Dylan sighed heavily and, putting the kettle on for a much-needed coffee, retrieved a loaf from the freezer. What a day!
Chapter Seven
Kay slept soundly on the other side of the bed. Head on the pillow, Dylan faced her. Sleep usually came easily, born from years of shift work, but not tonight. Tonight he was held in the iron grip of insomnia. He could smell Kay’s perfume over the scent of their sheets. Was it a new one? He frowned as he caught the faint aroma of something else …
As he gazed at her, the waxing moon shone through a break in the clouds to lend a brief glimpse of light that illuminated Kay’s contented smile. It brought about a sadness deep within him. Then, just as quickly as they had parted, the clouds once again covered the moon, putting her face deep in shadow. He wondered what, or who, she could be dreaming of to make her look like that.
A few damp strands of hair clung to her skin on the shoulder nearest to him, but although he desperately wanted to, he simply couldn’t bring himself to touch her. It was imperative that he wait for the right time to challenge her about his fears and this was most definitely not it. A ray of hope shone through with the moonlight as it came to rest on her face again. She looked beautiful, a picture of serenity and innocence. What if he was wrong? He tried to picture himself asking her whether she was having an affair. He’d spotted enough signs. The delicate lacy underwear hidden away in her bottom drawer, which she’d never yet worn for him; her sudden interest in dieting; her expensive new gym membership. Over and over again, he imagined confronting her about it, but each time he ran through the scenario he couldn’t predict her reply – and that frightened the hell out of him.
He lay awake until the hallway clock struck three and his thoughts shifted to how he could help Isla and then to being worried that, should he close his eyes, she might do something stupid while he slept. Fighting slumber now, he perched on the edge of the bed, and stifled a yawn. He looked back at his wife and yet again considered whether he should just come right out and ask her.
As he stood at the bottom of the stairs Dylan silently prayed that his movements hadn’t woken the others. His ears strained for the slightest noise. When he was sure there was none, he cautiously tiptoed to the kitchen, carefully closing the door behind him. While the kettle boiled, his eyes were drawn to the window ledge and a big, beautiful bouquet of hand-picked flowers tumbling over the sides of its vase, a colourful spectacle that almost covered the windowsill. A bold statement if ever he’d seen one.
Staring beyond the flowers into the darkness of the night, he sought answers to new questions. Where had the bouquet come from? Was what Kay had said true: that he was so wrapped up in his job that he had taken his eye off the ball as far as his family was concerned? It was true that he didn’t seem to know them any more – their hopes, their dreams, or their fears – and maybe that had been the case for longer than he cared to admit. But that was because he was always at work. When it came down to it, he was only working the long hours he was to provide for them, to give them a better life.
Or was he?
It wasn’t unusual for him to be up at this time on his own, getting ready to go out on a call, but this was different. This time he had nowhere to run to, no emergency to help him out. Although he wasn’t occupied with the job, for once, his brain was still working overtime.
He brewed a cup of coffee, automatically opening the fridge door to get some milk, before remembering, as he stared at the empty shelves, that there wasn’t any. His jaw clenched so hard it ached. In his sleep-deprived state, a feeling of intense anger gripped him and it took all his strength not to throw the bottle of Cava against the wall. Instead he poured the contents down the sink, watching as the effervescent liquid swirled rapidly down the plughole.
The bottle fell softly onto the bag of Isla’s clothes lying in the bin. Stuffing the flowers on top relieved some of Dylan’s tension, but he wasn’t finished yet. He took the box of Kay’s favourite chocolates from the fridge and, as he sat at the kitchen table drinking his coffee, crushed the soft centres one by one between his fingers. As he reached the bottom layer he wondered, was he going mad?
Isla woke with a start. She stared at the ceiling for a moment or two. She was hot, she was terribly hot. A wave of nausea washed over her and she rolled over onto her side and groaned. A brilliant streak of light flashed from the foot of her bed and she sat up, drew up her legs and hugged her arms around them, trying to protect herself. Strips of flames leapt up the bedclothes towards her face. The heat was so intense she could actually feel her skin shrivelling. She was going to be roasted alive. The smell made her vomit. Seizing her pillow, she beat out the flames. She couldn’t breathe, the smoke stung her eyes.
‘Dad! Help me!’ she screamed as she rolled off the bed to the floor. Crawling on her hands and knees, she collapsed at the door.
Dylan placed his hand on her forehead. ‘You’re okay, darling,’ he soothed. He picked her up with ease, cradling her gently in his arms. His voice cracked. ‘It was just a bad dream.’ He stroked her thin hair and noticed a knotted mess at the back of her head.
‘More like she’s coming down from the drugs,’ snapped Kay, standing at the door in her dressing gown, shaking her head at the mess and covering her nose to mask the smell.
Dylan looked up at his wife and held her stare. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Just leave us be.’
Isla could feel the thump of Dylan’s heart against her cheek as he held her and it comforted her.
From time to time, while he was cleaning the room the next morning, Dylan went downstairs and checked that Isla was breathing as she lay on the sofa. He sat next to her, stroking her head and making soothing noises.
Kay had been to the supermarket when he finally finished and went back downstairs. It appeared her mood hadn’t changed one bit. Isla was sitting quietly on the sofa nibbling, rabbit-like, on a piece of toast. Kay marched in from the kitchen and sighed.
‘Haven’t you had a shower yet?’ she snapped at her daughter.
‘Yes, I have,’ Isla said without taking her eyes off the TV, as she flicked her way through the channels with the remote control.
‘Then why are you still in your PJs?’ Kay went back to the kitchen saying to Dylan, ‘She should be up and dressed and tidying her room by now.’
Dylan, however, was optimistic. ‘She’s resting, and that’s her second slice of toast you know.’
‘And?’
‘And she’s admitted that she’s got herself into a mess and accepted that she does need help.’
‘That it?’
‘Well, it’s a start.’
Later that day, while a nurse took Isla’s bloods, the doctor spoke to her parents in her office.
‘If Isla is being honest with me, and there is no reason for me to think otherwise as she’s quite an intelligent young woman, I think we have a long journey ahead of us.’
Kay stood up and hugged her daughter when she came back into the doctor’s office. Isla instantly pulled away. The doctor’s eye caught Dylan’s; they clearly shared some deep concerns.
Back home, Dylan opened the front door, stepping aside to allow Isla to go in before them. Together they watched her inch herself up the stone steps, using the wrought-iron railings for support. The exertion of the trip to the surgery had clearly taken it out of her. It was a pitiful sight.
The phone started ringing. Isla, already halfway inside, looked back at Dylan; he urged her to go on. ‘If it’s important they’ll leave a message,’ he said, ‘or ring back later.’
A sense of foreboding welled up in Kay when the phone continued to ring. Once Isla was clear of the door, Kay pushed past her daughter into the narrow hallway. Although it had only been a small shove, it was enough to cause Isla to lose her balance. Kay was already in the lounge, frantically searching for the cordless phone, when Isla answered it.
Dylan fixed Kay with an icy stare as she came back into the hallway. Her breathing was as rapid as her racing pu
lse, her face ashen. ‘The phone was on the hall table,’ he said, ‘where it always is.’
‘You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost,’ Isla said to Kay, passing the phone to Dylan. ‘It’s Dawn from work for you. She wants to know if you’re up for a night out.’
‘You’re sure you don’t mind me going?’ Dylan asked Isla for the umpteenth time.
Isla’s lips curled up at one side. ‘Of course not. You don’t have to keep an eye on me twenty-four seven you know. What time is she picking you up? Eight? I’ll be off up to bed by then. I won’t even know you’re gone.’
‘Well, your mum will be here and I’ll only be at the police bar.’
Kay and Isla sat at either end of the sofa. Dylan straightened his tie in the mirror over the fireplace and smoothed his hair with his hands. He winced as he accidentally pressed on the bruises surrounding his head wound. There was no doubt in his mind that his injuries would raise lots of questions tonight and cause some mickey taking. The team were used to having battle scars now and again and, though he was the boss, it would be taken in good spirit.
Isla wolf-whistled through her teeth as Dylan turned. ‘I’d forgotten how well you scrub up for an oldie.’
‘Thank you!’ He smiled. ‘I just wish I didn’t have to leave you.’
‘He doesn’t have to go,’ interrupted Kay. ‘He wants to go …’
Dylan raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes, that’s true. After all, it’s not very important to me to say farewell to a colleague who has spent the last thirty years of his life loyally serving his Queen and country.’
Kay scoffed. ‘If his wife’s there, buy her a drink from me. In my opinion it’s her who deserves a bloody medal.’
‘Mum, that’s awful!’ Isla rolled her eyes at Dylan. ‘How on earth do you put up with her, Dad?’ Isla’s hands were visibly shaking as he leaned over to kiss her goodnight and the pained look in her eyes told him just how hard she was trying. She ran her tongue over dry, cracked lips before putting the glass of water to them and he heard it vibrate against her chattering teeth.
‘Well, I hope you manage to get a good night’s sleep,’ he said sincerely, his hand resting briefly on her head.
‘I promise I won’t be late,’ he said, turning to Kay, his terse nod acknowledging the large glass of red wine clutched in her hand. ‘I doubt your mum’s going to have any trouble dropping off.’
As soon as the door had slammed behind him and she’d heard the key turning in the lock, Kay took a huge gulp of wine, threw her head back against the cushion, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. After a few minutes she looked accusingly up at Isla. ‘Did you ever stop to think exactly what the consequences would be before you took those tablets?’ Kay pursed her lips, her eyes welling up with tears.
‘Of course, but my friend’s been taking them for ages and he’s fine. He told me they helped him feel better.’
‘And do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘Feel better?’
Isla shuffled her feet uneasily.
‘What you need my girl is some early nights. That’s all you need.’
‘What you’re really saying is that you want me out of your sight, isn’t it?’
Kay stared straight ahead at the TV, struggling to hold back the tears.
‘Why are you trying to get rid of me?’
Kay appeared to ignore her and reached instead for her mobile phone. With a shaking hand, she started typing. It instantly ‘pinged’ a reply.
The comfortable sofa was not easy for the frail Isla to get up from, but she eventually achieved it. At the door, she turned and opened her mouth as if to speak, but Kay was typing away furiously. Quietly, Isla opened the door and closed it behind her. In the kitchen her search for alcohol began. The first sip of vodka brought the contents of her stomach back up into her mouth and her anxiety rose. She stopped and listened to see if her mother had heard anything. The television was blaring away in the next room. It sounded like a soap opera argument, either that, or Kay was talking to someone on the phone. The next sip went down nicely and Isla tucked the bottle into the pocket of her dressing gown and sneaked back upstairs.
In her room, Isla began rooting through her drawers, desperately seeking a cigarette, and she was soon rewarded with a packet of ten. She looked up to the ceiling, thanking her younger, more organised – and much richer – self for buying them in bulk. She lay on her bed, smoking, drinking and thinking about her mother. Thoughts ran randomly through her head: black thoughts. Her heart raced. She wanted to run, to fight, to die or to get fucked; to go blind and dumb and have no heart – anything but feel. Then the blackness sucked her slowly down into the abyss …
Detective Sergeant Larry Banks pulled up outside the door of the local off-licence. He looked at his reflection in the rearview mirror and ran his hand through his wet hair, stroking his chin and checking the whiteness of his teeth as he spoke on his mobile, confirming to Dawn Farren that he wouldn’t be long.
‘You’d better not be, they’re almost ready to do the speeches.’
‘What does the old guy drink anyway? Do you think whisky will be okay?’
Dawn growled in dissatisfaction at her colleague. ‘How can you be so bloody disorganised? You’ve known for months about Terry’s retirement do. God, he’s been crossing off the days on his desk calendar for long enough!’
Tanya King spied Larry Banks from where she was skulking behind the racks of groceries in the shop. Her heart sank. There was no getting away with her stolen stash now. One by one, with her beady eye on the detective, she pulled the tins of lager from up her jumper and put them carefully back on the shelves. Faz, the young shopkeeper, was watching the in-house CCTV and, just as Larry Banks went to pay for his bottle, all hell broke loose. Much to his pregnant wife’s surprise, Faz leapt over the counter and promptly sat on the squealing young girl. Tanya’s verbal abuse painted the air blue. Sharmin continued to serve Larry, wrapping his purchase up in a neat little package.
‘Gerrof me! Gerrof!’ Tanya shouted. ‘I didn’t nick anything, Mr Banks, honest I didn’t. I can show you. I’ve got money to pay!’
‘That’s only because I didn’t give you the chance to nick ’owt,’ Faz said.
Larry went over to them and, smelling the alcohol on Tanya’s breath, asked, ‘How many have you already had?’
With Faz’s hand still grasping her by the scruff of her neck, Tanya gave Larry a sickly smile that immediately indicated to the detective that she was drunk. ‘Come on, Mr Banks, look, here’s the money,’ she said, her hand thrusting a twenty-pound note towards him. ‘If uniform takes me back again, they’ll move me on to another home. I’ve already had a yellow card.’
‘I’ll take her,’ Larry said to the shopkeeper. ‘Unless you want me to call uniform to come and lock her up that is?’
Faz looked at his wife; she shook her head. ‘I might have been mistaken,’ he said, releasing Tanya from his grasp. ‘If you say you’ll take her home, then that’s good enough for me.’ He turned to Tanya. ‘But you just keep away from here from now on, do you hear me? I don’t want to see you again until you’re eighteen.’
Out by the car, Tanya stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for Larry to open the passenger door. She shivered and wiped a few spots of rain from her face.
‘He’s a right twat is that Faz. He doesn’t really mean it you know. He’s only being nasty to me because she’s there. Him and his brother give me plenty of free booze when they want a grope or a shag. I got given a bottle of plonk off of him yesterday for a hand job.’
Larry walked round to the driver’s side of the car. ‘I’ve heard enough. Look, you can either behave yourself and I’ll take you home, or you can spend the night in the cells – your choice.’
Her compliance without any argument surprised him. She slid into the passenger seat and clicked her seatbelt. Larry turned on the ignition, flicking on the headlamps and windscreen wipers. Sleeting rain beat diagonally across his light b
eams. Navigating his way to the children’s home on the unlit road in total silence was a revelation where Tanya King was concerned. She was normally quite vocal. A car passed by them at great speed and the wail of a police siren on his tail didn’t surprise him. In the rearview mirror he could see flashing blue lights. The car came level with him, then glided past with ease. A chase was on.
Tanya turned to Larry. ‘Cor, that’s a bit exciting, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Shouldn’t we follow them? I want to be a copper one day, just like you.’
Larry gave her a sideways glance.
She giggled. ‘Can I have a swig of that whisky you bought, Mr Banks?’
‘No, definitely not!’
‘Pretty please, just a little one? Whoever it is you’re trying to impress, I’m sure there’ll be plenty to go round.’
‘I’m not trying to impress anyone. It’s a special present for a colleague who’s retiring, if you must know.’
Tanya was quiet for a while. As they turned into the driveway she found her voice again.
‘Do you still fancy me, Mr Banks?’
‘Have a bit of self-respect, Tanya.’
The teenager reclined in the passenger seat and put both feet up on the dashboard. The belt she wore as a skirt rode up, revealing bare legs right up to her bottom.
Larry put his foot on the brake. ‘Get your feet down now!’
Poetic Justice Page 6
