Doctor Who_ Rip Tide - Louise Cooper [16]
The world looked blurred around the edges and he realised that he was marginally drunk. OK, he'd walk home; Victor wouldn't mind if the van stayed in his car park until tomorrow. He hadn't meant to drink that much, certainly not at this time of day, but somehow he had not noticed how many rounds Ruth was buying. Well, not rounds, exactly, because she hadn't had a single drink, nothing at all. Journalist's tactics? She had certainly asked him a lot of questions, though he couldn't now recall most of them, nor the answers he had given. The thought flittered through his mind that maybe he had told her more than he should have done about the incident with the body in the sea. But ... he was fairly sure ... yes, he was sure that most of their talk had been more general, about tides and sea conditions and the coastline and things like that. Nothing that could land him in trouble later. Fine. And he was seeing her again tomorrow. Great!
He walked up the side lane that led to his flat in a mellow and expansive mood – but the mood evaporated when he saw Nina drooping against the wall beside the street door. One look at her face told him all he needed to know.
She said: 'Hi. Can I come in and chill for a bit?'
'Why?' Steve asked suspiciously.
She shrugged. 'I just feel like it.'
'Don't tell me. You've had another row with Mum.'
Nina gave a heavy sigh. 'Yeah. She just won't listen, and she doesn't understand, and –' She stopped. 'You're drunk.'
'Don't be so stupid.'
'You are! I can smell it. Did you take that tabloid bag to the pub?' She saw his surprise and grinned sourly. 'I know you were seeing her, because I talked to her on the beach and she asked me where she could find you.'
'So what if she did?' Secretly, though, Steve was pleased to discover that Ruth had been actively looking for him. 'I'll take whoever I like for a drink without asking your permission, thanks! Anyway, who says Ruth works for a tabloid?'
'Oh, she's called Ruth, is she?' Nina pounced on the snippet of information like a cat on a mouse. 'Who does she work for, then?'
Steve opened his mouth to answer, then realised that Ruth hadn't actually said. 'It's none of your business,' he told his sister.
'It is, if she's going to make up a load of rubbish about people and print it,' Nina retorted. 'I don't like her, and I don't trust her.'
'You don't even know her,' said Steve. He was close to the end of his tether and decided suddenly that enough was enough. 'Look, I've got better things to do than stand around in the street arguing with you. I'm going indoors, and I'm going to have a shower, and then I'm going to watch a video. So no, you can't come and chill, and I'm not going to make peace with Mum for you. Do it yourself. Now, go away.'
He thought she might start shouting at him – it was one of her attention-seeking strategies – but instead the fight seemed to go out of her and she visibly deflated. Perhaps she really was feeling down. Ought he ... ? Then he thought he saw a glint of calculation in her eyes, and an inner voice said firmly, no. What was that song: 'Won't Get Fooled Again, that was it. He knew Nina too well.
She saw he knew what she was trying, and gave up. But as she turned to go she said, 'By the way, someone said old Charlie Johns is really ill.'
Steve stopped with his door key half in the lock. 'Charlie? I know. It's
one of those 'flu things.'
She shook her head. 'No, I mean really ill. Had the doctor out and everything. I thought I'd tell you in case you want to go and see him. But you've got a crap video to watch, so you won't want to bother, will you?'
She strode off, and Steve blinked as he got his head round that sudden and unexpected parting shot. Charlie, really ill? It sounded unlikely, and Nina loved dramatising things. All the same, he should find out; maybe go and see him, as she had bitchily suggested. Yes. Charlie