected visits.”
“How's Nina?”
“She's still very upset,” he said, and I could hear the distress in his voice. “Hardly comes out of her room, poor kid. Ailsa's worried about her, but she's got a lot on her plate anyway at the moment,” he added. “Another of the girls has left, did you know?”
No, I didn't. I paused to catch my breath as he leant the heel of his hand into my gluteal muscles and put his weight behind it.
When I could speak again, I said, “What will she do if they all go?”
“I don't know,” Tris said. “I thought maybe we should start planning for the worst, though, you know? Look at the possibilities of changing direction a little. Ailsa did hypnotherapy when she trained as a counsellor, and I've done reflexology as well as aromatherapy.” I felt him shrug, before adding diffidently, as though wary of ridicule, “I thought we could maybe look at becoming a sort of holistic healing centre.”
He straightened up, pausing to squeeze more oil onto his hands. Tris used to have his oils in delicate little bowls, hand-painted in rainbow colours. They had been a wedding present from a glass-blowing friend, but the decoration had proved too glittering, and the glass too fragile, to stand up to a house full of other people’s careless, magpie children. Now he used a selection of lidded plastic bottles, like you’d find put out for ketchup in a cheap roadside café.
I considered the idea in silence for a few moments while he circled his thumbs down the back of my hamstring. Beyond trying the odd homeopathic cold remedy from one of the health food shops in town, I'd never given alternative medicine much thought. I certainly didn't know what sort of a local following it would generate. “What does Ailsa think?” I asked cautiously.
He sighed, “I haven't really talked to her much about it,” he admitted.
“Well, I suppose at least it would mean you could keep this place afloat,” I said. “Save you having to sell up.”
Tris's fingers stilled momentarily. “Sell?” he said, in the same shocked tone of voice that he might have used if I'd suggested sacrificing small children. “There've been Shelseleys on this site since the Wars of the Roses. We couldn't ever sell the Lodge.”
He ran his hands down my calf, and announced I was done. “I'll leave you to get dressed in your own time,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Try not to bathe for a few hours. The oils will keep working as they're absorbed into your skin, but drink plenty of water.”
He unlocked the door and slipped out of the room quietly. I sat up, feeling strangely light-headed. But better. Definitely better.
Despite Tris's warning about the oils, I admit I wiped the most obvious excess away with a towel, otherwise I was going to need my leathers dry-cleaning before I could wear them again. As it was, the hair round the back of my neck felt slick with it.
When I went out into the hall, I was pleased to discover that the limp had almost gone. Tris was waiting for me by the front door.
“How does that feel?” he asked brightly.
“Much better, I think,” I said. “What do I owe you?”
He shook his head. “Compliments of the house,” he said. He looked at me seriously. “I'm just sorry that I hurt you.”
I shrugged. “I've had worse,” I said. “Besides, there's a school of thought that says if it doesn't hurt, it's not working.”
“I'll take your word for it. You take care now, Charlie.” He flashed me a quick grin. Topped by that ragged haircut, it lent his face an urchin's charm. “And maybe next time you have a massage, it'll be for pleasure, rather than because you've been arguing with someone bigger and uglier than you.”
I smiled back. “Let's hope so,” I said fervently.
***
I stopped in at the indoor market on the way back round town, picking up what fresh fruit and vegetables I could fit in my tank bag. By the time I reached the flat again, it was early afternoon.
Making it up the stairs still took noticeable effort, but at least the single flight no longer seemed like the difficult way up K2. I was three treads from the top when I realised I wasn't alone.
The hairs prickled on the back of my neck. I dumped my tank bag down slowly on the top step, moving up onto the landing with my back to the wall. I ran through a mental checklist of options and actions. Movement, when it came, was sudden enough to be shocking.
A figure reared out of the shadows on the other side of the landing, making me spin round fast. I had an instant flashback to the night before.
I went straight into a half-crouch, with my heart pounding, eyes frantically straining to catch the first glimpse of the angle of attack.
“Bloody hell, Foxy, you don't mess about, do you?”
I recognised the voice and unwound gradually, coming upright. I took a couple of deep breaths to try and slow my body systems down. My hands were clenched so tight into fists I could feel my fingernails digging in to my palms.
The fear had made me suddenly cold, and now I shivered. “Christ, Dave,” I said, annoyed to hear my voice shake. “You frightened the shit out of me.”
Dave grinned. “Better than you beating the shit out of me,” he said. As he came forwards into the light I saw he was dressed in zip-up orange nylon jacket that I thought went out of fashion twenty years ago. If you were into the club scene it was probably right back in now, which shows how much attention I pay.
I picked up my bag again, still feeling ruffled. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” he said. The grin died and he was suddenly pensive. “Look, Charlie, I need your help.” His voice grew sober. “There's some serious shit going on at the New Adelphi and I think I could be in danger.”
Fourteen
I considered him for a few moments, trying to gauge if he was serious or just winding me up. I couldn't help but be intrigued. It was worth the trouble of finding out, I suppose.
I pushed the front door open. “Come on in, it isn't locked,” I said.
He looked disgusted. “You mean I've been hanging around on your draughty landing all this time when I could have been lounging around on your—” He saw the state of the living room and stopped short.
“I should point out that this is not my normal idea of good housekeeping,” I told him dryly.
“Fuck me,” Dave murmured in wonder, looking round wide-eyed.
I thought his reaction was a bit over the top. Irritated, I dumped my tank bag down on the table. If I carried on like this, most of the fruit I'd bought was going to be so mashed I was going to have to purée it.
“OK Dave,” I said with a touch of impatience, “what's the script? As you can see, I've got rather a lot on my plate at the moment.”
He swallowed and dragged his eyes away from the slashed furniture. “What happened?”
I sighed, not really wanting to have to explain. “Just cut to the chase, will you?” I said tiredly.
“Sorry.” He finally managed to get his thoughts back on track. “This is just so—” His voice petered out and he shrugged, lost for words.
I glared at him. He took the hint.
“OK, OK. It's just that there's something spooky going on at the club right now. Len and Angelo have been in foul moods since last week, and so's Mr Quinn, but it's been worse the last couple of days. At first I thought it was the fuss over those lads you laid out on Saturday, and having the police round. The way you did that was brilliant, by the way,” he added, flashing me an engaging grin.