Bright Spark (32 page)

He
studied her wide open eyes and her parted, expectant smile. He smiled back and
embraced her lips with his own, relishing their cool moistness against his own
roughened flesh. She clasped herself to him, pressing her breasts and belly
against his chest, lifting his face into hers, fluttering her tongue over his
then withdrawing to fix his eyes again with her own, quizzical now.

“Who’s
Hayley?” she asked, hands clasped behind his neck.

“She’s
my….” The easy lie wedged itself in his throat.

“It
doesn’t matter. I just need to know.” She kissed him again, gently tugging at
his lower lip with her teeth. “We’re both grown-ups. We need each other. For
now. But no games. No lies. That’s a deal-breaker.”

“She’s
my partner. We live together. We’re in a rocky…”

“Enough.”
She kissed his cheek, draping her hair over his eyes. He wanted to lose himself
in her, to let the torrent tear away everything but this sparking contact. He
wanted to undress her, to feel her skin under his fingertips, but fire would
deny him this unless he wanted to meld pleasure with pain. “One more thing.
You’re not actually on duty, are you?”

“No.
Sick leave,” he muttered, frowning and off-balance. “I’ve been ordered to rest
and talk to no-one.”

“But
you came here in your suit. You may as well have been in uniform. That should bother
me.” She hesitated, once again looking for something in his eyes. He couldn’t
say what she saw, but knew that his mask lay in pieces on the floor.

“I’m
sorry. I was on the case. Unofficially. That was my plan. I didn’t set out to
deceive you.”

“I
know you didn’t.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, pushing his mouth into
hers again and kissing him hungrily. “I’m glad nobody knows you’re here. What’s
your first name again?”

He
kissed her deep and hard, letting the pent-up need flow back and forth in a
scalding arc. As he surrendered to his need, he forced his hands to touch the
back of her neck, the small of her back, the curves of her buttocks, the swell
of her breasts, gasping as excitement and pain flared together.

He
knew they would never find the comfortable silence that supposedly defined a
healthy relationship. Even in this space, with the lengthening shadows
softening the hard edges of bedroom furniture and blotting out the trail of
discarded underwear, their discomfort remained stark.

“Are
you sleeping?” she ventured, turning onto her side to regard him, one arm
draped over the breasts he’d lavishly caressed only a few heartbeats ago.

“No,”
he said, studying the ceiling, hoping the cold clarity would thaw, craving the
euphoria that had wholly consumed him then evaporated into the ether wholly and
instantly.

“Don’t
get awkward on me.”

“I’m
sorry. Just. You know.” He turned to mirror her and felt the first jolt of pain
from his hands, chased away by the flood of endorphins and now set to return
with a passion of its own.  “Enjoying the moment. Drifting.”

“Kiss
me then.”

He
sealed his lips gently over hers, feathered kisses over her cheeks and eyes
then lay on his back again, drawing her to his chest. He found a hollow there swallowed
an urge to find the shower and sluice the stain of sweat from his body.

“That
was nice,” she whispered. “Almost like you cared.”

“What
makes you think I don’t?”

“Because
there’s no reason why you should. We’re both grown ups. We both needed….this,
whatever this was.”

“I
don’t make a habit of this, Sharon. Things have been rough at home and…..”

“I
don’t care about your domestic woes, Rob.” She lay back, hands behind her head,
naked and confident again. “So just don’t bring that stuff here.”

“What
stuff?”

“That
whole serial shagger script, you know, ‘my wife stroke partner doesn’t
understand me’. Or, ‘we’re still living together but it’s over’. It doesn’t
matter to me. I don’t care. I won’t be the other woman. Not again.”

“I’m
sorry. I wasn’t making excuses….”

“Yes,
you were. It’s in your programming. You’re a married man – practically speaking
– and you’re laden with guilt about….well, you don’t need my opinion. We’re
grown-ups. We have certain desires. We happened to cross paths. We both had a
good time. Let’s not ruin it with guilt. I am not your mistress or your
girlfriend. I won’t be afraid to look you in the eye again. I won’t cry into my
pillow if you don’t call.”

“You
really know your own mind.”

“If
you haven’t got your own script, someone will write one for you. Does that seem
cold?”

He
studied her without needing to talk, the silence more bearable now that the
static electricity had been earthed. Sated, he looked into her eyes with only a
hazy interest in the body she’d exposed to his hands and eyes and tongue.

“Don’t
look at me like that. I might think you care.”

“Is
that not allowed?”

“You
know it’s not. For a dozen reasons.”

“Good.
That makes things easier.”

“Not
always. But it’s….rational.”

 “I
have a theory,” Harkness began, staring at the tendrils of sunlight probing at
the margins of the curtains. “Social gravitation. Basically, we’re all
propelled through society, some of us by the force of collisions with other
bodies, some of us by the overwhelming attraction of something bigger than
ourselves. Sooner or later, we meet another body. Too much attraction or the
wrong kind of trajectory and we collide, with all sorts of fireworks and
upheaval. Too little attraction or a glancing trajectory, and we touch then
speed apart.  But if we find just the right balance between outward motion and
attraction, then the bodies capture each other and orbit in a finely balanced
waltz for eons.”

“That’s
bizarre. You sound like, I don’t know, an Open University video from the 1970s.
What kind of copper are you, sergeant?”

“I
just don’t know anymore,” he said, clouds gathering behind his eyes.

They
held each other until the sunlight ebbed away, dozing, touching, embracing and
finally, seamlessly, without speech or thought or meaning, making love again as
they sank into unburdened silence.

“Don’t
talk about it. Don’t break the spell.” She placed a mug of coffee on the
kitchen table in front of him and sealed his lips with her finger. She stooped
and kissed him on the forehead, avoiding his mouth and his eyes.

“I’m
sorry.” He straightened his face and sipped his coffee, one eye on the kitchen
clock as the minute hand toppled from midnight into another day.  His car keys
lay next to the blinking clamshell of his replacement mobile phone, a cheap
pay-as-you-go unit whose number he’d so far shared only with Slowey. “I should
go. Soon.”

“You
should. But drink your coffee. You may need it.”

“Our
q & a session was…interrupted. I had one more question. Seems a bit
churlish to ask it now but…..”

“But
it is your turn. As far as I remember. Feels like a long time ago.” She leaned
against the wall and unconsciously pulled her baggy t-shirt further down over
her naked thighs. “Ask away.”

“Well.
You’re so composed. Emotionally intelligent. So good at sidestepping
self-delusion and flattery and lame excuses.”

“That
sounds like flattery. Don’t make me side-step it.”

“What
I’m getting at is your empathy. You’re good at it. Your brother presumably
isn’t.”

“My
brother?” She winced momentarily, perhaps at the contrast between her love for
her brother and the physical transaction she’d just shared with an adulterous
cop. “Empathy? No. That’s beyond him.”

“How
so?”

“Well
think of it this way. If you showed him a chocolate box and asked him what was
inside, he’d say ‘chocolates’. If you opened the box and showed him that it did
in fact contain pebbles, he’d accept that fact. If you then closed the lid
again and asked him what mummy would say was in the box if she just happened to
walk into the room at that moment….”

“He’d
say ‘pebbles’.”

“Just
so. He can only see the world through his eyes.”

“So
he can’t lie.”

“Why
on earth would you ask that?”

“I
just think he might have seen something. Could be your neighbours just
disturbed him weeks or months ago. Maybe his chronology is out. I’m just
curious.”

“No.
He can’t lie. He’s not a saint. He can be naughty and knows the difference
between right and wrong. If rules are spelled out, he can follow them.
Sometimes. He just wouldn’t understand enough about how your mind ticks to know
how to form a lie. I’m not sure he’d even see the point.”

“When
we first met, last week, when your family was here, Jeremy came into the garden
and spoke to us briefly.”

“I
remember. You were obnoxious. And I couldn’t have imagined I’d be standing here
wearing only a t-shirt remembering what a nice time we’d just had. Watching you
become obsessed with a dead case again. Giving a damn. Feeling awkward and
half-cut.”

“But
Jeremy just had to tell me he hadn’t seen anything. And just to be extra clear,
he said it was the noisy neighbours that he wasn’t to tell me anything about.”

She
frowned. “He’s easily confused. And he’s wary of policemen. In uniform is bad
enough – plain clothes is even more confusing. If you make a careless joke,
you’ll discover months or years later that he took it to heart. Maybe my mum
said something. To stop him bothering you.”

“I’m
sure that’s it.” He drained his coffee, reached for his keys and stood.

“That’s
all? Now I’m worried.”

“No,
don’t be. Look, I have to go. I don’t really know what to say.”

“Just
say goodbye and go. Don’t think too hard. That’s the simplest way.”

“I
wish things were different.”

“Lame,
Rob. Doesn’t change anything and it could hurt someone’s feelings.”

He
halted in the doorway, rooted to the spot, needs and desires tugging at him
from every direction. He needed to kiss her mouth, hold, touch and taste her
again. But he couldn’t trust his emotions and had to keep delusion at bay. He
couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t break anything he touched.

“Goodnight
then,” he said, heading for the front door with a diffident glance at eyes he’d
immersed himself in an hour earlier, so long ago.

“Honey,
I’m home!” he proclaimed as he slammed the front door shut with studied
clumsiness.

“Hi,”
came Hayley’s muffled reply from the kitchen.

He
slipped off his shoes in the hallway and threw his jacket on the stairs.
Voicing a silent prayer of thanks that Sharon didn’t appear to wear lipstick or
use gallons of perfume, he resisted the urge to throw himself into the shower,
instead ambling into the kitchen. As he glimpsed Hayley bent over her laptop at
the dining table, he tugged off the tie he’d put on in the car two minutes
earlier. 

“Want
one?” he asked, filling the kettle to make a hot drink he didn’t really need.

“No.
Thanks. Too late for me.” She closed the laptop’s lid with bitten fingernails.
She’d become gaunt in her beauty, cheekbones made stark by weight loss and eyes
bruised by sleeplessness. “Late for you too.”

“Long
day. My sleep patterns are still topsy-turvy too.”

“Got
your note. I was still worried. You’re supposed to be off work.”

“I
was bored here. There were things I had to do.”

“You’re
supposed to be taking it easy. Not just now. But.” She almost stood but
remained fixed to her chair. “Just tell me something, Rob.”

“Of
course.”

“What’s
going on?” He almost flinched and clenched his jaw shut. “You’re supposed to be
using this time. Not just to heal your burns. Christ knows that’s reason
enough. But to sort your head out. Get us back on track.”

“Sorry.”
He yawned, perhaps a touch too theatrically. His heart raced, the night’s
euphoria flaking into toxic embers. “Work dragged on. As ever.”

“I
can see that. But why the hell were you there at all? I thought the case was
finished.”

“Depends
on who you ask. I’m just not sure it is finished. The honest truth,” he added,
trying it for size, “is that we may have to begin again from first basics.
Something huge may have been missed.”

“Are
you talking about the case or us?”

He
found no answer to this, instead shrugging off the question and turning to pour
boiling water into his mug. 

“I
rang Slowey,” she said evenly. “When you weren’t back for dinner. He said he’d
called you. Couldn’t get an answer though.”

“He
wouldn’t do.” He’d blundered. The ground was crumbling beneath his feet. “Lost
my phone in the fire.”

“You
need to brief your friends when you want them to lie for you.”

“To
lie for me…” The lie was thriving and he couldn’t bear to choke it off now. It
was the least of his sins and he would atone at a time of his choosing. “Just
wait a minute. What on earth are you thinking?”

“How
the hell am I supposed to know what to think? You say you’ll be here, looking
after yourself, looking after our future. But you’re not. You slope off to work
even when you don’t have to. If that’s where you went.”

“Of
course that’s where I went.”’

“And
Slowey’s a good friend to you but I caught him by surprise. He let slip he’d
been at work today and got vague on whether he’d seen you there. And how would
he call you on the phone you lost?”

“As
I said, he couldn’t. He’s a busy man. Must have slipped his mind.”

“You’re
lying to me. Again. And I don’t even know why.” Hayley simmered, tears burning
away before they could fall.

“I’m
in trouble. At work.” He shouted it out, not having to look far for the anger
he needed; diverting the lie, allowing it to find a more natural course. “I botched
the murder enquiry. I wasn’t on duty. I was working. In a blind panic. Looking
for facts. People. To make things right.”

“And
you couldn’t tell me.”

“Of
course not. Newly promoted and I could have lost a major prosecution and my job
and maybe you. I had to try to put it right. My way. In my time.”

“But
I’m your partner.” Her tone was brittle; she’d been ready to fight her corner
but he’d changed the rules. “You can fall on me. I need you to believe that.”

“Of
course you’re right. But I’m in a deep dark hole. I nicked the wrong man and he
torched himself. It’ll all come out, sooner or later. I’ve been told to stay at
home. So I can’t work from the office, can’t speak to Slowey. I need to make
this right, but I can only do it under the radar.”

“I
just don’t know what to think any more, Rob. I wish I did.”

“I
can’t get off this train. I’ve got to see it through. Then we’ll have time. A
quiet space. I promise.”

“You
know nothing’s changed, don’t you. I still need your decision. Soon.”

“I
need a shower.” He picked up the hot mug of tea, deserving the pain, intent on
sluicing and scalding the day away.

“I
can’t say I’m troubled about the childhood accident. That was mainly bad luck
and stupidity. But as for the way you’re treating Hayley, well you’re old
enough to know better.” Slowey used another slice of thick white bread to mop
up the last traces of grease and brown sauce from the plate in front of him. “I
was going to say I thought better of you but that would be total bollocks.”

“That’s
all?” Harkness said, throwing a few crumbs and scraps of gristle from his bacon
sandwich onto the grass for the waiting ducks to bicker over. 

“What
were you expecting? It’s mildly surprising but you’re still you. Can’t see how
it would affect our working relationship. Unless…” He wiped the grease from his
hands and drained his mug of tea.

“Unless
what?”

“Nice
here, isn’t it?” Slowey pushed his plate away and leaned against the creosoted
wall of the garden centre café with a contented smile. A pair of mallards
tussled and grumbled over the bacon scraps while various elderly couples pecked
at their own late breakfasts on the picnic tables arranged around the centre’s
ornamental pond.

“Unless
what?”

“Alright,
Sarge. Let a chap digest, won’t you. I meant, unless you really allow yourself
to believe you’re somehow cursed. You know, doomed to carry forward your guilt,
hell-bent on making amends but destined to make things worse. That kind of
thing.”

“You
really think I believe in curses, hexes, bad juju and the like?”

“Consciously,
no. You’re a sceptic, a one-time scientist, a secular type through and through.
But at some level, you seem to think that your run-in with Firth was a logical
consequence of the antics of your eight-year old self. Maybe you see the
similarities and think there must be karma at work. Maybe you actually believe
you deserve to suffer, deserve to be held responsible.”

“Ok.
Fine.” Harkness held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Oh
and before I forget. If you expect me to lie for you again, brief me first. And
give me a good reason. Hayley’s a nice girl…”

“And
deserves better or whatever else you were going to say. Yes, guilty as
charged.”

Slowey
produced a handkerchief, wetted the end with his tongue and began rubbing at a
sauce stain on his tie which today featured a pattern of slavering cartoon
animals chasing each other in an endless spiralling pattern. Harkness felt
liberated and anonymous in t-shirt, jeans and sunglasses, but his hands, red
raw and shedding skin in silver shreds, still branded him.

“So
why were you pretending to be at work yesterday?”

“I
was working the case.”

“So
where did you go? Which witness did you bother?”

“Sharon
Jennings.”

“Pretty
girl? Plenty to say for herself? Marjorie’s daughter?”

“That’s
the one.”

“Jesus.
Rob. Is that why I’m your alibi?”

“It’s
not what you think.”

“Bollocks,”
exclaimed Slowey, causing blue-rinses and flat caps to be shaken sadly all
around them. “Thrice bollocks.”

“Alright,”
whispered Harkness, realising with a surge of anxiety how much he counted on
Slowey’s respect. “It is what you think but it’s not just that.”

“Well
you’ve just wolfed down that second bacon sandwich so you can’t have stayed for
breakfast.”

“We
talked. Swapped life stories. One thing led to another.”

“Tends
to when you go looking for it.”

“The
point is we, I, missed something. Her brother saw something and either can’t
tell us or hasn’t been allowed to.”

“Doesn’t
matter, Sarge. You’ve heard the news. The prime and most likely suspect is
dead. Nobody else has a motive. I’m still on the team but not for much longer.
We’re making sure it’s watertight, but we’re doing it for the Coroner, not for
a prosecution. We need to start excluding evidence, not including it.”