Free Butterfly Grave (Murder Notebooks) by Anne Cassidy Page B

bedside lamp and it gave the room a dull yellow glow. It was a double bed and Joshua was slumped on one edge of it. Rose picked his feet up and laid him out. Then, putting the flats of her hands under his waist, she pushed him so he rolled over and lay on his side in the middle of the bed. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, tired with the effort. Maybe she’d drunk a little too much red wine herself.
    ‘Thaks, Rosie,’ she heard him whisper from behind her.
    Her shoulders relaxed and she let herself flop back down on the bed. It was only for a moment. She could hear the television from downstairs and she knew she had to turn everything off and let Poppy out into the garden before she went to bed herself. She lifted her feet off the floor. She turned to the side. Joshua was completely still beside her. She lay quietly for a while then put her arm around him so that her hand was on his chest. She felt his ribs move up and down.
    His T-shirt had risen up. She saw the edge of his tattoo. Like hers it was of a butterfly. She pushed her sleeve up to expose her own. They both had the same tattoos; it seemed like a private link between them.
    Joshua stirred. She stiffened, thinking she ought to move before he woke up and found her there. She lifted her arm gently and went to turn away but Joshua’s hand covered hers and pulled her back. He seemed to hold her there.
    ‘Josh?’ she whispered.
    There was no answer. He was still asleep. She should move and yet his hand was warm over hers and she had curled herself into the crook of his back. She closed her eyes for just a moment, feeling her chest against him. The wine was taking its toll and she was feeling tired. Joshua was so still, as if all the worries of the last few days had left him. She let her face sink into his neck, his hair tickling her nose. He smelled of shampoo and soap and whisky.
    He moved her hand a little.
    Was he asleep?
    ‘Rosie,’ he seemed to say.
    He had her fingers tightly in his and he moved them upwards until they reached his face. Then he kissed her wrist, slowly, softly, his tongue on her skin.
    A feeling of yearning flooded through her. Hardly breathing, she put her mouth on his shoulder and kissed it, brushing it lightly, her lips like the touch of a feather. They lay still for a while then he seemed to drop her hand and become heavier, slumped, moving a little away from her. She edged back.
    ‘Night, Josh,’ she whispered.
    She closed his door. She walked quickly to the box room and sat down on the bed, her arms hugging her chest. Her skin was tingling with desire.
    What was going on? Did Joshua want her?
    She wished she knew.

TEN
    Christmas Eve brought snow.
    Rose looked out of her bedroom window to see if the SUV was there and she was faced with a white scene. Snowflakes were floating down but not quite settling on the ground. She was relieved to see that the silver car was not in the street. She got dressed and went downstairs to let Poppy out into the garden. The cold air poured in and she shut the door quickly after the dog. She was thirsty and poured herself a glass of water and drank most of it down. It was just after nine thirty and there was no sound of movement from Joshua’s room. She put the kettle on and got out some bread.
    There was a knock at the front door.
    She opened it to find a man of about fifty holding a cardboard box, the kind people used when they were moving house.
    ‘Is Joshua Johnson in?’
    She nodded.
    ‘I’m Donald Bishop, the head teacher of Kirbymoore Academy where Stuart Johnson teaches history. Sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve but I wanted to get this stuff to Stuart in case any of it was needed over the holidays.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘May I come in?’ he said, looking up at the falling snow.
    ‘Of course.’ She held the door back.
    Donald Bishop walked in. She pointed towards the kitchen.
    ‘If you go in there I’ll tell Josh that you’re here.’
    ‘Thank you, dear.’
    Rose ran up the stairs.