by Rob Roughley
He allowed himself to be led away, the feel of her hand breaking down the barriers with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.
‘Bastard, I’m talking to you!’
A hand grabbed his shoulder the fingers digging deep; Lasser spun in time to see the fist flying towards his face, as he snapped low he felt the displaced air flutter above his head. Cathy let go of his hand and leapt to the side with a gasp as Lasser bulleted forward slamming his forehead against the man’s nose. Tan man managed two staggering backward steps before crashing onto his arse, blood pumping from his crooked nose, staining his crisp white shirt red.
A kid zipped past on a mountain bike his laughter unravelling into the darkness.
Lasser turned and stalked off down the street, disappearing into the crowd of onlookers, Cathy almost lost sight of him as she tried to keep up, and when she burst clear he was trudging down the busy street his hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket.
‘Lasser, wait!’
He threw a cold look over his shoulder and carried on walking.
When she caught up with him, she was breathing hard, her face white with shock. ‘Jesus Christ, what do you think you’re doing?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You just assaulted a complete stranger!’
‘Look, Cathy, what are you actually doing here?’ he could feel the adrenalin surging through his system, ready to rock and roll, round two.
‘Unless you’ve forgotten we bumped into one another, I asked you to come tonight and you refused...’
‘But that’s just it; you didn’t ask me, you got Sally to do it. I mean, what the hell was that all about?’
She looked away from his manic gaze, the moon shone paper thin behind a thin veil of cloud. ‘I wasn’t sure how you’d react, so Sally offered to ask you. I’m not proud of what I’ve done and you’re right I should have contacted you sooner, but the longer I left it the harder it became to get in touch.’
‘So where are you meeting Sally?’
‘Fat Olives, it’s just...’
‘I know where it is.’
‘I can text her if you like, she won’t mind if I don’t show.’
‘No, I wouldn’t want someone else waiting an eternity for you to put in an appearance.’
Cathy brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. ‘OK, perhaps I deserved that, but really it’s not a problem, we’re meant to be meeting one or two of the others from the station, so she won’t be alone.’
Lasser flicked the cigarette stump into the dusty gutter. ‘Come on, I’ll walk with you.’
‘Wouldn’t you sooner go somewhere quiet then we can talk?’
Lasser didn’t bother with a reply, instead he held out his arm and Cathy smiled and linked him. They made their way down the street, each lost in their own thoughts. He could feel the bruise on his forehead setting up another dull thud behind his eyes that increased with every step. As they walked, the crowds began to thin out; the nonsensical thump of drum and bass diminishing as they headed away from the main thoroughfare.
‘Sally was saying you were having no luck finding the missing girl.’
‘Yeah well, maybe Sally doesn’t know as much as she thinks she does.’
Cathy ignored the jibe. ‘So, you’re onto something?’
‘We’re getting there,’ he replied defensively.
‘And what’s the matter with Bannister; she said he’s been acting weird?’
For the first time, Lasser heard a tone in her voice that he didn’t like. ‘Did you tell Sally about us?’ he asked.
He could feel her eyes on him, but didn’t look at her, at the crossing they cut left and began to walk towards the park. ‘Come on, Lasser, I knew Sally would keep her mouth shut.’
‘Hey, I don’t mind, I was just a little surprised when she approached me, that’s all.’
A couple of black cabs swept by looking for customers, Lasser could see the lights of Fat Olive’s up ahead.
‘Actually I didn’t tell her, she kind of guessed.’
‘A copper’s instincts, is that it?’
‘Something like that.’
Outside the restaurant, he stopped and looked at her, over the past few months he’d thought of this moment so often, played over the various scenarios in his mind, wondering how he would react when he saw her again.
‘Are you sure you want to do this’ she asked nodding at the entrance. ‘We could still sneak away.’
Lasser looked into her eyes, he wanted to kiss her, wanted to bury his face in that mane of dark hair and tell her how much he’d missed her. Yet, for some unknown reason he found he simply couldn’t do it.
‘Listen, I don’t think I can do this...’
She squeezed his hand. ‘That’s fine, let’s go back to your place...’
‘No, I mean, I can’t do any of it,’ he watched as a look of confusion shimmered across her face. ‘Don’t think, I don’t want to, it just wouldn’t work.’
She folded her arms. ‘What makes you so sure?’
Lasser ran a hand across the back of his neck in agitation. ‘Every night for the past six months I’ve checked my phone and emails hoping you’d get in touch, praying you’d somehow want to start again, to give it another go...’
‘But I do, I made a mistake, I realise that now. I should never have done a runner, it wasn’t fair but you of all people know how screwed up I was...’
Lasser nodded. ‘I realise that, I told myself to leave you alone to give you the chance to sort things out and believe me it wasn’t easy.’
She moved forward and slid her hands inside his jacket, as soon as he felt the touch of her hands he leapt back as if she had poked him with a cattle prod. ‘No, not again.’
‘But...’
‘You think you’re the only one who gets screwed up, you think doing this job is easy for me?’
She looked at him in shock, in the short time they had been seeing one another, he had always seemed in control no matter what the job threw at him. Sometimes, he had been furious at the way things turned out, ranting and raving about anything and everything though she had always presumed it was part of his nature to let off steam and then plough on regardless. Now she saw the hurt in his eyes and realised that he was the same as everyone else. He put on the armour that allowed him to work in an environment riddled with low life scum. People who would lie, cheat, and cut your throat before they ever considered telling you the truth.
‘I needed you, Cathy, but you just left, you didn’t give me a second thought...’
For one horrifying moment, she thought he was going to cry. ‘That’s only because I wasn’t thinking straight, you should have told me how you felt, maybe knowing all this would have helped me to stay.’
He rubbed a hand across his eyes, it was as if some inner voice had taken control, by rights he should have taken her back to the house. They could be making love, not standing on some shitty street, talking about his shitty life. She was here, offering him a lifeline and he was pissing all over her bonfire.
‘Please, Lasser, let’s just get away from here and talk this through, we can sort...’
‘Cathy!’ Spenner stood in the doorway of the eatery, a wide grin on his face. When he saw Lasser, the smile slipped and then he skipped down the steps towards them. ‘Evening, boss, I didn’t expect to see you here.’ He was dressed in a pair of crisp new jeans that looked capable of standing upright on their own and a bright green shirt with a grey collar.
Lasser flashed a grizzled smile at the young PC. ‘Evening, Spenner, I was on my way home when I found our friend here acting suspiciously, so I thought I’d better follow just in case she was up to no good.’
The grin shot back onto Spenner’s face. ‘I was just looking for her, she should have been here twenty minutes ago, and...’
‘Well, you lot have a good night.’ Lasser turned to leave and Cathy plucked at his sleeve.
‘Hang on, I thought you were coming inside?’
&
nbsp; He looked down at her hand, watching as it slipped away with a kind of inevitable finality. When he looked into her eyes, he could see the tears threatening to break free. ‘Thanks for the offer, Cathy, but I’ve got an early start, so I’m going to have to pass.’
‘That’s probably a good idea, boss, you look done in.’
‘So people keep telling me, Spenner,’ with that, he spun away and strode off down the street, without a backward glance.
73
Medea rang the doorbell, standing in the spotlight glare of the porch light, a feeling of unease rippling through her mind. She looked back at the large front garden, long shadows stretched out across the close-cropped lawn; the bushes were an amalgam of shifting shadows. Backing away from the door, she looked up at the sprawling house; the scent from the wisteria vines pungent in the hushed air. The house was in darkness, no indication that anyone was home apart from the fact that Christopher’s Audi was parked on the gravel drive. Glancing at her watch, she turned with a sigh and headed back towards her car. When she looked back, she saw Mrs Foxtrot standing at her window. Even from this distance, Medea could see her hands twisting together, her face rigid with distress. Medea frowned and then raised her hand and gave a small wave, the woman flapped hers in response as if shaking a wet tea towel at chip pan fire. Medea hesitated, when she looked back towards the house the woman had vanished, a couple of seconds later the front door sprang open and Hannah looked out anxiously.
‘Is Christopher all right?’
Medea could hear the fretful quiver in her voice.
‘Are you all right, Mrs Foxtrot?’
It was hard to credit how quickly the old woman moved, one minute she stood framed in a doorway infused with pink light, the next she was rushing towards her, vanishing for a few seconds before popping out between a gap in the bushes. As she approached, it became obvious she’d been crying her eyes were puffy; the thick foundation that covered her cheeks was smudged with tears.
‘Mrs Foxtrot, whatever’s the matter?’
Hannah shook her head and the tears came again, her plump shoulders shaking with emotion, her hands jittering as if she’d lost control of her limbs. ‘Oh it’s terrible, simply terrible.’ She staggered forward and Medea thought she was going to pitch head first into the rose bushes, reaching out a hand she steadied the old woman and slid an arm around her shoulders.
‘Mrs Foxtrot, are you ill?’
The woman tried to speak but all that came out was a huge anguished sob, then she swallowed and grasped the sleeve of Media’s jacket. ‘I tried to say I was sorry but he wouldn’t listen and I know I shouldn’t have done it, but you have to believe me I meant no harm...’
‘Hannah, calm down and tell me what’s happened?’
‘It was that man, that horrid, horrid man. He tricked me, he said he’d come to fix the computer and when Christopher found out he swore at me and then stormed into the house.’ Her words fell over one another, she drew a large shuddering gulp of air. ‘He took the key,’ she wailed.
‘Who did, Hannah, who took the key?’
She pointed a quivering finger toward the front door. ‘He said I couldn’t be trusted anymore and he made me give it back,’ her eyes swam with tears, bottom lip trembling.
Medea patted her back, the age-old comforter. ‘Come on, why don’t I take you inside and make you a cup of tea?’
‘But I know he’s in and he won’t answer the door, I’ve knocked and knocked, I’ve even tried ringing the house phone but he won’t pick it up!’
‘It’s all right, we can sort that out later, and I’m sure that once he’s had time to think things through, Christopher will...’
‘But you didn’t see how upset he was, how angry, I thought...’ Mrs Foxtrot suddenly clamped her mouth shut, the clack of her dentures sounding like a distant gunshot.
Medea felt a twinge of unease. ‘What did you think, Hannah?’
The old woman looked at her in bemusement; it was as if she had suddenly discovered a radical had been living next door, a terrorist in a chunky knit sweater and leather loafers.
‘I know it’s stupid but I thought he was going to hit me,’ she saw Medea’s eyes widen in shock. ‘Oh don’t get me wrong I don’t for one minute think he would have actually done it.’
‘But you felt threatened?’
Hannah nodded and dabbed at her eyes with a rapidly disintegrating tissue. ‘I’ve never heard him swear, never, and he used the ‘F’ word.’
Medea looked back at the house, the feeling of unease suddenly morphing into anger. ‘And you’re sure he’s in?’
‘Positive, I haven’t left the window all night. I was hoping I might see him then I could try to explain again...’
‘Tell me, Hannah, have you tried Christopher’s mobile number?’
‘Oh no, dear, I wouldn’t know what to do with one of those things.’
Medea didn’t see the point in trying to explain that a mobile number was the same as any other. It was obvious from the look on Hannah’s face that mobile phones were one step too far, like the computer and the fancy coffee machine in Fulcom’s kitchen, complicated, confusing and best left to the younger generation.
‘Right, why don’t we go together and see if we can explain things properly?’
Mrs Foxtrot backed up, a look of genuine fear in her eyes. ‘But what if he shouts again, I don’t think I could stand that?’
Medea patted her hand; whatever has happened it didn’t give Christopher the right to take it out on an elderly, defenceless woman. Taking her arm, they made their way to the front door, the security light blinked back on and Hannah gripped Medea’s hand tight.
Pressing the doorbell, they waited; somewhere in the dark, an owl hooted. Medea could hear Hannah breathing heavily, the anxiety floating around her like scented toilet water. After twenty seconds she tried again, this time keeping her finger lodged on the button. Hannah looked at her nervously; it was as if they were banging on the door of some sleeping giant. Part of her was desperate to try and explain to Christopher that it wasn’t her fault, though another section of her brain was terrified that he might answer the door and start to curse again, or even worse.
She needn’t have worried, the house remained in darkness a solitary car drove past, the headlights sweeping out over the front lawn.
‘Perhaps he’s gone out and left the car at home?’ Medea suggested.
‘He can’t have, I’ve been watching. Before it went dark I knocked on the door three times, and ever since then I’ve been standing at the window.’
Medea dipped a hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone.
‘What are you going to do?’ Hannah asked.
‘I’ll try his mobile, maybe...’
‘But what if he’s asleep and you wake him up?’ her hands fluttered into the air again like a pair of distressed birds.
Medea didn’t reply, instead she scrolled through the numbers and then pressed the call button. At first, she thought she was hearing things, like the twinkly sound of a phantom ice cream van playing some cheesy pop song. Pulling the phone from her ear, she moved closer to the front door.
Hannah plucked at her sleeve. ‘What is it, what’s the matter?’
Medea shushed her with a hand. ‘Can you hear that?’
‘I’m sorry, dear, but my ears aren’t what they used to be.’
Medea ended the call and then immediately pressed the redial button, this time she placed her ear against the door, a couple of seconds later the music started again. When she lifted the flap on the letterbox and peered inside, she found herself looking at a world of red, the cutting room of some abattoir, a charnel house. She sprang back, the spring-loaded flap snapping shut like a rat-trap, the phone slipped from her grasp and bounced on the ochre coloured earthenware tiles.
Mrs Foxtrot backed away and watched astonished, as the nice young woman doubled over and vomited into the flowerbed.
‘What is it, what’s the matter?’ she wailed aga
in suddenly feeling sick herself.
Medea couldn’t reply, she heaved again, nothing but sour bile came out of her stretched mouth.
Despite her fear, Hannah took two unsteady steps toward the front door, her liver-spotted hand reached out lifting the letterbox.
‘No!’ Medea screeched and dashed forward slapping out a hand, the metal plate slammed shut, as Hannah cried out in shocked surprise.
‘Don’t look, Hannah, I...’
‘But why,’ she grabbed Medea’s wrist, despite her age she could feel the old woman’s fingers grasping, pulling.
Snatching her hand away, Medea scrabbled on the floor for the phone, the screen scratched, the back plate had pinged off but it still looked serviceable.
‘Tell me, tell me what’s happened?’ Hannah screamed.
Medea ignored her and spun away searching through the numbers, her stomach rolled as she fought down the urge to be sick again. Beyond the cone of light, everything was black. Finding the number, she pressed the call button and closed her eyes. Suddenly she felt detached from reality, as if nothing existed beyond the security light, trapped forever on the front step of the house of horror with only Mrs Hannah Foxtrot for company.
74
Lasser parked on the drive and placed his throbbing forehead against the steering wheel, trying to figure out what had just happened. Six months praying that Cathy would get in touch and when his prayers had been answered he’d blown it.
He looked towards the house, the grass on the front lawn was lush and vibrant and over six inches tall, another job that he never seemed to get around to doing. His life consisted of unfulfilled promises, the holidays he planned and never took, the hobbies he contemplated and never saw through. It was the job, the job consumed everything, eating up the hours, days, weeks, until you became so locked into the routine that everything else seemed irrelevant. Though while he and Cathy had been together it had felt right, they had shared a commonality, both for the first time having someone they could talk to about the day’s work. Perhaps in reality it had been unhealthy, just two people clinging to one another and pretending that it was the perfect relationship. Though tonight, she had looked so good and seeing her had felt so right, yet within five minutes he’d headbutted a moron and then dumped her on the steps of the restaurant. Spenner had looked delighted to see her and glad when Lasser had said that he wouldn’t be staying. Perhaps she would be better off with him. Lasser grimaced, knowing that Spenner had asked her out once before but she had made it known that she wasn’t interested. His mind conjured up an image of Cathy sitting down for the meal, shell shocked and spitting mad. Spenner noticing her vulnerability and wheedled his way in, Lasser grimaced, his hand reaching for the ever-present packet of cigarettes, when his mobile began to bleat.
