Hours later, Rose is sitting in a café, nursing a hot chocolate. She’s by the window, where the remnants of fake snow from Christmas still stick like bobbly scars and a small fly buzzes and smashes against the glass at the top.
The recent bright spell has taken a distinct turn and cold rain lashes the window.
The café is quiet at this time in the afternoon, presumably having had all the mummies and kids in earlier. Now, a man in his early twenties is jabbing ferociously at a laptop, his expression almost angry. Rose can hear the tinny tss-tss-tss sound leaking from his headphones.
The door opens and she looks up, a wave of complicated feelings passing over her.
‘All right, kiddo,’ says Mack.
Maybe sensing Rose’s vulnerable state of mind – he always was good at reading her – Mack spends a bit of time ordering at the counter before he comes over and stands at the table.
He’s holding a tray with a cup of coffee and two muffins – one chocolate and one blueberry – which he places on the table.
‘You can choose,’ he says. ‘Alternatively, I can start on one and then you can change your mind and demand a bit of that too, for tradition’s sake.’
Rose surprises herself with the laugh but it causes her to wince again and rub her side.
‘Ah,’ says Mack, sitting down at the table. ‘That answers my next question, which was going to be: “Are we having a hug or what?”’
Rose swallows. She hates it when tears threaten uncontrollably. She’s a police officer, for God’s sake. She’s tough. She swallows again.
‘Maybe not just now,’ she says in a strangled voice.
‘Been in the wars?’ says Mack, lifting his cup of coffee and assessing her with his steady blue eyes.
‘Had an argument with a wall,’ she says, once she is in control of her voice again. It’s so good to see her old colleague and friend. She takes a deep breath. ‘Look, I’m sorry I haven’t—’
But Mack is waving her concern away with his hand. ‘Don’t sweat it,’ he says. ‘I know what it’s like in a new job. Knew you’d return my calls eventually.’ He picks up the knife on the tray.
‘I’m just happy to see you,’ he continues, a shrewd eye taking in her exhausted pallor and bruised face. ‘I hope you’ve been dealing with all that happened to you last year. You know, taking all the meagre resources on offer in that department.’ He raises a knowing eyebrow and she smiles and averts her gaze to the window.
‘Yeah, on it like a Scotch bonnet,’ she says, thinking of Scarlett with a surprising pang of warmth. It’s on her list, the counselling. Once she sorts everything else out. She knows she needs it.
‘Now,’ says Mack, ‘why don’t you tell me what has been going on down at Spooky Central, while I cut these muffins into two, so we can have a bit of both?’
So she does. She tells him all about the original, tenuous reason for attending Wyndham Terrace and about Heather Doyle, and Gregory. And Vincent Tully, the angry, vengeful presence trapped in that house for decades.
It is oddly easy to let all this spill out, including the supernatural stuff. Or maybe it’s simply the relief of spending time with a dear friend who understands her as much as anyone ever has.
‘One of the things we got from Celeste,’ says Rose, taking a piece of blueberry muffin, ‘who, by the way, was a truly horrible piece of work, was that Vincent hated living in that commune. He wasn’t into the supposed “scene” of it. But can you imagine being a teenage boy and how confusing it must have been living somewhere everyone was getting off with each other? Including your own mother?’
Mack makes a face and pops the last piece of his muffin into his mouth.
‘Imagine being stuck forever at fifteen,’ he says. ‘That’s a kind of purgatory in itself, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ says Rose, ‘no wonder he was so fucking angry.’
‘But what exactly did he do to subsequent tenants?’ says Mack. ‘Apart from scaring the crap out of them, I mean?’
Rose looks down at the table, pressing a crumb on her plate with the tip of her finger, thinking.
‘I think he had a grudge particularly against men,’ says Rose. ‘Celeste says he had it in for her brother the most. In her words, because: “Hugo was the sort of man who made other men jealous. He had that effect.”’ She shudders. ‘So it sounds from what Gregory told us, that he would whisper things about what a bad person his dad was. And Heather too could well have had that going on. We can’t know what happened in his past, but perhaps he had experiences that made him hate fathers, or a certain type of man?’ She pauses. ‘We’ll never really know, sadly.’
‘And this Heather,’ says Mack. ‘Have you heard anything further? Is she going to make it?’
‘Seems so, yes,’ says Rose. ‘I had a call a bit after we’d been back to that property. It looks like they’ve been able to bring her out of the coma. She’ll going straight back to prison, of course, as soon as she’s well enough. But maybe she’ll have some peace when she hears about this.’ She pauses. ‘I’m going to tell her myself, once she’s been transferred to a London hospital, which is likely to be soon now she’s awake.’
Mack looks thoughtful. He lets out a low whistle. ‘Well, it’s certainly not all gang stabbings and domestics for you anymore, is it?’ he says. ‘Are you glad you made the move?’
Rose feels her resolve wobble, then forces herself to meet Mack’s gaze. ‘That might be irrelevant,’ she says. ‘Seems the whole department is in jeopardy because of a funding crisis.’
Mack knits his bushy brows, his eyes concerned beneath them. ‘What does that mean for you though?’
Rose shrugs and then smiles ruefully. She hesitates before speaking again, conscious that her voice sounds a little forced and high. ‘I was wondering,’ she says, ‘whether Rowland would even consider having me back. I mean, we did make a good team, didn’t we, even with the old witch not thinking much of me?’
Mack’s expression tells her all she needs to know.
‘Ah,’ she says. ‘I thought I’d be replaced. I just wasn’t sure if it had happened yet.’
‘I’m so sorry, kiddo,’ says Mack and he really looks it. ‘A new DC called Oliver – Ollie – nice lad, started three weeks ago.’
Rose can’t bear the tragic look on his face any longer.
‘It’s okay!’ she says with a fake laugh. ‘I’ll survive! It’s not definite anyway. All a bit vague at the moment.’
‘I think,’ says Mack, ‘from what I’ve heard about her since you left, that Sheila Moony is a really good copper. She cares about her team so talk to her. Don’t do your Greta Garbo act.’
‘Eh?’ says Rose with a laugh.
‘I vont to be alone,’ he says, in a terrible accent. It might be German, but it’s hard to tell.
Rose laughs. ‘Whatever you’re on about, I won’t.’ Keen to change the subject now she says, ‘Tell me, how is Caitlin doing?’
Caitlin is Mack’s teenage daughter who suffers from anxiety and was behind an accidental leak to the press in the Oakley case. He fills her in on the CBT sessions his daughter has been having and how much they have helped. They chat for a bit longer, then Mack has to get back to work.
As they both stand and move away from the table, he puts his arms around her very, very carefully and kisses the top of her head. She squeezes her eyes closed as a wave of emotion hits her. He’s the closest thing to a dad she has ever had and she makes a promise to herself on the spot that she isn’t going to leave it so long next time. She needs Mack to be in her life, however messed up and unconventional it might be. Now she has spoken fairly openly about her new job, maybe he can be a sounding board a little more often.
‘Don’t be a stranger,’ he says as if reading her thoughts. ‘Say after me: “No Greta Garbo.”’
Rose laughs.
‘Go on,’ says Mack, ‘say it.’
‘No more Greta Garbo,’ she says, swallowing the lump in her throat. ‘Whoever she is.’
As she walks away, she thinks about Moony.
Talk to her. That’s what Mack said. And that’s exactly what she is going to do.