Still Waters (2 page)

As supine as he, she temporised. ‘She sounded quite stressed.’

‘She might well. Lloyd’s thrown her out, she says.’

‘He
what
? The bastard!’ She pushed away from the table. In such a crisis, especially one with children involved, she could forget past irritations.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Going to clean her room, of course. And the spare one. And we’d better go and buy some bunks for the spare room, or whatever babies sleep in.’

‘Not until we’ve had breakfast, anyway.’ He spread and munched and dabbed up crumbs assiduously. And irritatingly.

So there was plenty of time for Fran to work out what was wrong. He hadn’t denied that Sammie would be staying here, had he? And naturally with the children. Had Sammie refused to accept the offer of a safe haven until its pollutant had been removed? Was she demanding that Fran be excluded from what was fast becoming her home too? On past performance, Fran wouldn’t put it past her. At the very least Fran had a feeling that Mark would no longer be assuming she would stay over every night they weren’t sleeping in Lenham. That he would ask her, with great embarrassment, to understand.

So what line should she herself take? Righteous anger? Or acquiescence, on the grounds that a father owed his flesh and blood more than he owed his lover?

At last, Mark quite visibly gathered his courage.

‘Fran, I’ve got the biggest favour to ask.’

She took a deep breath and gave what she hoped was an
encouraging smile. And was glad she had when he spread his hands helplessly.

‘I’m torn down the middle, Fran. I want to be with you. I’ve made that clear to Sammie. But she claims Lloyd hit her, and in front of the kids. Now, you and I both know what women’s refuges are like.’

‘You couldn’t have your grandchildren going to one of those,’ she agreed, glad she could see eye to eye with him about that at least. ‘But she could surely exclude Lloyd from the marital home. If he has hit her, he can be done for assault, and a spell for him in the cells would enable her to make all the proper legal moves.’

For a moment he looked almost shifty. Then he said, ‘I don’t actually believe he has struck her. Certainly, when I pressed for details she became evasive, really evasive. I think they’ve just had a tiff and she wants out to give things time to cool down. OK, a big tiff—’

‘So if we – if
you
– offer her refuge here, we’re colluding with her.’

‘Or offering a breathing space for them to kiss and make up. I don’t know. You don’t suddenly get a dose of wisdom when you become a parent, you know.’

She was hardly in a position to argue. Instead, she asked, ‘So what’s the favour?’ Some of her former resentment seeped into her voice.

He looked up, startled. ‘Didn’t I say? I wondered if, just until they’re back together, of course—’

‘Assuming they get back together,’ she interrupted sourly, and wished she hadn’t, because his voice took on an acidic note.

‘—that as
you
suggested, they stay here. Sammie and the
babies, I mean.’ Before she could say anything, he rushed on, ‘She’ll pay a nominal rent, of course, and I shall get a solicitor to draw up a tenancy agreement. I can’t have Dave thinking she’s going to walk off with the whole lot while he gets nothing. I’ve always tried to treat the kids fairly, if not equally.’

Fran had managed not to say anything, but she sensed that it was her very silence that made him say, ‘And they’ll both have to wait until after we’re both dead, Fran, to get their claws on anything. Both of us,’ he added firmly.

‘Some people think it’s better to give their kids stuff when they need it,’ Fran countered, sensing a huge rainbow casting the previous clouds into perspective.

‘That’s what I’m doing. Giving her shelter when she needs it. But this house is going to pay for my care in my old age, Fran. I’ve learnt my lesson from your parents. When I’m senile, I don’t intend to batten on my nearest and dearest – and that includes you. A luxury padded cell for me!’

‘And she’s happy with that?’

‘I know you think I’m a pushover. I probably am. It was Tina who did all the disciplinary stuff, and then I thought indulging them would temper the pain of losing her. But on this I did make myself clear. I also said that I expected her to treat you as part of the family from now on, and if she wanted to see me she saw you.’

Now that was a treat in store for them all.

‘But what’s the favour? I’m not arguing with anything here.’

‘You might. I’m tempted to tell her that you’re part of the deal. Perhaps I ought to insist. In other words, that you treat this place as your home, and that’s going to continue.’

She nodded slowly, trying to reserve judgement while she waited for the rest of the deal.

‘Do you see that working? We come in at seven or eight at night, expecting a bit of peace and quiet—’

‘Or something altogether less restrained,’ she said.

‘And falling over the toys she never gets round to putting away; finding nappies blocking the loo; getting woken up by yelling kids; finding her in the bathroom first thing when we’ve got nine o’clock meetings… It wouldn’t work for me. If it did for you, you’d be a saint. So the favour is this. Can I move into your cottage full time?’

It took a moment for this to sink in. Then she beamed.

‘What are we waiting for?’ she asked. ‘Start packing now!’

That evening saw Fran dressed up again, though Mark, watching from the bed as she preened herself, was still in jeans and a filthy sweater.

‘Are you sure this is a good idea? I really don’t want to poop Jim’s party,’ she said as she fastened her earrings.

‘Are you sure you can use the verb like that? Yes, you look perfect: smart but, with luck, not too smart. Sweetheart, of course you must go, even if it’s just for a few minutes. A man only retires once. How long did you say you’ve known Jim?’ He got up to fasten the pendant he’d given her the previous week.

‘Thanks. Since I was twenty-two – and kindly have the decency to do your maths in your head.’

He made a great show of counting on his fingers.

She grabbed them. ‘Jim was my very first CID sergeant. He terrified the socks off me. But he scared all the lads too. I think he protected me, without them – or me! – realising it. And he stayed a sergeant for years and years, while I kept on getting promoted. A lot of men would have been bitter, but not Jim.
He was always the first to congratulate me. A really magnanimous man.’

Mark laughed, but said nothing.

‘And a great trainer, too. I know Maureen wanted him to retire properly at fifty-five and toddle off to the Costa Geriatrica, but I’m glad he didn’t. Think of all the young officers who’ve been through his hands in the last ten years. He’s really made a difference, Mark.’ She applied one last dab of make-up. ‘Are you sure you won’t come too?’

‘I shall pop my nose in when I drop you off, and stand a round for everyone, but no more. Come on, Fran, someone my rank hanging round? You can get away with it, since you worked with him, but I’d really put the kibosh on things, wouldn’t I?’

She didn’t argue. ‘OK. We’d best push off then, if you really don’t mind giving me a lift. But I insist on getting a taxi back.’

‘Of course I shall take you there. Actually, it’s just an excuse to grab another load of my things from Loose.’

‘And to see your grandchildren in the bath. Give them a hug from their absentee quasi-granny. You could even point out to Sammie that if we got to know them a bit we might be able to babysit for her.’

‘The last refuge of the desperate grandparent! I shall say that and a good deal more, I can tell you.’ He looked around, rolling his eyes at the heap of well-filled bin-liners in the corner. ‘You don’t think it’s too late to make another deposit in a clothes bank, do you?’

‘I think we’ve pretty well filled Sainsbury’s Oxfam skip. What about moving across to a Sally Army one on another supermarket site somewhere? Funny,’ she added, fishing a blouse out from the nearest bin-liner for one last look, ‘I used
to think I was the bee’s knees in this. Now I all I can think of is how closely I must have resembled Mrs Thatcher.’ She shoved it back in and tied the bag’s ears firmly. ‘Who, as I recall, was Jim’s heroine.’

‘Well, none of us is perfect,’ he said crisply, hefting the sack and a couple of others. ‘Come on, party time!’

Jim’s face had lit up as she and Mark entered the heaving pub. Mark bought drinks all round, clapped Jim on the shoulder and made a discreet exit. As soon as he could, Jim shepherded her into a quiet corner, and sat cupping a hand round what he insisted was his better ear.

‘I hate this sort of thing,’ he confided. ‘I’m all for a bit of a lark, but all this drinking and folk yelling at the tops of their voices… And that bloody loud music! How old do they think I am? Thirteen?’

Sympathising more than she cared to admit, Fran peered round for a face she recognised. A few quick words and the musical part of Jim’s problems was cured.

‘I did think I’d have liked a proper sit-down meal, but then I wouldn’t have been able to talk to everyone, would I?’ he continued wistfully.

She was painfully aware that he had begun to age. His waist had thickened to the point where he supported it with his belt, and brown spots speckled his hands and forehead. The startlingly handsome young man – she might have had a crush on him for a while – was now in senior citizen territory.

Fran happened to know that there’d be a couple of minibuses arriving any moment to take Jim and twenty of his closest mates to just the sort of bash he wanted, where his wife, who’d been told to make a great show of telling him to
go and have a night with the boys, would be waiting, plus the said boys’ wives. In fact, Fran had organised everything, from the restaurant to a last-minute visiting hairdresser to titivate Maureen.

‘I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciated all you’d done for me,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘You were more than my sarge, Jim. You were my mentor.’

‘You’ve not done badly. Mind you,’ he added with a sad shake of his head, ‘I did have you down for a chief constable. In fact, I had a tenner on your being the first woman chief in the country.’

‘I’m sorry I lost you your bet. But my not being desperate for a really big promotion was partly your fault, Jim.’ Not to mention her long-distance care for her parents, which had made doing even her existing job as a chief superintendent well-nigh untenable for some time. ‘It was you who taught me to get interested in the people behind a case, not just the crime statistics,’ she explained with a smile. ‘And though I’ve crunched a few numbers in my time, thanks to you I’m never happier than when I’m getting my hands dirty with a spot of detection. Anyway, it’s too late now. I shall be retiring myself any day now.’

He looked at her quizzically. ‘They do say you’ve shredded at least two letters of resignation, maybe three.’

‘You’ve done your share of that,’ she countered.

‘I get fond of them, that’s the trouble,’ he said. ‘The ones I teach, I mean. Taught! They kept me young.’

She knew the cue. ‘You certainly don’t look sixty.’

‘And you know full well I’m sixty-five, so cut the cackle. When I had to leave CID, though, young Fran, I really missed the buzz. I always wanted to know the whys and wherefores,
as well as the hows and whos and whens. Take this suicide business down in Hythe – at the Mondiale, that new hotel on the front.’

She was hooked at once. ‘What’s that?’

‘I wouldn’t know anything about it, and I don’t officially, mind.’ He touched the side of his nose, just as she’d known he would.

‘But…?’ she prompted.

‘Seems this man – he’d be about my age, Fran – he lived down there, in one of those nice flats overlooking the sea, with a balcony for a few pots and a couple of deckchairs… Seems he took himself off to the new posh place, the Mondiale, you know, the one that looks as if it’s just dropped in from outer space. I don’t know what the planners were thinking of, do you? And he puts his little overnight case beside the bed, makes himself a cuppa, uses the loo, and then hops off the hotel balcony. Just like that. I heard it from young Pete Webb, over there. So what I want to know is, why should anyone do that, eh? Why go to the Mondiale when he’d got a perfectly good place to jump from at home?’

‘You’re right. There’s something that doesn’t add up there.’

‘Tell you what, I’ve asked Pete to let me know what they find… But you can see what he’s got his mind on.’

Fran looked at one of her CID officers and a young woman whose bodies were apparently glued together. ‘Not so much his mind as his hands, I’d say! So who is she?’

Once she’d have been able to get away with a dress like that. So why had she never risked its equivalent in her youth? Because her mother would have thought the colour common – she thought it a most stunning cerise – and there was no disputing it showed rather more than it concealed. Vulgar, Ma
would have called it. And somewhere along the line Fran had omitted vulgarity from her life.

‘Jail bait,’ Jim declared. ‘You wouldn’t think to look at her that she’s one of the best forensic accountants in the force, would you?’

‘I wouldn’t have associated her with that sort of figure, I will admit.’ A couple of old-timers limped their way across to Jim’s table. She grinned. ‘It’s time for Trev and Denis to have their turn with the party boy, is it, guys?’ She got to her feet and bent to kiss him. ‘Tell you what, Jim, why don’t I keep an eye on this Hythe case and let you know what they find? Then I’ll drop in on you and Maureen from time to time and tell you all about it over a cup of tea.’

His face lit up. ‘Would you, sweetheart? Whoops, I’m not supposed to call you that, am I?’

‘I don’t think Mark’d mind.’

‘It’s not Lover Boy worries me, it’s the Thought Police! All this political correctness, Fran! It’s driving me to drink! Hey up, now what’s going on?’

The minibuses for the inner circle were at the door.

As she waved them all goodbye, Fran had a pang of regret. Should she have gone with the gang? No, she’d had her five minutes with Jim, and would keep him abreast of the Hythe suicide. Presumably there was no doubt it was suicide? Not a cleverly staged murder? Despite herself, she, like her old mate, was intrigued.

The house was horribly quiet when she let herself in, and for a moment, as she leant against the front door, she could have been quite dismal. She’d certainly have liked Mark to be there to welcome her back.

At least her –
their
– bedroom was tidy. She stripped off her glad rags and was running a well-deserved bath when the Hythe suicide came back to her mind. She could understand killing oneself. God knew she’d come close to it when Ian had died. And she could understand wanting to make a good job of it – imagine taking tablets and waking up a few days later with an irrevocably damaged liver and wishing you could change your mind. So the lemming-jumps at Beachy Head or the Forth Bridge made obscure sense and at least would be dramatic. You could leap off yelling ‘Geronimo’ or whatever. But going to a hotel and leaping off its balcony, not your own – that was weird. She turned off the taps and reached for the phone. And then she put it down again. The suicide wouldn’t be going anywhere, as police parlance had it, in a hurry. It’d be much better to leave her questions till Monday.

When she picked up the phone the second time it was to phone Mark. She thought they deserved a takeaway after their day’s efforts and he could choose an Indian or Chinese, depending on how little either took him out of his way on the way back. Correction, his way
home
.