Mortal Sin - Sin Book II

Chapter 14

"I..." I began, but he was gone.

I shook my head and looked down at the coffee which, only moments before, he'd been kind enough to offer me. It was a good job the cup had been in my hands, otherwise I might well have been wearing its contents as he threw them at me. I didn't think I'd look good in stain. Faint ripples rippled, as ripples tend to, across the surface, but they didn't seem to want to tell me what had offended Barry so much. I seemed to be rubbing people up the wrong way since I'd returned from wherever I'd been. Perhaps my departure from there and my arrival to here had been rushed and my memories were still in Left Luggage, lying on the carousel after all the other cases had been claimed. Perhaps my tact and diplomacy were stood chatting with a luggage trolley, oblivious to the fact everyone else had left and my memories were still going around and around like an inflatable doughnut on a lazy river at a water park.

The boys on the beach, the young girl and the police officer, the man with the cigarette and now Barry. The only person who seemed to want to be nice to me was Jasmine, and she was nowhere to be seen. Was I being nasty without realising it? Did I have one of those faces you just wanted to slap and everyone was finding... I don't know... the placement of my eyes against the bridge of my nose, offensive? Were my lips too narrow? Did my eyebrows reach across the great divide of my face and link arms, becoming a monobrow in the process, harkening back to the days of Neanderthal Man and combat by club? Or was I giving off some sort of unconscious vibe, a pheromone of ferocity which reduced those around me to angry dogs, eager to bark and to bite?

I took a swig of the coffee, holding it in my mouth for a moment before gulping. I thought - hoped - the warmth in my throat might give me comfort, as if I'd swallowed a hug. Once the liquid had made its way to my stomach, my mouth and I felt the same. Empty. The echoing heat of something nice fading quickly, to be replaced by the flaccid feeling of abandonment.

How a mouth could feel abandoned by a drink, I wasn't sure, but I knew how it felt. In sympathy, I took another, a long one this time, one which would take a couple of gulps to be rid of. I almost choked in it as Barry fairly fell back into the kitchen, tripping over his own feet as he was pushed backward. At first I didn't see the person who pushed him. He turned angrily, fists clenched, as if he was going to attack the attacker but then I saw the anger dissolve to be replaced by quiet acquiescence. The change was so rapid, I was startled and butterflies began to flutter in my stomach, trying to escape out of my belly button to enjoy the show.

"Can you two play nice, please?" a woman's voice said.

Jasmine. A familiar face, albeit another I'd also only just met. She strode into the kitchen with a stern look on her face. I could see why Barry had discarded his ire so easily. He wouldn't have wanted to hold it up before her while she had that expression. A smile sat tentatively on her lips as if waiting for the facade of friendliness to slip, pushed by the stony hand of her eyes.

"Hello Jasmine."

"Hello," she said.

The stage was set formally, as if we were in an episode of Downton Abbey and one must speak as one must. If she could do that to Barry, who I imagined would punch one of Downton's gentry without thinking, and be classed as a brawler and a lout. I'd agree, but not to his face.

Barry laughed.

"Jasmine? Is that what she's c..."

"Barry!"

Jasmine's voice wasn't raised, but it was sharp enough for the shards of her words to cut the man's sentence into shreds. He was silenced as effectively as if they'd continued into his neck, slicing his vocal cords like bungee cords to let anything he might think of saying plummet to the ground. I could imagine the letters in a messy pile around his feet, with each step kicking them aside.

"Well, why did you bring him here?"

"Where else was I going to take him? I couldn't leave him on that beach. People died. He could have been arrested. More could have died."

"Tell me about it! Maybe I'd have some company!"

Barry slumped down in the chair opposite mine, a petulant child sticking his bottom lip out for the parent to trip over. He picked up his cup and began to drink, swallowing loudly to emphasise his displeasure.

"Please don't worry about Barry. He's harmless. He can't hurt you."

Can't? I wasn't sure about that. He looked very much like he'd love to try. I felt very much like he'd succeed.

"Wanna bet?" Barry spat, anger clouding his already stormy face.

"Drink your coffee, Barry," Jasmine told him, ignoring his challenge. He did so.

"How did you sleep?" she asked me.

The conversation still felt stilted. Forced. It had an awkwardness that was like a thick wall of fog. I was wading into it, almost blind and not be sure of where I was meant to go.

I'd forgotten I'd been asleep. I'd forgotten I'd just come down from discovering myself in a strange house with an infinitely stranger man. I'd also forgotten, until she mentioned people dying, the beach and the blood and the police and everything. And I'd forgotten that I'd forgotten everything about me.

But then I remembered. And I went cold. Cold enough that it felt even my coffee cooled in respect.

"OK, I think. I'm not sure"

I didn't know. One moment I was about to be attacked because I bumped into a hulk-of-a-different-colour, and the next I was in a bed. To me, there had been no passing of time. No nice nap where I'd awaken feeling refreshed if a little groggy, but smiling at the sun squeezing itself through the tiny gap in the curtains, wishing it had stuck to that gap so it might get through easier and light up the room within. It was the blink of an eye. The beat of a heart.

"Do you want the grand tour?" she asked, proving that the first question was purely automatic and she was neither interested in nor listening to my response.

What did I want? I wanted to know who I was. Why I was so calm about not knowing. Where I was. Who was she? Who was he? What happened to make me lose my memory? Why was belly button fluff always blue? Why did I know that and why was I wondering it when so much else was in question?

"Sure," I said, shrugging.

What else was there to do? If I was going to get answers, it wasn't going to be over a coffee. One or the other of them would have already sat and started talking. I shouldn't have needed to ask. When a guy who doesn't know you or himself turns up and you start saving them and have them running everywhere, you'd think he'd want to know why. You'd take the time to tell him.

They weren't, so I figured they weren't going to.

The tour it was.