Shaping the Ripples by Paul Wallington Page A

ruled out any possibility of my enjoying the food.
    Katie seemed far more relaxed about the whole thing as, of course, did George although he was rather more flustered when he came out of his office late in the afternoon.
    “I need a big favour, Jack.”
    “Go on,” I said.
    “I’d promised to give Katie a lift to the Dinner. But Ian Jacobs has just rung and he wants to meet me for an hour beforehand. Is there any chance you could pick her up for me?”
    I had planned to walk there, more for the convenience of it than for the freedom it would give me to drink. It wasn’t really a major issue though.
    “Sure,” I said, “I don’t mind driving.”
    “Great!” George beamed. “Her address is on this bit of paper, and I was going to pick her up at about 7.30. I’ll give her a ring and let her know that you’ll be doing it instead. I think he just wants to go over his introduction but it seems a good idea to try and keep him sweet.”
    His face took on a concerned expression. “And how are you? I know the last week must have been an awful one to cope with.”
    It was nice of him to be concerned, but I would have much preferred it if he hadn’t said anything. I had years of practice at burying things that were painful, and so avoiding any uncomfortable feelings – or any feelings at all for that matter. So I could honestly have said to George that I hadn’t let myself think about Jennifer at all. There was no reason for him to know that the hideous image of her grinning death mask had woken me up several times in each night since.
    “Well, obviously it did shake me up.” I admitted. “But I’m coping with it, thanks. I just wish they’d hurry up and catch the maniac who did it.”
    George looked unconvinced. “You of all people should know that it doesn’t do any good to bottle things up.”
    “I’m not bottling anything up,” I said, far more sharply than I’d intended to. “I’m fine.”
    “If you say so. You know where I am if you change your mind, and need a friend to talk to.”
    George stood up, and left me alone in the room with my thoughts.
    The house Katie shared was out of the city centre towards the University of York. I pulled up outside just a little before half past seven. The night was already cold and my breath steamed out into the atmosphere as I climbed the few stone steps to the front door. On reflection, I wasn’t too sorry that I wasn’t going to be facing a late night walk home in sub zero temperatures.
    The door opened and a pretty dark haired girl greeted me.
    “You must be Jack. I’m Rebecca. Come on into the warm.”
    She showed me through to a small living room which was simply furnished with a couple of battered couches around a real fire with a small portable television and DVD player in the corner.
    “Katie will be down in a couple of minutes so just make yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink?”
    I passed on the drink, but settled onto one of the couches which was surprisingly comfortable. Rebecca sat on the opposite one and leant forwards.
    “It’s the first time I’ve met one of the people Katie works with. Is she as scatty at work as she is at home?”
    I smiled back, “We all work fairly independently, I’m afraid, so I don’t get to see Katie all that much. She always struck me as very organised and efficient.”
    “You wouldn’t say that if you had to clear up the bathroom after she’s swept through it.” She grinned broadly. “Actually she’s not too bad as a house mate. I was really pleased when she decided to come up to York and move in with me. Have you lived here long?”
    We spent the next few minutes in fairly easy conversation, before a voice interrupted us from the doorway.
    “I hope you haven’t been telling him what a nightmare I am to live with, Becky.”
    We both turned to the door, and my breath caught in my throat. Katie was standing there in a stunning black dress. Her eyes sparkled, and the reflection of the firelight