Eye for an Eye

she was telling the truth, Gilchrist chose not to press. ‘Must have picked it up wrong,’ he said.
    ‘Must have.’
    He waited while she dabbed a damp cloth over the work surface by the sink, then hung it over the stainless-steel taps. It was only then that he noticed a small ashtray in the corner of the work surface by the side of the fridge. ‘How did you sleep last night?’ he asked her.
    She lifted the teapot, and Gilchrist suspected he was about to hear the beginnings of a lie. ‘Never heard a thing,’ she said.
    ‘Sleeping pills?’
    ‘Where would I be without my pills? Sugar? Milk?’
    ‘Milk only.’
    ‘I sometimes worry about taking too many pills. But for the life of me I can’t seem to sleep any more without them.’
    ‘Guilty conscience?’
    ‘Never miss a trick, do you?’ She poured milk from an opened carton. ‘Skimmed. It’s all I’ve got.’
    ‘Perfect.’
    She split the wrapper off a packet of digestive biscuits and spilled half a dozen onto a plate. ‘With or without butter?’ she said, breaking one into several pieces and placing them on Pitter’s tea towel.
    ‘Without is fine,’ said Gilchrist, and added, ‘I’ve never seen a cat eat biscuits before.’
    ‘She’d eat the food from your plate, given half a chance.’
    He watched Pitter crunch one of the broken pieces then shake her head with a quick movement that spread crumbs across the sink. He could not resist stroking her, and smiled when she started purring. ‘She has lovely colours,’ he said. ‘The whitest white. The blackest black. Nothing in between. Such a distinctive coat.’
    ‘You like cats?’
    ‘Never had one. But yes, I suppose I do.’ He stopped scratching Pitter, then reached for the soap on a dish by the window. He washed his hands and removed a paper towel from a roll by the oven. ‘You never gave me an answer,’ he said.
    ‘To what?’
    ‘About the guilty conscience.’
    She held out the biscuits. He took one. She shook the plate and he obliged her by taking another.
    ‘I don’t sleep because I spend a lot of time on the computer in the late afternoon and early evening. My work is demanding. But it’s creative and stimulating. Once my brain is fired up, it keeps me awake.’
    ‘Why not work earlier in the day?’
    ‘I’m not a morning person when it comes to brainpower. I prefer to exercise in the morning.’
    ‘Had any work done on your home recently?’
    She frowned, puzzled by the non sequitur. ‘Like what?’ She dabbed a biscuit into the pâté then took a bite.
    ‘Roof tiles,’ he said. ‘New doors. That sort of thing.’
    She shook her head, sipped her tea.
    He tried a bit closer to the bone. ‘Replacement windows? Underfloor ventilation?’
    ‘All that was done by the previous owners. That’s why I bought the place.’ She eyed the rear garden. ‘Although that mess out there needs fixing. But I’m getting it landscaped in the spring. Grass out. Slabs and gravel and shrubs in. All mulched. No grass to cut. No weeds to pull. Efficient.’
    ‘Just like you.’
    She looked at him, as if not sure how to take his remark, then smiled. ‘You should hear some of my clients complain about how long I take to construct their websites.’ She shook her head. ‘Efficient is not in their vocabulary. Another?’ She shoved the plate at him.
    ‘No, thank you.’ He watched Pitter slip through the gap in the kitchen window. ‘Last time we spoke, you said you were gay.’
    ‘That’s right. Nothing’s changed.’
    He did not fail to catch the bite in her reply, nor the steely haze that settled behind her eyes. ‘Do you have friends stay over from time to time?’ he asked.
    ‘That’s an odd question to ask.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    She tutted. ‘One question after another. You really must break that habit of yours.’
    He took a sip of tea. It tasted a tad on the weak side. But it was hot.
    ‘Like a refill?’
    ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ He waited while she returned the biscuits to the cupboard and wiped the work surface with a damp cloth, then said, ‘About those friends of yours.’
    ‘Which ones?’
    ‘The ones that might or might not stay over.’
    ‘What about them?’
    He kept his voice level and repeated, ‘Do any of them stay over from time to time?’
    ‘As in do I have sex with any of my girlfriends?’
    ‘Not quite what I had in mind,’ he said, surprised by the ease with which anger lit her eyes.
    ‘What did you have in mind?’
    ‘Anyone