Shuffling closer, I put my glass down and squeezed her hand, making her look up at me.
“I’ve known Jeannie for at least ten years now,” I told her, meeting her stare and not breaking it. “Longer, in fact. She picked up bits and pieces over that time, pieced together what happened. It’s what she does for a living,” I reminded her. “When you know someone that long, whoever they are, they tend to learn these things about you. Whatever you tell them, whatever happens between you.”
Liene nodded and swallowed. “Should I be worried?”
“Worried?” I asked.
“About Jeannie?”
I ignored the ever-present twinge the sound of her name caused me and shook my head. “I haven’t heard from her in almost a year,” I said. “Radio silence other than those flowers.” For all I knew, she’d run off to Estonia or something, married a millionaire or a farmer, and I would likely never see her again.
“What if she came back?” Liene asked, a taunting glint in her eye. “What if she waltzed through those doors right now and asked you to go with her?”
I smiled at Liene, tightening my grip on her hand, “I’d tell her tough. I’m here with you.”
Liene laughed lightly and pulled away from me, picking up her drink and watching me over the rim of the glass. She looked almost wary, and I couldn’t really blame her, not when it came to Jeannie. We’d known each other too long for us to be completely estranged. So, I gave myself a mental kick in the arse and leant closer to her, my arms braced on my knees.
“I will tell you,” I assured her. “About my childhood, about my mother, all of it. Just, in my own time. Give me that, just a little bit of time?”
“All the time you need,” she replied.
And yet, there was a part of me that wasn’t sure that I wanted to tell her. I liked where we were, not so deep in each other’s business, not knowing every little thing. My past was my past. Dredging it up was no easy feat, and I rarely ever mentioned my mother aloud to anyone. The only person who ever mentioned her to me was Elsie. Liene was the sort of person not to care about that, the sort who made you talk about things, bring them into the light, clear the air. It was something about her that I admired, but some things stayed buried inside.
“So, what happened to the girls?” Liene asked. “Abbie, her daughter?”
“Last I heard, they were all doing well. Grace started school, Paige left her annoying job,” I recalled with a little laugh, remembering her outraged face whenever she mentioned them. “They’re safe, and happy.”
“All anyone needs,” Liene murmured, glancing down at her phone.
“Needs and wants are different, though,” I said. “You’ll get the grant, Liene,” I assured her.
As if on cue, her phone rang, and she jumped, nearly spilling her drink all down herself. I reached over and gently pried the glass from her hand as she flipped the phone over, looked at the number and then up at me with wide eyes.
“Go on,” I urged her. “Answer it.”
She bit her lip, standing up and pressing the phone to her ear as she walked to the door and stepped outside. I watched her go, then turned back around and tipped my head back against the seat, eyes closed, listening to the gentle noise of the pub surrounding me.
I hadn’t thought about that summer for a while. It all seemed a bit hazy, the days had passed without much distinction, and I couldn’t often tell one day out in the gardens from another. It had been a grisly affair, that much I’d never forgotten. Nor would I forget Kask himself. The way he loomed over Abbie in her hospital bed, needle raised like a knife, or the way he’d looked in court. Prickly and cruel, something twisted in his face that I was so annoyed I hadn’t seen before. Mills had thought so too, glaring at the man from where we stood with Sharp. It seemed so strange, that it all came from the three of them, bonding over plants and trying to make them useful. I remembered what Mills had said that day in the garden, when we’d been too late and found Sonia’s body. The little quip from Hamlet about gardeners and ditchers seemed fitting, that a man so passionate about the lives of his plants would also have that same passion for death. Fitting and horrifying, and I was surely glad that it was all over now. The summer washed away by the rainy autumn that followed.
I opened my eyes, looking up at the beams above my head, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the bright, orange light of the pub. I had my fingers crossed for Liene. She deserved this grant. As far as I was concerned, she worked harder than anyone else at that museum. She’d stay there for hours, working well into the dead of night and early morning unless someone dragged her away. Recently, that someone had been me, and I was rather enjoying my new role.
I was also aware that I appeared to have a type when it came to girlfriends, as Liene wasn’t the only one I’d had to pull away from work before. I hadn’t thought about Jeannie in a while, didn’t need to, in fact, but after Liene had mentioned her, I thought back to the summer, to the lilies that Jeannie had sent. I’d been surprised she’d remember the time of year, surprised even more so that she’d remember my mother’s favourite flowers and, on top of it all, had bothered to send them. It wasn’t like her. She once gave me a Christmas present in February.
But as I had assured Liene, it had been silent ever since. I wasn’t sure if she was even working at the Post anymore. I hadn’t seen her looking for a story or the bright flash of red hair at a press conference. She was gone, I had grown accustomed to that fact, and it was a good thing too, I thought to myself as the pub door opened again. I twisted around, watching as Liene walked back over to me, wringing her phone in her hands. Her head was bowed slightly, her hair hiding her face, and I panicked for her, quickly standing up from my chair. As she got nearer, she lifted her face, and beamed at me.
“I got the grant,” she said.
I laughed and stepped closer, sweeping her small body against mine in a tight hug. Her arms looped around me, and I could feel her laughing against me, feel her breath on my neck. I pulled away, took her face in my hands and kissed her.
“Well done,” I praised her, kissing her again. “I knew you’d get it.”
Liene laughed and lifted her hands to mine.
“We should celebrate,” I decided. “We could order champagne.”
“No,” Liene stopped me before I could peel off back to the bar. “Let’s go somewhere to celebrate.”
“Somewhere else?”
She nodded and walked over to her chair, picking her coat up and pulling it on.
“Where?” I asked. “Do you want to get dinner somewhere fancier?”
“No dinner,” she replied, smiling at me mischievously. Understanding dawned on me a little slowly, and I smiled back, grabbing my coat and yanking it on, offering her my hand.
“Where to then, Dr Dorland?” I asked, leading her away from the warm fire and outside, into the cold, blustery evening.
“I don’t know, Inspector,” she replied, looping her arm through mine and pressing against my side. “My house is closer, though.”
“Your house, it is.”
Her laughter echoed down the street, and I joined in, happy for her, happy that things were going well and hopeful, beyond all else, that it would last.
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Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4) Page 24
