Bye Bye Baby

by McIntosh, Fiona

  ‘Thanks. I only wear it this severe when I’m trying to show off my hideously expensive earrings,’ she said. ‘Anyway, tell me about your day.’

  He sighed and finished the vodka. Shame he didn’t have time to order them a lovely crisp Gewürztraminer to go with their spicy Szechuan chicken. ‘Sorry, I didn’t answer, did I. Um, yes, many of us juggle several cases at once — that’s normal. Sometimes, though, a case is big enough to require single-mindedness.’

  ‘And which kind of case was it that kept me waiting?’ she said, ladling rice into her mouth.

  ‘I love the way you eat,’ he admitted.

  ‘Well, your tummy is going to rumble through Les Mis, I can see that,’ she said defensively, but without heat.

  ‘I’ll manage. Perhaps we can sneak a Mars Bar in for interval?’ He appeased her by beginning to eat, knowing he had barely minutes now to finish the food.

  Sophie dabbed her mouth with a napkin. ‘So go on, which type is yours?’

  ‘Er, the second one,’ Jack answered, trying not to spit food at her because his mouth was full and the meat was still hot from the sizzling plate it had been cooking on.

  ‘Okay, so the bad one.’ He nodded. ‘Do you work in a team?’ He nodded again. ‘You strike me as a loner, Jack. Do you work well in a team?’

  He swallowed, licked the juices from his lips. ‘Yes, I believe so. I’m running this one, so I’d better be a team player.’

  ‘Are there women on your team?’

  ‘Three — no, four.’

  ‘All support, I suppose,’ she said wryly, draining her sparkling water.

  ‘Not all. There’s Detective Inspector Carter and Detective Sergeant Jones — I’m sure neither of them would consider themselves as support.’

  ‘We’d better go,’ Sophie said, looking at her watch.

  ‘I’ll get the bill.’

  ‘Right, I’ll just fix my lipstick — give me one minute,’ she said, adroitly turning her wheelchair from the table.

  ‘You look very beautiful,’ Jack said.

  She stopped and their gazes met and lingered. ‘Thanks, Jack. I’m always a little embarrassed by my arms.’

  He stared at her with incredulity. ‘Why? They look perfectly lovely to me.’

  ‘That’s because you can’t see them. I expertly hide them with three-quarter sleeves and dark colours, and in winter I get to drape beautiful shawls about myself or wear thick coats — I love winter.’

  He heard the amusement in her voice. ‘Sophie, you’re perfect.’

  ‘Not perfect,’ she said, and a hint of sadness crept in as she looked briefly towards her legs, ‘but I’ll take that compliment and cherish it.’

  It was the sudden stillness between them and not wishing to lose it that prompted him to continue in his direct way. ‘How did it happen?’

  She sighed. ‘We’ll be late.’

  ‘Tell me . . . please.’

  ‘Multiple sclerosis, diagnosed when I was twenty-two. Most people don’t really understand it, so let’s keep it simple and say that it can make my body very dysfunctional at times. I’m lucky, though,’ she added brightly. ‘I can get around relatively easily on walking sticks when I need to, but it wears me out faster — hence the muscled arms to stay stronger for longer. If I’ve got a big day ahead, I use the chair. And I always use the chair going out because I don’t know what I might have to face.’

  Jack regretted asking the question now on their first night out together. ‘So you can move around freely?’ he said.

  ‘Not freely, no.’ She grimaced. ‘And not very well at the present time because I’m in what’s known as relapse. Typically one of my relapses lasts a month or more. This one is taking its time, but for most of today I was on my feet — with my sticks. Just don’t ask me to run or exert myself. I’m useless.’

  The waiter arrived with Sophie’s coat.

  ‘I love the lining,’ Jack said, pointing at the violet silk beneath the coat’s blood-red exterior, more for something to say, having realised he was stepping into an area neither was ready for.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘If you can’t match it, clash it, I say.’

  ‘Sophie, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t —’

  ‘No, don’t be. It had to come up.’ She gave him a soft look of sympathy. ‘And now it’s done with,’ she grinned, trying to lighten his sudden glum mood. ‘Besides, you should know the dodgy bits up front if we’re going to enjoy sex at some stage.’

  He looked up from the table, startled.

  ‘I have a very obedient bladder so rarely an accident other than in relapse,’ she went on. ‘And my bowel is superbly trained and delivers on time, every day, so I don’t go anywhere until Mr Bowel has had his say, then I’m safe.’

  ‘Sophie, don’t —’

  ‘No, we’ve arrived at the inevitable point — a bit earlier than I’d imagined — but let’s do it. Is there anything else you want to know?’

  Jack stared, deeply embarrassed, into her cool, almost unnaturally dark eyes, and strained for a response that could return their sparkly mood of just moments ago. ‘Could you just clarify the bit about the sex?’

  Sophie laughed, husky and joyous. ‘That was the right question, Jack Hawksworth. Come on, pay the bill, take me to the theatre and I’ll explain it in detail a bit later.’

  Jack pushed Sophie in her chair into her apartment. ‘Right,’ he said, feeling more self-conscious than he could credit. ‘We must do this again soon.’

  She swung the chair around to face him and eyed him, slightly bemused, remaining silent.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘You.’

  He shook his head, gave a confused smile.

  ‘Was Les Mis that disappointing on the second viewing, or is it that the multiple sclerosis thing was a major turn-off?’

  He looked up from her carpet, shocked. ‘Whatever makes you say that?’

  The amusement never seemed to disappear from Sophie’s tone. He envied her such composure. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t just give my wheelchair a big shove from the lift just now and wave me goodbye as the doors closed.’

  Before he could register it Jack was suddenly crouched before her, his hands reaching for hers. ‘Oh god, Sophie, I hardly notice the chair and I don’t care why you’re in it. I know a little about MS and that it affects sufferers in myriad ways.’

  ‘Then you’ll know the relapse still has a way to go. Soon the spasms will return and the chair will become a necessity rather than an aid — that’s when I don’t go out much and I get moody. I’m not much of a catch, to be honest, so flee, Jack, while you still can.’ She smiled crookedly.

  Jack squeezed her hands now as he leant forward and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss and it was welcomed.

  ‘Sophie, I think you’re beautiful,’ he murmured thickly when they parted, and felt his desire inflame further when he saw a similar rush of longing reflected in her eyes. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you, and even though every inch of me says you’re dangerous, I feel compelled to know more about you.’

  ‘Dangerous?’ She frowned. ‘Yes, a real thug in this thing.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘Dangerous to who?’

  ‘To me,’ he said softly, mesmerised by the uncanny darkness of her eyes. ‘To my heart.’

  He hadn’t meant to sound so dramatic but the stillness that suddenly hung between them was intense.

  She held the silence a few moments longer, her gaze searching his — for guile, he thought. And why not? Why should she believe me?

  ‘Tell me, Jack,’ she said finally, ‘how is it that someone who looks like you and acts like you isn’t already married and mortgaged to the hilt, with a horde of beautiful children clinging to your long legs?’

  It was the same question his sister asked regularly, and one he asked himself when he permitted self-indulgence. There would be no diverting Sophie with meaningless platitudes.

  ‘The job,’ he said grimly. ‘I love it but it scares
me. Right now I’m heading up a major investigation to hunt down a serial killer.’ He hadn’t meant to tell her this, but her question demanded honesty. ‘I can’t imagine how I could separate that role from life in the suburbs, going to children’s school plays and picnicking at the weekend.’

  She flinched. ‘I had no idea. A serial killer?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m not permitted to discuss it, although if you’ve been paying attention to the news then you’ll know the case. I know you understand that I can’t say more, but we’re on this person’s trail, I think, we’re close enough to smell them. I just have to make sure we protect the next victim.’

  ‘But if you know who the next victim is, then surely —’

  ‘We think we know,’ he cautioned, then his voice softened. ‘So how, with all that on my mind, do I find the time to love a family?’

  She came back with the predictable reply. ‘You can’t be the first police officer to ask that question.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say many of us juggle the stress of our jobs with home life terribly successfully — especially in major crime. They do try but you’d probably be saddened by the number of senior police officers who are divorced or having problems in their relationships as a direct result of their work. I don’t want to be one of those.’

  ‘That’s up to you then, surely?’

  He frowned. ‘No. It’s not that controllable. The job spills into your life — you can’t deal with what I do and not have it get under your skin. I control it to a point, but in instances such as this case, it becomes all-consuming. Look what I did to you tonight.’ He shrugged. ‘And then there’s the danger of those I love being in the firing line, too.’

  ‘Are you saying you’re worried that the criminals you put away might take their revenge on your family?’

  ‘I’m actually more worried about those I don’t put away. Imagine us a married couple — I’d be constantly fretting that you were going to become a target as a means of getting to me.’

  He saw the incredulity flit across her lovely face. ‘Jack, you can’t live like that. You can’t miss out on life. Forget me — as I say, I’m no catch — but you’ve got to promise me that you won’t let this prevent you from enjoying what life and love is all about.’

  ‘You sound like you speak from experience.’

  ‘I do — not that it’s any of your business — but yes, I’ve had someone special in my life. He let me down, but that’s by the by. Until then he’d been nothing short of perfect. I’ve moved on. I’ve let him go.’

  ‘Now I’m jealous.’

  ‘Don’t be. I’m over him — that’s why I can sound so grown up about it . . . and why I can kiss you like this.’

  She pulled his head close and he loved the feel of her cool fingers running through his hair as he lost himself again in the touch of her lips.

  ‘I’m not ready to . . . you know,’ Sophie whispered, embarrassed. It was the first time he’d heard her sound in any way tentative.

  ‘This is enough for now,’ he replied, and when he kissed her again, neither pulled apart. This time their kiss was deep and lingered long enough for Sophie to wrap her arms around Jack’s neck and for him to lift her to the sofa. Jack vaguely registered how much heavier Sophie was than he’d expected; he smiled inside that she wasn’t the frail woman he’d imagined in his dreams. He began fussing at her zip, suddenly desperate to see her naked. He’d never intended to do anything more, on this first date, than lose himself in her company, hear that seductive laugh and, just for a few hours, remove himself entirely from fear and death. He had dreamed of kissing her but now it was real. Her soft, urgent mouth made him lose track of time and his hands became reckless explorers. Every inch of her was soft and smooth. She smelled delicious, her skin was cool, her hair silky against his face.

  He couldn’t remember, but they’d ended on the floor during Jack’s grateful release when Sophie had moved her attention from his lips and focused it elsewhere. She had silenced him when he’d made the initial move to give her the same tender treatment, turning coy and pulling a blanket down to cover herself, claiming she was chilled. Jack did not press her. Sophie would choose her time and place in the same way she had decided it was the right moment to offer him such generous affection. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit to feeling slightly cheated but the guilt was momentary and he surrendered to the deliciously cosy fug of semiconscious slumber that seemed to arrive once Sophie had quietened his protest and pulled his arms around her.

  It was his phone that finally roused them, alerting him to a message. It was Kate. Even her texts sounded twitchy. He kissed Sophie’s ear and she smiled contentedly. ‘I should go,’ he murmured.

  ‘You’ve crushed my disgustingly expensive designer gown. I’ll have to exact payment.’

  ‘Name your price,’ he said, nibbling her earlobe.

  ‘Dinner again, more leisurely. Your place, perhaps.’

  ‘No way. I can’t compete with this lovely space, this soft carpet, so gentle on our skin with no rash for me to explain at work.’

  She laughed again. ‘Alright, my place and —’

  ‘I’ll bring everything, including the wine, and cook for you.’

  ‘Done,’ she said. ‘Now go.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Er, no, not tonight. How about Sunday or Monday?’

  ‘You’re going to keep me waiting that long?’ He feigned despair.

  ‘I’m really sorry but I have to go out of town for a day and a night at least.’

  ‘Work?’

  She shook her head. ‘My mother. I haven’t seen her in a couple of months and I’ve promised this weekend. I reckon I can be back by Sunday night though, at a push.’ She paused, then added, ‘If you make it worth my while.’

  ‘Pan-fried Atlantic salmon, sweet potato wedges and a spinach salad with pine nuts, followed by my exceptionally good chocolate brownies. Or, if you want a proper winter meal, I can do you a hearty lamb stew in minted cider and then the world’s best apple crumble.’

  ‘Good grief, I want it all!’

  He laughed and pulled on his trousers. ‘Let me help you,’ he said, feeling even more shamefaced at her disarray, the empty wheelchair not so far away.

  ‘No, don’t worry. It’ll take a while to get some feeling back in my legs.’

  ‘What?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘It’s alright, all normal. A tumble with you on the floor is fun but not necessarily good for me. I’ll be fine. I’ll get myself together over the next few hours. And I’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow evening. Are you sure you can see me so often — I mean workwise?’

  He nodded. ‘Sophie . . . listen, about last night . . . I’m sorry if I seemed distant.’

  She grinned, groaning slightly as she sat up and leaned against the sofa, careful to pull the soft blanket around her bare shoulders. She shivered theatrically. ‘Sorry, I can’t afford to get too cold or stiff. Don’t apologise, last night was lovely and it was all my choice in case you hadn’t registered that. I just wasn’t sure, you know . . . didn’t want to push you somewhere you didn’t want to go.’

  ‘No, you misunderstand. That’s why I need to apologise. My mind was elsewhere in the taxi home. I was thinking about the case and something clicked into place . . . well, might have anyway. I know you were feeling uncomfortable when I brought you home and seemed so reluctant. It was the case dragging at my thoughts.’

  ‘The thing that clicked into place,’ she said, ‘will it help you go forward?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s such a vague element. You don’t have any insight into the significance of the colour blue, do you?’

  She frowned. ‘Blue? Well, as a property developer I do know that a lot of people love the colour, but we deliberately never paint any rooms blue because many people are superstitious about it.’

  ‘Really? I mean, I know people used to be superstitious, but still?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ve always had a love for history and
so I know where it stems from, but for most people it’s probably something from childhood that their granny mentioned and it’s stuck. Blue is a colour that’s associated with magic and it’s considered unlucky by anyone on stage, for instance.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said eagerly. ‘We’ve been discovering this. Clowns too, apparently.’

  ‘Clowns especially,’ Sophie said, dipping her chin in a nod of congratulation. ‘I’m impressed that your team is so knowledgeable about history. I’m sure I’m right in saying that the traditional clown would never use blue in his make-up.’

  ‘You’re right. And that’s what triggered my “moment” in the cab.’

  ‘You’ll have to fill in the blanks, Jack,’ Sophie said, arching her eyebrows to show him she was lost in this conversation.

  ‘What? Oh, sorry, well, it just got me thinking that the whole frontage of the florist where I bought your bouquet was painted blue. They’re a Chinese family — I was wondering whether they might be able to throw any insight into the use of that colour. Perhaps it has special meaning for Asians.’ She pulled a face to suggest he was reaching. ‘I know, but blue paint is significant or why else would something so odd be involved in a murder scene?’

  ‘Murder scene? Where was the paint?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Well, if it’s in its tin, it loses relevance in a way. Where exactly was this blue paint?’ she said, her words disappearing into a wide yawn.

  ‘Don’t give it another moment’s thought.’ Jack smiled, mindful of protecting facts that the public was not yet privy to. ‘I’ll get going. Is seven okay for Sunday?’

  ‘Already looking forward to it.’

  24

  As Jack rushed out of his apartment on Saturday morning and took the hill down to the tube station at a steady jog, he had no idea that he was passing Kate in a coffee shop in Highgate Village.

  Anne, meanwhile, was checking her reflection in her bedroom mirror. A small overnight suitcase was open on the bed and two rolls of tissue paper that contained wigs were at its side, yet to be packed. She had banished all other thoughts from her mind; today and this evening were all about Billy. She knew the police were closing in on him — they had to be — and Phil would be next. However, with Billy changing his name to Edward, the confusion generated might just buy her the few hours she needed.