‘Instant is fine. I thought you looked a bit under the weather. Were you two out on the town?’
Beth said nothing until she put coffee in front of Megan and sat, both hands wrapped around her mug. For a second, she was tempted to lie, to say that yes, they’d had a brilliant night wining and dining and that Graham was lying curled up in their bed waiting for her return. She could feel her heart squeeze on the wish that she could say just that. Instead, she swallowed noisily and shook her head. ‘No, we weren’t,’ she said, taking a deep breath to steady herself before she put it into words, the first step in accepting it was over. She took a sip of her coffee and put the mug down. ‘We’ve split up.’
Having taken a mouthful of coffee, Megan spluttered and coughed. ‘What? What did you say?’
Maybe if Beth kept saying it, it would become easier to bear, easier to believe. ‘We’ve split up.’
‘You can’t be serious.’ Megan’s eyes opened wide in disbelief. ‘You two have been together forever.’
Forever. The word made Beth cringe. ‘We’re not together anymore,’ she said sharply. She’d thought she was hiding her grief and pain well, but she guessed she was fooling no one when Megan stood and moved across to grab her in a hug.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘And on top of that you had all my shit to deal with.’
Beth had considered telling her friends that the break-up had been her idea, that she’d thrown him out but, wrapped in Megan’s arms, she found she couldn’t tell that lie. Instead, she told the unvarnished and painful truth. ‘He left without a word, without explanation. I came home and he was gone.’
The arms tightened around her. ‘He’ll come back, you two are good together.’
‘He came while I was away and took the rest of his stuff,’ Beth snuffled into Megan’s shoulder, feeling like a child. ‘He hasn’t answered my texts, I’ve no idea where he is or who he’s staying with.’
With a final squeeze, Megan let her go, sat and picked up her coffee. ‘Did you have a row about something?’
‘I wish!’ She did wish it were that simple. A row, with each of them shouting, raised voices, cross words. A big fuss and then sweet make-up sex. The usual, not this terrible emptiness. ‘You know how erratic my hours are. I’m so often late but, Thursday before last, Graham asked me to come home on time, he made me promise and stupidly, so stupidly because I know what my job is like, I did.’
Beth’s sigh ended on a hint of a sob. ‘But I really meant to, and would have done if something hadn’t come up that I couldn’t get out of. When I got home, hours late, I saw he’d cooked this big dinner. The table was set with candles, and flowers, that bottle of champagne,’ she waved towards where it still sat, like a pathetic reminder of a forgotten party, ‘was sitting in a bowl of half-melted ice.’ She smiled sadly at her friend’s gasp before continuing. ‘I thought he was upstairs, annoyed with me. But he was gone and he’d taken most of his stuff.’
‘Oh no!’ Megan said, her face collapsing in sadness.
‘It’s hard to blame him really, you know. He’d gone to so much trouble and I hadn’t given him a thought. I should at least have called to let him know I was running late.’ She shrugged wearily. ‘If I could have left work, I would have done, but there was a young girl, only fourteen, she’d been sexually assaulted by a gang of boys. I couldn’t find an advocate available so I needed to stay with her until we could contact her family. I spent two hours with her, churning out all the good advice we’re taught to give.’
‘But Graham’s being so unfair!’ Megan reached across the table to her. ‘He knows what your job’s like, that you can’t drop things and scarper when you want. You were a copper when you met, after all. It’s not like you suddenly changed jobs. It’s easy for him with his personal training business to suit himself.’
Beth put her hand over Megan’s. ‘He’s complained before about my blinkered approach to life, that all I see and think about is my job. We’ve argued about it a lot. I don’t know, maybe he was right, maybe I give too much and should have found a better balance.’ She pulled a sheet of paper towel from a roll and blew her nose. ‘Anyway, it’s over, I need to accept it and as a start, I really need to get rid of that,’ she said, nodding to the champagne and the bowl of water. She stood, grabbed a towel and reached for the bottle, lifting it by the neck so it dripped water into the bowl.
‘We could drink it, of course, do you fancy a glass? We could toast the end of my relationship.’ She could hear the sad bitterness in her voice. ‘Sorry, I’m just trying to make light of the situation, I suppose.’
She dried the bottle, put it on the counter and had half-turned away to pick up the bowl of water when something caught her eye. The foil covering the champagne cork had been torn and pressed back, the edges no longer meeting. Curious she looked closer, pushing the tear apart with a fingernail. What she saw made her reel with shock and gut-wrenching pain. There, on the top of the cork, anchored in place by the foil, was a ring. She took it out. ‘Oh no,’ she whispered, looking at the simple solitaire. ‘Oh, Megan, look!’ She held it towards her friend who stared at it with such sorrow in her eyes that she felt hers fill with tears. ‘The stupid man was going to propose.’
‘Oh, Beth,’ Megan said, ‘there must be something you can do.’
‘I’ve tried texting him but he doesn’t answer.’ She saw Megan frown. ‘What?’
‘Why a Thursday? Seriously? He knows what your job’s like, Beth. For something this special, why couldn’t he have waited until the weekend when you were sure to be free?’
Beth looked at the ring, sparkling in the light, shut her eyes briefly and groaned. Of course! She hadn’t thought of it at the time, too caught up in work, in the things that were important to her. He had always been the more romantic half, the one who remembered anniversaries and birthdays without being reminded. In fact, he usually reminded her. This year, he hadn’t; he’d laid on a surprise instead. Tilting the ring to make it sparkle even more, she explained, ‘We met on a Thursday; we would have been together eight years, give or take a day or three. I suppose that was why.’
Megan reached out and took her hand in hers. ‘Oh, Beth,’ she said again, in a voice laced with sadness.
‘That’s why he made me promise,’ Beth gave a sad smile. ‘I’d only been half listening to him, I was thinking about work and he’d been annoyed and said again how important it was that I be home on time. I thought he was just fussing.’
The ring was beautiful. It was tempting to try it on, to see if it fitted and how it would look but, she didn’t. It would fit, he’d have made sure, the same way as he’d chosen the most perfect ring, one single diamond, classy and strong. She put it carefully down on the counter beside the bottle and turned back to Megan. ‘Enough about me, what brings you here on a Sunday afternoon? You’re usually out having a long leisurely lunch. But here you are. I’m guessing there’s a reason.’
Megan looked as if she wanted to continue the conversation, to discuss what to do about Beth and Graham but she must have seen the shuttered look that descended on Beth’s face because, instead, she said, ‘We met a group of friends. I pleaded a headache and came away early.’
Beth looked at her and frowned. No make-up, and looking like she’d dressed in the dark. It was obvious she was lying. But why? Beth stood, went to the window and stared out at the tiny courtyard garden where the previous summer’s flowers lay brown and withered in the ceramic pots she’d bought the year before. Her head was churning. Graham’s departure, the proposal he would have made on that fateful Thursday, and Megan’s revelation all spun out of control. Beth couldn’t handle anything else. Whatever else was troubling her friend, right at that moment, Beth didn’t want to know.
‘I was worried about Joanne,’ Megan said. ‘I didn’t think I had to worry about you, but now…’
‘You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll live,’ Beth said shortly, turning around to look at Megan. ‘Joanne said she was okay. Y
our…’ Beth searched for the right word, ‘your deception has hit her hard, just give her time.’ And me… give me time! Megan was behaving as if her confession had no lasting impact whatsoever on her. Beth swallowed. It was all too much. Running a hand over her unbrushed hair, she gave a loud sigh, hoping Megan would get the hint, and leave, irritated when she just shook her head slowly.
‘You don’t think I should go down there?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Beth said, trying to keep her temper. It had always been a bit of a joke between the friends, that Megan didn’t know when to give up. It didn’t seem quite so funny now. ‘I think,’ Beth said firmly, ‘that you’d be better off letting her come to terms with it in her own time.’
‘But she will?’
‘I don’t know that, do I?’ Beth’s voice rose as irritation took over. She wanted Megan to leave, she had enough angst in her head without adding more. ‘You must have realised your truth would have implications.’ When Megan continued to sit, showing no signs of wanting to leave, Beth said, ‘Listen, leave Joanne to me. I’ll give her a buzz during the week and suggest meeting up. I’ll let you know what she says. Okay?’ Beth willed Megan to nod and leave.
It seemed to work. ‘If you think that’s for the best.’ Megan stood and reached for her jacket. ‘Okay, I suppose I’d better get home anyway.’
At last! When she’d gone, Beth shut the door and turned the key in the lock. Nobody else was getting in today. She ignored the tiny voice that said nobody else would want to call around now that Graham was gone. It had been his friends who’d popped in without warning, rarely hers. She frowned as she realised that Megan had never really said why she’d called around. Was it simply her concern for Joanne that caused her stricken look and unkempt appearance? That lie about leaving Trudy with friends because she had a headache, what was that all about? Beth probably should have been a good friend and asked her what was wrong. Because something obviously was. The next day, if she felt up to it, she’d give her a ring, talk to her then and find out what was going on. For now, she needed some time to think about healing herself.
19
There didn’t seem to be any point in getting dressed. Instead, Beth lounged around in her robe and watched a series of movies without noticing when one ended and the next began. Her hangover had cleared but it had left her feeling queasy. Self-inflicted punishment, just like the aches and pains in her legs and back from the excesses in the gym. At one stage that day, she fell asleep on the couch and woke feeling disorientated.
For a moment, she was so sure she could hear Graham’s voice and his deep earthy laugh, she swung her feet to the floor and stood, ready to rush into his arms. When the silence hit her, the almost unbearable weight of her loss pressed her back onto the sofa. She blinked away tears and took some comfort in that almost; her inner core was strong, she’d get through this.
No alcohol, and an early night, meant she felt a little better when she woke the next morning. But not a lot, her heart still ached, and when she went into the kitchen and saw that ring, that beautiful ring that she would never wear, her eyes again filled with tears. Why had he left it? He could have returned it, and she’d never have known he was going to propose. It had been left to hurt her, and it had; but she knew Graham, there wasn’t a mean bone in his body, he must be hurting a lot to deliberately cause her so much pain. That’s what their relationship had descended to, a spiral of hurt and be hurt. There was no recovery from that.
At least it was Monday and the empty lonely weekend was over. It was her habit to go into the station early, to get ahead of the day and check out any reports that had come in through the night. She waved to various people who were heading off shift or others who had also drifted in early, sat at her desk and switched on her desktop computer.
While it powered up, she headed to get coffee and sat sipping it while she flicked through some paperwork with one hand. There was nothing that needed to be done urgently, a few memos, most of which she read without much interest, a couple that had her raise an eyebrow in surprise and one that made her shake her head in disgust. Finishing the last one, she tossed it on top of the others and put down her empty mug. Turning to her computer, she tapped in her password. Access Denied.
Blinking, she tried again, tapping each letter and number of her password slowly. Access Denied.
There were often problems with the old computers, staff were constantly complaining about them and she’d had the odd issue herself, but this particular problem hadn’t happened to her before. Hoping that whatever was wrong was confined to her computer, she moved to a neighbouring desk, waited impatiently for it to power up and tapped in her password again, staring at the screen in disbelief when once again, it said, Access Denied.
Feeling annoyed, she looked around the room. There were a few other early birds at their desks, but all were staring in concentration at their screens, their fingers tapping away. She was the only one doing nothing. For a brief second, she thought about asking one of them for their password, but using someone else’s was against departmental regulations and there was nobody in the room she was friendly enough with to ask to break the rules.
With a grunt of exasperation, she returned to her desk and sat. It was eight forty-five. The IT department didn’t open till nine unless it was an emergency and although it was irritating, it wasn’t that. She’d just have to wait.
She had another mug of coffee, the fingers of one hand restlessly tapping the desk.
As soon as it hit nine, she reached for the phone, hesitating when she saw her immediate superior, Chief Inspector Dowling, enter the room and head in her direction. She had an easy-going professional relationship with him based on mutual respect and, typically, her dealings with him were without problem. Today, however, his usually affable face was set in grim lines and when his eyes, cold and unfriendly, turned on her without any relaxation in those lines, she knew with a sinking feeling that there was trouble.
He approached her desk and stood looking down at her. ‘I need you to come with me,’ he said without any prelude. His shuttered expression didn’t invite question.
Startled, Beth opened and shut her mouth before standing awkwardly and grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair. She pulled it on, brushing her hands nervously over the sleeves and then, unable to stop herself, she blurted out, ‘Is there a problem?’
‘All in good time,’ he said, turning to leave.
She followed; her forehead creased. Her password failing and now this. What the hell was going on?
The station was a warren of corridors, the original building having been extended numerous times. The chief inspector walked at a brisk pace and never looked back, assuming she was following as ordered. They stopped outside an interview room on the second floor, a room Beth had never had reason to enter. It was rarely used except for the odd training course and – a wave of fear washed over her – whenever officers from the Professional Standards department needed to attend.
Chief Inspector Dowling rapped sharply on the door before pushing it open. He finally turned to look at Beth with an expression of distaste but said nothing, merely indicating with a nod that she precede him into the room. Beth had confronted any number of knife and fist-wielding thugs in her time as a police officer but she couldn’t ever remember feeling the level of terror that hit her as she entered. It took every ounce of physical strength to make her legs move, one step at a time, every ounce of inner strength to keep her chin in the air and to stop that giveaway tremor from appearing on her lips.
It was a small room, dominated by a long table in the centre. There were four chairs on the far side of it and one on the nearest side. Once Dowling took his seat, all four chairs were filled. Nervously, she looked at the others, the thin, almost emaciated, figure of Deputy Assistant Commissioner Benton, the stocky Chief Superintendent Youlden, a man she’d never cared for, and the unknown fourth, a slim serious-looking woman who stared at her with curiosity. All the men wore crisp long-sle
eved white shirts with their rank badges on their epaulettes, and black ties. The woman was in civilian dress but her jacket was smart, her shirt collar perfectly ironed, the top two buttons open to show a fine gold chain around her neck. Beth, feeling every crease in her cheap navy Primark jacket, resisted the temptation to close it over a shirt she knew had an old stain on the front.
‘Sit down, please, Detective Inspector Anderson,’ Benton said.
Sitting, Beth kept both feet on the ground and rested her hands, one on top of the other, palm upward, on her lap. It was important to present the right appearance, to look calm and in control; it was half the battle. Her insides, meanwhile, had turned to jelly, and although she tried not to, she kept sucking her lower lip between her teeth in a nervous habit she’d had since childhood. She looked across the table and forced herself to meet their eyes.
Benton adjusted heavy-rimmed spectacles on his bony nose. ‘You will know everyone here, of course, apart from Detective Inspector Ling.’ He indicated the woman sitting on his right. ‘DI Ling is with the Professional Standards Body.’
It was almost a relief to have it out in the open. Beth released her lower lip and took a deep breath. She was under investigation.
‘This is a preliminary meeting, DI Anderson,’ Benton continued, ‘to inform you that there have been a number of allegations made about your conduct.’ He shuffled some pages on the desk in front of him before selecting one, settling his spectacles again and reading from it. ‘The allegations are that you did, on at least two occasions, pervert the course of justice by providing victims with information to assist their cases.’
With difficulty, Beth kept her expression carefully neutral. He didn’t ask if the allegations were true, that was for the investigation to decide. But they were; of course they were; she had helped when she could. Otherwise, half the bastards she’d arrested would have got off and their victims denied justice. Beth kept her eyes fixed on Benton as he outlined what would happen.
The Three Women Page 12
