Reversing Over Liberace (22 page)

“Let's roll.” As before, I sat behind him on the bale of straw, watching as he flicked the tiny headset on, clicked a couple more switches, then settled himself into the oddly shaped chair in front of the keyboard. He looked over at me once and winked. “All
right
,” he said, into the headset. “Come on, bitches, talk to me.”

From somewhere a voice rattled out. “Hey, Sandman!”

“Hey, Fortune. Who else we got?”

“Dix.”

“Ratboy.”

“Zakalwe.”

Different voices, different accents. I could feel the flesh down my spine prickle. “Who
are
they?”

Cal stood up and came over. “Boys, I've got someone to introduce here. She needs a bit of help and we're going to give it to her, yeah?” Dropping his voice, he whispered, “Say something. Tell them who you are. It's okay, they can hear you. Just speak into my mike here.”

“Oh. Er.” Like anyone, anywhere, told to “say something”, I clammed up completely. “What shall I say?”

“Try, hello.”

“Um. Hello.” I had to lean up against him to talk into his headpiece. “My name's Willow.”

“Hi, Willow.”

“Yeah, hi there. Glad Sandman's got some female company at last.”

“Nice handle.”

“Why are they calling you Sandman?” I whispered.

“It's my… Look, I'll explain it all later, all right? Just let me get this underway,” Cal whispered back. “Okay, guys. Dix, can you get me records on that guy, James Fry? Background specific. Business.”

“On it now, Sandman.”

“Zakalwe. Another name. Luke Fry. Car imports. Check him out?”

“On it.”

“Fortune, Ratboy. Warehouse flats in York, UK. Riverside, Number six. Agents called Cambridge and Simpson.” A query glanced my way and I nodded. “Yeah. Check out the sales records. Find out what glitches there are. Friend of mine's bought in but can't move. Need to know what the deal is.”

“On it.”

“Stars, all of them.” Cal whipped off the headset, shut down the computer and whirled out of the barn, sticking his head back through the door a second later to ask, “Are you coming then?” I was still sitting, dazed enough not to notice the straw particles sticking into my bum through my best jeans.

In the fusty kitchen, Cal made a huge pot of coffee, still riding that peculiarly tight-focussed energy beam. I sat at the scrubbed table in silence, sipping and occasionally shaking my head. The film of my life had suddenly stopped being a sedate rom-com and switched to hi-tech thriller. The casting director must be having kittens. “All right. I give in. What the hell was that all about?”

Cal refilled his mug. “I could tell you,” he said, watching me over the rim, “but then I'd have to kill you.”

I laughed. “Oh, come on. Just tell me.”

“Willow.” Cal put down his mug. “I'm being serious. The stuff you saw in there, what you heard, you
must not
repeat to anyone. Do you understand?”

The laugh died. “What do you mean?”

“Look. It's work, all right? It's what I do. And it's all stuff that… I'm covered by the Official Secrets Act. Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, but, God, Cal, you
are
serious, aren't you?”

“Never more so.”

“Official Secrets. That means you can't talk about it, even if you want to?”

Cal stared down at the pitted and worn tabletop. “I can, if I trust you.”

“And do you?” My heart thumped hard against my ribs.

He looked up and his eyes met mine. “I want to.” His voice was so quiet, so soft, that it seemed to hang in the air. “I've never trusted anyone before. Not with this, not with anything that mattered.”

“Cal—”

“But I'm afraid. Always afraid, always losing…” The words were gently spoken, almost inaudible.

“Well, I promise not to tell. Anyone. Ever. And I'm good at keeping secrets, just ask Katie. Or, don't ask her because she won't tell you because it's a secret. But I know things about her that even
Dan
doesn't.” I was blabbing, trying to break the suddenly sombre mood.

I was worried that I might have gone too far, been too light-hearted about something that was obviously very important to Cal, when he grinned at me. “I can tell you some of what I do, but don't repeat it. I'm part of something called a Tiger Team. Huh, listen to me, Mr. False Modesty. I'm team leader. We're what you'd probably call hackers, if you didn't know anything about it.”

“Hackers? You mean, breaking into people's security systems?”

“Er, no. We're what's known in the trade as ‘white hats', the good guys. We check out people's systems. They pay us to try to break through their security set-ups. Means companies can make sure they're watertight. If we break in, we get to sell them our security system. All right?” He poured me another coffee. “Infodump over.”

“But, why are you telling me? I thought it was all Official Secrets stuff?”

He shrugged, his face hidden for a second by his hair. “Too much time on my own?”

“I thought you were a computer consultant.”

“Men can multitask, too, you know.” Cal brought the coffeepot over again, accidentally brushing against my hip as he refilled his mug. I felt myself shrink into my skin. “What I do here. This is what keeps me going. The stuff back at the flat is cover. Yes, I enjoy fixing people's machines, diagnostic work and troubleshooting and stuff but”—he looked out of the window over the yard, unconsciously fiddling his hair back into its ponytail—“this is
me
. Fortune and I write the software. The guys all have their own areas of expertise. Together…let's say we're the best in the business.”

“And you're using all that just to help me?”

A ray of sunlight shot into the kitchen, freezing the moment. “Any friend of mine is a friend of theirs,” Cal said easily, ignoring the atmosphere. “Besides, I'm the Sandman. They do as they're told.”

“No wonder you don't want to leave here.”

Cal shook his head. “I can set up somewhere else. I like it to be away from the flat. Keeps things separate, if you know what I mean. Compartmentalised. But I'd still like you to buy the house. If you're sure you're interested. It'll be nice to know it's gone to someone who'll appreciate the place.”

“Oh yes, Luke's got lots of plans,” I said eagerly.

“Fine,” Cal snapped, and we drank the rest of the coffee in silence.

“Why Sandman?” I asked, when the distraction factor of watching dust motes whirl in the sunbeam had faded, and I hoped that enough time had elapsed since my mention of Luke for Cal not to start nagging me again.

“Oh. Graphic novels. By Neil Gaiman. Sandman is the name of his character Dream—coolest thing alive. Or, well, not alive, as such, but, ah, you know what I mean.”

I nodded. “Yes. You are pretty cool.”

Suddenly the beam of sunlight was nothing. Cal had smiled. “You think? Really? Hey, no one's ever called me cool! Geeky, yes, spazz, certainly, but not that.”

“It suits you. You act kind of dreamy, but you're not really, are you?” This was the closest thing that I'd ever made to a personal remark about Cal, apart from my foot-in-mouth moments regarding his limp. “You just think a lot.”

There was a flicker in his eyes, which could have been a wince. Too close, Willow, back off. But he didn't say it. “Yeah, live in my head, me. Amazing, isn't it? Brain the size of a planet and here I am worrying about rising damp. There's a wall on the landing that's going to need replastering. You'd better come and take a look, since it might be you that ends up having to do it.” He got to his feet.

Subject changed. I followed him upstairs and pretended to pay attention to the dampness of the plaster. “How long do you think it's going to take for your team to find the information?” I crouched next to him on the bare floorboards, smelling the dust, noticing how darkly stubbled his cheeks were, trying not to feel his hand occasionally brush against me in the confined space of the landing as he poked at the skirting-board-level plaster.

“Not long. They're good, and I've put Ratboy and Fortune together on the estate agents. They'll be trying to outdo each other, so they should be fast.”

My heart was swirling the blood in my ears. “It seems a bit underhand.” I took a half-step away from the wall and there was a crunching sound as a floorboard gave way, splitting into two under my feet, sending my leg down towards the joists of the kitchen ceiling. I staggered and lurched off balance. Cal reached forward and grabbed me by the arms, pulling me towards him so fast that I cannoned into him, driving him against the wall. “Ow.”

“You all right?” Cal hadn't moved, still had his back flat against the plaster.

“Yes, just a bit scraped.”

He had hold of my arms, above my elbows, so I couldn't move away. His hands were very warm. His whole
body
was warm. Leaning full-length against him, I was perfectly positioned to know that, yes, he was warm. And hard. No, I don't mean
hard
hard, although, all right, yes, I did notice that as well. Slowly I eased myself forward, trying not to put my foot down the significant hole. “Um.”

Cal elbowed himself away from the wall and put his arms around me before I could get any farther. Not that I tried, once I felt his embrace. In fact, I took another tiny step forward and, in an instant, our mouths were on each other and the heat was flooding from him to me so fast that I could feel my cheeks glowing with it.

As he kissed me, deep, exploratory kisses that I could feel in my toes, I let my hands run over him. From his shoulders, down over his chest to his waist, and then I was inside his T-shirt and passing my fingers over a coil of hair in the centre of his chest, sliding down, down… Smooth skin and ridges of bone, a slick trail of hairs leading the way to his belt where he caught my hands and held them. “No.”

I didn't get it. “Cal?” I thought maybe he was playing some game, some delayed-gratification thing, until I met his eyes, where such sadness looked out that it made me catch my breath and pull away.

“No. I'm sorry.” And from the way he was panting, I knew he meant it. “I know what's going on and I can't…I can't be part of it.”

Ah, rejection. Well,
this
is familiar territory. “Right,” I said tightly, but trying not to show how hurt I was. “So what
is
going on? I thought we were…we were…that it was all fine.”

Again, that pain, that shattered expression in his eyes. “Luke's being unfaithful to you. You have sex with someone else, with me and you're equal. He's done it to you, you've done it to him. I can't do that, Willow. I can't be your revenge.”

“You felt keen to me. You
acted
keen enough.”

“Yes, I'm sorry. I let myself get carried away. Willow, do you have any idea of how lovely you are? I'd have to be stone not to feel something. But
not like this
.”

I shook my head. “I'm not lovely. I'm what I've always been—just me.”

“Yes, I've wondered about that.” In the semidarkness of the landing, it was hard to see any expression on his face, only in his eyes. “You've never moved away from the house you were born in, you've got the same friends, the same job you've always had—even though you are patently qualified for something much better—and now you're going to be set to marry a man you've held a torch for, for over a decade. What's it all about, Willow, you wanting to keep everything the same?”

“I don't.”

“You do! Look at yourself. You've got your life planned out—marry Luke, do as he says. Hello, there's a big wide world out there. There's…there are other people who'll care about you. It doesn't have to be him.”

“Stop it.” Anger was fighting with misery now, and just about winning. “You've got no right. I mean, what have you ever done with
your
life?”

I saw the slow, beautiful smile build on his face. “
I
went from being an adopted cripple boy to running the most successful anti-hacking software business in the country, Willow.” He spoke very softly, so I had to lean forward to hear. “And now I've made you face up to your life. I think I'm doing pretty well so far, don't you?” I slapped him. Hard. Caught him on one cheek and he staggered sideways, unbalanced. “Yes! Come on. Hit me again. Let it out, finally. Stop being Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.”

The bastard was laughing at me. I swung my arm back to take another shot at him, bashed my hand against the opposite wall with such force that my knuckles grazed and I let out what can only be described as a bellow of rage. “You complete
fuck
.”

Cal was still laughing. “I know, I know
exactly
what I am. And now, are you beginning to see what
you
are? That you don't have to marry some guy you've had stuck in your head for years, and work in the same grotty little office selling ad space in a paper no one reads? Think, Willow, think about what you
want
to do, not what you
have
to do.”

“Someone has to keep the house together,” I yelled at him. “Someone has to have a sense of responsibility! Do you have any idea what it was like, growing up with Sophie and Iain? When we could wake up one morning and find that they'd buggered off to sell shell-models on a Greek beach, or joined some travellers to go to Stonehenge for the solstice? And then Bree or Clay would have to go and fetch Granddad to come over and look after us and…and one time when he was in hospital and we all had to go to foster homes for a week and we all got split up and I was terrified! And I promised, then, that we'd never get split up like that again.”

“But you don't have to take that responsibility.” Cal looked as though he was enjoying himself, apart from the splinter of pain in his eyes. “They're all adults now, Willow. OC is a solicitor, for God's sake.
It doesn't have to be you
.” He smiled again. “Well, that was all very cathartic. Now, shall we go and see if any of the team has had a hit?”