The Devil Among Us

by Ramsay Sinclair

  Since I’d matured, I understood that DCI Reid felt insignificant to the likes of Iona. She was well-bred and from a prestigious family, whilst he was the son of a factory worker. It was his own self-depreciation that willed him into feeling the need to show his love through money.

  Maybe I had read too much into it, since being an overthinker came naturally to me. Or maybe it was from the therapy sessions I’d had after the incident that taught me a way of looking at it from an outsider's perspective.

  Being a rich man like DCI Reid had longed to be, meant nothing to me. I was already rich by the company I had surrounded myself with. Money doesn’t make someone rich, it makes them greedy, unsatisfied and unfulfilled.

  A layer of sunlight peeked through the pall, illuminating the grandeur of sparkles that reflected against the water. Living from day to day was something I’d struggled to comprehend for the longest while but slowly I realised that planning was irrelevant. Nobody knew what another day would bring, what new person or old would walk back into your life. As an ageing man, I’d had my fair share of surprises along the way. And they didn’t stop there.

  Fishermen retreated out adrift again, having sat the spell of bad weather out and cast their long nets into the waves. They dipped and reappeared like dancers on a stage that created magical grooves in time to a synchronisation. Locals slowly resurfaced with new boxes of steaming fish and chips and grinning in satisfaction with greasy fingers. The tourist's children dipped into their bags of chips, salt around their tiny mouths. Seagulls kept their beady eyes out for any easy prey available to them or dropped chips along the way.

  I rounded the street to one of our local shops, where the shopkeepers were friendly and always greeted you as such. They were a family-owned company and always had the freshest range of vegetables and fish, perfect for the idea that was brewing and simmering in my head. The wide variety of colours prominently displayed by the windows always attracted customers aplenty, and the staff did well to remember their names and normal orders. Their impeccable attention to detail is what brought the locals back time and time again, including me. I’d only discovered this gem a few months ago and hadn’t shopped anywhere else since.

  You knew you were old when the quality of your weekly shop bothered you.

  “Hello, Mr Cooper,” the young girl behind the counter greeted me chirpily. “I’ll get you the usual, if you’d like?” She offered and held a brown paper bag ready to be filled.

  “No, thank you,” I smiled kindly. “I think tonight calls for something a bit different.”

  “Special occasion?” She made conversation with me whilst getting on with her daily tasks like wiping the counters and restocking bits and pieces.

  I had a look at the array of fish they had to sell and ended up deciding on a nicely cut, fresh salmon. Swaying the basket in my palms, I continued onto the veg aisle.

  “Isn't it every day?” I grinned cheesily. “Just dinner with the wife.”

  “Ah, I see,” she seemed taken with the idea. “We have some baby potatoes stocked and a lovely pinot noir that goes well with a salmon dish. Chilled, naturally,” she hinted and held it up high to show me.

  “How could I refuse that? You know better than me,” A twinkle shone in my eyes and I accepted the wine with a flourish. “It does look nice,” I hummed and read the label.

  The shop assistant came next to me and handed over a small bag of potatoes. “That one always goes down well with our customers.”

  “I’ll take them, please,” I accepted and waited for the woman to ring them in. Another few customers entered, and the bell tinkled above the door.

  “Great!” She greeted the others in a similar way. “That’ll be thirty-one pounds, please,” the shop assistant waited for me to delve into my pocket. Long gone were the days of cheap takeaways and crappy food. Nowadays, this type of organic and local food was the way forward, even if it meant paying that bit extra.

  “Keep the change,” I suggested and noticed the charity box on the side. “Just put it in there, if you’d prefer.”

  “Thank you, Mr Cooper,” she blushed at the gesture. “Have a great day and I hope your wife enjoys the dinner. I’m sure she will love it.”

  “Bye,” I held my palm up in a farewell gesture and exited out into the streets. The brown bag dug into my fingers from the heaviness of the wine and I sincerely hoped the rain had cleared up for the time being. Any bit of water would split the bag apart, and I didn’t fancy the food falling to the floor and wine rolling down the street. Especially not at the prices I’d paid. Multitasking, I checked my phone to see if anyone had messaged me whilst walking.

  The only things I’d been sent, was a couple of emails from the delivery driver who had tried to send a package whilst I’d been out, and a funny picture from McCall. It made me laugh at least. The time had escaped me today, and I’d stayed out much longer than I’d expected to. My wife would be home from work soon and I still wanted to get everything set up for her when she arrived.

  Eventually, I arrived home, glad to take my sodden coat off and leave my muddy shoes by the front door next to my wife’s tiny ones. Our goldfish gaped at me from their rounded bowel, the pets we’d agreed upon since we usually didn’t have enough time to walk dogs or let cats out when we were both at work.

  “Hey buddy,” I murmured and poked the glass where the fish tried to eat my finger thinking it was food. “You’ve eaten already,” I said to the animals who couldn’t really hear what I was saying, but it was a comfort to talk to them, anyway. They were the only things to talk to whilst home alone.

  Taking out the food from the bag, I rolled up my sleeves and got to work. “Avert your eyes,” I warned the goldfish as I pulled out the salmon and had to search on the internet how to cook it nicely. I wanted this to be a posh dinner, to prove that I was a decent chef when I put my mind to it.

  With the potatoes on the boil and salmon seasoned to perfection, I set the wine to chill, as instructed by the shop assistant, and set about clearing the table. There was a stack of unopened letters we’d forgotten to open and I moved them over to one side. Rustling in the cabinet that was stuffed full of junk we’d accumulated over the years, I finally found the candles and tried to light the wick.

  Most of them were duff, and it took a few attempts to set them burning. If a younger Finlay ever thought he’d be actively cooking a slap-up meal for his wife and enjoying the simpler moments like these, he’d have probably laughed.

  Now that the atmosphere was right and the main lights were dimmed, the timer for our dinner beeped. Checking on the baby potatoes, I noticed I may have overcooked them slightly. “Crap,” I mumbled and raced to take them off the heat. Whilst I drained the water, the second timer I’d set for the salmon started to beep uncontrollably.

  “Wait,” I grumbled, starting to sweat uncontrollably. “My hands are full.” I grabbed the tea towel and held the hot handle of the saucepan. I hadn’t had a chance to wipe over the wine glasses yet and the once romantic idea was all turning into a shambles.

  A set of keys rattled in the door, but I was too preoccupied to take much notice.

  “Uh oh. That’s not a happy face,” My wife teased and squeezed in next to me whilst slipping the oven gloves on. She leant over to take the tray of salmon out from the oven. Setting the saucepan down, I jumped to take the tray out of her grasp.

  “Sorry,” I apologised and wryly beamed at the sight of her disgruntled self from a long day at work. “Thank you, for rescuing the food. You haven’t even had a chance to take your coat off yet.”

  She patted my chest lovingly. “I couldn’t let you struggle on your own.”

  “I wasn’t struggling,” I pretended to act nonchalantly. “Things were just a bit hectic, that’s all.” We mutually engaged in an affectionate embrace and stayed there for a short while. My wife hid her face in my chest and inhaled the scent of our dinner.

  “You needed rescuing,” Her voice sounded muffled.

 
“I needed rescuing.” I gave in and agreed. “But that’s all I’m letting you do, I’ve got it from here. Tonight...” I slipped her coat off. “Is all about you.” I pulled her in by her shoulders for a lengthy kiss.

  “Ooh,” she seemed intrigued. “Is it a special occasion? I haven’t forgotten our anniversary have I?” The colour drained from her face and she went in search of a diary.

  I shook my head. “No. People keep asking me that. Now sit and I’ll pour the wine.” Grabbing the wine from the fridge, I filled our glasses to the top. Shaking the bottle lightly, my wife eagerly sat down and I held the chair out for her.

  “Hmm. That does sound good.” The flame moved when we talked. “Nice candles by the way. Are you trying to get me drunk on purpose?” She wondered and took a sip. “That’s nice,” she hummed and took some more.

  “Maybe,” I winked and wiped the sweat from my forehead. “The shop assistant recommended it. I’ll tell her she was right when I go there next.”

  “Do,” she nodded in agreement as I laid out our plates full of food and settled myself opposite her. We held hands on the tabletop and I gently caressed her knuckles with my thumb. We simultaneously took a bite into our food. I grimaced but my wife tried to chew it politely.

  “Well, at least the wine’s good,” I tried to be positive, and we ended up laughing. “Hey, I tried!”

  “It’s a lovely thought,” she assured and changed the subject sharply. “Where did you go today?”

  “Hmm?” I was too busy trying to chew the salmon.

  “Your boots are all muddy.” We both looked towards them. “You said this morning that you were going for a walk around here, but it’s all concrete nearby. I’m not angry or anything, just curious,” she shrugged.

  “Wow,” the dry wine was slowly getting to my head. “You’ve picked up on some serious detective skills.”

  “I can’t help it. I’ve been living with you too long.” We raised our glasses to that. “So what did you do?”

  Leaning closer towards her beautiful self, I gripped her hand even tighter and felt a sense of achievement. “I cleared my head.”

  “You did?” She pouted impressively and stared at the wedding rings on our hands.

  “I did.”

  My wife hummed. “I have a sneaky suspicion that clearing your mind led to this dinner today? If so, I’d rather not know. I’m just enjoying this moment right now.”

  The goldfish watched us two partners in the dark. “Yes, It did,” I admitted. “You were right.”

  “Say it again,” she begged.

  “You were right,” I stood up to lean carefully over the flickering candles and place a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  “This is a moment to savour, Finlay Cooper.”

  “I think you’re probably right about that.” I stared at her face that shone from the candle light and knew that this was exactly where I wanted to be.

  A Message from the Author

  Thank you, dear reader, for reading this book from beginning to end. I greatly appreciate you coming along with me for this adventure. If you enjoyed the book and wish to read more, please take the time to leave a review. Even the shortest review will help other readers discover this book, and every new reader enables me to write more.

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  Ramsay Sinclair