Free The Fire Man by Iain Adams Page B

‘Trendy, but not particularly well-made, and the fabrics aren’t great – too much synthetics.’ The Anastasia-labelled garments, mainly dresses and skirts, were dismissed as “a bit mumsie” and the jury was still out on the Xenia range.
    In summary, Karen was inclined to the view that it was all distinctly average stuff. More concerning was the fact that none of the brands appeared to be well-known, and Karen’s internet searches hadn’t produced a single press reference to either the Dido or Xenia labels and only two comments on the Anastasia brand. More than a little surprising, they had concluded.
    Deciding that he didn’t wish to spoil her evening, McRae had elected not to pursue the debate any further, intrigued though he was. Surprisingly, however, Karen hadn’t let the matter drop.
    â€˜Why don’t you get a few samples for me and I can look at them with some people I know?’ she had asked.
    â€™Like who?’ he had responded, rather rudely.
    â€˜Well, I did run a boutique, you know,’ she had replied tartly.
    â€˜Of course you did... I’d forgotten that,’ he replied, while realising that it was complete news to him. It turned out that the man she always described either as her “ex” or “that bastard” had owned a small dress shop in Harborne ten years previously. Karen, it transpired, had ended up running it for over a year before the guy had done a runner – from both the shop and her.
    â€˜I’ll get hold of a few sample pieces next week and let’s see what you can find out,’ he eventually conceded.
    * * *
    The meal was satisfactory rather than spectacular –
a touch heavy on the oregano,
he thought – but somehow, by rationing himself carefully, McRae had managed, to Nico’s unvarnished disappointment, to avoid ordering a second bottle of wine, although they had concluded the meal with a brandy and a Sambuca. It was almost ten o’clock as they walked through the quiet backstreets on their way to New Street station, where McRae intended to see Karen gallantly onto her train.
    The usual drunks, deadbeats and alarmingly under-clad and overweight girls became increasingly evident as they neared the station. As one legless youth in a torn tee-shirt and baggy jeans lurched unsteadily in their direction, Karen took the opportunity to seize McRae’s arm. Once the drunk had passed, her arm remained where it had rested.
    At the barrier, they paused to check the departure board.
Thank God there was a train in less than six minutes,
he thought.
    She turned to face him and McRae could see there was no choice other than to kiss her farewell. She lifted her face towards his and he moved to give her a chaste peck on the cheek, but it was not to be. Her mouth found his and her arms enfolded him.
    Within seconds, her tongue was in his mouth and he could feel her breasts and pelvis pressing into him through the thin material of her clothes. Despite himself, McRae could feel his arousal, as he used his strength to subtly hold her at a respectable distance. Eventually he broke away, smiling as he did so, hoping to allay any disappointment she felt at his lack of response. To his surprise, she too was smiling and her eyes contained, he detected, a tiny glimpse of triumph.
    â€˜Thanks for a lovely evening, Mr McRae – see you Monday,’ and she was through the barrier.
    As he walked away, McRae felt a curious blend of exhilaration and dread.

10
    Birmingham, May 2007
    â€˜Graeme!’
    Cairns turned to face the only person in the world – apart, of course, from his mother – who still insisted upon employing his Christian name. ‘Don’t forget to ask Drew to come round for dinner next Friday.’
    Moira was standing sternly at the gate watching as Cairns carefully removed his suit jacket, as was his habit, prior to climbing into the car. She seemed perpetually worried about