‘Whoa, hold on…’
Marina stopped screaming. The hands round her waist grabbed on to her, steadied her, stopped her from slipping. She managed to right herself, turned. Phil stood behind her, naked.
‘Steady,’ he said. ‘I was just about to join you, but…’
Marina leant against the wall, bent double and breathing hard, as if she had just made a dash for a bus she had no hope of catching.
‘It’s… it’s you…’
‘Course it’s me. Who were you expecting?’ Phil tried to laugh, but he could tell she was seriously spooked. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing, I was… I was miles away.’
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Miles away. And nowhere good.’
She straightened up. Became aware of her husband looking at her naked body. Usually she enjoyed him doing that, responded to it, returned it. The way his lips curled into an appreciative smile at what he saw, his eyes brightening as his imagination began working. His cock hardening…
But not today, not now. She didn’t want him looking at her now. Not like this, not after what she had been through. The water hadn’t made her feel clean at all. Water alone, she doubted, ever could.
She pulled the shower curtain in front of her, cutting off his view.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Just… just let me have some privacy…’
‘OK,’ said Phil, confused now. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She almost spat the word out in anger. Knowing it was a sure indicator that something was wrong, she tried to calm herself down. ‘Sorry. I’m just… I’m not… just some privacy, please.’
Phil, clearly not happy and not understanding at all, picked up his dressing gown, turned and left the bathroom.
Later, she joined him in the kitchen. Josephina was still in her pyjamas, eating cereal. Phil was dressed and ready for work. For him, every working day was dress-down Friday. It was one of the things she loved about him. He had got away with that when he had a lenient boss; she just hoped the new one was equally tolerant.
There was no tailored jacket today, just his favourite old battered leather one. Levis and boots and a dark plaid Western shirt with pearl snap buttons over an old T-shirt. Not what the average MIU detective wore, she was sure, but what he wore.
And, her heart breaking as she thought it, he looked wonderful.
‘Hi,’ she said, hoping she sounded normal. Or at least casual.
He glanced at her, went back to what he was doing. ‘I’m making coffee. D’you want some?’
She did. She sat at the table next to Josephina, started talking to her daughter. The normality of the scene made her inner turmoil even worse.
Phil sat down next to her. Looked at her. She flinched, looked away.
He passed her a mug of coffee. She took it; he put his hand on her arm. ‘You OK?’ he said, voice low, concerned.
She nodded. His hand felt simultaneously warm yet uncomfortable. She didn’t want to be touched. By anyone. Not yet.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Fine.’ Her voice aiming for breezy, missing.
She stood up, losing his touch as she did so. She walked over to the toaster, taking her coffee, her back to him.
‘So,’ she said, for something to say, ‘you’re going in today. Saturday’s normally your day off.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Big case. You’ve probably seen it on the news.’
‘Haven’t been watching the news.’ Snappy again, jumping at him. She took a deep breath. Tried to calm herself down. It wasn’t Phil’s fault. He didn’t deserve to be shouted at. She kept telling herself that.
‘Yeah, this case,’ Phil was saying. ‘Can’t say too much here…’ she knew he was referring to Josephina, ‘but it’s a biggie. In fact, there was something I was going to ask you. D’you know Hugo Gwilym?’
Her heart skipped a beat and her hand was in sudden pain. She looked down. She had spilt the mug of coffee she had been holding all over her other hand. Coffee pooled outwards on the kitchen work surface. She just stared at it.
‘Marina…’ Phil rushed over to her, held her hand up, examined it. It was red, burning. ‘Come here…’
He guided her towards the sink, turned on the cold-water tap, put her hand underneath it. He looked at her. She tried not to make eye contact.
‘What happened?’
‘I just… I spilled it. Knocked it when I went for, went for the toast…’
‘OK.’ He turned the water off, put a towel round her hand. ‘That should be OK. I’ll get this mess cleared up. You sit down.’
Like a sleepwalker she went over to the table, sat down next to her daughter.
‘Did Mummy hurt herself?’
She looked at her daughter; Josephina’s eyes were wide with fear and compassion. She managed a smile.
‘I’m fine. Mummy was careless. Don’t worry.’
She could see that the little girl wanted to believe her but was still wary.
‘I’m fine. Honest. You keep eating your breakfast.’
Josephina, with some reluctance, did so.
Phil was wiping up the spilled coffee, using too much kitchen roll as usual. Marina opened her mouth to say something, but changed her mind. What came out was completely different.
‘Why d’you want to talk to Hugo Gwilym?’
Phil put the sodden kitchen roll in the waste bin, wiped his hands. ‘Well, his name’s come up in the investigation…’
‘How? In what way?’
Phil turned to her, frowning. ‘Just… came up. That’s all. Apparently he was researching some book and the…’ he looked towards Josephina, conscious that she was listening even though she was pretending not to, ‘person was one of the people he interviewed.’
‘Is he dead, Daddy? This person?’
Phil and Marina looked at each other. Phil spoke first. ‘The person, he’s… been hurt. And I’m helping to find out who did it.’
‘Not dead?’
Another look passed between them. Phil opened his mouth to speak once more, but Marina beat him to it.
‘Have you finished your breakfast, darling? Why don’t you go and watch TV in the living room?’
Josephina, deciding that that was more interesting than two grown-ups talking, got down from the table and ran out. Phil and Marina waited in silence until they heard the shrill cries of cartoons coming from the next room. Phil put his back against the workbench, folded his arms.
‘What’s up? What’s wrong?’ His voice was warm, but the trained police officer’s interrogative wasn’t far from the surface.
‘I’m fine, I’m just… fine.’ He was about to speak again but Marina got in first. ‘So this guy who was killed knew Hugo Gwilym?’
‘Looks that way. I just wanted to ask you about him.’
Her stomach roiled. ‘What sort of thing?’
Phil shrugged. ‘Do you know him, what’s he like. That kind of thing. If he’s a close colleague of yours, should I declare a conflict of interest and step away? You know. The usual.’
‘No,’ said Marina emphatically. ‘No. I don’t, don’t know him.’
‘Good,’ said Phil. ‘Because this looks like being a biggie, like I said. And I’m in charge. If I pull it off, well. West Mids may actually start to respect me. Or even like me.’
He smiled as he said it, but Marina knew there was some truth behind his words. She knew he hadn’t been fitting in, getting along well. He had tried to cover it up, knowing she was happy in her work. And she loved him for that. But he wasn’t good at hiding his feelings. And she hoped that wouldn’t drive a wedge between them.
But she had other things to think about at the moment.
‘Well, you’re fine,’ she said. ‘No problems. I know him as well as you do. Seen him on TV. Apparently he’s a twat, though.’ She spat that last sentence out with more venom than she had intended.
‘Right. I’ll bear that in mind.’
‘So you’re going to see him, then.’
‘Yeah.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe later today sometime. If I get round to it. Why?’
‘No reason. Just wondered.’ She stood up. ‘OK. I’m off.’
‘Where you going?’ he asked.
‘Dunno. Out. Into town, probably. Eileen’s busy today. I’ll take Josephina out somewhere.’
‘OK. Well…’
She turned, left the room. ‘See you later.’
Phil was left at the sink, watching her go.
‘Yeah,’ he said to empty air, ‘see you later…’