her hungry yet at the same time unable to eat. As much as she tried to tell herself that she was only doing this for the information she hoped to get out of Matt, part of her reacted to the prospect of seeing him again with an entirely different agenda.
She wondered if perhaps going to bed with him would help get rid of the jittery, on-edge feeling that had been with her constantly since the phone call. Four days. It felt like so much longer, and yet at the same time Lucy had the disconcerting feeling that time was not being measured in increments of how long had passed since that morning, but rather was counting down to something, some momentous event that the phone call from the Parole Board had triggered.
Her mother had looked at her quizzically when Lucy confessed she was meeting Matt at the Italian restaurant in town, but to Lucyâs relief had voiced no disapproval, nor questioned Lucyâs motives when she had revealed who Matt was, only passed comment on vaguely remembering how handsome the young cop had been. Ricky was staying at hers and was still grounded, though Lucy knew her son would attempt to talk her mother round if he could.
Matt had phoned her that morning, as she had somehow known he would, to ask how things were with Ricky. Lucy had found herself steering the conversation around to him asking her for a meal. There was an unspoken connection between them somehow; both having been brought together yet again by his involvement with her children. Not the most romantic situation perhaps, but it could prove to be a fateful one. To make their âdateâ for that very night was her own idea, perhaps in fear that if she gave herself too long to think about it she might change her mind.
Lucy knew that Detective Inspector Winston was attracted to her; although he had never been anything but polite she could read it clear as day in his eyes and the way he had so very deliberately
not
looked at her bare legs when she had been perched on the counter. She had noticed at the edge of her awareness even back
then
, but it had barely registered, all information unrelated to Jack coming to her as if through a fog, the same fog that had followed her for years, always threatening to envelop her. Somehow, since the news of Princeâs release, that fog had gradually cleared after the initial shock, leaving behind a sharp anger yes, but also the feeling that she was fully alive again.
The look Matt gave her when she opened the door to him was confirmation of her renewed state. His eyes drank her in, clearly appreciating the effort she had made with her hair, her make-up, her dress. Lucy found herself giving him a sultry smile.
âYou look lovely,â he said, looking down at himself self-consciously, although he looked just as delectable himself, she thought with a half-smile. When they walked into
Marcoâs
after a somewhat awkward car drive, Lucy saw the heated glances other women gave the man at her side and felt as giddy as a teenager at the school disco who had somehow managed to bag herself the hottest guy in school. Much as she had once felt with Ethan, yet back then she had been very much aware of being in his shadow. Somehow being next to Matt made her feel more secure, not less.
She ordered wine in an attempt to calm the fizzing in her gut, even though Matt was of course not drinking. He watched her as she sipped at it, his expression unreadable.
âSo, things are okay at home?â They had already spoken about Ricky, who had been very much subdued after his run-in with Matt, so Lucy knew what he was referring to. She took another sip of wine before looking straight at him.
âAs good as can be expected. I still intend to do something, I just donât quite know what yet.â
âMaybe no more tabloid interviews,â Matt suggested, and although his tone was light Lucy wondered if he meant it as a reprimand. She had seen the protesters on the news, pacing the town square