Free Hide and Seek by P.S. Brown Page B

work he’d be lucky if he had time to cram a sandwich down his throat whilst sat at his desk.
    After Sunday dinner he ’d take over responsibilities for entertaining George as Janine and her mother, who’d usually open a bottle of wine to accompany dinner, would continue drinking and chatting. Ann would stay long enough to see George bathed and put to bed around 8pm and she’d probably last another half an hour before she would start yawning. She would say the same thing every week, which was that she wasn’t sleeping well but the wine combined with the large meal, was making her sleepy now. Peter would take the hint and drive her home. The journey normally took fifteen minutes and he would help her into the house, usually carrying in the bags of leftovers that Janine had made up for her and popping them in the freezer. He always felt a little sorry leaving her there on her own. Her husband, Janine’s father John, had died five years ago from a stroke. They had been a jovial couple who clearly depended on each other; the kind who finished each other’s sentences, an understanding that had come from 45 years of marriage. As if the death of Janine’s father wasn’t enough, Ann herself had a stroke six months after John’s death. Fortunately it had only been a mild one but the left side of her body was partially paralysed and so she needed a walking stick to get around. They would exchange pleasantries and then part company. He would drive home, open a can of lager and cuddle up to Janine on the couch to watch the forgettable programmes that comprised Sunday evening television. Janine would be slightly drunk from the wine so she was often a little frisky and if George was good and stayed in his bed they would normally retire around 10pm to make love.
    Peter smiled as he remembered that last weekend she had used sex as a bargaining tool. She had waited until he was horny and vulnerable and then made him promise to take the car to the garage on the Monday morning to have the tyres replaced. He ’d promised, and then clearly forgotten, hence why she’d mentioned it again in their phone call yesterday.
    Peter wished that he could go back to last Sunday, to mundane tasks like washing his car, before any of this had happened. But this was not a typical Sunday afternoon. He had been removed from his cosy life and forcefully shoved into this twisted game. A game with serious consequences, where people were dying, people he knew.
    The happy memories of his lazy Sundays faded away, and the harsh reality of his current situation came sharply back into focus . Running down the road, he could feel every jolt as his legs hit the uneven pavement.
    Peter thought back to the contraption that Colin had been rigged up to. It wasn’t something you could pick up from a hardware store; and so it must have been created by Celo for this lethal game. Did it give any clue as to who Celo was? He imagined a shady figure silhouetted in black in some basement working on the contraption, continuously testing it to make sure it would carry out its deathly function. Peter couldn’t recall any one of the Excellent Eight being particularly good at metalwork at school, and considering their chosen professions in adulthood nothing particularly stood out.
    His mind fleeted back to the flats. He wished he’d had more time . Wished he’d been able to ask someone about the apartment where he found Colin. Had any of the neighbours seen anyone going into the apartment? Had Celo rented it under his real name? Maybe the police would be looking into it? They could be looking for him right now. Peter wondered what that would mean, as far as the game was concerned, if the police were to find Celo. If he were caught would the remaining members of the Excellent Eight die? No, Celo wouldn’t be so stupid as to rent out an apartment in his own credentials. He’d use somebody else’s identification - stolen or fake ID. He wondered to himself whether it was