Everything is Beautiful Eleanor Ray (best manga ereader .TXT) 📖

book of lined paper. She hesitated at the name of the person she was visiting, feeling that to write ‘Spike’, was somehow inappropriate. There was no alternative, so she scribbled it in a messy, hopefully indecipherable way. Apparently she was expected, and the receptionist solemnly handed her a lanyard and instructed her to take the B lift to the seventeenth floor. Amy obliged. She stepped out of the lift to a maze of offices with glass partitions and myriad logos and stood there, feeling lost.

‘Amy Ashton?’ A tall man with short grey hair and a smart suit was looking at her.

‘I’m looking for Spike,’ she said, feeling like a little girl. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have a surname.’

‘You haven’t changed a bit!’ he exclaimed. Amy found herself encased in a hug. The man released her and held her back from him a little so they could better see each other. ‘You don’t recognise me without the dreadlocks, do you?’ he asked.

‘Spike?’ Amy peered into the face. Sure enough, he was starting to look familiar. His eyes were less sleepy, his skin was cleaner and he was missing his trademark smell. But it was him.

‘Gosh, that takes me back,’ he said, with a laugh. ‘Michael Spikerton,’ he added. ‘No one has called me Spike in years. Come, come, we’ll go to my office. I’ve ordered breakfast.’

Amy followed him, feeling dizzy with his transformation. He led her into a small room with a desk, table and chairs and a dazzling view of the city. ‘Mini Danish?’ he asked her, gesturing to a very corporate-looking breakfast platter. ‘Or fruit skewers? Help yourself and I’ll pour the coffee.’

‘What happened to you?’ exclaimed Amy, unable to contain herself.

‘I grew up,’ replied Spike. ‘A while ago now. Milk?’

‘Yes,’ said Amy. She took a cinnamon swirl and sat down, staring at him. ‘When . . . ?’

‘I’d always planned to become an adult when I hit forty. Have fun in my twenties and thirties, and man, I did.’ He smiled at Amy, memories filling his eyes. ‘By then I’d built up enough of a nest egg,’ he winked at her. ‘So I quit the drugs, invested the money and cut off my dreads. They were starting to stink.’

‘What do you do now?’ Amy gestured around the room.

‘This and that,’ said Spike, mysteriously. ‘Import export. Bit of property development. Investments. All pretty legal.’ He grinned at her again. ‘It’s actually much easier work. More sociable hours. How’s the art?’

Amy picked up the pastry then put it down again. ‘I don’t paint any more,’ she told him.

‘That’s a shame,’ he said.

She looked at the mug in front of her. White, bland and corporate. ‘I don’t remember you looking at my work back then,’ said Amy, suddenly feeling angry at this new Spike. Michael. ‘You were too busy getting high and getting Chantel in trouble with the police.’

Spike looked nervous for the first time. ‘I hope we’re not going to have a problem,’ he said. ‘I’ve changed.’ He looked at her, his face hardening. ‘But if it’s trouble you want . . . ?’

‘No,’ said Amy, alarmed at the turn the conversation was taking. Spike had seemed harmless enough when she first met him, but she remembered now that he had a temper.

‘Sorry,’ said Spike, taking a bite of a miniature croissant. ‘Uncalled for.’

‘That’s OK,’ said Amy.

‘So how are you?’ asked Spike, his voice friendly again. ‘Are you still in that same house?’

‘Yes,’ replied Amy, surprised.

‘I’ve got a few properties in the area now,’ said Spike, the salesman in him coming out. ‘I’d be happy to arrange for mates’ rates. For old times’ sake.’

‘I’m happy where I am,’ replied Amy. She paused. ‘I’ve come about Tim,’ she said. ‘And Chantel.’

‘Have you seen her?’ Spike dropped the croissant back to his plate.

‘No,’ replied Amy. ‘Not since she disappeared.’

She took the photo from her bag and passed it across the table.

Spike inspected it. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

‘Do you recognise the photo?’

Spike frowned at it. ‘Sorry,’ he said, passing it back. Amy swallowed disappointment and stared at the picture. It was a beautiful sunset, but why couldn’t it have a landmark? A clock tower. A church. Instead it was just anonymous trees, the ubiquitous sun and the corner of some kind of vehicle. If only she could find out where it was.

‘I blame Jack,’ said Spike, out of nowhere. ‘I never liked him. You know he’s a DCI now?’

Amy ignored him. Of course Spike would be jealous of Jack. ‘Jack told me that Tim borrowed money. From a friend of Chantel’s. I thought you might know something about that.’

‘Not a thing,’ said Spike, quickly. ‘Tim wasn’t my biggest fan.’

Amy felt disappointment rise up her throat and mingle with the cinnamon pastry. ‘You’re sure?’ she said. ‘You had quite a lot of cash around. Perhaps—’

‘I certainly didn’t lend him money,’ replied Spike. ‘I’d never trust a musician to pay me back. Definitely not Tim.’

‘And you don’t have any idea who might have?’

‘None,’ replied Spike. He picked up his croissant again. He looked into the air, as if his memories were floating there. ‘I never thought Chantel would have done that to you,’ he said, his voice hushed, as if someone might be listening. ‘You guys were so close. I think if she’d have run off with anyone, it would have been you.’

‘Well, it wasn’t,’ said Amy.

‘That’s what I’m saying,’ said Spike. He paused. ‘When Chantel and I were together, she still loved you the most. Not in that way,’ he said, hurriedly. ‘But it was hard, that’s all I’m saying. Always being second fiddle to her best friend.’

‘I didn’t see much of her once she was with Jack,’ said Amy.

Spike shrugged. ‘Maybe it was different with those two,’ he said. ‘But I don’t see her leaving you for a man. Not any man. Certainly not Tim. It just doesn’t feel right. You must know that.’

Amy sat in her house looking at Scarlett. The bird looked back. Leopards can’t change their spots, thought Amy, and