The Legacy

disasters, books on leadership, books on plumbing . . . They both knew that reading books wasn’t going to achieve anything. Pip just didn’t rate him, didn’t believe in him. And, Jude thought heavily, maybe he was right.
    ‘Studying is very important,’ Pip said seriously, moving towards Jude. He raised his hand and for a moment Jude thought he was going to put it on his shoulder, but then he appeared to change his mind and instead brought it back down to his side.
    Jude didn’t say anything; a thud of disappointment was threatening to bring tears to his eyes, choking his voice. Yet more evidence that he was no hero, he thought desperately.
    Sheila appeared with a cup of tea and handed it to Jude, who took it miserably.
    ‘Thank you, Jude. That has been most illuminating,’ Pip said, standing up, not noticing – or perhaps not choosing to notice – the look of irritation on Sheila’s face as she realised she’d missed everything. ‘And now there is a great deal to do.’
    ‘Like what?’ Jude asked suddenly, his usual defence of sarcasm finally kicking in. He took a slurp of the hot drink and felt it warm his insides.
    Pip frowned. ‘I’m sorry?’ he said.
    ‘You said there’s a great deal to do. I just wondered what that is,’ Jude said, looking Pip right in the eye.
    Pip took a deep breath. ‘Jude,’ he said quietly, ‘have you read that book there?’ He was pointing to an old, battered book; the spine was missing but Jude knew it was full of short stories. Stories aimed at children, not young adults like him.
    ‘Yes,’ he said tersely. ‘It’s full of fairy tales.’
    ‘Not fairy tales,’ Pip corrected him. ‘Fables. You should read it sometime. Particularly the story about the mouse and the lion.’
    ‘The mouse and the lion?’ Jude asked wearily. Yet another diversion.
    ‘The lion catches the mouse and is going to kill him, but the mouse hops on to his tail and the lion chases it and chases it, not even noticing when the mouse hops off and escapes.’
    ‘Right,’ Jude said flatly. If Peter were here, Pip wouldn’t be talking about lions and mice. If Peter were here, he’d be in the thick of the action. ‘Right. Thanks. Sounds like a great story.’
    ‘It is, Jude. As I said, you should read it sometime.’ Then, quickly, Pip walked out of the room, leaving Jude shaking his head in frustration.
    Sheila caught his gaze and rolled her eyes. ‘There is,’ she said solemnly, doing a very good impression of Pip, ‘a great deal to do.’
    Jude sighed, then allowed himself a little smile. ‘Many, many important things, he dead-panned, taking another sip of hot tea.
    ‘So she really died?’ Sheila asked, removing his cup from him and taking a sip herself. ‘In front of you?’
    Jude nodded.
    ‘Eeeuuughh!’
    ‘Yeah,’ Jude said, raising an eyebrow and managing a grin. ‘You’d have fainted for sure, or run screaming from the place.’
    ‘Would not,’ Sheila said defiantly.
    ‘Yes you would,’ Jude said, warming to his theme and taking his cup back. ‘You would have been hopeless.’
    ‘You ran in here pretty quickly,’ Sheila said airily. ‘And I’m sure I heard screaming just before you arrived.’
    ‘No you didn’t,’ Jude said gruffly, his sense of humour evaporating suddenly. If Pip thought he was weak, that was bad enough. But Sheila? That he couldn’t bear.
    Sheila looked at him archly. ‘Well, you were scared.’
    ‘I wasn’t,’ Jude said, turning away angrily. ‘I wasn’t scared, OK?’
    Sheila didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then slowly she walked over to Jude and sat down on the arm of his chair. ‘I would have been terrified,’ she said in a quiet voice.
    ‘Would you?’ Jude asked searchingly. ‘Really?’
    ‘Really,’ Sheila said. ‘Unless you were there. Then I wouldn’t have been scared at all.’
    Jude felt himself getting warm. ‘You . . . you wouldn’t?’
    ‘No,’ Sheila said firmly. ‘You saved me from Pincent Pharma.’ She turned to look at him, and Jude saw a flicker of real emotion in her eyes. ‘I know that you’d protect me,’ she whispered. ‘You always protect me.’
    ‘And I always will,’ he said, wrapping his arm around her and hugging her tightly into him. He wasn’t a hero, he knew that, but he could be Sheila’s hero if she’d let him.
    ‘So do you think it was Richard Pincent who killed that woman?’ Sheila continued, the anxiety audible in her voice. ‘Like he was going to kill