Free Mortal Ghost by L. Lee Lowe

back—not a question she could ask him easily. His hands were gripping his knees hard enough to whiten his knuckles. She would have liked to take his hand. There was a prominent callus on the middle finger of his left hand. Fingers that wrote a lot. Elegant, strong fingers. What do you say to someone who carries this around with him? She had no idea.
    Sarah thought about her own father, his booming laugh and laughing eyes. He could roar in anger, and there had been more than enough dreadful fights in their family. But blows? Once when she’d opened his camera to look inside and spoiled a whole roll of film from Manchuria—she must have been four or five at the time—he’d smacked her bottom with a slipper and then hugged her afterwards, tears in his eyes. He’d never hit her again.
    It had been years before she learned that other men hid their tears. She’d never forget the way he cried during that ghastly time  . . .
    ‘ Jesse,’ she said, ‘talk to my mother.’
    He shook his head.
    ‘ She’ll help you. I know she will.’
    Jesse tore his gaze from whatever vista he’d been contemplating. He mustered a smile but Sarah saw the winter in his eyes, and more.
    ‘ I’ll be all right,’ he said.
    Jesse laid his head upon his knees and his hair fell forward, screening his face. At Sarah’s side lay a conker in its green case, one of several. She picked it up, turned it in her hand—perfectly formed if tiny. Leaning forward, she whispered Jesse’s name and offered him the chestnut. Perplexed, he took the stunted little thing, and for a brief moment her fingers curled around his. Then he pulled away.

Chapter 6
     
     
    ‘ You’re not eating,’ said Sarah’s mother.
    The three of them were sitting in the kitchen at a battered wooden table, probably a family heirloom. A jug with sweet peas scented the room.
    ‘ Jesse?’ Sarah’s mother prompted.
    ‘ I’m not very hungry, Mrs—’ He broke off, realising that he didn’t know their surname.
    ‘ Andersen. But please call me Meg.’
    He glanced at Sarah. ‘We had a late meal.’
    ‘ That reminds me,’ Meg said. ‘Thomas rang. You forgot your mobile again.’
    ‘ Oh shit. I was supposed to meet him in the afternoon,’ Sarah said. ‘He was going make his famous coconut ice cream cake.’
    ‘ He was very nice about it, considering he’d gone to all that trouble,’ Meg said.
    Sarah flushed. ‘I got the message.’
    Hurriedly she finished the food on her plate and reached for seconds. For such a slender girl, she ate a lot. Nor did she pretend about it. She chewed with gusto—like most things she did, Jesse suspected. Was Thomas the boyfriend?
    ‘ At least try some,’ Sarah said, her mouth around a large forkful of salad.
    Jesse took a bite of his quiche. The pastry was rich and flaky—obviously homemade. Sarah’s mum was a good cook. He wished he had more appetite, but his headache, which had toyed with him off and on all day, was now scratching impatiently at the door. It was one of the reasons he had, in the end, gone back home with Sarah. He simply couldn’t face another night on the street.
    ‘ Aren’t you on duty tonight?’ Sarah asked her mother.
    ‘ Not till tomorrow.’
    Sarah saw the question in Jesse’s eyes. She was about to explain when her mum’s slight frown checked her. The not yet was as clear as if Meg had spoken the words aloud.
    ‘ I’ll ring Thomas, then how about some TV?’ Sarah asked.
    ‘ Or sleep.’ Meg’s eyes rested on Jesse, who found it very difficult to interpret her thoughts—not that she hid them from view, for her gaze was direct and candid. No, it was far more like watching a school of fish whose iridescent scales flashed just below the surface, yet which slipped away as soon as you tried to lower the net.
    Meg pushed back her chair and crossed to the electric kettle, filled it at the tap, and switched it on. ‘I’ll make you some tea,’ she said to him.
    ‘ Yuk,’ said Sarah. ‘not that