I’m just closing the door behind me when I get the shock of my bloody life. There on my doorstep, closing the door opposite my own, is none other than DS Kentley.
Fuck my life!
“Kentley,” I bark at her.
I’ve never been a morning person and right now she’s just broken my zen.
“Sir.” She turns around, as surprised as I am and perhaps a little scared.
“You live here?” I ask with a huff.
“You know Tristan?” she asks without answering me.
I can feel my frown grow across my forehead. Damn it. She even knows my best friend.
“I’m staying at his place until I find a new flat.”
“Right…” She’s frowning too now. Stupid Bint, what right does she have to be irritated that I’m living across the hall? “Well… see you at work, I guess.”
Without another word, she walks away from me. I stand there wondering if I should have offered to drive her or something.
God, this is going to be awkward.
I pass Georgia in my car. She’s walking to work today, wearing a thick coat and a scarf. She must be pretty cold. I don’t slow down or stop. I don’t offer her a ride. If anything, I put my foot down, hoping that she won’t see me pass her.
I know I should be more upset that I broke up with my girlfriend yesterday, but I can’t bring myself to feel anything except relief.
It surprises me.
My life has completely changed in the last twenty-four hours and I don’t think it’s a bad thing at all. The ring that had been burning a hole in my pocket before now feels practically weightless.
I completely turned my life upside down to move back to London and barely two weeks later we’re over. Done. Finished.
I hadn’t seen it coming at all.
Call me an idiot, but I’d actually thought we were happy.
Tristan had called it, so why couldn’t I see it? I’m not disappointed, just bloody pissed that I moved all the way here for no fucking point.
Except the promotion, I remind myself.
The role of DCI at Scotland Yard is more than reason enough but it is still frustrating.
I’m a bloody fool. I should have known better. Even now I don’t really know what went wrong or why she doesn’t want to marry me. She didn’t really explain.
My biggest concern is that I don’t want to mess up my friendship group. Alicia might be my ex-girlfriend now but her, me and Tristan have been best friends since we were in University together. I don’t want this to ruin that.
Sitting in the carpark, I send Alicia a quick text, trying to prove to myself or her, I’m not sure which, that friendship is an option for us.
Hi Alicia, I just want to say that I wish you all the best. Even if we’re not together, I hope we can be friends. If you ever need anything, I’m here. Trent.
I’m not sure how she will take it. I wonder if she will think I’m trying to pressure her into staying with me. I consider deleting it before I send it, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
I want to be her friend.
I’m happy with the outcome of our relationship. Breaking up was probably the best thing we ever did together but I still want her to be my friend.
The day passes, and I barely see any of my team. I’m in my office doing paperwork. Lunch passes, and I forget to eat. It isn’t until three thirty six that I realise I’m starving.
I get up to stretch my legs and grab a coffee but stop when I pass Kentley’s cubicle.
I can smell cake.
I fucking love cake.
I’m a bit of a gym nut but cake is my downfall.
She’s typing away quicker than she has any right to be with a broken arm.
“Kentley, what are you doing?”
She looks up, surprised by my appearance beside her.
“My reports, Sir.”
“Your arm is broken.”
I grimace. Typing must be hurting like a bitch.
“So?”
“So… why are you typing? Why not write up you notes by hand?”
I’m cross, furious in fact, because she doesn’t realise that she’s an absolute pain in the arse.
“It’s quicker to type and they will be more legible.”
She frowns.
“I’m right handed, Sir.”
She holds up her right hand, cast and all and waves it in my face, with a raised eyebrow.
“Right. Well, you could always ask one of the others to help.”
“Why? I don’t need help.”
She smiles as if the pain that she is undoubtedly feeling is nothing at all.
“It doesn’t hurt?” I ask, incredulously.
“I’ve had worse.”
Those words are beginning to get on my tits. As if previous injury is an excuse to not look after yourself properly.
“Right.”
My voice is terse, and I can’t work out quite why she irritates me so much.
I’m about to say something more when Tristan walks in with a small boy by his side.
“Walker!”
I turn to the sound of my name.
“Tristan.” I grin at my best friend. “You must be Thomas,” I say to the small boy next to him.
“Georgia!”
Thomas runs past me, completely ignoring me, and into the arms of the girl whose sole purpose in life is to infuriate me.
“Georgia! I can’t believe you’re here!”
“Hi Thomas.” She winces as he touches her broken arm and I almost lunge towards them to pull Thomas off her. “How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
The boy is ridiculously polite as he clings to her.
“Not bad.”
Her smile is wide as she interacts with the small boy.
“Your arm is still broken.”
He frowns.
“No. I broke it again yesterday,” she tells him, frustration hidden just below the surface of her words.
“Again?” Thomas’s eyes are wide. “But you had a broken arm when I first met you too… You must be super clumsy.”
“Yeah.” She nods her head, before ruffling the kid’s hair. “How’s your sister?”
“Sad,” he replies, his tone dropping.
“You must be sad too,” she says gently.
He nods his head instead of verbally responding. After a few moments he says, “Tia came home.”
“She did? How is she?”
“Angry. She’s gone away again now though.”
“That’s a shame,” Georgia Kentley replies. “She wasn’t angry at you, I’m sure.”
“No. She was angry at all of us.”
I watch as Kentley takes the small boy into her arms and embraces him. I notice the grimace that flits briefly across her face from the pain in her arm.
“She’s not angry at you. She’s angry at herself.”
“Why?”
She doesn’t appear to have the right words for the small boy. She frowns as she tries to arrange her thoughts.
“Sometimes adults feel responsible… even when things are completely out of their control. Your sister, Tia, she was driving the car that day. You were all hurt so badly. She blames herself. Except, Thomas, this is the important thing you need to remember… it really wasn’t her fault. She did nothing wrong. She couldn’t have prevented it from happening.”
Thomas nods his head.
“But she could have come home sooner? Said goodbye to mum?”
“I don’t think she could face your mum because she felt so guilty.”
Thomas turns his head to the side as if considering her words. Surely everything she is saying is going right over his head but apparently not. He seems to understand. He nods his head in affirmation.
Chapter Seven – Georgia
I don’t know how to explain to a five-year-old that the reason his mum is dead is because a drunken fool decided to get behind the wheel of his work van and drive right into the passenger side of
his sister’s car, driving too fast and without a care in the world.
Tia Winthrope would never have seen it coming.
It happened over a year ago and yet I can still recall the sight that awaited us when we arrived on the scene.
I’d performed emergency CPR on their mum. I had tried my best. And failed. She’d still spent the last year of her life in a coma. Tia had walked away with a couple of broken ribs and a broken arm and Thomas had been almost completely unharmed, fortunately.
I can remember the moment when their sister Ella arrived at the hospital, in floods of tears. I remember placing the call, asking her to come. She’d been at work that day.
I’d liaised with the family quite a bit, keeping informed of the process of our investigation. What investigation there was… the other driver had died at the scene.
I’d been there when Tia left, returning to her work as an airhostess, against the advice of the hospital and despite her sister’s concerns. I’d seen how she couldn’t look her sister in the eye. I’d see the guilt written across her face.
“Do you want to go check out a police cruiser?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“Can we?” Thomas asks, jumping on the balls of his feet.
“Sure. Why not.”
He grabs my good arm and literally drags me from my seat. Trent mutters something about stealing his thunder as I pass him, and I can’t help but smirk.
Trent and Tristan follow after us, chatting about god knows what. Some chick called Alicia, I think, but I’m not really paying attention.
The little boy beside me is eagerly telling me about everything he can possibly tell me. He almost seems not to breathe as the words tumble out of his mouth in a rush.
When we reach the cruiser, I go to lift Thomas into the front seat but Trent tells me off.
“I’ll do it,” he says in that tone he seems to reserve just for me.
Trent is like a little boy as he turns the siren on and messes around with all the different buttons in the cruiser.
I’m left watching him and Thomas as they play pretend cops. This is a side of him I wouldn’t have been able to imagine even if I’d tried.
He’s sweet.
He’d make a good dad, but I’ll never tell him that. He’s already an arrogant arse. He doesn’t need the ego boast.
It’s raining heavily when I leave later that night. It’s almost six o’clock and I’m stood out front, considering venturing out into the abysmal weather that awaits me. Lance Stone approaches.
“Don’t want to go home?”
I laugh. “Just don’t want to get rained on.”
“Pub?” Lance raises an eyebrow.
It’s been a long week and the New Year is fast approaching. This weekend is going to be even harder than the week that has just passed. London gets crazy on the New Year. There will be extra bobbies on the streets as a precaution but there’s a good chance that my weekend off will get cut short and it’s almost certain that I won’t get the bank holiday off.
We’ll be putting out the fires that will undoubtedly erupt on New Year’s Eve. Last year it was robberies. This year… who knows. What I do know is that New Year is practically a jinx word at the Yard.
“Sure,” I reply because running across the street sounds far better than running all the way home.
I’m surprised when we reach our usual spot in the pub and Trent is already there with the rest of the team. Collins never used to come with us to the pub.
Well, this is different.
“Alright boys,” I smile at them all before dropping my stuff, “anyone need a refill?”
A couple of the guys nod their head in response and John gives me a quick, “please kid,” before I’m heading across the pub to the bar.
When I return with the beers, DI Jackson is telling us all about something his cute little niece Amelia said the other day.
Lance is quick to cough, “DCI Collins,” under his breath much to everyone else’s entertainment.
Mark Jackson smacks him round the head in response.
Although in fairness, Amelia Vincent is probably the only child I’d listen to stories about. She’s pretty damn cute.
It’s a small world.
I’d grown up in the same neighbourhood as Mark and his siblings. Mark, the eldest of that particular band of hooligans is the least sensible of the bunch. His sister Sarah is the practical one and always has been. She has been married since forever to her high school boyfriend Michael Vincent. Then there is the younger brother, Nicholas.
I’d had a crush on Nick when we were in school. He had been a few years above me, but we’d quickly become friends. Mostly because we were both super geeky and spent more time in the library than the other kids. He’d always treated me like his little sister and we’d kept in touch after he left school.
I tease Jackson along with the others, even if I secretly love to hear about his family.
Before I know it, the conversation has moved on and somehow, I’ve become the butt of the next joke.
They are talking about how clumsy I am. They’re not wrong so I take it good humouredly.
“Want us to draw on your cast?” Lance offers.
I shake my head. “No thanks.”
“Not selling this one then?” he says, perhaps not realising what his words mean.
“Not this one,” I grit my teeth, “and not the next one.”
My life is nothing to do with the boy who used to draw on my casts anymore. It’s time for me to grow up and wear my cast like an adult.
John and the others seem to think this is the perfect opening to discuss my break up. I can sense it coming before they even open their mouths.
“What actually happened?” Anthony asks.
“You really want to know?” I ask because I’m hoping they will say no.
They nod their heads and even Trent looks mildly interested.
“We broke up.” I sigh before opening my mouth again. “We were having dinner and his mum asks when we’re going to get married. I guess five years is a long time for two people to be together and not think about marriage… at least our parents think it is.”
They’re nodding their heads, encouraging me to continue. I slurp my beer.
“But we really hadn’t. We hadn’t talked about it. I’d never considered it. Not really. It’s not that I don’t want to get married… it’s just I’d never thought about it when Darren. I think… I kind of knew we were just biding our time. So, I was going to tell them that we weren’t there yet, that we hadn’t talked about it. It wasn’t on the agenda… whatever… but he says without any hesitation that we won’t be getting married and that in fact, he wants to break up.”
John practically throws his pint onto the table when he puts it down.
“I wasn’t hurt. You know, it didn’t hurt. Bot the way it should have. I should have cared more… but I was angry. Really angry.”
I’m not looking at them. Lance wraps his arm around my shoulder in brotherly solidarity.
“I couldn’t believe that our friendship meant so little to him that he didn’t even talk to me about it.”
“We’ve been best friends since we were ten. Forget the dating and all that stuff, there are ten years of real friendship that happened before we dated. I thought that meant more to him than it did.” I sigh heavily. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We probably should have broken up a long time ago.”
I smile at them but I’m the only one smiling.
“What are you going to do about the flat?” Alvin asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply honestly. “I’ve been thinking about it… He doesn’t want his share of the mortgage, but I refuse to owe him anything. We’d almost paid it off. He probably paid a third of it himself. I’m probably going to have to get some flat mates or something, so that I can pay the rest of the mortgage and return his third to him.”
I’m rambling, telling them far more than I ever would normally and I’m not sure why I’m
telling them anything at all. Not sure why I feel so at ease in this moment.
One look at DCI Trent and I can see that for once he doesn’t look angry with me. I’m not quite sure what I see in his expression, but it better not be pity.
John is the one who breaks the silence.
“There was a brief moment when I thought you’d break up last year. After…”
I know where he’s going with this and it is not somewhere I want this conversation to go.
I cut across him. “Yeah. It got pretty tense for a while.” I nod my head, almost angrily. “He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t talk to him…” I say under my breath.
“We couldn’t either,” John says seriously. “You wouldn’t talk to any of us.”
“There was nothing to say,” I tell him in a cold voice that makes it clear that at least for me this conversation is closed.
“That’s not true.” John ignores the warning tone of my voice and presses on. “There was a lot to say. You could have ranted, raved even, told us we had failed you, told us that we’d let you down… you could have told us…”
“Enough, John.” I pat his arm. “What would that have achieved? You never failed me. Mistakes happen. Life happens. Things go wrong in this job and people get hurt. Can’t be helped.”
He opens his mouth as if to argue with me, everyone else around us forgotten.
“Georgia…”
“DI Bertell, however you look at it, I owe you my life. Mistakes be damned.” With that, I get to my feet. “Right, time for me to head home. See you all in the morning.”
There is a chorus of goodbyes but I barely glance at them as I gather my stuff and leave the now far too hot pub.
Chapter Eight – Walker
That didn’t exactly go how I expected it to go. As Kentley leaves the pub, I’m equally tempted to follow after her as I am to bombard the others with questions.
Ben Alvin is the first to speak.
“Do you really think she’s okay?”
Mark is frowning as he answers, “I think so. She’s very strong.”
“It wasn’t the first time it happened,” John says quietly. “She’s handled it before.”
Inescapable Fate: Hanleigh's London (The Fate Series Book 1) Page 4