Patrick calmed down after the few hours in the cells, and read over the paperwork he was handed from the custody sergeant. He checked the conditions of his bail, which included staying away from Mick O’Dowd. Who the hell did that O’Dowd fella think he was? If he thinks this is over, he has another thing coming! There had been some discussion about an evening curfew, but luckily the duty solicitor had convinced the police that this could affect Patrick’s chances of employment. The police tried to raise the call-outs to his property relating to domestic incidents. He overheard one of the officers say that, because there had been no charges, they didn’t want to risk placing his wife at further risk by forcing him to stay on the premises. What a fucking joke!
Patrick glanced at his watch, and guessed that Lucy would be furious with him. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her shit, considering he’d been defending her honour. Ungrateful bitch! He hadn’t bothered calling anyone when he was finally offered the opportunity to do so, but now he noted three missed calls on his mobile.
He had thought about ringing Shell, but given her friend was in hospital it was doubtful she’d come to the police station to pick him up. The duty solicitor was certain that under the circumstances, the charges against Patrick would be dropped – because witness statements taken from others clearly showed that Mick had been the instigator. Patrick wasn’t sure what made him angrier – the fact that this prick made lewd comments about his wife in a pub full of people or the fact that Patrick hadn’t flattened him when he had the opportunity. He had been defending himself.
He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of catching the late bus to collect his car from the pub’s parking lot. It would be nearly one-thirty in the morning by the time he got home. For once, Patrick hoped that Lucy would be asleep. If she wasn’t, one look at his face would tell her to leave well enough alone. Patrick pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one up as he waited for the next bus to arrive.
Lucy had given up ringing Patrick at ten thirty that evening. Knowing that Siobhan was safe at her grandparents, and after a hot bath to relieve the tension, she didn’t want to break her mood. Choosing a new book from her shelf, she placed the hot water bottle on her stomach and settled into bed with Craig Russell’s novel, Lennox – a book she’d been dying to read for some time. Lucy didn’t get more than two chapters in before sleep engulfed her.
She woke up with a start, what felt like only minutes later, and thought she’d heard the back door being slammed. Was that Patrick?
Lucy picked up her mobile phone. It was one forty in the morning. She unlocked her phone and was ready to dial 999 when she heard the fridge door and the familiar crack of a can of lager being opened.
It was Patrick; the sound of him cracking a lager always went through her, like nails on a chalkboard.
Not wanting a confrontation, she held her phone in her hand and strained her ears to listen to his mumblings, hoping she’d eventually fall back asleep. She’d deal with it tomorrow.