by Casey, Jane
‘I don’t appreciate the threats. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve answered your questions. If you’re not happy with the answers, you need to think about whether you’re asking the right ones.’
‘Everything’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it?’ Derwent shook his head. ‘You’ve spent too much time with criminals, Mr Kennford.’
‘What happened to my family isn’t my fault,’ he said hotly.
A mild commotion outside the room turned out to be the chief clerk elbowing his way through the crowd outside the door. ‘Is everything all right, Mr Kennford?’
The interruption gave Kennford a crucial couple of seconds to recover his temper, and an approximation of his earlier easy manner.
‘Fine, Alan. Inspector Derwent was just trying to get a reaction out of me. And succeeded,’ he said, with a thin smile. ‘For which I apologise.’
‘No need to apologise to me. I’ve had worse.’ Derwent stuck his hands in his pockets. He looked remarkably pleased with himself.
‘Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.’ Kennford turned to Godley. ‘Can I assume this interview is now over?’
‘I think we’re done for the moment.’
‘In that case––’ He pivoted on the spot and punched Derwent, catching him full on the jaw and sending him sprawling on the floor, unable to get his hands free in time to break his fall. ‘That’s for insulting my daughter.’
It wasn’t often that Derwent got what was coming to him but when it happened, by God it was fun to watch.
Chapter Seven
I GOT BACK to the flat in the late afternoon and spent a couple of minutes opening every window in the place, trying to get some air into it. I finished up in the bedroom where I kicked off my shoes and took off my limp, creased suit, changing into shorts and a vest top. I leaned out of the window as I tied my hair up, letting the air cool the back of my neck. That side of the flat overlooked the street and, in the distance, Battersea Park, the tops of the trees just higher than the rooftops around it. The park looked like an oasis of cool green shade but in reality it was brown. The grass had crumbled to dust and the trees were so dehydrated they were shedding leaves and twigs. Even the water in the lake had been low the last time I had been there. The ducks had looked suicidal.
Below me the street was quiet for once, the heat having driven everyone inside. Those who were out walked slowly, heads down. It was humid as well as hot, the air heavy with the promise of a thunderstorm, and I scanned the sky for clouds, longing for rain. London was not designed for extended periods of hot weather, as the melting tarmac in the roads could attest. The national obsession with the weather was in full cry, with an aerial shot of ‘St James’s Dustbowl’ on the front of the Evening Standard.
‘What else do you expect in summer?’ Derwent had growled, folding the paper and flinging it to one side in disgust. ‘What else do you want?’
I hadn’t answered. I wanted the salt tang of the Atlantic complete with rain squalls that swept in across the sand to drench everyone and everything. I wanted icy waves, mist-shrouded mountains and occasional, glorious sunshine. I wanted the west of Ireland where I had spent my childhood summers, blue-kneed and jumper-clad in August. I wanted the endless days, the sun impossibly late in slipping below the waves, the sky still bright in good weather until eleven or after it. London was a long way south and east from where I felt at home in summer. And at that moment, London was distinctly lacking in amenities such as fresh air and cool breezes. Then again, if I lived in the west of Ireland I’d probably be sick of rain before too long.
With a sigh, I took myself away from the glare of baking rooftops. I wanted a drink and the kitchen was the coolest place in the flat. Standing barefoot on the tiles, I kept the fridge door open as I drank a litre bottle of water, almost at a comfortable temperature for the first time that day.
‘Ghetto air conditioning. Very classy.’
I jumped, spilling the last drops down my top. ‘Hello, stranger.’
Rob was standing in the doorway, leaning against it. Not for effect, I thought. He looked exhausted, his eyes squinting with tiredness. It was so long since I’d seen him properly I noticed immediately that he’d lost weight, his jeans sitting low on his hips.
‘Is there any more water?’
‘Loads.’ I threw him a bottle but kept my position at the fridge. I’d move when I had to and not before.
He drank half of it in one long swallow, then set it down on the table so he could get on with unbuckling his belt.
‘Hey, whoa there.’ I wagged a reproving finger. ‘I don’t see you for weeks and then as soon as we’re in the same room you expect us to get right down to it. I’m sorry, you’re going to have to buy me dinner first.’
‘Get your mind out of the gutter, Kerrigan.’ His trainers and socks went first. He shucked off his jeans, emptied the pockets and stripped out the belt, then wadded them straight into the washing machine. ‘It’s far too hot for that kind of thing. Not that you aren’t looking lovely today, may I say.’
‘Oh, sure. I’m always at my best when I’m underslept. Especially when I’ve been lightly poached for eight hours.’
Rob was looking at my legs, most of which were on display. ‘Going for a run?’
‘Hardly. This is the officially the least clothing I can wear and still qualify as dressed.’
‘When will this fucking weather break?’
‘It’s supposed to get hotter midweek. No sign of it changing until the weekend.’
His T-shirt followed the jeans. ‘What a pisser. If you think it’s hot out, you need to experience the back of the van. It’s a mobile sauna.’
I ran my hand over his back as he bent to put his socks in the machine, feeling his ribs. ‘No wonder you’re looking skinny.’
‘Less of that, if you don’t mind. This is my fighting weight.’ He ducked sideways, away from me. ‘Don’t come near me. I stink.’
‘Mm. I quite like it.’ I smiled to myself, remembering Dornton and his man smell. It definitely depended on the man. Him, I could resist quite easily. Rob, not so much, even in his current state of scruffiness. ‘When was the last time you had a shower, anyway?’ I reached out and rubbed the bristles on his chin. ‘Or shaved?’
‘Shower was yesterday morning. Shave? Not sure.’ He grinned at me, his teeth looking very white in contrast with his dark stubble. ‘What about if I grow a beard?’
‘What about if you don’t?’
‘Oh, come on. It would make life so much easier.’
‘For you, maybe, but stubble rash is not a good look.’
‘If I ever got the chance to inflict it on you.’ He said it lightly but there was an underlying truth to it. Not my fault, and not his, but not good for either of us. I leaned my head on my arm, watching him move around the kitchen.
‘It’s nice to see you. Why are you at home?’
‘That surveillance didn’t work out.’
‘How come?’
He picked up the bottle and drank the remainder of his water before replying. ‘Let’s not talk about work now. At least, let’s not talk about my work. Why are you here? Bit early for you to knock off, isn’t it?’
‘Early start. Late night last night. And we’ve hit a bit of a dead end.’ I shrugged. ‘Godley had other things to do, and none of my interviews are until tomorrow, so even Derwent couldn’t think of a reason to keep me at work.’
‘Godley’s other things including a shooting in Camberwell.’
‘You heard.’
‘Talk of the Met.’ Rob’s forehead wrinkled. ‘I’m not being rude, but isn’t it time he sorted that out? It’s too many bodies, Maeve. It makes us look bad.’
‘I think he would if he could.’
‘Makes me wish I’d never left the team.’
‘Because DS Langton would have brought peace to the drug dealers of South London and the Home Counties?’
‘Because DS Langton enjoys locking up murderers,’
he said calmly. ‘And I’d like to know more about what’s going on.’
‘I’m not involved either, you know. I know about as much as you do.’
‘Useless.’ He tweaked my ponytail. The height of romance. And I’d worried that moving in together would change things between us.
I let the fridge door close. ‘I’m going to set a good example and have a shower. It’s the only way I’m going to cool down.’
‘Good idea.’ He stood where I had been and opened the door again. ‘This is the opposite of good for the environment and we’ll probably end up in the sixth circle of some sort of ecological hell but I can’t think of anything better to do.’
‘I’d climb in and close the door if I thought I’d fit.’ I peeled my top over my head. ‘Back in a bit.’
I’d been in the shower for about two minutes when the door opened a crack.
‘I thought of something better to do. Budge up.’
‘This shower was not built for two.’ I made room for him all the same.
‘Jesus, that’s cold.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ I protested. ‘It’s tepid. You’re just hot.’
‘Yeah, baby. You said it.’ He was busy with the soap, scrubbing the accumulated sweat and dirt off. I pressed myself against the wall to leave him enough room, the tiles cold on my back. He rinsed away the lather at top speed, finishing by dousing his head. Emerging from under the water he shook it, sending droplets flying everywhere. I put my arm up to protect my face.
‘What are you, a dog or something?’
‘Oh, sorry. I wouldn’t want you getting wet.’
‘This is my shower. You’re just here on sufferance. I can kick you out if you don’t behave yourself.’
‘Define behave,’ he said, in the voice that made me literally weak at the knees, as he took a step closer to me. I tried to act as if I hadn’t noticed.
‘Hogging the shower is not allowed. Splashing is not allowed.’
‘Is this allowed?’ His hands moved as he spoke, sliding on my skin. I clung to him wordlessly.
‘What about this?’
‘Rob.’ It was all I could manage.
He kissed my neck slowly, working up to my mouth. Instead of kissing me properly, though, he stopped. ‘I’m very worried you’ll get stubble rash.’
‘I really don’t care.’ I rubbed my cheek against his, feeling the coarse grain of his beard. I actually liked it.
‘I don’t want you ripping yourself to shreds.’
‘I can cope.’ I kissed him to prove it, pressing myself against his body. I was almost the same height as him, matching him physically. The feel of him was familiar and yet there was a strangeness too, a distance between us that hadn’t been there before. I pulled back to look at him.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just …’
‘It’s been a while.’ As usual, on my wavelength. It was spooky at times how closely he could track what I was thinking. He grinned down at me. ‘Don’t worry. I think I can still remember how.’
‘Can you remember the last time we tried to have sex in the shower?’
He winced. ‘Remember it? I’m still seeing a chiropractor.’
‘I’m sorry. Tall people are a liability on wet tiles.’
‘Tall people also talk too much.’ He flicked the shower off before lifting me up and I wrapped my legs around him, clinging to him as he carried me to the bed. The tiny part of my mind that was still engaged with practical matters decided not to make a fuss about the fact that we were both dripping water. It didn’t matter about getting the sheets wet. It was hot. They would dry.
And that was the last coherent thought I had for a while. When I looked back on it, I only remembered images: the late afternoon sunlight slanting into the room, turning it gold. The white curtains at the window billowing as a stray breeze caught them. Rob’s eyes, very blue. The line of his jaw. His eyelashes, long and dark when he closed his eyes. His hands. His body over mine.
And one other thing: the tone in his voice that I’d never heard before when he said, as if the words were wrung out of him against his will, ‘Oh, Maeve. I love you. I love you.’
I held on to him and didn’t know what to say, except the obvious reply. And I did feel that way.
But I didn’t say it back.
He fell asleep almost as soon as he had rolled off me, a deep sleep that I didn’t want to disturb. I lay beside him and stared up at the ceiling, the light moving across it and changing as the sun slid down towards the horizon. I kept one hand on him, feeling his heart beating slowly as he slept. He was cool to the touch and at peace, his face tranquil. Tired as I was, my mind wouldn’t let me rest. I was turning it over and over, confusion beating elation every time. Why say it now? Was there a reason for it that I had missed? We had been together for eight months, on and off, and while I’d never doubted his feelings for me, I hadn’t needed him to say it out loud.
And now he had.
And the only times I’d ever heard that phrase before had been to make up for something the other person had done, whether I knew it at the time or not. I trusted Rob – I thought I trusted him, anyway – but I couldn’t work out why he’d said it, and like that, and now, when things were probably shakier between us than they’d ever been. It made me – I paused for a second, checking I was right about it – terrified.
I lay without moving, afraid to disturb him, and waited to feel better. And waited. And waited.
And time passed.
‘What time is it?’ He came awake in a moment, sitting up on one elbow, instantly alert.
‘Getting on for eight.’
He rubbed his hand over his face. ‘Sorry.’
‘No need to apologise to me. You were shattered.’
‘Still, not very gentlemanly of me.’
I reached up and pulled him down so I could kiss him. ‘I do value your manners but that’s not the only reason I keep you around.’
‘Good to know.’ His stomach growled. ‘On the one hand, I would like nothing better than to stay here for the rest of my life. On the other, I need to eat something.’
‘What sort of something?’
‘Not a burger or a pizza. I’ve had it with fast food.’
‘You may have noticed during your time at the fridge that there’s practically no food in the flat. I haven’t been shopping,’ I said apologetically.
‘Not much have I.’ He kissed me again. ‘I know it’s backwards, but you did say I had to buy you dinner.’
‘I was only joking. You don’t have to.’
‘I’d like to.’ He looked at me for a long moment and I wondered with a thrill of fear if he was going to mention what he’d said earlier. ‘It would do us good to get out, I think. Talk, for once.’
About what? It was ridiculous to be so nervous. ‘Fine by me,’ I said brightly. ‘Do you want to get ready first?’
He looked dubious. ‘How long will you be?’
‘Not long,’ I lied.
‘Right.’ He threw back the sheet and swung his legs off the bed. ‘I’ll book a table at Torino’s for nine o’clock.’
I checked my watch again. ‘That actually doesn’t give me much time.’
‘I actually know.’ He leaned back and kissed my shoulder. ‘Better hurry up.’
In fact, I was ready forty-five minutes later, a near record considering I’d washed my hair and prettied myself up too. I wore a yellow cotton dress with a full skirt, an item of clothing completely unlike something a murder detective would wear. It was a dress that deserved high-heeled sandals so I dug them out, resigned to sacrificing comfort for fashion. Only women would think it was a fair trade-off, I thought, pivoting to see myself in the mirror. The fact was, the right shoes made all the difference, and Torino’s wasn’t far to walk. Or stagger.
Rob was reading when I went to tell him I was ready. He had managed to fit in a shave as well as changing into a clean shirt and jeans. Generally, he looked a lot more like himself. He
glanced at me, then did a double-take. ‘Wow.’ He stood up and crossed the room, putting one hand behind my neck to draw me close enough for a kiss. ‘I meant what I said earlier, by the way.’
‘What do you mean?’ My voice was sharp.
‘You look beautiful today.’ He frowned a little. ‘What did you think I meant?’
‘Nothing.’ I checked my straps weren’t showing, acting casual. ‘Ready?’
‘Half an hour ago.’
‘Well then, what’s keeping us?’
‘Not much, I suppose.’ He still looked puzzled.
I chattered about nothing all the way to Torino’s, a small Italian restaurant in Battersea Square. That was a grand name for a triangle of pavement beside a surprisingly busy road, but on a warm summer night it was filled with tables from the nearby cafés and restaurants, and tiny fairy lights strung across the square gave it a magical feel. Rob had managed to book a table outside. I sat down opposite him and smiled, feeling relaxed for the first time. What did it matter that he had said he loved me at that particular time, in that particular way? Or that I hadn’t said the same in return? He knew me well enough to know I was wary of commitment, pathologically afraid of feeling too much for someone else and getting hurt. Trust was the issue, not love, and I couldn’t explain even to myself why I found it so hard to trust men – except that I saw good reasons every day to avoid making that mistake. Even Rob, who seemed to be a cut above the rest – certainly better than my last boyfriend before him – made me edgy. Especially when he surprised me. But why did I have to analyse every word for signs of impending doom? We were together, and that was all that mattered.
‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Lots,’ I said, disappearing into the menu, and when I resurfaced it was to the pop of a champagne cork. ‘What’s this?’
‘I just felt like it.’
‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘Drink it while it’s cold.’