by Michael Wood
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Hales said under his breath. It was time to put his foot down. Sara and the girls took advantage of him, treating him like a cash machine and a taxi service. It was time to stop. ‘Turn that bloody music down right now!’ he shouted up the stairs. He waited a few seconds for his request to be adhered to but nothing happened.
He kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat in the hallway. He listened intently for any sign of where his wife was. He could hear the sound of the television from the living room. What a shock! The bloody thing was never off.
His wife, Sara, was five years his junior. She was yet to understand the pressure of approaching a fiftieth birthday, the questioning of life and position that went with the half-century. She was curled up on the large cream leather sofa, her feet tucked under her. A loud and bright game show was blaring from the screen. She was engrossed and didn’t turn to her husband to say hello.
Ben knew he wouldn’t get a word out of her until the programme finished. He went over to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large measure of whisky and downed half in one gulp. It was still only early in the day, not even lunchtime, but what did it matter now?
The awful music, a mess of a tune, signalled the programme was over. Sara picked up the remote and muted the television.
‘What are you doing home?’ Her voice was soft and accentless. She used to be an attractive woman, but since passing forty she had failed to keep up with her eyebrow plucking, exfoliating, and expensive haircuts. She used to offer a touch of glamour. Now she could easily mingle into the harassed-looking mothers waiting outside a school gate at 3.30. Her hair needed a trim and the dark roots were showing.
‘Nothing. There’s not much to do at present so I thought I’d take some time away from the office.’
‘Is that wise? I mean, if Matilda’s back and doing a wonderful job she may regain control of MIT much sooner than you thought.’
‘To be honest, I couldn’t give a fuck.’ He tried to control the bitter rage building up from within but it wasn’t working.
‘Well that’s a nice attitude to take,’ his wife said. She picked up the remote and turned on the on-screen guide, flicking down through the menu of channels to see what she could watch next.
‘And what have you been up to this morning, light of my life?’ The sarcasm was not lost on his wife.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘I’m fine. So, what have you been up to? Done a weekly shop, been jogging, attended a board meeting, found a cure for the common cold?’
‘What’s got into you? You know I don’t go out during the week.’
‘No you don’t do you?’ He made his way to the living-room door.
‘Are you off back to work?’ she asked in a cheery voice, as if the awkward and stilted conversation hadn’t taken place.
‘No. I’m going for a shower; providing I can get into my own fucking bathroom.’
‘Flick the kettle on for me will you?’
Ben could feel the rage building up inside him. There was a tension in the back of his neck and his skin itched with the prickly sensation of anxiety. If he didn’t find a way to release it soon then he would end up exploding and God forbid anyone on the receiving end of it.
Chapter 37
DC Scott Andrews pulled up outside the apartment block where Jonathan Harkness lived. Sian was in the front passenger seat, and Jonathan was in the back trying to keep his eyes open. The smooth ride in the Peugeot and the monotonous sound of the engine and the warmth of the heater had made him even more tired. He longed for his bed.
As he entered his flat, with the detectives following a few paces behind, he looked around the living room. It seemed like an age since he was last here. Everything was how he had left it, neat and tidy, yet he knew a whole team of scene of crime officers would soon be trampling through his life. They would be opening drawers and cupboards, going through his books, and under the cushions on his sofa, and under his bed. This would no longer feel like his home.
‘Where was the coffee table Jonathan?’ Sian asked.
‘Just there. In front of the sofa. I bagged the glass up in a black bin liner and it’s in the bins around the back. There was a metal frame. That should still be at the side of the bins.’
‘OK. I’ll need your clothes from the night you were attacked.’
‘They’re in the laundry basket in the bathroom. I can’t remember if I had changed out of my uniform or not. It’s a bit of a blur.’ He rubbed his tired eyes and ran his bony fingers through his tangled hair.
‘That’s OK. I’ll take a look. If you just want to get a few essentials, and I’ll take you up to your neighbour,’ Sian said.
He went into his bedroom, Scott following, and collected the basics; shirt, trousers, underwear, T-shirt, jacket, and placed them carefully in a small rucksack. Before leaving the room he picked up his hardback copy of the latest Ian Rankin from his bedside table and nodded to Scott, telling him he’d finished.
‘Anything else?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Nothing from the bathroom?’
‘Oh. Yes of course. Sorry.’
From the bathroom Jonathan collected a washbag and put in a toothbrush, toothpaste, face wash, and a can of deodorant. He didn’t look back at his flat as he left his home. He doubted he would call it a home the next time he came here.
Maun was already waiting in the doorway of her apartment when Jonathan eventually climbed to the floor above. She offered a weak smile and stood to one side to let him in.
‘How’s he doing?’ Maun asked Sian in a hushed tone.
‘He’s extremely tired. I think he’s going to be sleeping for a very long time.’
‘What’s happening now?’
‘Well we need to go over his flat, just to make sure the evidence corroborates his story and then we’ll go from there.’
‘Right. Will you let me know when he can go back home?’
‘Yes of course.’
Jonathan stood in the hallway to Maun’s flat listening to the conversation between the two women, talking as if he was too fragile to hear what was going on.
‘Jonathan, if you need anything, you know where to contact me,’ Sian said before turning away and heading back down the stairs.
By the time she reached the bottom Jonathan heard her mention ‘forensic team’ to someone. They would be rummaging around his flat shortly. It was too horrible to contemplate.
‘Would you like a shower?’ Maun asked Jonathan in a tone more suited to a nursery teacher. ‘You’ll need to get out of those clothes,’ she said, looking at the oversized grey tracksuit he’d been given at the police station.
‘I just want to go to sleep.’
‘That’s fine. The spare room is ready for you.’
The spare room was always ready in case somebody, Jonathan hopefully, needed it.
She led him into the room. The curtains were already drawn; the room was cool and in complete darkness. The duvet had been turned down.
The deep mattress and plump pillows were almost calling to Jonathan.
As Maun closed the door on him she heard him say, ‘I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again.’
Chapter 38
By the time she woke, Matilda had been asleep for over fourteen hours. She had slumped onto the sofa and was in a deep sleep within minutes. As she stirred, she stretched her limbs and gave a wide yawn. She looked up and saw Adele sitting in James’s armchair, reading one of James’s hardback novels.
‘Adele?’ she asked, confused at her presence.
Adele reacted with a start and looked across at her friend. ‘Good morning. How are you feeling?’
‘Like I’ve been on a weekend bender. What are you doing here?’
‘I came as soon as I finished work. Chris has been looking after you most of the day.’
‘Where is he now?’ she asked, looking around her as if unaware of her surroundings.
> ‘He’s gone back home.’
‘What time is it?’
Adele looked at her watch. ‘Just coming up to one o’clock.’
‘It’s dark already?’
‘One o’clock in the morning.’
‘What? How long have I been asleep?’
‘I’m not sure; about thirteen, fourteen hours maybe.’
‘Oh my God. No,’ she exclaimed, sitting up quickly.
‘You obviously needed it.’
‘I can’t have been asleep for fourteen hours. Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Well I’ve only been here since ten. You looked peaceful so I thought I’d leave you. Your sister rang. She said your mother has been on to her as you were supposed to keep her updated on your return to work but haven’t. Don’t worry, I was very sanguine and said you were busy chasing a suspected Lord Lucan around Europe. I also had a call from Sian. She’s worried about you. Everyone’s worried about you.’
‘There’s no need to be. I’m fine.’
‘Is that just something you’re used to saying now? You’re not fine. You’re as far away from fine as you can possibly get. Now I want you to go upstairs, have a shower, and when you’ve freshened up I’ll be here with coffee and a sandwich and we’re going to have a serious conversation.’
As she struggled off the sofa, Matilda said, ‘I’m having a strange sense of déjà vu here.’
‘Well this is where the déjà vu ends. You’ve reached the end of the line. If you don’t change right now there really is no way back for you. You’ll be finished. When was the last time you ate?’
‘I can’t remember.’ She ran her fingers through her knotted hair. It felt greasy. ‘What’s happening to me?’
‘Well fortunately it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. At the moment you’re on a one-way trip to oblivion. However, I’m not going to allow you to get there. Now, stop dwelling, get upstairs, get showered, and then we’ll work something out.’
Matilda was in the shower so long Adele was beginning to worry. She was contemplating going upstairs to check on her. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the bannister, when she heard the toilet flush; there was life up there. She ran into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.
‘So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?’
Matilda and Adele were sitting at the kitchen table. Matilda had changed into her dressing gown. She looked fresh and clean from her shower; the heat and pressure from the water had cleansed her and put a glow in her cheeks.
‘It’s work. I can’t cope.’
‘That’s bollocks for a start,’ Adele said, almost flippantly. ‘We both know you can cope.’
‘I can’t. I feel like an outsider among my own team. And fucking Ben Hales doesn’t help,’ she said, putting as much bitterness and rage into his name as she could muster.
‘So would life at work be more bearable if Hales wasn’t there?’
She thought for a while before answering. ‘No. I suppose not.’
‘So what is the problem then?’
‘It’s me. I’ve just lost all confidence. My mind’s all over the place. I keep thinking I’m going to screw it all up again like I did with…Carl Meagan.’ Just saying the name of the little boy she failed was painful.
‘That’s perfectly natural. The last major case you worked on didn’t go as planned and you’re worried you’ll repeat your actions, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are the actual odds on that happening?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied with a frown.
‘Personally I don’t think you should blame yourself for Carl Meagan, but, for argument’s say, let’s say it was your fault. How many cases in your career have you screwed up?’
‘Just that one.’
‘So you have a very high percentage success rate?’
‘I guess so.’
‘There’s no guessing about it. You’re an excellent detective. Do you really think Masterson would have given you the MIT if you weren’t? You’re more than capable of solving any crime you work on. Like you said, you’re just lacking a wee bit of confidence at the moment.’ Adele picked up her bacon sandwich and tore off a huge bite.
‘So how do I get over that?’
‘You give yourself a good kick up the backside. You stop dwelling on the past. You say “yes I screwed up; yes I made an error, and I’ll make bloody sure I don’t do that again”.’
‘How did you cope, you know, when your life turned to shit?’
‘So nicely put,’ Adele said with a smile. ‘Our situations are totally different Mat. However, I did feel completely helpless when that bastard walked out on me and Chris.’ She looked into the distance, shaking her head. ‘You know, it still angers me to this day. Don’t get me wrong, I love Chris to bits, but he wasn’t planned. Who knew a three-minute quickie in the back of a car could change your whole life?’
‘And you’re supposed to be a doctor?’ Matilda asked.
‘I wasn’t then. I was naive…’
‘Don’t even think about saying virginal,’ Matilda scoffed.
‘The second I found out I was pregnant with Chris I thought my life was over. Then that bastard, as he’s now known, came up with a brilliant plan. He’d go to university, I’d stay at home, then when he’d qualified, he’d get a part-time job and I’d go to university. He’d not been graduated a week before he ran off to Birmingham with that goofy, flat-chested trollop. So there I was, completely alone, trapped in a manky bedsit with a child, and no hope.’
‘Did you feel then like I do now?’
‘No way out? No future?’
‘Yes.’
‘I certainly did. I just kept picturing myself being one of those women who work part-time in a supermarket to make ends meet and resent their children. I didn’t want to hate Chris.’
‘The difference is though; you had your parents to help you.’
‘Well, yes, but I didn’t ask them for help. Dad came out to Manchester, saw how I was living, and practically dragged me to Sheffield. He and mum took care of Chris during the day while I was at uni and the rest you know about. I’d given up though. It took someone else to save me.’
‘I’m not as strong as you.’
‘Bullshit. You’re stronger. I couldn’t run a murder team. You have so much responsibility at work, so many people looking to you for help and advice. I’d hate that.’
Matilda looked away and out of the window. It was pitch-dark outside and the kitchen light was on. All she could see was her own reflection looking back at her. She was sitting slumped in her chair, the look of defeat etched on her red face.
‘What are you thinking?’ Adele asked after a minute of silence.
‘I’m thinking about how much I want to run away.’
‘Would that solve anything?’
‘No. It would make me feel better though.’
‘Really? You think if you left Sheffield, Carl Meagan and Ben Hales would just stay here and not go with you?’
‘I just hate Sheffield so much.’
‘No you don’t.’
‘I bloody do.’
‘What is it about Sheffield you dislike?’
‘Everything. It’s in decay. Look around you, the whole city is crumbling. The majority of the shops in the city centre are closed, there are estates littered with troubled families and unemployment. Everywhere you go is just so depressing.’
‘I think you’ll find a lot of cities are like that. Every city is trying to go through some form of regeneration. You’re just seeing Sheffield in a negative light because you’re feeling negative. You used to love this city, the Winter Gardens, the Crucible and Lyceum theatres, the botanical gardens, the fact we’re on the edge of the Derbyshire countryside, the parks.’
‘I only enjoyed those things because I was going to them with James. There’s no arguing that I’ve changed in the last year.’
‘Of course you’ve changed, but you need to adapt.’
<
br /> ‘How?’
‘You accept help from those around you.’
‘I can’t expect you and Chris to look after me.’
‘I should hope not. My babysitting days are over.’ She smiled as she helped herself to a rasher of bacon out of the cooling sandwich in front of Matilda. ‘I love the really crispy ones. We’re not here to look after you; we’re here to help you. Any time you need to cry and scream about Carl Meagan then you come to my house, we open a bottle of wine, or three, and we talk through it. Any time you want to kick off about Ben Hales, you come to my house and we smash some plates. It’s fine to think about James and about how much you miss him but give yourself an allotted grieving time.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, for example, say about six o’clock every night sit on the sofa looking at your wedding album for an hour or so and have a good cry. Think about your honeymoon and the time I came round on your birthday and found you both in an embarrassing position in the back garden.’
Matilda blushed and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Unfortunately I haven’t.’
‘Do you remember the look on James’s face? It was weeks before he could make eye contact with you again.’
They both laughed and they remembered the fun they had on the night of Matilda’s birthday four years ago; the drinking, the bad dancing, the food, the presents, and the uniformed police officers turning up at three o’clock in the morning following complaints from the neighbours.
‘Would that work though; you can’t give grief a timetable,’ Matilda said, getting back to the topic in hand.
‘That’s true, you can’t. But if you allow yourself time each day to think about these things you won’t allow them to disturb your working life, eventually.’
‘Where do you get all this stuff from?’
‘I’m an extremely intelligent person,’ Adele answered. She was smug, smiling. ‘You also need to cut out the alcohol too.’
