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“And yet the grandmother still insists on pursuing custody?”
“Yes. Our first court hearing is Monday.”
Erika considered this in silence for a few moments, then said, “Even my tolerance has limits. Someone needs to shake some sense into that woman.”
Dusk was painting shadows in the corners of the garden as Rose got up from the computer, shoving her chair under the desk in a gesture of frustration. The conservatory off the kitchen, with its built-in computer nook, had been one of her father’s last projects. Ordinarily, it was her favorite room in the house and she loved working or reading there, daydreaming as she gazed out into the garden.
That afternoon, however, she’d looked from the clock to the phone to the computer and back again, growing increasingly edgy and unsettled. She’d had a run and a shower, and tried to nap, but her sleep had been disturbed by half-remembered nightmares. Giving up on rest, she’d made coffee and pulled up the fire brigade database once again, hoping to see something she’d overlooked earlier, while she waited for Station Officer Farrell to call.
But the phone had not rung, and as the hours passed she felt more and more foolish for having attempted to contact him. Why had she thought she’d discovered something the investigating team wouldn’t turn up on its own? And what good would it do even if she had? There was nothing anyone could prove, or that would help the investigators predict the location of another fire. Her guv’nor had been right; she should have kept her nose out of it.
The fading daylight told her she should be hungry. Padding barefoot into the kitchen, she peered into the fridge but found nothing appealing. Her mum had gone out for a meal with friends, and Rose couldn’t be bothered cooking just for herself.
There was, however, half a bottle of her mum’s Australian Chardo
Taking her glass to the open conservatory door, Rose gazed out into the garden. The day had stayed warm, and the faint breeze that had made the humidity bearable seemed to have faded with the sunset. She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering sense of claustrophobia that had plagued her all day. It was absurd – she was used to wearing a mask, and she had never panicked in a fire, even as a raw recruit. Why should she feel now as if she had a weight on her chest?
She thought back to her meeting with the superintendent from Scotland Yard, the only time that day that the heaviness had lifted. Duncan, he’d said to call him. A nice name, and he was bloody good-looking, too. He hadn’t made fun of her theory, but perhaps he’d just meant to be kind. She was wondering about his partner, and about his reluctance to discuss his domestic situation, when her mobile rang.
She scrambled back to the computer desk where she’d left her phone, flipping it open with one hand while she juggled her wine in the other.
“Hey.” The voice was not Station Officer Farrell’s, but one much more familiar.
“Bryan,” she said, making an effort to disguise her disappointment.
“What’s up, Petal?”
“Not a lot.” Away from the station, she didn’t bother complaining about the nickname. “You?”
“I thought you might fancy a drink.”
It was the first time he’d ever rung her off duty and asked her to do something socially, and she heard his slight hesitation.
“Um, I don’t think I’m up for it,” she said awkwardly. “What with the early start tomorrow and all.”
“I just thought you might want some company.” Bryan paused, then added, “Are you all right, Rose?”
They hadn’t really had a chance to talk since she’d been called on the carpet by Wilcox, and for a moment she was tempted to tell Simms what she’d been doing. She knew she could trust him to keep it to himself, but it was clear from the concern in his voice that he thought she needed looking after, and she didn’t want to encourage that. Nor was she in the mood to have her ideas shot down, however kindly.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m fine, really. We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah? I’ll see you at roll call in the morning.”
“Right. Cheers, then.”
When they’d rung off, she walked slowly back to the garden door. There she stood for a long time, cradling her still-untouched glass of wine against her chest, searching the darkening sky for a telltale smudge of smoke.
Having quickly familiarized herself with Fa
“I’m sorry,” Fa
“Don’t worry about it.” Wi
She kept a collection that she thought of as her “ailing parishioner kit.” Through experience, she’d discovered that prayer had its place, but that there was nothing more healing to those who were ill or worried than a good belly laugh. Tonight she’d pulled out two of her personal favorites, A Fish Called Wanda and Waking Ned Devine, plus some old episodes of Fawlty Towers. They were all irreverent, but in her opinion reverence was highly overrated, and she even had a secret fondness for the ecclesiastical absurdities of Father Ted.
“Oh, Wi
“Of course. I’ll just help you settle in for the night, shall I?”
Wi
“Elaine would never have watched these,” said Fa
Wi
“I did, whenever I could manage.” Fa
“What about Elaine?” asked Wi
“Oh, serious things. Old movies, sometimes. I didn’t like to complain. She…”
“She what?” Wi
“She – she could be… unkind.” Fa
Holding herself very still, Wi
“Oh…” The cat, Qui