by Danuta Reah
Berryman sighed. ‘I don’t think there’s much left to be done tonight. Anything new?’
‘Do you need to talk to Deborah Sykes again?’ Berryman shook his head. ‘She’s out of hospital. They discharged her today. She’s gone away for a couple of weeks. Rob Neave’s taken her up north somewhere.’
Berryman grinned. ‘Miserable sod. What’s wrong with Tenerife?’ He flicked through the papers on his desk. ‘Is she OK? No permanent damage?’
‘Who’s to tell?’ Lynne shrugged.
Berryman pushed the last pile of papers back into the file. ‘Right. I’m leaving this until tomorrow.’ He stood up and picked up his coat, a big man, heavily built. He was going home to his family, but Lynne thought he looked lonely.
‘Good night, sir,’ she said. She went back into the main office. She felt lonely too. The desks were empty now, the incident room being wound down. Steve McCarthy looked across at her, his thin face weary. Lynne waited for the irritation that usually crossed his face when he saw her. Instead, he smiled. She responded with a friendly nod. ‘You ready for off, then, Steve?’
He rubbed his face in a gesture that reminded her sharply of Neave. ‘I’m calling in for a drink first,’ he said. ‘I need one. How about you?’
Lynne thought for a moment. ‘Sounds good.’ She paused. Was this a wise move or not? Probably not, but what the hell. ‘First round on me.’ She had a fridge full of beer at her flat, and a bottle of single malt. She could tell him about that later. Or not.
He looked sharply at her, then smiled. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’ll take you up on that.’ He waited while she got her coat.
19
It was more a pub than a hotel. It had a slightly shabby luxury, thick carpets and velvet curtains, a bar with an open fire and dark, panelled corners. It was close to the sea. In the morning, when the wind came off the land, they walked on the beach and watched the waves breaking on the sand, grey water and white foam. As the wind turned and blew from the sea, the chill set in, and they went back to the warmth of their room at the hotel. They spent long afternoons lying among the tumbled sheets and pillows, watching the clouds race across the grey sky. No one disturbed them.
There had been a clamour. Papers had wanted to pay Debbie for her story, television reporters had wanted to interview her. She didn’t want any of that. She knew enough now, and didn’t want to know any more. She supposed people were writing and believing what they wanted. She didn’t care.
Towards the end of their stay, they crossed over to Lindisfarne, taking the car across the causeway just before the tide came in, stranding themselves on the island for the next few hours. After they left the village, they had the place to themselves. The beach was littered with the detritus of the sea, weed tangled over ropes and driftwood, sand and shingle mixed underfoot. The wind blew across from the east, rattling the sparse grasses holding the dunes together. The sky and the sea were grey, but a light shone behind the clouds, painful in its intensity.
Rob watched Debbie as she pulled her coat more tightly around herself, shivering with the cold. She was staring out across the flats, where the sea, sand and sky met in a shatter of light. The bones of her face made planes and shadows. She looked ephemeral, insubstantial. The familiar bleak pain twisted his stomach, locked in his throat. For a moment he could hardly breathe, then it seemed to dissolve, rise up and overwhelm him. He could feel tears running down his face and he stood behind Debbie, pulling her inside his coat for warmth, wrapping his arms round her. She lifted her hand to his face, briefly. He didn’t know where the tears came from, what they were for. All the things he’d never been able to cry for, for the child he’d never been, for Angie, for Flora – and for Debbie.
She shaded her eyes against the light, and watched a sea bird, white against grey, glide above their heads. They watched it as it flew towards the horizon, towards a gap in the clouds where light raced across the waves. The bird seemed to hang in the air, gliding on straight wings. The light caught it and for a moment it shone like a fire against the threatening sky.
Acknowledgements
With many thanks to the people who gave me help and advice when I was writing this book, particularly to the e-mail writers’ group: Sue, Penny and Jenn for their constructive criticism; to Janet, Jennifer and Kathryn for their support; to Detective Chief Inspector Steve Hicks for his advice about police procedure – where I’ve got it wrong, it was where I didn’t follow that advice; and, of course, to Ken and Alex. (Alex – particular thanks for allowing me to borrow Buttercup. I hereby return her.)
People who are familiar with South Yorkshire will recognize that Moreham is closely based on Rotherham. I hope that the inhabitants of that historic town will forgive me for the liberties I have taken with their geography. People who know Rotherham will also recognize that City College campus is based on the campus of Rotherham College of Arts and Technology, before its refurbishment. No other reference to this establishment is intended.
About the Author
Danuta Reah
Danuta Reah lives in Sheffield with her artist husband. She currently works as an education consultant and as a university lecturer in English Language.
She is a fan of comics and graphic novels, and is interested in the relationship between popular fiction, folklore and anthropology. She is a published cartoonist and writes textbooks on English Language and Linguistics.
Only Darkness is her first novel. Her second, Silent Playgrounds, is available in hardcover from Collins Crime.
By the Same Author
Silent Playgrounds
…… all my light drawn in to shed
Only darkness on the living, only darkness on the dead
from ‘The Death of the PWD Man’, Tony Harrison
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollinsPublisher
77–85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
The HarperCollins website address is:
www.harpercollins.co.uk
This paperback edition 2000
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
First published in Great Britain by
HarperCollinsPublisher 1999
Copyright © Danuta Reah 1999
Danuta Reah asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © JUNE 2012 ISBN 9780007476558
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON, M4W 1A8, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1 Auckland,
New Zealand
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.nz
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com