Beneath the Blonde (28 page)

Siobhan shook her head and removed her hand from Greg’s grasp, pointing at herself.

Greg laughed, “Yeah, ok, babe, you’re to blame. You should have let me tell the truth sooner.”

He smiled bitterly at Saz, “See? It’s all Siobhan’s fault. Lucky you and me, eh?”

When Greg saw Saz off that afternoon, he held her tight before she left. “I know what you did, Saz.”

Saz caught her breath, stepped back and looked up at him, “When?”

“Both times.”

“Oh.”

“Siobhan told me about the first thing and I saw the second.”

Saz shifted her weight, her bag suddenly wrenching against the unhealed rip in her shoulder, “And?”

“And I don’t care about the sex. I could tell she fancied you right from the start. I know Siobhan, I thought it was inevitable. It’s not the first time and I don’t suppose it’ll be the last.”

Saz flinched as he wrote off her idea of herself and Siobhan as a special entity. “Thanks a lot.”

Greg grinned. “You’re welcome. Once anyway.”

Saz looked back at him, “And the other?”

Greg shrugged. “Nothing really. I just wanted you to know. I saw it.”

“Do you think I did the right thing?”

“Probably. Who knows? If Shona had realized Siobhan wasn’t quite dead she’d have gone for her again.”

“I didn’t know Siobhan wasn’t quite dead.”

“No. Neither did I. And you know, if Shona’d had the chance she would have gone for you again too.”

“So I probably did the right thing?”

Greg shrugged. “I reckon probably’s as close as you’re going to get.”

The last call for boarding came from the pilot as he walked past them and out to the ten-seater plane, swinging his briefcase and smiling at Saz as if she and Greg were lovers, “I’m off now, sweetheart, you wanna kiss the boyfriend and hop on?”

Two nights later, weary, dirty and jet-lagged, Saz fell off the plane and into Molly’s arms. Home again to wash, to have her dressing changed, to sit by the fire and drink hot soup with fresh bread and be scolded and loved and warmed and held gently while she cried away the telling of everything that had happened in that house. Almost everything that had happened.

Much later, after they had made love hesitantly and carefully and then not carefully and furiously, after Molly had changed the dressing again on her shoulder, after Molly had fed her sweet honey cake dipped in hot chocolate and after they had kissed and touched and soothed and held each other long enough for it to feel almost normal again, Molly fell asleep on Saz’s good shoulder, a last question whispered into the dark room, “Saz, is there anything else you should tell me?”

Saz thought about what Greg knew, what she knew, the two things that only she and Greg knew and then she kissed Molly’s forehead, stroking the stream of her long black hair.

“No, my darling, that’s the whole sorry story. There’s nothing else to tell.”

Saz lay beside Molly and lied. Then she fell asleep.

Also by Stella Duffy and published by Serpent’s Tail

Wavewalker

“Very near the top of the new generation of crime writers”
The Times

“The clever money should be on Duffy when the crime-writing Oscars are dished out”
Telegraph

“A feisty little page-turner guaranteed to keep you up all night”
Big Issue

Calendar Girl

“There’s a lot of lesbian lore and sex in it, but it is also a fast, witty and clever crime story, with cracking dialogue and exuberant characters”
The Times

“Steamy erotic moments, some smart one-liners and a few digs at lesbian stereotypes… Stella Duffy is definitely a name to watch”
Forum

“Lends a new dimension to trips to the supermarket”
Literary Review

“A highly atmospheric, rhythmic narrative … a stylish book which also warns of the destructive power of lies and half-truths”
Gay Times