Читать книгу A Known Evil: A gripping debut serial killer thriller full of twists you won’t see coming - Aidan Conway - Страница 19

“I did think about waking him up,” she said, “in case he was going to be late for something important, but then I just thought, sod him. And then I felt bad about it and went back.”

Yana was leaning on the reception desk of the Wellness Health and Fitness Complex. She was wearing wedge-like training shoes, ultramarine Lycra leggings and a tracksuit top. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail. Sporty and sexy. Get the clients in. Give the housewives and harassed professionals something to aspire to but without being too far out of their league. She knew what worked.

“Would have served him right,” said Marta, staring into a small mirror balanced on the counter and applying yet another layer of mascara. Her eyes had taken on the appearance of two very beautiful tropical spiders. Always experimenting, there was nothing she couldn’t tell you about beauty and treatments. Yana looked after the business and the fitness side but Marta had the X-factor, without a doubt. She closed her little box. “What do you think? Never know who might walk in that door, do you? Could be George Clooney, with his mates, couldn’t it?”

“And Fabio?” said Yana, not so very mock-scandalized.

“Always good to have a spare, darling. Never know when you might need another.”

Yana laughed and dealt her friend and partner a playful push.

“Your Michael,” said Marta, “he doesn’t, you know, when he’s ‘working late’?” and she gave a knowing wink.

“Noo!” said Yana, in fake outrage at the scandalous suggestion. “He’s too busy with his books.”

“Oh! Him and his books!”

“Uh huh,” said Yana, scanning the appointments for the day. “Novels, poetry, theology even.”

“Theology! He wanna be a priest or something? Watch him, darling. Hey, you might be left on the shelf, if you follow.”

A year in the seminary. How often she had wondered about that, at first – Michael’s lost vocation in the Church. But then it just became kind of normal, like all the things that take up their place in a relationship and perhaps to outsiders seem strange or puzzling. Like ornaments around a living room. She wouldn’t mention that to Marta, though. Not a secret, just personal.

He had often tried to explain to her his desire to do some good, his love of thought and philosophy, and the disappointments that had pushed him towards a life of reflection and sacrifice. Then he had woken up, as it were, and decided to take a more practical approach. Grab life by the scruff of the neck as he used to say. He thought he had been running away from the world, so he decided to come back and face it. But there was a part of him that was perhaps still monastic, withdrawn, thoughtful. Suppose it helped, at times, she concluded, trying again to make sense of it all and how she’d got to where she was and everything she’d had to leave behind. And she had secrets, too, mind, but they really were under lock and key. In a safe, with a combination for good measure, so to speak.

“On your feet, girl,” said Marta, rousing Yana from her temporary dreamy state as the door to the health centre opened. A tall, athletic, Mediterranean male, maybe mid-forties, ambled towards the desk. “Here he comes now, your real Mr Right, or maybe your future bit on the side.”

“Perhaps either of you young ladies could be of assistance,” he said and deposited a holdall of some considerable weight on the polished parquet floor, the heavy tools clinking inside as he did so.