Staying Power

by Judith Cutler

  She liked the way he’d put it. He was good at giving credit where it was due. It was one of the things that made him so well-respected in the squad.

  ‘Thanks. Look, Graham,’ she said, awkwardly, ‘since you couldn’t get to Florence, a bit of Florence has come to you.’

  He took the package as if nervous of dropping it, and fingered the tissue paper, the ribbon. She was glad Italian shops made such a fuss over details like that.

  ‘Only a few sweets,’ she said. Costing about a pound each, but that wasn’t for him to know.

  He opened the box. ‘They look too good to eat. Marzipan?’ He took a miniature apple and sniffed. He nibbled. ‘They’re flavoured! Well, I’m blessed. Thanks.’ He added, as if as an afterthought, ‘You shouldn’t have done.’

  ‘That’s what friends are for,’ she said.

  Colin was just emerging from the loo as she passed it. He gave her a hug and a friendly kiss.

  ‘Hell, Colin – you’ll be on a disciplinary if Harvey sees you!’ Cope. Did he materialise at will? His grin was the Cheshire Cat’s with malice aforethought.

  ‘But it’ll be worth it, Gaffer. Just for a touch of the fair Kate’s lips.’

  ‘Kiss of death, more like. Look at the colour of her nose. Got anything for us from Joe Public? It’s that new local TV programme, Kate. Grass on your Neighbour, or something. Punters are supposed to phone in with info.’

  ‘Local Crime Call,’ said Colin, parenthetically. ‘Or they could call it Crank Call. Knock and they come out of the woodwork. We’ve got car-ringing, unsolved murder, cruelty to hamsters, and wife-beating.’

  ‘In that order?’

  ‘Oh, and loads more, Gaffer. I thought I’d sift through them while Kate excavated her desk.’

  ‘Sounds OK. We’ll meet up one-ish to go through them.’

  ‘I was taking Fatima out for a phantom coffee, Sir.’

  ‘Well, neither of you will miss it, then. Take her out for a phantom beer tonight instead.’

  Kate nodded. It might actually make more sense. Didn’t fasting end at sundown? Or were there special prayers first?

  ‘Get her outside half of mild and a bag of pork scratchings,’ Cope added. ‘Do her the world of good.’

  Colin coughed. ‘I think Muslims are like Jews, Gaffer. No pork.’

  ‘Bugger it – so long as it’s kosher, it’s all right, isn’t it?’

  Fatima nodded: ‘No problem. But I may have to take a rain check on the drink. My family – they – we always try to eat together unless there’s a big rush on here. They’ll be expecting me tonight. But maybe – would tomorrow night be convenient for you?’

  ‘Better, actually. It means I can start getting some of my holiday washing done and pop into Sainsbury’s. Whatever did we do when shops shut at five-thirty?’

  ‘We did what women should do,’ Fatima said, straight-faced. ‘We did the shopping when we’d taken the kids to school and before we started the housework.’

  ‘So we did.’ That was presumably the life Graham Harvey’s wife lived now, minus, of course, the inconvenience of children.

  ‘And we cooked complicated meals and ironed our husbands shirts beautifully.’

  Kate grinned. ‘Now I know what I want. I want a wife.’

  A smear of ketchup on his chin suggested that Cope had managed to find time for lunch before his session with Colin and Kate. She wondered why his wife didn’t produce a packed lunch for him to keep him from the cholesterol-filled temptations of the canteen. Graham’s wife did – a plastic box full of thinly cut sandwiches, their fillings neat and disciplined. One piece of fruit and a small chocolate biscuit. Every single day. And yet it would have done Graham good to pop into the canteen from time to time – a break from his endless paperwork with the bonus of a bit of company. He might have been a happier man – he might even have been a better cop – if he’d done so.

  Until recently, Kate had depended on take-aways or a friend’s charity for weekend meals, but during her sick leave the long-awaited working surface had been installed in her kitchen and she was now the proud possessor of a hob and a sink. On the downside, though, the residue of her belongings had come up from London, and what would eventually become her sitting room was stacked with uniformly large cardboard boxes, full of kitchen utensils and CDs. All the appurtenances of her life with Robin. No, she mustn’t even think about him and his death. Unpacking the boxes would be more than enough reminder. That was why she must get them done as soon as possible. She must keep her fingers crossed for a quiet run up to Christmas. The bonus would be that she could have the downstairs carpets laid. At last. In fact, she’d do two boxes before she went round to see Aunt Cassie tonight.

  Back to the present with a bump.

  ‘Where do you want to start, Gaffer? The likely or the unlikely ones?’ Colin asked, waving two bundles of message sheets.

  Cope raised his eyes skyward, and reached down for the waste-bin, which he wagged under Colin’s nose. ‘You can file those here,’ he said. ‘Not so much unlikely as off the planet.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Waste not, want not. No smoke without fire. All the other clichés, too. I’ll look after them all.’

  ‘What, even the cruelty to hamsters one?’

  ‘Especially that. OK, I know you think I’m off my head, but you never know.’

  ‘You know you’re wasting your time with the hamster. Come on!’ Cope flourished the bin again.

  ‘Tell you what, Sir – I’ve got this mate in the RSPCA—’ Colin said.

  ‘Ah, you let them waste their time on it. What else?’

  Kate held up five or six more slips of paper. ‘Allegations about vehicles with no tax discs, Sir. I’ll pass these on to the DVLA, shall I? Or their local nick for uniform to deal with? And there’s a few here – no, these are dog licence ones. Do we have dog licences, these days?’

  It took Cope an apoplectic second to realise she was joking.

  At the end of the hour, they’d agreed that Selby and Fatima should check an allegation that a well-known pusher of cannabis had moved up a division and was dealing in Ecstasy tablets, and another that a prominent councillor was into hard-core porn.

  ‘They’ll have to be discreet, mind.’

  ‘With respect, Gaffer, I don’t think that’s a word in Selby’s vocabulary.’

  ‘It’s time you got your knife out of that bloke, Power. He’ll be taking up a grievance against you if you’re not careful. And then who’ll look a right plonker, eh?’

  Selby, with a bit of luck. ‘OK, Sir. But I don’t think he’s necessarily the best person for this job.’

  ‘Nor’s Fatima, not yet. Or rather, not with Selby,’ Colin said. ‘She lacks experience. She’s a good cop, by all accounts, but she could probably do with a bit of mentoring.’

  ‘For which you’re no doubt volunteering, her being a nice looking wench with big tits. Come off it, Colin. We’re short of men and you’re asking me to pussy-foot round while people learn the job! You’re off your head. Take the silly bleeder away and knock some sense into him, Power.’

  ‘It’s funny, you know, Colin,’ Kate said, as they walked downstairs together. ‘You have this lovely break from work and expect that somehow things will have got better. And you come in and the office is even untidier and the loos even smellier and the corridors even scruffier—’

  ‘And Harvey even more stressed and Cope – is he any worse? Or is he just the same old, evil-tempered, ignorant bastard he always was?’

  She’d bought a bottle of Tuscan wine for her neighbours, and popped round with it before she set off for Sainsbury’s. Instead of the affable natter with Zenia and Joe she’d been hoping for, she found Zenia flu-bound, so ill that, when she chased her back to bed, she found the sheets were soaked through with sweat. And so ill she let Kate strip them off and make the bed afresh. Shopping for both households then. It was, as she told Zenia, good to be able to pay back some of the favours Zenia had done her when she had first mov
ed in. Not to mention that team of cleaners.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Come on in, girl.’

  Kate was hovering on the threshold of her great aunt’s nursing home room.

  ‘How can I hear what you say if you’ve got your mouth covered up?’ Aunt Cassie demanded.

  Kate had long suspected that the old lady actually lip-read most of what was said. Persuading her to try a hearing-aid would be interesting, to say the least.

  Kate touched the mask she’d persuaded a nurse to find for her. ‘I said, I’ve got a cold: I wanted to see you but I didn’t want to give you any germs.’

  Aunt Cassie turned aside petulantly. ‘Are you deaf? I said take the damn thing off. That’s better. When did the cold break?’

  ‘Last week. Thursday night.’

  ‘And today’s – Tuesday? Monday? Monday. You lose all sense of time in this place. In that case, I shouldn’t think you’re very infectious. Well, then. Sit down where I can see you. Goodness, look at your nose. And your mouth. No cold sores?’

  Kate looked around, found the arm of her chair. ‘Touch wood, it’s something I’ve avoided so far.’

  ‘Mind you, no one would have wanted to kiss you with your lips all cracked and skinning like that. Did you meet any gorgeous young men? I remember back in the fifties I came back from Rome with my bum all black and blue.’

  ‘I’ve failed, then. Or perhaps it was because I was with Pippa – you remember, Donald and Eva’s daughter.’

  ‘My God, no one’d risk pinching her bottom. Does she still walk as if she’s carrying a gun and wouldn’t think twice about using it? Never get a man that way. They like a bit of femininity, these men.’

  ‘Not Pippa’s man, Aunt Cassie! She’s sleeping with a US general – a five-star general, which means—’

  ‘Oh, don’t bother me with that. She can look after herself. Always could. Never came to see me. Not like you. Coming to see me on the train all by yourself, even when you were a child. I appreciated that. I still do,’ she added, gruffly, as if embarrassed by such an admission.

  Kate smiled. She had Cassie’s house as evidence, curse it as she might have done when it was at its appalling worst. What she’d have liked to say was that she’d always loved Cassie, and coming to see her was an unbelievable adventure. All she dared risk was, ‘I know. Tell you what, it was nice to come home, now your house – my house – is no longer a building site. Zenia from next-door – you remember? She’s laid low with flu at the moment – she brought in a team of cleaners she rounded up from the hospital where she works while I was away so it’s beginning to look good. All my stuff from London’s arrived, by the way. Books, china, even saucepans.’

  ‘Have you got a fridge yet?’

  ‘Up and running. And a freezer. And a washing-machine. It feels like home.’

  Cassie nodded. ‘So it should. And when am I going to see some photographs?’

  ‘Soon. I’ve got a few frames left on one of the films I took to Florence, so I’ll shoot them off when I get a chance.’ She’d even record the continuing horror of the living room and its boxes.

  ‘Didn’t you meet any young men while you were away? I’ve a mind to be a great-great-aunt. There’s a woman in a room down the corridor never stops going on about her family. Never.’

  ‘There were a couple of nice South Africans: we had dinner with them one night because there wasn’t a vacant table and we all spoke English. I think we swapped phone numbers, but I’m not holding my breath. And there was a young man on the flight back – very solicitous. He’d been on a huge shopping spree – oh, his work, not pleasure. Which reminds me—’ Kate fished in her bag, producing Punt e Mes and Vermouth. ‘Just as a change from gin,’ she said. ‘And here are a couple of oranges to add to the Punt e Mes – thin slices, just like lemon in gin. And plenty of ice. Is what’ shername still keeping your ice-bucket topped up?’ Cassie had arrived at a highly unorthodox agreement with one of the nursing staff to ensure her gin was always the right temperature.

  ‘Silly girl got herself pregnant. There’s a new girl. Rosie, I think she calls herself. A care assistant. She’s in some sort of trouble, too. I know she is. But she won’t talk to me. I said, “My great-niece is in the police,” I said. “She’d know how to help.” But she just sniffed and said everything’d be all right. I gave her your phone number, just in case. So if she calls, you’ll know why. Now, tell me about this young man …’

  ‘If you ask me,’ Cassie said, ‘he’s got to be careful – yes, I will have another drop of that stuff with the orange – that young man. Go on: it’s not rationed! All that money – what if he can’t sell the stuff on?’

  ‘He must have some sort of contract with these firms, I suppose. And he said he’d run credit checks on them. I’m not sure how you do that – do you get a bank reference?’

  ‘Banks! The references they give are designed to protect the bank! They’re so hedged round with to the best of our knowledge and without prejudice, what they say isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. No, you need to ask other firms – that’s what my Arthur always used to say. And he ought to know.’ She spread her hands, grotesque with arthritis under those heavy rings. Arthur had done Cassie proud before he retired from his jewellery business. ‘His nephew’s sorted out those diamonds for me. The ones you found under my floor. Well, your floor now. Got a better price than I expected. But he’s kept back the best three: two for ear-studs. And one for your engagement ring.’

  The best way to divert her from this theme was to pursue another topic. Kate asked, ‘So you talk to other firms who’ve dealt with your customers – ask if they always pay their bills.’

  ‘And how prompt they are in paying. You people in the police get a nice pay-packet at the end of every month. You don’t in business. You get what other people pay. Arthur was often owed thousands of pounds, thousands. But he kept afloat because of his reserves. And because people would give him credit. When your creditors start pressing you, you need to know when you’re going to be paid. Indeed, that you’re going to be paid. So, before you give anyone credit, you contact people who’ll know whether they can be relied on for prompt payment and how much credit they can be trusted with.’

  Kate nodded. ‘This guy seemed to think he’d sorted everything out.’

  ‘How thoroughly?’

  She spread her hands. ‘His problem, not mine. Maybe I’ll phone him later this week – we talked about having dinner when my cold had cleared. But don’t get all excited – it wasn’t like in those books you’ve taken to reading. It wasn’t love at first sight, Auntie.’

  Cassie sniffed. ‘When is it ever? But are you over that Robin of yours?’

  Even now, when someone mentioned his name unexpectedly, it was all Kate could do not to cry out. Perhaps if she freshened her own drink she could manage. Not enough to risk her licence. Just for something to do while she put her thoughts in some sort of order.

  She turned back to Cassie. ‘I don’t seem to be throwing up quite so much these days. Oh, I still miss him – when we climbed up the Duomo dome, I wanted … Oh, you know how it is.’

  ‘Better to cry than to be sick.’ Cassie thrust her bedside box of tissues at her. ‘I’d say you were well on the way to recovery. Just remember there’s no man who isn’t replaceable.’

  ‘Amen to that!’

  Kate nearly dropped her glass. She turned to see who’d spoken. It was the care assistant with the ice.

  ‘They’ve all got these quiet shoes,’ Cassie complained. ‘They scare you to death when they come creeping over the carpets. Mind you, I suppose I’d better enjoy the carpets: when you start having accidents they demote you to rooms with vinyl flooring – easier to mop up, I suppose. Now, how are you, Rosie? Come over here and let me have a look at you. No more cupboards walking into you?’

  ‘You and your jokes, Cassie!’

  ‘How else did you get your black eye and split lip? Come on, Rosie. I told you, Kate here’s in the poli
ce. You can tell her.’

  Kate smiled, in vain, she thought. Rosie stared at her, nodded, and went out. She was limping slightly.

  She’d no idea what time it was when she got back from Cassie’s, but she thought she’d better make a last check on Zenia. Zenia’s washing was done: she had some of those old-fashioned, slatted, drying racks – the memory forced itself on Kate – the sort Robin had hung over the Aga in her old house. Just hang the clothes up, that’s all.

  Zenia herself did look slightly better, but coughed every time she tried to speak. In the end they flapped hands at each other and Kate slipped home.

  Her house was silent. Silent enough to hear the rain tapping the uncurtained windows downstairs. Snapping on the radio she dragged her washing from the machine. No, she’d better tumble it. She could do with some racks like – like Zenia’s.

  What about a whisky?

  What about a cocoa, more like?

  Perhaps it was the cold making her feel so low. Or rather, the cold’s residue of thick mucus and throbbing sinuses. And the cough, which had made an unwelcome return as soon as she came into the kitchen – all the powdery cement chipping off the floor. Roll on Friday and the new floor-covering, chosen for cheapness rather than style.

  It’d be nice to curl up with the phone, and have a natter – to talk to someone on her terms, as opposed to Cassie’s. Phone who? One of her London mates, of course – an old pal from the Met. Why no one in Birmingham? Because there was hardly anyone she could call a friend. Oh, inside the squad there was Colin, but his private life had a very thick veil across it, and though at work they could confide in each other, she still wasn’t sure of his welcoming a call at this time. What about that young man on the plane? Alan? No, too late for a stranger to call. There was no one else. Certainly not Graham Harvey, whose wife’s interest in his calls necessitated dialling one four one.

  Kate squared her shoulders. Better an empty house than an unhappy one. If she got through another of her London boxes, she’d reward herself with a hot shower and a couple of those delectable Italian chocolates.