Free Knife Edge by Fergus McNeill

‘Didn’t even know you’d been injured.’
    ‘Well,’ Harland shrugged, ‘it’s not something I’m particularly proud of. The bastard got away.’
    ‘They haven’t caught him?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘What did he look like?’ Emily asked, nibbling at a strand of her hair as she stared at him.
    There it was, the eager thrill of proximity to danger. Harland wondered if she was becoming aroused, then frowned and put the thought out of his mind.
    ‘I never saw his face. It was pitch-dark, and I didn’t get that close to him.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘At least, not until he jumped me.’
    Emily stared at him for a long moment, then sank back into her seat beside Christopher.
    ‘That’s absolutely amazing,’ she murmured. ‘You’re so brave.’
    ‘Tell it to my superintendent,’ Harland grinned. ‘He’s not so easy to impress.’
    They all laughed at that, until Emily sat upright and pressed her palm to the side of her face.
    ‘The coffee!’ She shook her head in self-admonishment, then leaned forward and patted Harland’s knee as she got to her feet. ‘I completely forgot about it, listening to your adventures. Sorry, shan’t be a mo …’
    He stayed for another hour, then feigned a reason to leave that they kindly didn’t question. The tension eased as he got to his feet and thanked them for the meal.
    ‘It’s been really good to see you.’ Christopher smiled, putting a hand on his forearm – an uncharacteristic physical contact that almost made Harland flinch.
    ‘Don’t let’s leave it so long next time.’ Emily gazed up at him with large, earnest eyes. ‘You know you’re always welcome. Always.’
    ‘I know,’ he said gratefully, but he was in no hurry to do this again. Together, the three of them merely highlighted Alice’s absence; without her there was little reason to rush back. ‘Thanks.’
    Secure in his shoes once more, Harland kissed Emily on the cheek and stepped out into the sunlight.

8
    Someone had parked in his space again. No matter what time he turned the corner onto Stackpool Road, there always seemed to be a car outside his house. Not the same car – he could have done something about that – but different ones, unknown people parking here while they visited one of his neighbours. For a person who received no visitors, it seemed particularly unjust that he should so often be left without a space. He sighed and drove a short distance further up the street until he found a cramped little gap that he was able to reverse into.
    Getting out of the car, he walked slowly back down the hill, still feeling bloated from his lunch with Christopher and Emily. It had been an uncomfortable visit, but at least it had occupied an afternoon; tonight he would be awkward in his own company, rather than awkward in theirs.
    Opening the front door, he stepped into the quiet hallway and dropped his keys into the bowl on the hall stand. Yawning, he wandered through to the kitchen, where he lifted the kettle to check it had water in, then flicked the switch down to boil. Fumbling in his pockets, he retrieved his cigarettes and lighter, then moved over to the back door. The top bolt was stiff as always, but he drew it back with a firm pull, then turned the smooth metal key and twisted the handle.
    The garden, once a comfortable little retreat when Alice had tended it, had all but disappeared. Now it was simply a narrow space between tall, red-brick walls choked with ivy. A jungle of weeds was slowly overtaking the concrete path, steadily advancing on the house. He looked out at it from the back step, then turned away.
    That was a job for another day.
    He hunched forward, shielding the cigarette with his hands as he lit it, then straightened his back and stared up at the early evening clouds. Not much of a scenic view – just a patch of Bristol sky, framed by high walls and the sides of buildings – but it calmed him, gave him time to think. He took a long drag, then flicked the ash, watching