No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [87]
“Pretty big omission,” she said lightly. Adam could always make the worst situations seem perfectly normal.
“You’re telling me!” He laughed. “Half the town was on the phone about it before nine this morning.”
“That’s comforting.” She attempted a joke.
“Mia Johnson!”
“I was thinking about the heroin!” She laughed a little.
“Why would anyone turn to drugs with a girlfriend like Mia Johnson?”
“Do you want a slap?” she couldn’t help but ask.
He laughed. “You’ll forgive him.”
“You’re probably right,” she admitted, a little disgusted with herself.
“He’s definitely given up all that crap?”
“Yeah,” she answered. She’d spent pretty much day and night with him for several weeks, and he wouldn’t have been able to hide that particular addiction. “When he was staying with me I found a stash of his painkillers under the mattress. He was in agony but he wouldn’t take the pills. I thought it was weird but I suppose it makes sense now.”
“Did you say anything to him?”
“No. I ignored them for a while and then one day, just before he left, I had the impulse to bin them so I did. I didn’t say anything and he didn’t ask.”
“How does he feel about you?” Adam was happy to concentrate on someone else’s pathetic love life so that, for a while, he could escape his own.
“I don’t know. I’m hardly Mia Shagging Johnson, am I?”
“No, you’re not, but I guess he wasn’t looking for Mia Shagging Johnson.” He raised an eyebrow. “The lunatic!”
She said nothing.
“Do you trust him?” he asked, after a moment or two had passed.
“I know he’s hiding something,” she answered, avoiding the question.
“You mean other than being a junkie?” Adam asked, intrigued: he was well aware that Mary was more intuitive than most.
“Why would a man who has the music world at his feet, millions in the bank and a rock star in his bed turn to heroin?” She swished the wine at the bottom of her glass.
“Well, I don’t know, Hetty Wainthropp. What is it they say about rock-’n’-roll excess?”
“Cocaine is excess, heroin is desperation. But, then, what do I know? I’m just a country bumpkin with voice like a crow and a flat arse.”
Adam remembered the rap-music video he’d seen a few days ago in which Mia Johnson had revealed her fabulously curvaceous arse in a tiny pink bikini. Jesus, Mary, I love you but she’s a hard act to follow.
20. Facing up to those who would look down
Sam woke after eight. His sleep had been broken and a familiar weight had resumed its seat at the centre of his chest. Before he had turned in for the night he had watched Mary’s house with the staying power of a stalker, but she had not come home. Earlier that evening he had wondered if Mr Monkels was OK. When he jumped the wall he found the dog asleep by the kitchen window, his bowls full of water and food. He was fine. Good. He had long ago forgiven the dog for his back injury – anyway, it had introduced him properly to his neighbour. Without it they might still have been passing acquaintances. Please don’t hate me.
By midday he was desperate for food and, having imprisoned himself for one entire day, he felt it was time to face his public. He showered and changed, then paced a little and finally opened his front door. He met Mossy coming out of his house.
“Well, well,” Mossy said, shaking his head, “you are a dark horse.”
Sam didn’t know what to say so he just stood there, nodding uncomfortably.
“Mia Johnson,” Mossy was still shaking his head, “I wouldn’t be able for you.” He laughed. “Ha!” he called, as though to himself. “Mia Johnson and a side order of smack.” He laughed again. “Jesus, boy, that stuff would kill you!” He nudged Sam and gave a little wink, then walked on, giggling to himself.
OK. That was weird. But it was Mossy. Still, if everyone was as easy as Mossy… It might be OK. He took his time walking towards town. It was well after one when he entered the bar. It seemed to be buzzing with a little more energy than usual. However, as he materialized, the buzz subsided to a lull, which in turn descended into stark silence. All faces turned to him and