Team Spirit (Special Crime Unit Book 1) (23 page)

He
recoiled as if from an electric shock and for a brief instant something
sparked. She realised she’d never before used an obscenity to his face.

‘Answer
me,’ she said, pressing it home.

‘Nina,
do credit me with a bit of common sense.’

‘Common
sense!’ Her eyes shone and her lips puckered in indignation.

‘It’s
not one of your precious team, all right?’

‘But
I know her.’

‘Honey...’

‘I
know her,’ Nina insisted.

‘Doesn’t
matter who she is.’

‘I’ll
be the judge of that.’

‘No,
listen,’ he said. ‘You want to know why, I’ll tell you.’

‘Aha.
It speaks.’

‘Look,
Nina,’ he began. Her acid jibe dissolved his response. He tried again. ‘Look,
it wasn’t fair the way it was. That’s why I went back to my parents’.’ It was
coming out in a rush. ‘I just couldn’t face you, you hear? I was ashamed; I
couldn’t bring myself to phone, in case - ’

‘No,
I
bet
you
bloody couldn’t.’

‘Keep
your voice down.’

‘Off
screwing your bimbo while I’m holed up at Sandra’s like a fugitive from my own
fucking home!’

Paul
leapt up, his face a deep red. ‘Shut up,’ he hissed, ‘and listen.’ Angrily he
sat down again and turned her round so she was facing him, so the others
couldn’t see her face. It was a pointless exercise; it would do nothing to
distract attention, but he had hers now, undivided. He said, heavily, ‘Now you
listen. I’ve ditched her.’

‘Ditched
her,’ she echoed.

‘That’s
right. Given her the elbow. Told her to sling her hook. I am not seeing her any
more,’ he enunciated with petulant clarity.

Nina
said, ‘That’s supposed to make me feel better, is it?’

‘Well...’

‘Wipe
away the past, let’s forget it ever happened?’

‘Well, look, I didn’t - ’

‘You
clueless patronising bastard,’ she said, shaking with fury. ‘I bet the moment
you heard me slam the door you told her to get dressed, you couldn’t see her
any more. Have I got that right?’

‘About,
yeah.’

‘Oh,
what a saint. So it takes being caught in the act before you realise I’m
suddenly too precious for you to lose and it’s not right for you to be knocking
off some tart on the side!’

‘She’s
not a tart,’ he retorted, wishing he hadn’t said it as soon as the words were
out of his mouth.

‘That’s
right, defend the fucking bitch! Not seeing her, my arse.’

‘I’m
not
.’

Her
cheeks were wet with angry tears. ‘You’re going straight to her, aren’t you?
Tonight? Straight fucking to her and bury your face in her tits and tell her
what a nasty frigid bitch I am.’ She couldn’t stop. Hurling missile after
missile, forcing him away.

‘You’re
talking nonsense.’

‘Am
I?’

‘Yes,
you are.’ Paul glared at his wife. ‘I haven’t been out all week, OK? Only place
I’ve been is back to my parents’. Ask your mum or dad or your precious sister
if you don’t believe me.’

Nina
sighed, heavily, the sigh turning into a whimper of misery. She said, ‘You
still don’t get it, do you?’

‘
Look
!’ he said, slamming the side
of the seat with his fist. ‘I know. It was wrong. If I could make it not have
happened I would. OK? But you were never bloody there. And when you were, all
you wanted to do was sleep.’

‘Oh,
so sex is all this boils down to, is it?’

‘I
give up.’ He sprang to his feet, not caring who overheard now. ‘I just bloody
well give up. I came here, sackcloth and ashes, to try and build some bridges.
D’you know how much bottle it took just to ring the doorbell tonight? I came
here to eat humble pie and grovel because I wanted to make it up to you. How, I
don’t know. I was hoping maybe you could tell me. But fine: if you feel our
marriage isn’t worth saving because of one... mistake, then fine. I might as
well be in somebody else’s bed. It’s your loss.’

‘That’s
right,’ she heard herself yell. ‘Check out.’

‘Why
not?’ He whirled round. ‘You did.’

She
sat stunned, open-mouthed, gaze hovering at his chest as he stood over her.

‘Actually
I’m not gonna check out or go away,’ he said. ‘You asked me to come, and I’m
staying. If you don’t want to talk to me, maybe some of your mates might.’ He
cast his eye around the assembled group, who were all suddenly deep in
conversations of their own. He said, ‘I’m going for another dance.’

He
strode off without looking back. Several pairs of eyes followed his every step
until he disappeared in the crowd.

Suspended
conversations resumed where they had been broken off, the effect like the spell
cast on soap opera addicts, lifted as the episode credits roll. As Nina,
stranded, hastily began a conversation with Kim, who sat nearest and slipped
into supportive sergeant mode, those out of earshot released held breath.

‘Well,’
Zoltan said, ‘that’s got that out of the way. Not sure what was more painful,
the row or his mixed metaphors.’

‘Brace
for more,’ Marie said. ‘Balloon’s well and truly up.’

‘So
who
is
the
other woman, exactly?’

Sandra
cut in. ‘Does it matter?’

Zoltan
shrugged.

‘Fucking
lousy thing to happen to a marriage,’ Sandra said. ‘I mean can you imagine?’

‘The
worst,’ Anne agreed.

‘What
she must be feeling. What
he
must.’

‘Oh,
I dunno,’ Neil Jones said, sounding mildly perplexed. ‘How about when I shagged
that girl in Corfu?’

Everyone
looked at the Joneses. Sandra came as near as she ever did to blushing. ‘That’s
different.’

‘How
different?’ Anne couldn’t resist asking.

‘Never
you bloody mind.’

‘She
was there at the time,’ Neil said cheerfully. ‘That’s how different.’

Sandra
glared at her husband. He’d already had a bit too much to drink, and she knew
from experience what fun the canteen cowboys would have if they got hold of
this. Some of the faces close by wore grins that bordered on the predatory.
‘Shut it now,’ she babbled, ‘if you want to ever have sex again.’

‘Oops.’

‘You
can’t compare that,’ she railed at him. ‘You just can’t.’

Jeff moved closer
to Jasmin, who to his dismay had lapsed back into gloom. ‘Not quite what we
expected, so far,’ he remarked.

She
made a noise with her tongue. ‘I’m sure they do not mean to spoil things.’

‘Course
not.’ He reflected for a moment. ‘Everybody seems to be having some sort of
crisis.’

She
shot him what he took to be an enquiring frown.

‘Lucky.’
He peered towards the bar, but couldn’t see her.

‘She
is?’

‘Well,
she’s obviously not happy.’

‘PMS.’

He didn’t look convinced. ‘What about you?’

She
looked into his eyes full of modest concern, and mustered a smile. ‘We are
meant to be having fun,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to get people down. Anne will
think she is at a funeral.’

She
laughed, and her eyes sparkled like gemstones. Jeff started to speak, but
thought better of it and ran a pensive finger up and down the bridge of his
nose. Something. None of his business, though, he realised with a pang of
despair. A reminder, yet again, of how little time was left to him for the
impossible pursuit of his feelings.

Lucky was causing
light-hearted concern. Although the dancefloor was full of people her age,
she’d so far seemed disinclined to join them. She preferred to stay in the
booth, launching into energetic chats with whoever was left sitting. Several
clubbers, including Neil, had asked, but had been declined with the same polite
smile. Though Neil’s offer was made at his wife’s prompting - he’d been giving
her the eye all evening - Sandra put her wary response down to the effect of
the three-in-a-bed story. But even Juliet, of whom there’d been precious little
sign anyway except when she came in for brief refreshment pitstops, seemed to
lack the power of persuasion. Finally, dropping by with Lucky’s rum and black,
she slapped down the change, said, ‘I give up on you, Larissa, I really do,’
and was gone into the gyrating multitudes.

‘Really,
though,’ Jeff tried, motivated by an unwelcome compulsion that it was his turn,
‘you can’t come to a club and not have at least one dance.’

Beside
him, Jasmin giggled. Lucky noticed and said, ‘Coming from you?’

‘I’m
serious,’ he laboured. ‘Not natural.’

‘What,
because I’m young and pretty?’ she retorted. ‘I should be out there pulling,
not sat in a corner?’ He adopted the hangdog expression she’d got to know
during their trip to Rye, and she softened. ‘No, I’m all right, thanks.’

She
picked up her drink and took a deep swig. Casting his eye over the four empty
glasses in front of her, Jeff said, ‘Can you afford all them on a PC’s salary?’

‘Asks
DC
Wetherby.’

‘Same
rank, aye,’ he corrected. ‘But I get long service.
And
housing allowance.’

‘Picky,
picky.’

She
said this very loudly, and it attracted the attention of a passing tuxedoed
young man who appeared, by dint of the name tag on his lapel, to be a member of
the club’s staff. He stopped and leaned over the booth, looking her up and down
with the unabashed nosiness of one used to authority. ‘Miss,’ he said solemnly,
‘how did you get in?’

‘I
paid,’ Lucky said.

Zoltan
guessed what was coming and called out, ‘It’s OK, mate.’

‘House
policy, no jeans,’ the man said. ‘Men or women.’

‘Piss
off,’ Lucky said.

‘Right.’
He made a move for her arm, which she yanked away. ‘You’re out of here.’

‘Mate,’
Zoltan said again, louder, ‘it’s all right.’

The
man rounded on him. His scowl froze when he saw the DI’s warrant card,
brandished in his face like a grenade with the pin out. Without a word he
turned and walked slowly away. Several clubbers turned stares in the team’s
direction.

‘Oh,
God
,’ Lucky
moaned, head in hands. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No
problem,’ Zoltan shrugged, employing his version of a reassuring smile. From
him it was a glare, such as a primary school teacher might use as a warning
against future bad behaviour.

The
scene was over, but a moment later Anne tapped him on the arm and drew him to
one side. ‘Was that wise?’

He
sighed, and put his arm round her. ‘Anything for a quiet life.’

‘A
quiet life?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Now everyone in the room thinks we’re
here to make a bust.’

The quiet life was
a philosophy Nina and Paul had adopted too. Against all odds, albeit influenced
by alcohol, they’d agreed a truce. They were, after all, still husband and
wife. The wife’s attitude to the husband had softened when he left the
dancefloor a very few minutes after storming out onto it and crouched down
beside her.

‘I
can’t keep up with that lot,’ he yelled over the din. ‘One of them called me
Dad.’ He grinned, relieved and delighted to see her laugh, even if it was at
his expense rather than at the rudeness of the youth. ‘Will you save my ego and
dance with me?’

‘You’ve
got a fucking nerve.’ But the obstinate smile that had commandeered her face
robbed the words of their venom. She relented. ‘Later. Let me think about it.’

She
had thought about it, and decided the hell with it. With or without a husband,
she was desperate for a good time, and it might as well be with.

They’d
had four dances, and were almost friendly. The DJ had put on Moby, an artist
Nina, even when she’d flirted with being a goth before joining the police, had
always secretly adored. Moby’s music, she and Paul had found during their
courtship and the early days of their marriage, had a sensuous effect. As the
swirling chords washed over them they’d moved cheek to cheek, then lips to
lips. Now Paul’s hands were on her bottom, stroking in that way of his that
made her want to tear his trousers down on the spot. At that moment she would
have done anything for her husband. Why didn’t they do this any more?

‘I’ve
got to know,’ she said suddenly, as the record faded.

He
paused in his caressing. ‘What?’

‘If
we’re going to dig our way out of this, I need to know what I’ve been doing
wrong.’

Paul
began to protest.

‘No,
look, I’ve had a think. There’s fault on both sides. I want to know who she
is.’