Shooting in the Dark

supposed to answer the door until you knew who was calling?’ Janet said.
    Angeles waved her stick impatiently; so long it almost touched her chin. It had a silver handle, small and rounded, abstract but maybe representing an animal’s head. ‘Rules,’ she said, giving an amused snort. ‘I knew it would be you. Have you brought the baby?’
    ‘Yeah, she’s asleep in her pram. I’m gonna wheel her into the hall.’
    Angeles stepped back and waited until Janet had manoeuvred the pram over the threshold. ‘I can smell baby,’ she said, ‘everything sweet and quiet.’
    ‘Not all the time, believe me,’ Janet told her. ‘Echo can smell fairly rank sometimes, and she’s got a voice to beat the band.’ She took the biscuit tin out of the carrier and offered it to Angeles. ‘I baked an apple cake. We could have some with our tea. Is that a black eye?’
    ‘Yes, I walked into a door. But I know where it is now.’
    Angeles seemed to have mastered the layout of Sam’s house in the few days since she’d been installed. Janet watched her cross the kitchen, tapping knowingly as she went. She filled the kettle and set the water to boil. But she looked drawn and tired, as if she hadn’t slept well.
    ‘You saved my life,’ she said.
    Janet flushed. ‘I don’t know about that. I was there at the right time.’
    ‘Sam said you saved my life. If you hadn’t arrived when you did, the man would have strangled me.’
    Janet shrugged. ‘I’m glad I was there.’
    ‘I’d like to give you a hug,’ Angeles said, opening her arms.
    Janet walked towards her and let herself be embraced. She put her own arms around Angeles’ waist and held on tightly for a minute. Angeles was a full head taller and had real female curves. She was slim, though, unlike Marie, who was the only other woman that Janet had regular physical contact with. The head of the cane wasn’t in the shape of an animal’s head; it was a small sphere. Angeles’ breath smelled strongly of spirit.
    ‘Thank you,’ Angeles said. ‘I’ve been wanting to meet you since I was in the hospital. Talking on the phone is OK, but it’s not a substitute for the real thing.’
    They moved apart and Angeles retrieved the biscuit tin from where she’d placed it on the table. ‘Oh, it smells gorgeous,’ she said. ‘But there’s something else in here.’ She rattled the bottle. ‘Sounds like tablets.’
    ‘It’s arnica,’ said Janet. ‘For shock.’
    ‘Homoeopathic?’
    ‘Yes. Do you know about it?’
    ‘Not much. My sister swore by homoeopathic medicine. I’m sure she mentioned arnica to me. I’m over my shock by now.’
    ‘Just take one,’ Janet said. ‘The body heals slowly, and it needs all the help it can get.’
    Angeles unscrewed the cap and put one of the tablets on her tongue. ‘There,’ she said, ‘it’s done.’ She proceeded to make the tea while Janet cut two generous portions of apple cake. When everything was ready Janet followed Angeles into Sam’s sitting room, where they sat on either side of a low mahogany table. There was a moment after they entered the room when Angeles scooped up a tumbler and tried to hide it behind a stereo speaker.
    ‘It feels different in here,’ Janet said.
    Angeles laughed. ‘I’ve had to get rid of a few things. I was black and blue after the first day, falling over chairs, piles of newspapers, CDs. When you can’t see it’s important to have clear pathways. Sam has put some furniture in the garage, and he’s learning not to leave shoes around the place or throw his jacket on the floor.’
    ‘But you like him,’ Janet said. It wasn’t a question. ‘Yes. I miss my own house, but it’s OK living with Sam.’
    ‘Just OK?’
    Angeles smiled. ‘It’s nice living with Sam. Is he dishy?’ Janet laughed. ‘I’d never describe him as dishy.’
    ‘I only know his voice,’ Angeles said. ‘His hands sometimes, when he’s helping me get my bearings. I love his voice, but it’s frustrating not knowing what he looks like.’
    ‘He’s definitely not dishy,’ Janet said. ‘Sam’s face, well, maybe he was good looking when he was young. I didn’t know him then. But now his face is kind of broken. He looks interesting, though.’
    ‘Not much like Gene Hackman.’
    ‘Is that what he told you?’
    ‘Mmm. Yes.’
    ‘Let me put it this way,’ Janet said. ‘I don’t think Gene Hackman would like the comparison.’
    ‘So, I’m living in the house of a man who looks interesting?