SEVENTEEN

Helen was already in bed by the time Thorne came back from the bathroom. She lay with a pillow propped up behind her, wiping off her make-up and dropping the used cotton-wool balls on the floor beside the bed. Thorne began to get undressed.

‘Bit bloody nippy in here.’ He rubbed his arms and bent to press a hand to the radiator. It was only lukewarm. ‘Well, no chocolate on the pillow was bad enough, but this has definitely cost them their five-star rating,’ he said. ‘If it’s not the full works for breakfast, I’m inclined not to come back.’ He looked to Helen for a reaction and she glanced up. ‘I might even write something snotty in the visitors’ book.’

She gave him a thin smile and carried on wiping.

They had managed another half an hour or so downstairs, before Paula had finally noticed Thorne stifling his third or fourth yawn in as many minutes and told them there was no need to be polite. Thorne could still hear music playing. It was possible of course that they had made an effort to be sociable simply because they had visitors, and had been every bit as desperate to turn in as Thorne and Helen, but Thorne had them marked down as regular night owls.

He could empathise with a nurse’s need to kick back a little after a day at the sharp end in a major hospital; to decompress. No matter what time he or Helen got in after a late shift, even if Alfie was asleep, it was rare for either of them to go straight to bed. It always took a while for the buzz to settle or the disgust to dissipate. A drink would often be taken to help the process along. TV might be watched in silence or, very occasionally, whoever was in bed woken gently and some of the day’s darker moments shared.

Helen’s were almost always the toughest to talk about, and to hear.

It was possible of course that taxi drivers felt that same need to wind down at the end of a long day, but Thorne strongly suspected that Jason Sweeney just enjoyed drinking.

Though still not exactly thrilled that they were here at all, he was glad that he had listened to Helen and packed pyjamas. He put them on quickly and swapped his dirty T-shirt for a clean one. Helen was wearing one of his T-shirts too. He could see the top half of it above the duvet: Johnny Cash giving the world the finger.

As he walked towards the bed, Thorne heard the music stop suddenly, then, half a minute later, the sound of their hosts coming upstairs; whispering and laughing. He climbed quickly into bed, not really sure why he did not want the two of them to hear him moving around. He lay still and listened. The boards on the landing creaked as each of them used the bathroom and then, finally, the door to their bedroom closed.

Helen put her make-up remover on the bedside table. She adjusted her pillow and shuffled down beneath the duvet.

‘You can keep your bloody feet away as well,’ Thorne said. ‘Like blocks of ice.’

‘I’ve got socks on,’ she said. She reached to turn her light off, then rolled back and lay there, staring at the ceiling.

They lay in silence for a while.

‘So, what was all that about downstairs?’

‘All what?’

Thorne tut-tutted, shook his head. ‘I’d never have had you down as the school bully.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Helen said.

‘I’m kidding.’

‘Yeah, I’m sure me and Linda didn’t want her and Jenny following us around, but it’s ridiculous to say we bullied her. And why would she be happy for us to stay and then bring all that up?’

‘Maybe it’s why she wanted you to stay,’ Thorne said. ‘We should probably lock the door.’

Helen showed no sign of thinking Thorne’s remark was funny and clearly had nothing else to say about it.

‘So, how’s she holding up?’ Thorne kept his voice low. ‘Linda.’

Helen took a few seconds to answer. ‘What I said to Paula, really.’

‘Really?’ Thorne had presumed that downstairs, Helen had simply been trying to avoid any kind of in-depth conversation about what had gone on between her and Linda Bates. Now he wondered if she was trying to avoid one with him.

‘She’s tough.’

‘That’s good,’ Thorne said. He tried to sound as though he meant it. He was hoping that having seen how ‘tough’ her old schoolfriend was, Helen might now decide that there was no real reason for them to stay.

‘I mean she’s hardly dancing a jig or anything.’

‘Was she glad you came?’

Helen shrugged and pulled the duvet up a little. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’

‘Well, I don’t think DC Carson was that thrilled about it. She was on the phone to her boss before anybody put the bloody kettle on.’ The truth was that Thorne had expected as much. If he had been SIO on the case, he’d have been furious if she hadn’t called; two coppers from a different force turning up on the doorstep. ‘Cornish wasn’t as chippy as he might have been, matter of fact. Could be he’s just trying very hard, but he seemed pretty decent.’ That look of concern right at the end might have been laid on a little thick though, Thorne thought. ‘He knew about Bardsey.’

Helen said, ‘Yeah?’

‘What about you?’

Helen did not answer and Thorne was not even sure that she’d heard him. She wore that same expression – blank, distant – that he had seen in the car driving towards Polesford and in the Magpie’s Nest just before they’d left. She was very still, as though she was holding her breath. Then she suddenly became aware of him studying her, and turned.

‘What?’

‘Are you glad you came?’

‘It was the right thing to do.’

‘That wasn’t what I asked.’

Helen sighed. Said, ‘Look, I’m tired, OK?’

Thorne moved towards her just as she turned on to her side. He slid an arm around her waist and across. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, by the way.’

‘Funny one,’ Helen said.

Thorne pushed his groin into her backside. ‘It’s not over yet.’

‘We can’t.’ Helen took Thorne’s hand and pressed it against her belly, as if to stop it creeping any lower. ‘Not in someone else’s house.’

‘We don’t have to make any noise,’ Thorne whispered.

‘I usually sleep through it anyway.’

Thorne laughed, pushed again.

‘No.’ Helen’s voice was louder suddenly and her body stiffened against his. ‘I’m not . . . ’

‘OK,’ Thorne said. ‘Sorry.’ He turned away and reached across to turn his own light off.

‘Knackered,’ Helen mumbled. ‘That’s all.’

Thorne was asleep before she was.