Cradle to Coffin (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 10)

by Oliver Davies

“That’s an exaggeration,” I muttered.

  “It is not, my boy, and you know it. But you’re running yourself ragged for that place, and whilst I’ve always admired what you do, I don’t like seeing you do it at your own expense. Take a little step back, focus on family, get a dog. You’ve always wanted one.”

  All true.

  “And we both know you won’t forgive yourself for what happened between you and your mother by running around trying to fix the wrongs caused by everyone else,” Elsie added. “You need to be there, be here.” She pulled me to a stop, pointing at the roof of the coaching house peeking out down the bottom of the lane. “You’ve been running and hiding, Max, and it might soon be time to stop. Hand over the reins.”

  I looked down at her. “You just want me around to carry all your heavy things for you.”

  “That too, I won’t lie and say that wouldn’t be a help.”

  I chuckled and tucked her closer into my side. “I’ll think about it, Elsie. How’s that?”

  She muttered under her breath. “I’ll take it, I suppose. Will you stop for something to eat?”

  I checked my watch quickly. “Not this time. I’d better get back so I can pick up Billie from the station.”

  “Went to see her old man today, did she?”

  “She did.”

  Elsie hummed under her breath. “Is she stubborn too?”

  “A little.”

  “Good. A taste of your own medicine.”

  We made our way down the lane to her cottage, and I took the umbrella from her, keeping her sheltered as she fumbled with her keys and let herself in.

  “Come and see me again soon,” she ordered, snatching the umbrella back and walking into the cottage.

  “Will do. Bye, Elsie.”

  She waved at me before shutting the front door, leaving me in the drizzle. I turned around, looking at the coaching house. It really was looking much better. After so many years of late nights and weekends spent sanding and sawing and plastering, it was finally starting to look like a proper building again. A home, again, like it had been before. As I stood and looked at the building, Elsie’s words running through my head, I wondered if she had a point, and something lodged in my chest eased slightly.

  I ran my hand through my damp hair and walked away, heading to the car to go and pick up Billie. The day had been odd, not quite what I was planning for it to be. But I did feel better. Somewhat. The guilt at how long I’d put this visit off refused to be ignored, but it was new guilt and easier to deal with. The old one that had festered for years seemed to lessen bit by bit, and after going there, sitting and talking to her, imagining what she would say or the faces she would make, especially the face she’d make on learning that someone hit me in the face, reminded me of what we’d had once. She wasn’t a memory hanging around to haunt me. She had been a real, living person, she had been my mum, and she still was, even if I had forgotten that.

  But as I climbed into the car, trying to dry off under the heaters, I knew that whatever changes today brought about and however many valid points Elsie had made, I wasn’t finished with this job yet. There was still something to do. Still something coming that I would be needed for, and taking a desk job was as out of the question to me as flat-out retiring was. This job needed me, and I still needed it, however rotten it could be at times.

  For every Miles Harte, there was an Elizabeth Wellins, for every Peter Wadham, a Mr and Mrs Schmidt and a Lena Crowe. Someone who had been wronged, properly wronged and needed someone to come and fix it. That, I had always been good at, fixing other people’s problems. My own were perfectly able to trot along by themselves until it became unavoidable. Usually, they went away before they did.

  As I drove through the city, sad as usual to be leaving the village but resolute in my decision. I wasn’t going anywhere yet. I got to the station early, so I climbed out of the car and walked into the building, buying two coffees and one of those ridiculous custard doughnuts I knew Billie liked. I had only spoken to my mother’s grave, and I was feeling rattled, so God knew how she would feel after her day with her father.

  I stood just outside the platform, held back by the barriers with a few other people, watching as a few trains pulled in and shot away again, checking my watch from time to time. Then I checked my phone. She’d better not have missed her train. I was contemplating calling her when the next train rolled in, and the doors opened, and in the small crowd that wandered from the platform, I recognised a head of black hair weaving through.

  She looked tired, I thought, as she pushed through the barrier and spotted me. She smiled and wandered over, dropping her bag on the floor and collapsing against me, arms wrapping around my middle. I carefully stacked the coffee cups together in one hand and enveloped the other hand around her. Billie wasn’t much of a hugger, rarely an initiator. I let her hug me until she stepped back and looked at the paper bag carefully balanced in my other hand.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “A doughnut,” I said, passing it over, “and coffee.”

  She grinned, taking them both, and I grabbed her bag from the floor.

  “How was it?” I asked, leading her towards the exit. She shrugged, taking a large mouthful of doughnut. “Don’t want to talk right now?”

  She shook her head and chewed. “What did you do?”

  “I went to see my mum,” I told her.

  She blinked at me in surprise. “You did?” I nodded, and she looked thoughtful. “Fun day for both of us then?”

  I chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Not exactly fun, but necessary. And the first time’s the hardest time.”

  “Like ripping off a plaster?” she asked.

  “Something like that. And we made it, so I’m proud of us both.”

  “Hence the doughnut?”

  “Yep. Also, you get very crabby when you’re hungry.”

  “Hark who’s talking! You’re a grown man. What’s your excuse?”

  “I don’t need an excuse to have low blood sugar.”

  We bickered back and forth to the car and along the way home, amused smirks on both of our faces. I realised as I pulled up outside that I hadn’t asked Billie if she wanted to be here or at her flat, but she jumped out of the car without comment and ran through the rain to the front door.

  A lot really had changed, I thought as I strolled after her. But some things were still the same, and I wasn’t going anywhere.

  Not yet anyway.

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