“WHAT TIME'S YOUR FLIGHT?"
"Not until four, but I need to go home, to my mum's, and collect my luggage. I have a taxi booked for twelve o'clock." I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall. Ten thirty. "I really should be getting off."
"No hurry. I'll give you a lift. Finish your coffee.”
“There’s no need, really. I know you usually play squash on a Sunday—”
He tilts his head to one side. “And how do you know that, Rose?”
I squirm, uncomfortable about the subterfuge Mel and I used in order to find out where he lived. I feel like some sort of stalker.
“Rose? How did you know I play squash at the weekend?” His tone is sharper. I know I can’t lie.
“My friend, Mel. She knows Jerry.”
“I see. Jerry should know better than to give out personal details. It answers one question though. I had
