Bitter Fruits: DI Erica Martin Book 1 (Erica Martin Thriller) by Alice Clark-Platts Page A
Authors: Alice Clark-Platts
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time. I remained unconvinced by the battered prawns and chicken satay, however, so took some bread and cheese on a paper plate and went to stand, again at the side of the festivities, to eat and observe. I smiled at a chap I thought I recognized from Nightingale standing not too far away from me, wondering if he felt just as out of place as I did. He nodded back, and I turned an inch towards him to offer a friendlier greeting when a girl appeared out of the shadows and took his arm, leading him on to the dance floor. I covered up my mistake by shifting a bit more on my feet before realizing that this might look as if I were dancing on my own. I stopped moving immediately, stock-still with awkwardness.
There I was, as Annabel came in with Shorty and I think her housemate Cat. They were drunk, heads together. I nodded at her, but she ignored me as usual, whispering something instead to Shorty, who laughed at her answer, and I felt a flush on my cheeks, as if all the spotlights in the room had spun around to illuminate me:
the one on his own.
I put my plate down and walked off, pretending to look for the gents. I left the main ballroom and found myself in a corridor near the cloakrooms where the girls at the ball had allleft their coats. Boys weren’t supposed to wear coats; we were hard men, inured to the biting wind and snow.
I stood at a loss in this hallway. I walked this way and that, debating: should I go back in and find Zack? At least there was another body to which I could attach myself. I felt sick in all honesty, a fake and a fraud. I should never have come to this disaster of a social occasion. I decided to abandon it, to walk down to the nearest road and try to get a cab back to college. Maybe I could even persuade one of the bus drivers to give me a lift for some cash. As I made up my mind, I heard soft giggling coming from the rack of coats.
I recognized Emily’s voice immediately.
‘Sssssh!’ she whispered, a laugh in her throat. ‘Someone will hear us!’
There was a pause, a fumbling.
‘Come on,’ I heard Nick’s voice. ‘Just a little bit. It’ll be nice.’
‘Nick …’ Emily’s pleading sounded tenuous, a pit-stop on the way to submission. ‘We shouldn’t. Let’s go back in.’
He moaned gently. ‘What are you doing to me, Emily? Look, feel this …’
I banged through the nearest exit doors I could find into the fresh, cold air. I inhaled oxygen as if I’d soared from the plunging depths of a suffocatingfree-dive. I held on to a stone pillar and continued to breathe. I shuddered, sick to my stomach, turning back to look through the glass doors from which I’d stumbled. As I did, I noticed a flash, a spurt of white light shoot through the hallway where I had been standing. It didn’t really impinge on my thoughts then, although it would later. All I could think was that I had been a voyeur. I was disgusted: with myself but more than that, with Emily. I expected no more of Nick, this was his stomping ground, and he frolicked in it with all the subtlety of a water buffalo in mating season. I had thought more of Emily, though, to be so public with her –
sexing
. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, wanted to spit it out, this foul taste I had now.
I lurched away, my back to the castle. I managed to find the buses and one of the drivers took pity on my shaken demeanour. He drove me back to Nightingale. When I got into bed, I looked at my watch. It was only nine p.m.
14
Monday 22 May, 5.12 p.m.
Stephanie Suleiman woke up with a start. She had fallen asleep at her desk again, and now a silvery trail of dribble had pooled from the corner of her mouth on to a letter from a student’s parents requesting that they Skype her on Wednesday for a conversation regarding his recreational drug use. Stephanie wondered about the term ‘recreational’ drug use. What did it mean? That you could separate forms of drug-taking? Ah yes, you might say: I use marijuana in my work,
There I was, as Annabel came in with Shorty and I think her housemate Cat. They were drunk, heads together. I nodded at her, but she ignored me as usual, whispering something instead to Shorty, who laughed at her answer, and I felt a flush on my cheeks, as if all the spotlights in the room had spun around to illuminate me:
the one on his own.
I put my plate down and walked off, pretending to look for the gents. I left the main ballroom and found myself in a corridor near the cloakrooms where the girls at the ball had allleft their coats. Boys weren’t supposed to wear coats; we were hard men, inured to the biting wind and snow.
I stood at a loss in this hallway. I walked this way and that, debating: should I go back in and find Zack? At least there was another body to which I could attach myself. I felt sick in all honesty, a fake and a fraud. I should never have come to this disaster of a social occasion. I decided to abandon it, to walk down to the nearest road and try to get a cab back to college. Maybe I could even persuade one of the bus drivers to give me a lift for some cash. As I made up my mind, I heard soft giggling coming from the rack of coats.
I recognized Emily’s voice immediately.
‘Sssssh!’ she whispered, a laugh in her throat. ‘Someone will hear us!’
There was a pause, a fumbling.
‘Come on,’ I heard Nick’s voice. ‘Just a little bit. It’ll be nice.’
‘Nick …’ Emily’s pleading sounded tenuous, a pit-stop on the way to submission. ‘We shouldn’t. Let’s go back in.’
He moaned gently. ‘What are you doing to me, Emily? Look, feel this …’
I banged through the nearest exit doors I could find into the fresh, cold air. I inhaled oxygen as if I’d soared from the plunging depths of a suffocatingfree-dive. I held on to a stone pillar and continued to breathe. I shuddered, sick to my stomach, turning back to look through the glass doors from which I’d stumbled. As I did, I noticed a flash, a spurt of white light shoot through the hallway where I had been standing. It didn’t really impinge on my thoughts then, although it would later. All I could think was that I had been a voyeur. I was disgusted: with myself but more than that, with Emily. I expected no more of Nick, this was his stomping ground, and he frolicked in it with all the subtlety of a water buffalo in mating season. I had thought more of Emily, though, to be so public with her –
sexing
. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, wanted to spit it out, this foul taste I had now.
I lurched away, my back to the castle. I managed to find the buses and one of the drivers took pity on my shaken demeanour. He drove me back to Nightingale. When I got into bed, I looked at my watch. It was only nine p.m.
14
Monday 22 May, 5.12 p.m.
Stephanie Suleiman woke up with a start. She had fallen asleep at her desk again, and now a silvery trail of dribble had pooled from the corner of her mouth on to a letter from a student’s parents requesting that they Skype her on Wednesday for a conversation regarding his recreational drug use. Stephanie wondered about the term ‘recreational’ drug use. What did it mean? That you could separate forms of drug-taking? Ah yes, you might say: I use marijuana in my work,
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