The self-defence class at the gym was a good stress reliever that night, and I gave it a good go even though my legs were aching. I’d stretched them out well beforehand and taken a couple of ibuprofen pills, so it was just mind over matter for the rest.
“Good job,” the instructor said near the end, slapping my arm in a friendly manner once I’d got up off the floor. He’d been showing the group the best ways to break free from a chokehold, and I’d been the lucky victim to get demonstrated on. As one of only two blokes in the class, he seemed more comfortable using one of us to demonstrate than the women, though, of course, he didn’t slack off with making sure they could practise the moves he was teaching us.
“You’ll be off the hook for next week, mate,” the other guy in the group said to me, wandering over once the instructor had moved away.
“Aye, it’ll be your turn,” I said with an easy grin.
“Lucky me.”
“Brian, right?” I checked. We’d talked a bit in the last couple of sessions, but nothing past small talk.
“That’s me.” He tilted his head at me. “How come you’re out here on a Tuesday evening, getting knocked on your ass? If it’s not too nosy for me to ask,” he added.
“Why am I taking the class?” I said, amused. “I’m in the police, actually. Needed to brush up on my tackling. I was ending up in the hospital a bit too often.”
“Ouch.” Brian winced in sympathy.
“What about you?”
“Oh, the same thing, really. Getting knocked about a bit too often,” he said, his expression going a little tight. He lifted his wrist and tapped the band there, which was striped with rainbow colours.
“Man, I’m sorry,” I said genuinely.
Brian had been watching for my reaction and gave me a smile when I made it clear I wasn’t a raging homophobe. The bar was too low, I thought sadly.
“Well, hopefully, this’ll help.”
I clapped him on the shoulder. “If you get into any trouble, call into the police, okay? This stuff is only for back-up if you can’t run or get help.”
“I know,” Brian said, giving me a look I recognised from Stephen, the one which said I was bordering on patronising, even though I didn’t mean to be. “Not all cops would be too bothered, though. No offence.”
“If they don’t protect everyone, they’re not police,” I said darkly. But I knew Brian was right that pockets of rot still existed within our ranks, and I didn’t want to pretend that didn’t exist. “But I hear you, mate.”
We were called back to be involved in the class, and I focused on the techniques we were being taught, even as what Brian had said turned over in the back of my head.
After the hour was up, I went over to reception to ask for pen and paper and then managed to catch Brian before he headed out.
“Here, mate. Just in case,” I said, offering him the bit of paper.
“Is this your number?” he said, a cautious smile on his face. “I’ve got a boyfriend, I’m sorry-”
I gave a startled laugh. “Oh, no, sorry, that’s not what I meant. It’s my work number, in case you run into trouble.” My smile faded, and I looked at him seriously. He was a well-built bloke but only about five-six at the most. “Call that, and I’ll be right over, okay?”
Brian looked taken aback, glancing down at the paper before giving me a grateful smile.
“Thanks. That’s great, actually. Really thoughtful.”
I brushed off his thanks, and we headed out of the gym, exchanging small talk before he split off to get into his car. I felt better after doing even a small thing to help him out. Shame I couldn’t do anything to fix the dogfighting case at work, I thought.
That reminded me of the homeless bloke who sat outside the gym and who’d been missing his dog the other day. I looked about but couldn’t see him around and, with a shrug, I set off home. It was too cold to be hanging about for too long, especially since my running kit was fairly lightweight. I took the run itself easy, feeling fairly tired after the class and what felt like a long day.
I was due to be talking to Sam after tea, but she texted to request an earlier call, and so I got the tablet loaded up almost as soon as I’d stepped out of the shower.
“Hey, love,” she said once the video chat loaded. Her voice was a little flat, and there were dark smudges under her eyes.
“Hi,” I said, frowning slightly at her. “What’s wrong?”
She gave a small laugh. She was wearing her work clothes, and her hair was twisted up in a bun, a couple of honey-blond strands escaping.
“You’ve got to stop with the mind-reading, Darren. A woman’s allowed a few secrets.”
“Aye?” I said, not quite sure what to say. “I promise I won’t if you’ll tell me what’s on your mind?”
“Nothing much,” she sighed, her expression telling me that it wasn’t true. My stomach turned over as I looked at her, and worry made my throat tighten.
“Sam, seriously, what’s wrong?” I coaxed.
The camera moved slightly as she adjusted it, and I realised that she was still at work, even though it was nearing nine. She tilted her head back and didn’t reply for a minute. When she looked at me again, it alarmed me to see that she was tearing up.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s got into me.” Her voice shook, and I ached with how much I wanted to hug her tight. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I hated to see her upset.
“Don’t be sorry, okay? Talk to me.”
“It’s just a lot,” she said weakly, carefully wiping under her eyes.
“What is?”
“Being here, I guess.” She sighed, trying to raise a smile. “Look at me, whining over nothing. How was your day, hm?”
“Hey, you’re not whining,” I said.
I tried to coax her into really telling me what was up, but she didn’t want to say, blaming it on her period and work being busy. I knew those couldn’t be the only reasons because I’d seen her handling hectic patches at Hewford with efficient grace, and she’d not been like this. Her not wanting to talk about it only worried me more, and the pit in my stomach seemed to double as we exchanged shallow small talk like we were still on our second date.
“Sam, please tell me what’s wrong,” I tried again later, but she shook her head.
“It’s really nothing. I’m being a baby.” She glanced down at the right of her screen, and I knew she was checking the time. I’d seen her look down at the clock too often recently. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got a presentation tomorrow, and-”
“It’s okay,” I said gently, cutting off her apologies.
“We can have a longer talk at the weekend?” she offered.
“Aye, sure. I’ll look forward to it.” I gave her a smile, and she returned it, hers looking as shaky as mine was.
She bid me good night, and I stared at the blank screen for a long moment after she was gone. I didn’t know what had shaken her, but I wished she would let me support her. She’d always been independent and steady, acting as a rock when I got myself injured or was worn down from work, but she’d never been quite so closed off. Maybe the distance was getting to her, I thought bleakly.
Laying in bed, I spent a long time staring up at the ceiling and trying to think of what I could’ve said to her. My thoughts tumbled anxiously over each other, and it was a long time before I fell asleep.
Five
Sam and I did have a longer talk on Saturday night, and I was still thinking about it as I wandered around Aldi on Sunday morning. She’d seemed better than she had on Tuesday evening, but still not quite herself, and she hadn’t wanted to say anything more than that work had been busy, and it was tiring her out.
“Dee? Hey, Darren? Darren Mitchell?”
It took a moment for me to realise that it was my name being called, and I looked around. A bloke was looking at me with an expectant expression, and it took me a second too long to recognise him.
“Phil?” I said, blinking at him.
The last time I’d see him, I’d been twenty or so, and he’d been about the same. “Phil Berry? Blimey.”
His face split into a grin, and I returned it, though slower. The scraggly beard he had as a youngster was gone, and his hair was longer, his face lean without the baby fat.
“Darren Mitchell, mate, good to see ya again!” He came over, and I went to shake his hand, only for him to tug me into a hug, thumping me on the back. “God, it’s been forever. How’re you doing? How’s your mum these days?”
“Aye, yeah, it’s been a while, hey,” I stumbled over my words, his questions throwing me.
It was bizarre to see his face again, right there in front of me in the here and now. He’d been a big part of my past, but I’d never expected to see the bloke again. Fifteen or so years had changed him, too, making his once-familiar face seem off like a picture frame hung slightly at the wrong angle.
“Sure has. You want to go for a beer or something?” he offered.
Talking to him again, seeing him again, it was all familiar. The way he moved his head about when he spoke and never kept quite still, and the staccato, hard way he spoke like he was punching holes out of paper as he spoke.
“Uh, aye, why not?” I found myself saying before I could think too hard about it.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea after everything, but I didn’t have any plans for the rest of the day, and I knew I’d only stew over Sam if I stayed home.
“Great!” he said warmly. “I’ve gotta grab the rest of my stuff, but I’ll meet you outside in twenty, yeah?”
“Sure, yes. See you then.”
Phil gave me another grin as I stood there in the shop’s aisle before he trundled away with his trolley. I still had food to pick up too, but I could hardly concentrate on it after seeing him. He’d looked uncomplicatedly pleased to have found me, but seeing him had brought up a slew of memories back for me, and most of them, I would rather have left well alone. I shook my head and forced myself to move so that I wasn’t blocking the middle of the aisle like an idiot. I’d agreed to meet him for a drink, so that’s what I’d do.
I fetched the rest of my shopping on autopilot, realising only when I’d gotten to the tills that I’d picked up some of the shampoo that Sam liked. She wasn’t around to use it, but I didn’t put it back. So what if the cashier thought I washed my hair with raspberry and hibiscus shampoo?
I bagged up my stuff and took it out to the car, loading it into the boot and wheeling the wobbly trolley back towards the shop. Phil was standing out the front and put a hand up to catch my attention once I’d put the trolley back, though I’d already picked him out of the shoppers. It was a chilly morning, but there were still a fair number of folks out doing their weekly food shop, trolleys loaded to overflowing.
“There’s a pub just round the corner,” Phil told me when I came over to him. “I thought we could dump the cars here and wander round.”
“Might get a fine if we leave them here too long,” I said, glancing around to see if there were any signs.
Even as we discussed the practicalities of parking, perhaps the banalest topic ever to exist, my heart rate was going a touch fast. I couldn’t get over the strangeness of talking to Phil, and the half-forgotten memories his narrow face brought up were almost overwhelming. He didn’t seem to be having the same trouble, staying as casually relaxed and unruffled as he’d always been, but then I doubted he’d tried to bury the past in the same way I had.
We agreed to move the cars over to the pub car park, which wasn’t large but it did the job. Phil insisted on getting the first round, fetching me a beer that had been my favourite when I was younger, but that was too bitter for me now. Still, I found myself a little touched. I doubted I could’ve remembered what his preferred drink was.
“You remembered,” I said as he pushed it across the sticky pub table towards me. He grinned.
“O’course, mate. I never forgot your terrible taste in drinks.” He tapped the side of his forehead, and I chuckled a little stiffly.
“How’ve you been getting on, then?” I asked, finding my stronger Yorkshire accent creeping out around him.
“Not too bad, can’t complain. Still living over at me mum’s, you remember?”
“Aye, sure I do. Couldn’t forget those cakes she’d bake us.” I smiled despite myself.
“Rock hard, but we’d lick the icing off,” Phil said with a laugh. “What’re you up to these days? Your watch is still a cheap piece of crap, so you haven’t hit the big leagues, right?”
I glanced down at my plastic digital watch and grimaced a smile at him. Of course, he’d noticed the value of my watch. I couldn’t tell him that there was no point wearing a flashy watch when some drunkard might throw up all over it while I was on duty because there was no way I was telling him that I was a copper now.
“I’m comfortable enough. Getting on fine.”
“Yeah? What d’you do?”
“Accounting. Nothing interesting,” I said the first thing that came to mind and gave a one-shouldered shrug. “And you?” There was a touch of challenge in my voice, and we shared a glance. Back in the day, Phil’s business had been a bit of everything, legal or not.
“I’ve got my own garage. Fixing up cars and that,” he told me, a little proud. I nodded, taking a sip of my beer. The sky outside of the grimy pub windows was bright and cold.
“How long have you been doing that for?” I asked, and Phil settled into telling me the long version of how he’d secured the garage and what he’d been working on.
I nodded and made the necessary noises to show that I was listening, whilst at the same time studying Phil’s older face. The wrinkles around his too-sharp eyes were new, and there was a gash through his left eyebrow that looked like the result of a failed piercing, but it could’ve easily been from getting his head knocked against something. He’d always been one for getting into fights, working up trouble with blokes bigger than Stephen even though Phil was skinnier than me and clumsier, to boot.
“But, y’know, being an accountant must be right useful, yeah? Being able to do all those numbers.” He shook his head with a quirked smile. “You always were the smart one, always too good for the likes of us, right?”
I focused my full attention on him when he said that and squeezed my fingers around my still-full glass of beer.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Yeah? You ran off soon as school finished.”
“Just wanted a change, mate,” I said, taking a swallow of the bitter pint and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Come on, catch me up on things then. Have you got a girlfriend with you at your mum’s, huh?”
The change of topic was a bit forced, but Phil rolled with it, and we got back onto small talk rather than the minefield questions he’d been asking before. I didn’t want to talk about any of that, especially not with him. I’d not even mentioned that stuff to Sam, though I knew she wanted to know more about my family. I’d not wanted to even think about it, and the idea of putting it all into words and laying it out for her made the beer sit badly in my stomach so that I wished I had a couple of antacids on me.
Phil and I talked for a short while longer, or he talked, and I listened and chimed in enough to keep the conversation flowing. Finally, as I was trying to think of a reason to head off, he mentioned that he needed to go, and I agreed.
“I need to get the frozen stuff home before it goes to mush,” I said as we headed out into the chilly day.
“You don’t reckon it’s cold enough out?” he said, and I gave a genuine laugh at that. We had been practically best mates at one point, and that came back to me too, in hints and flashes.
We walked over to the car park, and he pulled me into another slightly painful hug, back-slapping included, when we reached his car. It was a flashy-looking thing, probably worth a pretty penny and new this year too, I reckoned. He seemed keen for me to notice it, so I paid him a compliment on it, and we passed another few minutes until the air
got too cold to stay out in.
“We should do this again,” he said firmly, more telling than asking.
“That’d be good.”
“And p’haps you can do a favour for an old friend too, hey.”
I stiffened. “Aye? What’s that?”
“Y’know, work your numbers magic on my accounts. The garage books could do with some TLC if you know what I mean.”
“I see,” I said, and I did. He wanted someone who could make the numbers in the books look how they were supposed to. Fiddle them, in other words.
“Well, maybe then you could finally get a decent watch, mate,” he laughed loudly, and I gave an awkward smile.
He got my number off me so that he could contact me, and he called it to make sure it worked, too. We parted ways finally, and I released a long breath, slumping down at my wheel. One beer definitely didn’t put me over the limit to drive, but the whole encounter had left me strangely exhausted. I’d never wanted the old part of my life that Phil represented mixing with my current one. The two were like oil and water, or something more explosive than that. I didn’t want Phil to know that I was police, nor did I want to know what he was up to these days, but he seemed eager to pull me right back in.
I gave a groan and rubbed at my forehead. The beer’s taste lingered in my mouth and made me want to brush my teeth, but I couldn’t ignore that the morning had happened, nor the bad taste it’d left in my mouth. I’d have to make a decision sooner or later about whether I wanted to meet up with Phil or not, or more specifically, how I was going to avoid seeing him again. Ignoring him felt like a cowardly move, but I’d always intended to make a new life away from all I’d left behind, and I had every intention of keeping it that way.
When my work phone rang on Monday morning, I picked it up in hopes that it would be Kate Russ from LACS with an update on the photos I’d sent over. My guess was wrong, but I wasn’t disappointed.
“DCI Mitchell speaking,” I said.
Moving Target (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 6) Page 6
