Chapter 8
“Oh, my God, your face!” Rachel shrieked the minute she let herself in.
Trev had insisted on walking Darren up into his flat and leaving a message for Rachel on her mobile. “Just in case you doze off or whatever,” he’d insisted. He’d left after that, promising to text Darren with details of a pick-up. And Darren had been allowed an hour of relative peace to examine his bruised face in the bathroom mirror and take a couple of painkillers before there’d been boots on the stairs and Rachel had barrelled in.
“That looks epic,” she pronounced and grinned. “Did you not put your hand out?”
“Well, Trev had one hand, and I was a bit preoccupied with the searing pain,” Darren said.
“Bummer,” she said. “Still up for chilli con carne, though?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Good,” she said, settling
