THE SIXTH GUEST: Chapter Six - Part Five

There was something wrong with the dog.

It was a wonder they hadn’t heard him from the front of the house but now they were in the kitchen, despite the bustle, Selina couldn’t help but notice it. Normally, Clare’s Doberman was docile and affectionate, excited to see visitors and the like but not in an overly annoying way. Selina had never been a dog lover but Ralph was hard not to like. Now he was scratching at the back door to come in and giving off an intermittent high-pitched whine; then silence followed by more whining, almost a faint whistle it was so high, and more scratching.

“Hell’s wrong with that mangy mutt?” asked Travis, rummaging through her cupboard. “You got any of that cooking brandy left in here?”

“Maybe at the back. He’s obviously worried about something...”

“Can I see him?” Rosalie squeezed into the gap by the back door beside Selina, peeping through the glass. “He’s big. Can I go out and pet him dad?”

Selina went to open the door but hesitated long enough to check with this new lodger of Clare’s... Mike? He shrugged. “Is it safe?”

“I think so.”

“That dog wouldn’t hurt anyone,” said Travis. “It should be ashamed of itself. Dobermans are supposed to be vicious.”

“You sure?”

“It’ll be fine,” said Selina.

“Okay,” said Mike. “Go outside and stroke him if you like petal. Is there any food?”

“Scooby Snacks,” replied Selina. “Here. Do you want to give him some of these?” She handed the huge bag to Rosalie off the kitchen side.

“Thank you!” She grinned and slipped out. The dog tried to get through the gap but Selina used her leg to keep him outside, wondering briefly what had gotten into him.

Travis was pouring himself some of that vile cooking Brandy she’d bought in a desperate moment. He had a tall narrow glass and wasn’t slowing as he reached the half way point. He looked edgy and wan, totally unlike his normal self. His eyes were still etched red though she’d seen nor heard tears on the bus trip back from town. The whole evening had been like a series of sharp stinging blows to the face. Selina didn’t know how Travis was taking it but she knew it hadn’t hit home with her yet, not by a long way... not any of it: the explosion; the burning bodies; Eddie lying there screaming... She shuddered and screwed her eyes tightly closed.

“You want some of this?” asked Travis. The bottle was empty. “I could split it into two glasses if you want.”

“No. I’m going to have tea.” She flicked on the kettle.

“Mike?”

“No. Thanks. I’ll have tea as well if you can spare some.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You guys... You lived here long?”

“It’s me that’s a resident,” said Selina.

“I’m just the freeloader,” added Travis.

“Couple of months,” she said. “It’s alright. Close to Boscombe and the sea. Rent’s okay I suppose. How do you know Clare?”

He hesitated, and the hyper sense that told her how best to con people out of their money told her there was more to the story than the brief “We’re old friends” line he gave her. Maybe more beyond the obvious fact that they’d been an item once upon a time. She smiled inwardly, thriving a little on the gossip. It was almost enough to carry her away from the events of the evening. But not quite.

“Where are you going to be sleeping?”

“Clare said something about a loft conversion...?”

“Good luck.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

The kettle boiled. Selina poured two cups. “You want some Joey?” The giant was standing silently in the kitchen doorway. He shrugged. Nothing but a fruitcake as far as she was concerned. She hedged her bets and poured him a cup. “Here,” she said. “Bring some milk over.” She glanced back. Clare had come in next to him.

She looked worse than Travis; worse than Selina suspected she looked herself, even after everything. Clare’s eyes had a harrowed look to them, like she’d just walked out of a motorway pile-up unscathed but with all her family killed around her. She looked at each of them in turn until they had all stopped to look back at her.

Then she said just simply, “Somebody’s here.”