Blackford awoke feeling like someone was shining a spotlight straight through his body. His eyes cooked under tender lids, the heat pinning him down like an ant under a magnifying glass. Next to the bed an overloaded ashtray and a half eaten tuna sandwich competed for the contents of his stomach as he gradually became aware of a sharp rapping at the door. Dazed, Blackford quickly pulled over the curtains and lumbered toward the door, his body bruised and battered.
The brunette pushed past him and straight into the bedroom.
“Jenny didn’t come home last night.” she stated, matter of fact, her back to him as she surveyed the gloomy room. Blackford steadied himself against the door frame.
“So?”
“So when did you last see her?” She replied, her tone almost accusatory.
Blackford took a guess “At the party, isn’t it a bit early for the third degree?” He backed out of the bedroom, “I’ll put the kettle on.”
In the kitchen Blackford tried to disentangle the night before; He’d gone to the pub straight after work as was usual for a Friday, rinsed the week from his bones with the rest of the office mob. Just before ten he’d bought a carryout, playing it safe with a six pack and half bottle of Buckfast. Then, heading west from the city centre, he’d dropped into a few more bars. Instead of going back to the flat, James came to meet him at a bar on Woodlands Road; scrubbed, well fed and trailing Blackford by more than a few and showing it. At closing time they’d got a taxi to the party.
Soon after that the night slid into a few blurry snapshots; an empty Buckfast bottle - white lines - awkwardness and hostility. Jenny had been there, they’d only broken up a month ago.
He lifted the teabags out of two cups, poured in the milk and brought both through to his bedroom. Angel was sitting on the edge of her bed studying her fingernails. He handed her a cup and sat down beside her.
“It’s not like her Blackford,” she said after a moment, her tone softer now.
“Yeah?” Blackford replied, taking a sip of tea, “she’s probably just crashed out somewhere, I’m sure she’ll be back soon.” Blackford didn’t want to mention the other possibility, he still felt raw.
Angel considered this for a moment, then dismissed it, “She would have texted me.”
“So why don’t you call the police if you’re so worried?” Blackford retorted, slightly more mockingly than he had meant to.
“I called this morning,” she replied unfazed “they won’t do anything for 48 hours.”
“For good reason” Blackford flared up, “they can hardly chase up on every tart that drops her knickers can they?”
Angel’s eyes flashed; perhaps his tone had been a little harsh.
“I know I’m probably overreacting. But she’s naïve Blackford.”
She looked down into her cup and Blackford took the opportunity to study her as they sat in silence. He wondered whether she’d put on make-up this morning or whether it was left over from last night, it looked new. There was a time when he thought something could have happened with Angel, but when he’d started going out with Jen all that had been swept under the carpet.
“So you want me to go look for her I take it?”
“Would you?” Angel’s eyes flashed again, this time from under heavy lashes. She took his hand in hers.
“Yeah ok, I’ll ask around.”
Angel smiled. “Thanks Blackford, nice shiner by the way.”
Blackford ran into the bathroom to check his reflection in the mirror, a dark circle was beginning to appear around his left eye. His mind raced for an explanation but by the time he came out Angel had already left, the front door closing behind her with a click.
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