Chapter 3

Clive awoke refreshed early the next morning. After performing his morning necessities, he went to the kitchen and made himself a bowl of porridge in the microwave. In the rubbish bin he found evidence of Jane having eaten a microwave meal the previous evening, but otherwise the kitchen was clear. Even the previous night’s mugs had been washed and put away, although not quite in their usual places.

After rinsing down the porridge with a mug of breakfast tea, Clive donned his wet-weather gear and braved the weather. Winter Storm Sacajawea had been due to reach its peak in the early hours of the morning. The wind and rain were still going strong, but now they had a fresher, less oppressive feel.

Jane’s car was still parked in Clive’s drive, confirming his assumption that the closed guest room door meant she’d stayed the night. As Clive checked the outside of his bungalow, happy to see his roof was undamaged, he noticed the guest room curtains were drawn, not that he’d intended to spy on his guest.

After checking the rest of his property, noting nothing worse than a few things being blown over, Clive took a cursory look at his near neighbours’. Their bungalows looked intact, but some fence panels had been blown down and there were plenty of fallen branches littering the road. Clive decided that then was not the time to tackle them since the strong winds would likely dislodge some more.

Back indoors, Clive had just relieved himself of his weather gear when his guest emerged from the guest room. The dishevelled hair suited her, it made her face look less angular.

“Been somewhere?” asked Jane.

“Just been checking outside. This place seems to have escaped unscathed so far, but the roads are a bit of a mess with all the debris. We’re supposed to be a couple of hours past the worst but it’s still very stormy out there.”

Jane turned towards the kitchen. “I’d kill for a coffee.”

“Coming right up. Would you like some breakfast? I could rustle up some bacon and eggs?”

Clive overtook Jane and filled up the kettle when reaching the kitchen, setting two mugs ready.

“I don’t usually eat much for breakfast. What did you have?”

“A bowl of porridge, done in the microwave.”

“Sounds good,” said Jane.

Clive measured out the oats and milk. “How much sugar?”

“Two please.” Jane indicated the fruit bowl. “Mind if I add an apple?”

“No problem. They’re there to be eaten.”

Jane chopped up the apple and added it to the mix. “Do you have any cinnamon?”

“I think you might be in luck.” Clive rummaged around his condiments shelf and triumphantly emerged with cinnamon.

Jane sprinkled some cinnamon on the mix. “I think you’d better drive,” she said. “Microwaves and porridge are a volatile combination until you’ve found a setting that works. I don’t want to cause a mess.”

Clive put the bowl in the microwave and used the same settings as for his own breakfast, except for giving it a few seconds longer for the apple. Then while the beast was humming away, he poured the drinks.

“Mmmm,” said Jane as she sipped the resultant coffee. “Now I’m beginning to feel human again.”

Clive switched on a news channel while Jane ate her porridge. The reports coming in were depressing. Winter Storm Sacajawea was causing damage and disruption across the UK and several people had died. Airports were closed, there were cancellations or long delays on virtually every train line, and there were localised floods and power failures.

“Let’s adjourn to the lounge,” suggested Clive when Jane had finished her porridge. “Then we can resume our off-the-record discussion in comfort.”

Jane took the sofa again, but this time she didn’t deploy her jacket to discourage company. Nonetheless Clive sat opposite her again. Jane kicked off her shoes and sat with her legs curled under her.

“Do you have any concerns or questions?” asked Clive.

“Do you only take on supplicants to whom you’re physically attracted?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Clive confirmed. “Hence the lack of men. I suppose if he were good at it and I kept my eyes closed, I might be able to accept a blowjob from another man, but there’s no way I’m sticking my dick up another man’s bum.”

“Doesn’t it worry you that you’re coercing women into sex?”

“It did at first, that’s why I’m so reluctant to solicit. But then I realised there was nothing I could do about it, other than not helping people. I take the view that, on balance, I’m doing a good thing.”

“Wouldn’t you like to help more people, including those you don’t find sexually attractive?”

“Do you have something in mind?” Clive asked. He had an inkling of where Jane was heading so he was prepared for the next question, but it took quite a while for Jane to pluck up the courage.

“What about me?” she finally blurted out. “Do you find me sufficiently attractive?”

After a quick evaluation, Clive decided that honesty would be the best policy. “When I first saw you, I would have said no because you seemed all skin and bone. I like my women with a bit of flesh on. But having seen the way you move and comport yourself, there’s a lot more to you than that first impression.”

“So that’s not a no?”

Clive sighed. “The oracle isn’t a toy. There are ethical constraints restricting its use. If you want to find where you mislaid your favourite Rolex, it might give you a second chance but you’d better be damned sure any further questions weren’t so frivolous.”

Jane’s eyes flared. “You think that’s what I care about? Every week I come across investigations like the rape and murder of Petra Stankowicz and there’s fuck all anyone can do about them because they’ve gone cold - there are no more leads or evidence to follow up. The investigation needs a Hail Mary.”