Free The Faceless by Simon Bestwick Page B

beside him and guided his hand between her legs.
     
     
    T HE MORNING LIGHT woke her. What time? Panic. If someone came in – even the rumour would be lethal. Damp sheets clung to her; she fought to thrash free, then found the narrow bed empty save for her.
    “Al–”
    He was at the window, elbows on the sill, barefoot in polo shirt and jeans. She fumbled for her nightdress. The bedside clock read 8.43 am; time for breakfast if they were quick, made themselves presentable. She’d need to take a morning-after pill later. Be safe. Forty-six years old and still no menopause. Christ. She always had three or four in her handbag, courtesy of a pharmacist friend. Always best to be both prepared and discreet. “Allen?”
    “I’m sorry, sis.” He looked old, suddenly; the greying hair, the face tired and slack. And he was the younger. Where had her life gone? “Cancel the show tonight.”
    “ What? ” Tonight was Liverpool; it was sold out.
    “I need you to cancel it, Vera.” His voice was quiet but very level. Determined. She wasn’t used to hearing him sound that way.
    “What did you see last night?” she asked. Because she knew he’d seen something. Allen might not know the real thing anymore, but she did.
    “I’ve got to go back,” he said. “Today. Right now.”
    “Where?” she asked. But she knew. Of course she knew.
    “Kempforth,” he said at last. He smiled; she saw terror and bliss entwined in it. “I’ve got to go back to Kempforth.”
    And she didn’t know whether she felt more terror or relief. After all these years of circling, finally, he was flying into the black sun.

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
    Saturday 21 st December.
     
    N AN’S LIVING ROOM; Anna and Martyn perched on chairs, Nan sunk in hers. Mary at Martyn’s feet, huddled against his leg.
    “Where you going today, then?”
    “Just off to Witchbrook, Nan.”
    “Ah well. Bit of fresh air. Do you a lot of good, that. ’Specially you, Martyn.” Martyn flinched a smile back, looked down.
    “Now, Mary, come here a minute. Come on, I don’t bite. Something for you.” Kendal Mint Cake in dark chocolate; Mary’s favourite. “What do you say?”
    Mary had inched over. “Thank you, Nan.”
    “Give your great-gran a hug, then.”
    She didn’t. “Mary,” said Anna.
    “Go on, love,” Martyn said. Mary reached out thin hesitant arms. Nan pulled her close. “Bless you. You’re getting a big girl.” After a moment, Mary hugged her back. Nan released her. “Now, you go and have fun at Witchbrook.”
    “OK.”
    “And if you’re good,” said Anna, “we’ll go to the Creamery after.” Mary loved the place, although Anna couldn’t forget arranging to meet Eva there.
    Nan winked. “Spoils you, your Aunty Anna. Get fat, you will.”
    “No I won’t!”
    “Mary,” said Anna.
    “Don’t talk to your Nan like that,” said Martyn.
    “Soz.”
    “Not soz,” said Anna. “Sorry.”
    “Sorry.”
    Nan reached out to ruffle Mary’s hair; the child flinched away. Anna opened her mouth, but Nan shook her head. “It’s alright, love.” They looked at each other for a moment, then Mary went back to Martyn and threw her arms round him, buried her face in his side. Nan studied him. “You take care as well, boy. Look after the little one.”
    “Aye, Nan, will do.” Martyn kissed her cheek.
    “Go on with you.”
    Mary almost ran out, Martyn lumbering after.
    “I’m sorry, Nan,” Anna said. “Don’t know what got into her.”
    “I’m old, that’s what. Could pop off any second.”
    “Nan.”
    “It’s true. She’s already lost her Mam. Nearly lost Martyn too. And I’m still here and her Mam’s gone.”
    Anna shouldered her bag. “What about you, Nan? You OK?”
    “Just the usual. Old age cometh not alone, mate.” A smile. “Know what you’re on about. Have I seen any more ghosts, that’s what you want to know.”
    Anna looked down.
    “Anna, love, it’s alright. I’m not going off my head.”
    “Never said