James’s head is pounding so severely that when his mother knocks on the door and comes into the room he can barely open his eyes.
‘James dear, sorry to wake you, Detective Inspector Burroughs is on the phone.’
‘Oh, God!’ James moans. ‘Tell him I’ll call him back in a few minutes.’
‘Can’t you speak to him now?’
‘I’ll call him back, okay?’ James snaps and turns over to face the wall.
He can hear the door closing softly and for some reason the sound incenses him. Any normal person would have slammed the door if they had been spoken to like that, but his mother is the master of restraint. He also knows she will have cast a critical eye round the room, noting the clothes all over the floor and the stale smell. It makes him feel like a sulky teenager.
Dragging himself out of bed, James goes through to the bathroom and splashes cold water on to his face. He then rifles through his sponge bag and shoves two Disprin into his mouth, putting his head under the tap to suck in some water. He feels nauseous and faint, and sits down on the loo, pressing his face against the cool tiles on the wall until the sensation passes.
Back in the bedroom, every movement is an effort and it seems to take him an age to get dressed, buttoning and unbuttoning his shirt to get the sides even and spending five minutes looking for an elusive sock. He hates having to put on dirty clothes that stink of smoke and sweat, but he has nothing left to wear. Hopefully Burroughs will have some good news, which means he can go home to Devon as he doesn’t think he can stand being cooped up with his mother and uncle for much longer.
Luckily, they had already gone to bed when he got in last night but, in his efforts to tiptoe up the stairs, he had somehow lost his footing and fallen on the top step, where he had remained motionless, giggling drunkenly and praying that nobody would hear. It wasn’t even that late when Andy and he had finished, maybe eleven-thirty, but they had managed to put away a huge amount of whisky and James had smoked at least half a packet of cigarettes.
As soon as he has spoken to Burroughs, James intends to ring Rob and confirm lunch today. It had been a great relief to speak to him and have everything out in the open about Nicky and Alex. Rob hadn’t judged him at all – he had been sympathetic and supportive – and he knew he was lucky to have a friend like that. James thinks about his other friends who have stayed on in the army. If only he was still serving and had something to look forward to when all this was over. The thought of going back to his dead-end job fills him with dread.
James scrolls through the recent numbers on his mobile phone and presses the call button. He asks to be put through to Burroughs, who answers immediately.
‘Detective Inspector, it’s James Scott.’
‘Good morning, James, sorry to bother you so early. How are you getting on?’
‘So-so,’ James replies. ‘How’s the investigation going?’
‘We’re making good progress and I think it would be a good idea for you to come to the station so we can fill you in.’
‘Have you charged Worthington?’ James asks.
‘We’re very nearly there, but I can tell you everything when you come in. How are you placed this morning?’
James looks at his watch and works out how long it will take him to have a cup of coffee and some toast. He can’t go to the station feeling like this.
‘I can be there by nine-thirty or just after.’
‘That’s good, see you then.’ Burroughs hangs up before James can say anything further.