Distraction

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mourners stood around Oscar's Bar and Bistro clutching glasses of wine or pints of beer as waitresses circulated with trays of canapes. Gloria had been a popular and respected lady, it seemed. Patrick scanned the room, spotting Grace waving from a table at the far side. Good girl. The last place he wanted to be was near the bar where Libby was pulling pints. She had her plaits pinned over her head and he couldn't help a little smile. What the hell was it with her?

Okay, so he fancied her, a bit anyway. If he could change a few things about her, like everything about the way she looked, then maybe next June, when his twelve months' probation was over, then... well, maybe.

'Is that the wee lassie that was in the paper?' His father scowled towards the bar.

'She's called Libby and she's very nice.' Patrick loosened his tie, craving a pint. Funerals unnerved him.

'Nae but trouble, mark my words, and don't you forget, you're wearing a black tie.'

Patrick fought the urge answer back and his father wandered away. Would he ever trust him or give him the benefit of the doubt? For months, Patrick hadn't broken a single rule and he didn't intend to start over Olivia Wilde, no matter how cute she looked with her Heidi hair.

He slumped in a chair next to Grace gratefully taking the coffee she pushed towards him. 'So, on a scale of one to weird?'

'Definitely off it. I daren't not cry at the crem in case people thought I did sell her the Special K.' Grace sipped her orange juice. 'And is it me, or is it bloody inappropriate for the girl who copped off with the dead woman's husband to be here? Fabulous shoes though.'

Zoe sat on the other side of the room, chatting with a couple of girls Patrick assumed were from the estate agents. The others wore cheap suits and struggled to totter on the polished wooden floor in their high heels, but from her neat bun and pearl earrings to her five inch sling backs, Zoe screamed respectability. Patrick wasn't fooled and he hadn't missed that she never stopped tracking Jonathon Carr. Totally obsessed.

'Give her a break,' Patrick said. 'She's here with the other estate agents. It would've looked just as bad if she hadn't turned up.'

'Where's your mum?'

'Using the dogs as an excuse not to be here. She's upset.'

'Where do you think she got the ketamine? Gloria, I mean.'

'No idea. But if it's someone I know...' He looked her in the eye, checking for the hair twiddles and conversation pauses Libby had taught him to watch for. 'Jack wouldn't-'

'He couldn't turn off an alarm if you stood there giving him directions, let alone override it.' Grace sighed. 'And he wouldn't do it. Neither would Sparky or any of the other Gosthwaite lot. They're all too scared of you. Plus, Ket's nasty. Jack and I did it last year.'

'You better not have got it from my surgery.'

She shook her head. 'You ever tried it?'

'Probably the only thing I haven't.'

'I totally thought I was talking to God. Had the whole out of body, floating down the tunnel experience. Couldn't move. Just lay there like a bloody cabbage. Never again.'

Patrick picked up his coffee, looking towards the bar. A man walked away with a pint and Libby turned to her next customer, flashing a polite smile, but there was no sparkle. She looked up, catching Patrick's eye. Shit. He stared, regretting shouting at her, regretting blaming her for dragging his name into the paper. How many times over the last week had he wanted to pop round, to take a bottle wine and apologise? They were friends, they had been friends, and he wanted it back, but his dad was right, Libby was nae but trouble.