Sixty-One Nails Part 57

"It won't. It doesn't do that."

"If you give the battery to your mum, I'll buy you some credits for it when you get home. How about that?" Bribery would usually succeed where parental

authority failed.

"Well, OK, I suppose."

"Thanks, babe."

"Dad, when can we come home?"

"Soon. I'll call you."

"What do we do if you don't call?"

"Your mum will know what to do, sweetheart. I'll call you. Until then, I want you to stick with your mum. She'll look after you."

"It's not me I'm worried about." She suddenly sounded like her mother.

"It'll be OK. I promise. Go and give your mum a hug and I'll call you in a day or so when this is all sorted out, all right?"

"OK.".

"You take care now."

"No. You take care."

"I will."

"Bye."

I waited to see if Katherine would come back onto the line, but it beeped at me and dropped the call, leaving me looking at the phone and wishing I had some way to explain.

I put the handset back on the cradle and the phone disgorged leftover coins into the change tray with a chunking sound. I collected them and pushed out of the phone box, walking over to where Blackbird lay looking at the clouds. I sat down beside her. "Are they safe?"

"Yes, but they had a phone call like Claire's on Alex's phone. How did they know the number? "

"Maybe they called directory enquiries?"

"I made sure it's not listed. They're not supposed to give out the number."

She rolled over so that she could lean on her elbow and look at me. "Where are they?"

"I don't know, away somewhere."

"That's probably best," she remarked. "They should be safe once the ceremony is performed with the proper knives again. It will reinforce the barrier and stop them crossing so easily. "

"Will we ever be safe again?" I asked her.

She shook her head. "Never. Better get used to it."

It struck me how different she was from Katherine, how much more independent. But then Katherine was looking after our daughter, which rather put a dampener on the independence thing.

Something had changed, though. Usually when I spoke with Katherine there was a bitterness from things unsaid or things that should never have been said that our separation hadn't salved. Like an open wound, it festered between us and leaked poison into my relationship with my daughter. But this morning had been different. I found myself worrying about Katherine and Alex, their safety and welfare still forward in my thoughts, but I wasn't left with the feeling that I had failed to meet even the basic standards of fatherhood. I didn't feel bitter about what she'd said, or not said. I was just worried, scared even.

I realised I loved them both. I loved Alex, of course, she was my daughter and the centre of my world, but it was a shock to realise I still loved Katherine. I had thought all of that had been burned up in the conflagration that was our divorce. Instead I found I still cared for her and it still mattered to me that she was safe, and if possible, happy. It was like putting down a burden I hadn't realised I been carrying. Perhaps I had finally begun to heal.

I had been daydreaming and came back to myself looking down into dark green eyes full of sky. She was watching me.

"You were miles away," she said.

"I was thinking."

"What about?"

"About how a woman I've known for a little over forty-eight hours could turn my life upside down and hand it back to me."

She shoved me playfully in the chest and, unbalanced, I rolled backwards. She scrabbled to her feet and leapt on top of me landing on my stomach. Catching hold of my wrists she pinned them to the gra.s.s with unexpected strength and then pressed her lips to mine until I stopped struggling and started cooperating. She rubbed the end of her nose against mine. Shadowed by her hair, I looked up into her eyes seeing the green spark in them rekindled. "You're insatiable," I told her.

"Impossible," she agreed, nodding slowly and brushing my nose with hers. That look of proprietary possessiveness came back into her eyes. "Don't say it," I told her.

She leapt to her feet and grabbed her bag in one fluid movement and was walking off across the field while I was still getting to my feet.

"You'd better get used to it," she called over her shoulder.

I trailed after her, shaking my head and wondering what on earth I had got myself into.

The lane to the farm was bright with sunshine and filled with wildlife. A fox trotted casually across our path and we saw clouds of starlings circling overhead until they wheeled away. Kestrels hovered overhead searching for tiny prey in the gra.s.s, ignored by the sheep grazing in the fields beyond the wire fences. Blackbird curled her hand in mine and I was able to pretend for a while that we were simply walking.

As we approached the farm, though, the mood became more sober. The air downwind of the farm was tainted by the smell of charcoal and the hint of iron on the air had my breath catching in the back of my throat and so I avoided breathing in the smoke that was turned, twisted and swept away by the fickle breeze. The dogs announced our arrival with a frenzy of barking; the smaller b.i.t.c.h would come nowhere near us but barked from the safety of the kitchen door. Jeff Highsmith came down to the gates for us, looking tired and smudged with charcoal and soot from his labours. "It's almost done," he told us. "Dad's just finishing grinding off the edge."

He took us across the courtyard and into the kitchen, where his wife was waiting and then left us with her to go and see how the work progressed. Meg Highsmith greeted us formally but politely in a way that made me wonder what her husband had said to her. She offered us lunch but we declined on the basis that we had so recently had breakfast.

"A cup of coffee would be most welcome, though," Blackbird suggested.

Blackbird and I sat at the kitchen table as she busied herself around the kitchen preparing lunch for her family and coffee for us.

After a few minutes Jeff, his father, and his daughter filed in.

"There," he said. "Done." He placed the newly finished knife in the centre of the table with a flourish. Blackbird and I looked at each other. The knife sat there, inert, innocuous, unremarkable. "Something's wrong," we said in unison.

Twenty-One.