I turned back to the front, feeling the blood thumping in my ears as the count-down began. I thought about what I’d read in training books I’d read, about visualising the end of the run and the triumph you’d feel. But for me, I could think of no stronger motivation than knowing that my best friend and my lover would be waiting, open-armed and cheering, at the end.
Epilogue
As I’d told Liam the story of the case, my wife had come in with a cup of tea for me and some lime cordial for the lad. He’d drunk his down like it was a race, but I was still sipping at my drink as I finished up the story.
As usual, Liam was typing away furiously, a frown on his face as he concentrated. I let him catch up on all his notes and stayed quiet. The rain had dried up not long ago, and our little back garden was still shaking off the excess water, dripping like fresh washing. Liam wouldn’t need a brolly when he walked home after all if the weather stayed like this, and the blue breaking through the grey suggested that it would.
Liam finished up his typing and looked up. “I can’t believe that happened right outside your flat!”
“Well, in the apartment building,” I said. “But yes, it was a shock.”
Liam nodded. “Did you finish the marathon? You didn’t get- what’re they called? The shin things?”
“Shin splints,” I said with a slight smile. “No, thankfully. They used to flare up every now and then, but I was fine during that run.”
“I guess you must’ve liked it,” Liam said, tilting his head at me. His red hair had mostly dried in the warmth of our lounge and was beginning to curl and frizz. “Since you did a whole bunch after that.”
“I did get the bug, aye.” I chuckled. “There’s a rush to being in a run with so many other people, all trying to do the same thing. Running can be pretty solitary, otherwise.”
I had a thought and made to stand up, grimacing at the stiffness that’d built up in my joints while I was sitting down.
“You alright, Mr Mitchell?”
“Aye, I’m fine,” I assured him. “I’m just going to fetch something to show you.”
I made my way slowly upstairs and into the back bedroom. There, in the bottom of the wardrobe, were a stack of boxes with various packs of photographs, titbits and memorabilia belonging to my wife and me from across the years. It took a bit of digging, and I was sneezing from the dust by the time I found it, but I drew it out triumphantly and headed back down to Liam.
“What’s that?” Liam asked as soon as I came in.
“I was about to show you,” I teased, coming over to sit down next to him. I offered him the dusty book which he opened curiously.
“Oh!” he said. “Your marathons. Is this all of them?”
I smiled, looking down fondly at the pictures and remembering when they’d been taken. “I made a tradition of having a picture taken at the end of the race, with whoever was there supporting me.”
Liam peered at the first one. “So this big guy, he’s Stephen Huxley, your partner.”
“Exactly. And that’s his wife, Annie, and-”
“And that’s Sam,” Liam cut in, pointing to the picture.
“Sure is.”
Liam continued to turn through the album, peering at each of the photos and asking questions about them.
“What happened to Maddie Packham?” he asked, when we’d reached the end of the photo album. I folded it closed and rested it on my lap.
“Well, she had ongoing memory issues,” I told him honestly. “She needed some physical therapy, too, after being immobile for three weeks or more. It was a slow road, but overall she recovered right well, considering everything.”
Liam nodded as he typed, making a note. “What about Isabel Davies, and Alec? Did they go to prison?”
I sighed. “Isabel did, yes. For a long time. Alec got a year or so, for the injury he did to Isabel, plus community service and counselling.”
“Do you think he should’ve gotten longer?” Liam asked.
That gave me pause, and I thought wryly that Liam was getting closer to being a real journalist with questions like that.
“It was complicated,” I said finally. “For what Alec did to Isabel, yes, I think he deserved more punishment than he got. For what happened to Maddie…” I sighed. “It wasn’t directly his fault, though his anger issues certainly played into it. With things like this, Liam, sometimes there’s no perfect solution. You’ve got to do your best, both to get justice for what’s already happened and to stop any further harm from happening in the future. It’s a balance. It’s not easy.”
Liam nodded as I spoke, focusing on his laptop screen as he typed, his fingers flying over the keys far faster than I could type.
After a minute, he looked up. His usually cheerful face was quite serious. “You wouldn’t change anything, then?” he asked.
“About what I did?” I said, and he nodded. I thought it over for a moment. “No, no, I don’t think so. I did my best with what we had available at the time.” I looked at him curiously. “Do you think I should’ve done something differently?”
Liam frowned thoughtfully, opening his mouth and closing it again. “I guess I just feel sorry for Isabel,” he said finally.
I hummed. “Aye, so did I.” I let a brief silence settle before I added gently, “But I felt more sorry for Maddie. In the end, my job was to get justice for her.”
Liam nodded slowly, chewing his lip. He went back to his laptop for a while, and I found myself wondering what he was typing. He always sent me a copy of the article before he published it, so I’d just have to see how much of his thoughts made their way into the final thing.
Glancing at his wrist-watch, Liam said, “I’d better be off, or I’ll be late for tea.”
“That you will,” I said, beginning to ease myself to my feet. “Let me get you a bag for your things. Your rucksack is still soaking.”
So I fetched him a plastic bag while he went around the house, picking up his shoes and socks and other belongings from where we’d stuck them on various radiators to dry off. We’d been talking for long enough that most of his things were only damp now, and definitely warmed through, though he still grimaced as he pulled his socks back on.
“I hope you won’t get blisters,” I said, frowning. “I’d offer you some socks, but you’re half the size of my feet.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” he assured me, wriggling his toes inside his socks. “It’s not a long walk.”
“Well, alright, then.”
“I can come back next month, can’t I?” he asked as I helped him into his coat, which was heavy with the moisture it had absorbed. It wasn’t particularly waterproof. I wondered whether Liam’s parents would mind if my wife and I offered to buy Liam a new coat for his next birthday or Christmas, whatever was closer.
“Of course you can,” I said in answer to his question. “We’re more than happy to have you.”
He gave me a bright smile. “That’s good, then. I wouldn’t have anything to write in the paper otherwise.”
I laughed, though I thought he might’ve been partly serious. I didn’t really mind if he was. “I’m sure you’d have found something to fill the gap. You’ve got plenty of creativity.”
“That’s true,” he said, in that unselfconscious way that kids have. “But it wouldn’t be so interesting as the stories you tell me.”
I was touched by that. “A big part is down to how you write it up,” I assured him. “You do an excellent job. I look forward to seeing the next one in my inbox.”
“It shouldn’t take too long,” he said as he was stepping out into the porch with his wet backpack lying limply on his back, and his dry bag full of school things clutched to his chest. “Goodbye, Mr Mitchell.”
“Until next time, lad,” I said, giving him a wave as he headed off. He walked determinedly, his head down and his stride as long as his legs could make it, like he had someplace urgent to be. It made me smile to see. That kid’ll go far, I thought, before I closed th
e door, already looking forward to the next time Liam would drop by.
A Message from the Author
Thank you, dear reader, for reading this book from beginning to end. I greatly appreciate you coming along with me for this adventure.
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Close to Home (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 4) Page 25
