𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Thirty Four - For Hire

Lockwood.

After four months, his proximity was shocking; shocking too how familiar and unfamiliar he was, all at the same time. He was standing on the dowdy little landing in his long dark coat, his right hand still hovering by the bell. His hair, as ever, flopped to one side over his brow; his eyes sparkled at Nola between the fronds. As she met his gaze, he smiled – and that smile was a world away from the 100-gigawatt version that everyone saw in the papers. It was warm but somehow hesitant, as if it hadn't recently been used. It was the smile that Nola hazily imagined a hundred times. Only now it was real, solid, meant just for her. He wore the same old coat with the same old claw marks from the night they had opened Mrs Barrett's tomb. The suit was new, though – charcoal grey with the thinnest black stripe. As always, it was elegant, stylish and slightly too tight for him. Nola even recognised the tie – it was one that she had given him a year ago, after the case of the Christmas Corpse. So he still had that, still liked to wear it...

Nola blinked, and stopped thinking about his clothes.

Lockwood was standing at the door.

Lockwood wanted nothing more than to kiss Nola there and then. He wanted to cradle her face in his hands and kiss her all over and never let go. He wanted to hear her say his name, to see her smile that ever-so-lovely smile that she always did when she saw him. He wanted to clutch her waist, to grasp her hair and feel her fingernails in his shoulder blades. Instead, he simply said:

"Hello, James."

Nola just about managed to avoid the worst-case scenario, in which her mouth would simply have stayed wide open while emitting weird whining sound. But she didn't get close to the cool, calm reaction she had dreamed about during those four long months apart.

"Hi." She said. She withdrew her hand from her pyjamas and rubbed hair out of her eyes. "Hi."

"Sorry it's a bit early." Lockwood said. "I see you're not long up."

Funny, when Nola had lived with him at Portland Row, she had pottered around in nightclothes all the time. Now that they worked apart, she was suddenly wildly embarrassed. She looked down. No, they weren't even her best pyjamas. They were an old grey pair that she used while her laundry was being done.

The laundry... her blood went cold. The laundry parcel! If it was outside the door...

She craned her head out, surveyed the landing to either side. No... no sign of it. Good.

"Are you all right?" Lockwood asked. "Something wrong?"

"No, no. Everything's fine." Nola took a deep breath. She told herself to be calm. The pyjamas weren't a biggie. She could deal with this. It was all going to be great. She put one hand nonchalantly on her hip, trying for an expression of airy unconcern. "Yes. Everything's fine."

"Good. Oh, there was this packet on your step." Lockwood said. He produced a see-through plastic bag from behind his back. "Looks like it's got a lot of... nicely ironed items in it. Don't know if they're..."

Nola gazed at it. "Yeah, they'll be... they'll be my neighbour's. I'll look after it for him. For her." She snatched the bag and tossed it out of sight behind the door.

"You look after your neighbour's pants?" Lockwood glanced back across the landing. "What kind of apartment block is this?"

"It's— Well, actually I—" Nola ran harassed fingers through her uncombed hair. "Lockwood." She said. "What are you doing here?"

His smile broadened, carrying Nola with it. It became a sunnier place, that little landing. The smell of my neighbour's lavender plantation receded. Nola no longer noticed the peeling wallpaper on the stairs. Oh, how she wished she was properly dressed.