Eric smiled. He really didn’t know himself; he’d only overheard snippets from a conversation between Staffie and Willie while they were drunk at the homecoming. They had quickly shut up shop when they saw him hovering around. ‘Well, all I know is he was asked to do something, in return for his liberty. He didn’t elaborate, so I left it at that . . . Now, then, don’t you worry about Mike. Let’s just sort out your affairs. Like I said, I’ll help you, babe. You get some rest, and tomorrow, I’ll drive you to your meeting.’

He kissed the top of her head and made a move to leave the room.

‘Er . . . Eric, have you got a cigarette?’

Eric sat back down on the bed and looked directly into Zara’s desolate eyes.

‘Babe, don’t smoke. You don’t need to.’

Their gaze locked for a few seconds, and as Eric slowly blinked, he gently stroked her cheek. She felt the soft touch and unexpectedly craved more. She leaned into his hand, keeping it against her face, and closed her eyes. She could feel Eric’s warm breath caress her skin and his lips softly brush over hers. Whether it was the familiar aftershave, or, in that moment, experiencing a sense of being wanted, it didn’t matter. He pulled her closer, and his kiss that was harder, and more meaningful, suddenly snapped her out of the embrace. Subtly, she pulled away. ‘I’m sorry, Eric, it’s been a long day. I feel so tired.’

He didn’t force the connection but simply stroked her hair once more. ‘Of course, darling, you get some sleep,’ he replied, with such an empathetic look that it almost brought her to tears again.

Once he was gone, Zara felt as though she was experiencing a terrible dream, her mind now back on Mike. She was getting bad vibes but needed to trust her instincts. What was her relationship with Mike? Had she imagined this tight bond between them? Christ, what if she’d got him all wrong? For a moment, she almost wished Eric was back beside her on the bed. He’d made her feel special and she’d missed that so much.

***

Zara was woken by the vibration of her phone squashed against her chest. She’d fallen asleep fully clothed, and the phone was still in her top pocket. Through blurry eyes, she noticed the missed calls from Shamus. She suddenly bolted upright, her hand shaking. Oh my God! Neil! she thought. With a gruff, croaky voice, she said, ‘How is he, Shamus?’

There was a pause. ‘He’s pulled through, Zara. He’s gonna make it. I need to meet you this morning. Is nine o’clock okay?’