Nora by Charles J Harwood Chapter 29.2
Nancy’s shadow crept over him. Air
funneled against her temple. She closed her eyes in a wave of giddiness and her
upper lip landed on his scar before the lower. She brought them together to
enclose the scar between. His muscles writhed within a static body. The couch
creaked. She parted her lips to admit the lump of his voice box and allowed it
to dwell. Salt and bristle trembled within. She brought her lips together to
brush the contours of his throat. His chin trembled against her cheek. And
again to deliberate within each nook and then to prod her tongue against each
hillock. A peck marked the end of her exploration and her lips came tackily
away.
Eyelashes
bled everything together. His neck came clear before her, damp and twitching.
His eyes had sealed shut and his lips had parted, exposing his upper teeth. A
tear had spilled from the corner of his eyelid and was making a slow runnel
across his temple for the cushion. Nancy was sorry and didn’t know why.
Abashment washed over her. She staggered to her feet, her skirt whispering. In
her shield of attire and smart shoes, she felt awkward and dizzy. She didn’t
want Vince looking at her. She moved jerkily to the door before giving him the
chance and left the trolley behind.
Her
question had been sabotaged. Expression had barged in. She wanted to hide
behind Nora yet couldn’t bear to hear him say that name. She grabbed her coat.
But Vince was getting too quick for her. He emerged from the drawing room just
as she’d sheathed her arms through the sleeves. ‘Please…’ she blurted. ‘Don’t
say anything.’ She pushed the strap of her bag over her shoulder. ‘I have
returned your keys. All of you belongings are in the spare room untouched.’ Her
brief glance at him garnered a sober expression, the rims of his eyes flushed.
‘I…I thought I was angry at you, but I was mistaken. It wasn’t you at all. I’m
sorry for everything I’ve put you through.’
Nancy
backed towards the stairs, preferring not to exit through Vince’s grand
entrance. Her question was perhaps best unanswered. He would know in time and
could then claim he’d known all along. She would never know either way which
was for the best. Her knee buckled as she stumbled towards the doorway into the
meeting room. She had kissed his scar and now her clothes had grown stiff. But
she would leave as she had entered, Nora, not the woman he could not recall.
His clacks ensured behind her. God, must
he follow her! Her shoes squeaked;
her skirt flapped. Blue and yellow glinted against the sun outside. His clacks
stopped. Nancy continued towards the kitchen door. The maw opened out as though
by sensor. Cleopatra eyes loured more than ever. Indigo shaded out from black
eyeliner and her irises glinted like basalt. Nancy’s heels floundered. A man in
a pinstripe waistcoat and chinos loitered by the stove in the kitchen. A
hobnail boot worked the rocker adjacent.
Amy
loped in on wedged sandals, her bun adding height. A hooded gaze for Nancy.
‘Mr. Jonas.’ Her lips barely moved. ‘Mr. Jonas, I have to speak with you.’ A
lingering blink before her gaze lifted for Vince. Nancy’s finger worried at the
bag strap. Knees slack, Nancy’s heels slid aside. Voices in the next room drew
her eye. Henry nodded at the waistcoated man whose jowls bobbed against his
shirt collar; the habitual listener. Amy continued past Nancy and approached
Vince. ‘Mr. Jonas. It’s about Nora. She’s not who she says she is.’
Nancy
sought out the window sill behind on which to lean on. On looking across, she
saw Vince’s eyes had followed Nancy to the window. ‘I know she’s not a nurse,
Amy.’
Amy’s
wedges ambled across the room towards Vince. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Jonas.
Nora’s had experience at a care home – the Weston Hill Care Centre in Coventry
to be precise.’
Nancy’s
stomach plummeted down a deep shaft.
Vince’s
jaw twitched, sensing Amy had done a thorough job.
‘Mr.
Blakemore and I have done some overtime beginning with a check on her car
number plate: registered to a Miss Nancy Hutchens.’
Vince’s
eyes flicked from Nancy to narrow at Amy. ‘Get to the point.’
‘Ms.
Hutchens has been lodging at the Cheap Sleep Hostel in the next village. I
spoke to Stewart Dunchurch and Matt Burroughs who run the place. They, like the
rest of us, believe she is a well turned-out nurse called Nora Clements. In
fact, Ms. Hutchens comes from a shitty little terrace in Glebe Hollow with a
drunk for a mother and no father to claim her. Wouldn’t reckon on that by
looking at her, would you?’
The
Murmurs in the next room caressed the air.
Amy’s
added height brought her almost face to face with Vince. ‘She took a job at the
care centre after quittin’ school early, but that ain’t the worst part. The
worst part is the reason she got sacked from her job.’
Glass
lodged in Nancy’s chest as she watched Vince take it all in.
