by Helen Phifer
‘I’ll go grab the other bottles.’ He went out to the car and came back moments later with two more bottles of champagne. Putting one in the fridge he opened the other. Sitting next to her again, they snuggled up. As she looked out of the picture window into the dark gardens outside, she could see their reflections staring back and felt as if she was living another life. Was that really her, sitting next to this gorgeous, extremely talented man who was about to become a published writer? Her phone began to ring in the bedroom where she’d left it charging. As she hurried to answer it the ringing stopped. She paused, deciding not to go and get it. She couldn’t do anything now if it was work, as she was a little too drunk and she wasn’t on call. Sitting back down, they talked about everything except the subject of Fin’s book and her work. Ben had Fin all wrong: he wasn’t like most journalists; in fact, he was the complete opposite.
After finishing another large glass she stood up, a little surprised at just how wobbly her legs were. ‘I need the loo, be right back.’ She stumbled off, leaving him there. As she went into the bathroom, she heard his phone vibrating.
As she walked back towards the chair, Fin was on his phone, texting, and he didn’t hear her. She looked over his shoulder to see the words.
I can’t wait to see you again darling, I miss you so much xx.
Before they disappeared off the screen, a wave of sickness filled the pit of Morgan’s stomach and she felt hot bile rise up her throat. Her phone began ringing again in the bedroom. This time she went to answer it; she needed to buy herself some time to think about what she’d just seen. It could be his mum or his gran he was texting, it didn’t mean it was another woman. For all she knew he could have a kid somewhere. She closed the bedroom door behind her as her phone rang again.
‘Hello.’
‘It’s me, did you get my message?’
‘No, I didn’t. What’s wrong, Ben?’
‘Look at my message then ring me back. Morgan, have you been drinking?’
She let out a loud laugh. ‘Yes, champagne actually, why?’
‘Are you drunk?’
‘Christ, Ben, you’re not my parent. I’m old enough to get drunk if I feel like it. Why are you ringing me when you’re out for birthday drinks with Emily anyway?’
‘Look at the message and whatever happens do not get in a car and drive.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
She ended the call and opened her messages to see a print screen of a newspaper headline. The words looked blurry but she recognised the clear picture of the man: it was Fin. There was also a small picture of her in the corner. The feeling of uneasiness intensified. Enlarging the photo she stared at Fin, his gleaming smile and the photo of her that had been taken when she’d been attacked a couple of months ago, looking half dead, on her way to the hospital. The headline didn’t make sense and she had to reread it several times before it sank in.
Writer offered a six-figure sum for a true-crime book about the sordid story of Taylor and Skye Marks: Good Cop, Bad Cop fighting good against evil and each other.
The description read:
Fin Palmer, better known as Fin Holmes, the husband of daytime TV Queen Ellie Holmes, has landed himself a book deal worth celebrating. He has exclusive access to inside information about the case and has become friendly with Skye Marks, in a bid to write the story of this decade.
She felt the phone slip from her grasp as everything became clear. The unease became a burning rage inside her chest, so hot that it felt as if her lungs were on fire and made it hard to breathe. He had used her, he was married and now he was going to write a book about her sordid childhood. The whole world would know who her father and brother were. She grabbed her phone and marched into the lounge, where Fin had taken the food out of the oven and was eating burnt pasta bake out of the dish.
‘This is not bad actually.’ He took one look at her face. ‘Morgan, what’s wrong?’
‘Get out.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me, how dare you. Get out of my home now before I arrest you for trespassing. How dare you use me this way?’
He nodded his head. ‘I was going to tell you. I was waiting for the right time.’
She took a step closer to him. ‘Tell me what? That you’re married, that you only came here to get your story, that you don’t give a shit about me.’
‘Yes, I am married but it’s not a wonderful marriage – we have our problems – and yes, I do want to write a book about your story. It’s amazing, unbelievable, but it’s not in any way disrespectful to you. I wanted to write it from your perspective; we would write it together.’
‘Get out.’ She screamed the words, blinking her eyes furiously at the tears that were pooling in the corner. She did not want to cry in front of him, she would not. He was backing towards the door, his hands in the air.
‘Please let me explain it to you and then you might feel better about it.’
She looked for the nearest thing at hand to throw, which just happened to be the pasta bake, and before she could stop herself, it was flying through the air towards him. Meatballs and pasta sauce splattered all over his white shirt, the Pyrex dish landed on the wooden floor with a crash and the rest of the contents splattered up the walls and went everywhere.
‘Are you nuts, this shirt was expensive!’
His shirt was a myriad of tomato passata, onion and garlic, which was quickly soaking into the white material and spreading like a flower that was blooming. Morgan began to laugh, tears streaming down her cheeks. She laughed even louder as Fin turned and marched out of her front door and, she hoped, out of her life. So angry, she ran after him. Picking up the empty champagne bottle – he was already in his car and backing out of the drive – she launched the bottle after him, but it was too heavy to go far and it ended up hitting the gravel with a loud thud. The rain, which had been falling on and off all day, turned into tiny ball bearings of hail as the temperature outside dropped. Morgan stood there watching the tail lights on Fin’s car as it sped down the lane, and when the hot tears began to flow she couldn’t stop them. She stood there in the dark, under a cloud of hail, and couldn’t move despite the sharp balls pelting her skin and soaking her through. She had been attacked, almost died and it hadn’t hurt this much. The pain in her chest made her double over as she cried loud, retching sobs that were drowned out by the hailstones. She sat down on the huge boulder to the side of the entrance step, unable to move, relishing the cold as it washed away the effects of the champagne, sobering her up. How could she have been so stupid, so bloody naïve? She should have known someone like him wouldn’t be interested in her, that there was some ulterior motive.
Headlights turned into the drive and she felt her entire body tense: if that was him, she was phoning the police. She looked around, praying it wasn’t Fin, or Emily – fancy having to explain what an idiot she’d been to anyone? The car stopped and for a second the beam of the lights highlighted what a complete mess she was. Then the door opened and she heard footsteps running towards her. She froze until she smelt Ben’s aftershave, and then he was there, his arms wrapped around her. He helped her up and pulled her close to him; even though she was a dripping, sodden mess he didn’t let go. He stood holding her whilst the hailstones gradually began to ease and her hitching breaths began to calm down. He didn’t speak. He rocked her against him, and Morgan wished they could stay this way, his arms around her. He was rubbing her back and he kissed the top of her head gently. They stood that way, dripping wet, yet neither of them wanted to pull away. Eventually Ben did, and he took her by the hand.
‘Come on, let’s get you inside before you catch your death.’
She gripped his hand tight and let him lead her back inside, closing her front door behind him. He paused in the hallway to take in the mess.
‘Blimey, Morgan, this looks like a violent crime scene, your cooking isn’t that bad.’
She smiled at him, shaking her head.
‘Come on, you need to get out of those wet clothes and have a hot shower. You go and drip in the bathroom whilst I clean this up.’
She whispered, ‘You don’t need to clean my mess up. I made it, I can sort it out myself.’
He looked at her, and she felt as if his eyes were searching for her soul, his gaze was so intense.
‘I want to clean it up. I want to help you and to make sure that you’re okay, Morgan. I want to be here for you.’
She felt a fresh stream of tears begin to roll down her cheeks, and she turned away before he could see. Nodding, she walked towards the bathroom and realised that Fin had been nothing more than a distraction whilst she’d tried to ignore her feelings for Ben. Her head was a mess and her heart was even worse. She had no idea where to even start sorting all this out, but she was grateful that Ben was her friend and here in her life, and even if that was all they ever had it would be enough.
Thirty-Seven
After a hot shower Morgan cleaned her teeth. She had a thumping headache from the champagne and felt sick. By the time she came out of the bathroom Ben had cleaned up the pasta and sauce, tipping the lot into the bin, including the cracked Pyrex dish. He had taken some bacon out of the fridge and was now frying it. There was a large mug of coffee on the breakfast bar, and she sat on one of the stools watching him. She didn’t speak. What was there to say? That she was an idiot, a gullible idiot who had thought that someone like Fin Palmer had been interested in someone like her: a rookie detective with a death wish and awful cooking skills. Ben passed a toasted bacon sandwich to her that he’d smothered in tomato sauce.
‘Eat that, it will make you feel better, trust me, I know. I have a lot more experience of hangovers than you do.’
‘Thank you for cleaning up and…’ Her breath caught in the back of her throat. She couldn’t say anything else, so she took a bite of the sandwich instead, which tasted amazing.
‘Morgan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone digging around, but when I saw that I had to tell you. I’m taking from the mess that you had no idea what he was up to?’
She shook her head.
‘Oh, good because it struck me when I was driving here that you might have agreed to write the book with him.’
This time she did speak. ‘Absolutely not. Do you think I want to be the subject of some crime book?’
‘You like true-crime books.’
‘Yes, but when they’re about other people and not my shitshow of a life. Bloody hell, I’m a living Netflix series. It’s a complete disaster. Will I get in trouble at work?’
‘No, we’ll tell Tom first thing in the morning. None of this is your fault.’
‘I feel so ashamed, Ben. It’s bad enough you and the team know about my past and know Gary Marks is my dad, without some stupid arsehole of a reporter telling the whole world – a stupid arsehole who is going to ruin my life.’
‘The legal department might be able to do something about it and put a stop to it. You’re a serving officer, so they can’t let this go ahead.’
‘Where’s Emily?’
‘She blew me off for her friend. I wasn’t very good company.’
‘Flipping heck, we both get a chance to date and have a bit of fun and look how it’s ended up. Sorry, was that because you kept phoning me?’
He shrugged. ‘I have to phone you; I work with you and we’re mates, you said so yourself the other day.’
That made her laugh and she felt a lot better. ‘What a pair we are. Don’t tell Amy; we’ll never live this down.’
Ben nodded. ‘I can’t stop thinking about them.’
‘I know, I thought I’d switch off for a couple of hours. Try not to think about Charlie lying in the mortuary fridge all alone, and Macy on her own somewhere terrified, but it always comes back to them. What are we going to do, Ben? It’s been too long.’
‘Find the bastard who took them, that’s what we’re going to do.’
Morgan held up the palm of her right hand and Ben leant across and high fived her.
‘Amen to that, boss, no more distractions. We can do it; we found the Potters’ killer and Taylor Marks, although technically he found me. But that’s a moot point.’
‘First though, you, my star detective, are going to sleep off the rest of that alcohol, although I think your fury burnt it off. I had no idea you could get so angry. I like it, I’m glad you can stick up for yourself even more than I imagined.’
‘What are you doing? You can stay here if you want.’
She saw the pained look on his face as he looked at the chair, then glanced at the bedroom door and away again.
‘Sleepover, mates do that, you know, it’s in the rules. You can top and tail in the bed. I won’t make you sleep on the chair.’
‘You’re not going to make me put a face mask on are you, and wash my hair?’
Morgan chortled. ‘Definitely not. You’re too old for a face mask to make a difference, and I’m not wasting my expensive shampoo on your shaved head.’
‘Kick a guy while he’s down, why don’t you. If you’re going to leave me alone, I’m in.’
Morgan smiled at him. She would leave him alone – maybe another time and place and they might realise that they could be more than friends – at this moment in time, the girls were their priority.
Thirty-Eight
Ben left Morgan sleeping. She’d climbed into the bed, curled up in a ball, whispered good night and within seconds was asleep. He’d guessed the combination of exhaustion, champagne, tears and sadness had helped her to fall into a deep sleep. He’d wanted to wrap his arms around her but didn’t; for the time being they were still friends and nothing more, which he supposed was a good thing. He had to find Macy: she was his priority, and he knew instinctually that when he found her he’d also have Charlie’s killer.
As he opened the front door, he was greeted by a blanket of torrential rain. Shielding his face from the rain, he dashed towards his car. The punch to the side of his head that came out of the darkness stunned him so much he stumbled forwards, falling onto the car. He had his fingers on the handle, which was what kept him from falling to his knees. Another hit with something hard to the side of his skull caused an explosion of blackness filled with silver stars that blurred his vision. He turned to see a dark figure coming towards him again. This time he lifted his hands to defend his face, and the man put his head down and ran at him. Ben threw a right hook at the man’s head, returning the favour and then the man hit him in the stomach with his head, knocking the wind right out of him. Ben grunted as he fell to his knees. Looking up Ben wondered who the hell was attacking him and looked straight into a pair of black eyes. The man punched him in the nose, blinding him. Ben felt it explode as a warm rush of blood ran down his face. He knew he had to get up – if he got the better of him, he was a dead man – but his attacker lifted his leg and kicked him full force in the ribs with a pair of heavy-duty hiking boots, and Ben heard the sound of one of his ribs crack. Trying to protect his head with one hand, he felt in his pocket for his phone. All he could think before he was punched again in the side of his jaw full force was Morgan. Then he felt himself falling forwards, face down into a large puddle as he lost consciousness.
The front door opened, and Emily peered out into the front garden. She saw a guy dressed in black rushing as fast as he could to get away and she called, ‘Hey, you. What are you doing? I’ve phoned the police.’
The man carried on and never turned around. She looked at the cars to see if they were okay and realised Ben’s car was here. Then she saw the lifeless figure lying face down on the drive and let out a scream. She ran towards him, but she had no shoes on and her feet were frozen in seconds, giving her no choice but to turn around.
‘Ouch, ouch. Morgan, Morgan.’ Emily didn’t think she’d ever raised her voice so loud. She ran to the front door and back into the flats and hammered on Morgan’s door, screaming, ‘Get an ambulance now, he’s hurt.’
Morgan threw her d
oor open and looked at Emily as if she’d gone insane. Her face was pale and she was shivering, pointing at the open door.
‘Oh God, he’s hurt. He’s not moving.’
The fear in the pit of Morgan’s stomach pushed her into action. She shoved her bare feet into a pair of tattered Converse, grabbed her phone and ran out of the door. She saw Ben’s lifeless body, face down, and let out a scream even louder than Emily had. Running towards him she dialled 999.
‘Cumbria Constabulary, what’s your emergency?’
‘Officer down, he’s hurt, he’s been attacked. Oh God, I don’t know if he’s breathing.’
‘Who is this?’
‘DC Morgan Brookes, I’m at Singleton Park Road with an injured DS Ben Matthews. Hurry, get an ambulance.’
She hung up. As she reached Ben, rain was pooling around him. Bending down she whispered, ‘Ben, oh God, please be okay.’ Pressing two fingers against the side of his neck, it was still warm; despite him lying on the wet gravel there was a pulse. Emily, who had helped herself to a pair of Morgan’s boots, appeared beside her.
‘Is he breathing?’
‘Yes, but we need to get him out of the cold. He could get hypothermia lying here. Can you help me move him?’
Between them they managed to roll him onto his back, and he let out a groan. His face was a mess. Bending down they hooked their arms under his and tried to lift him. This time his eyelids fluttered open and he let out an even louder moan.
‘Sorry, but we can’t leave you here in this puddle. You’ll freeze to death. We’re going to try and get you to the front steps. Help is on the way, Ben, you’re okay.’
Her voice quavered and she wished she felt as confident as she sounded. Who the hell had done this and why? They managed to half drag, half carry him to the front steps but couldn’t get him up them: he was far too heavy. Morgan sat down and lay him between her legs the best she could. Emily disappeared inside and came back moments later with Morgan’s duvet and some pillows.