Gemma and Emad bumped into one another on the steps of the police station; he was coming in, she was going out. He recognised her immediately, and was unable to believe his luck that their paths had crossed again, a good ten years after they’d last seen each other.
‘Gemma McMeekin – Meeks!’ He grabbed her sleeve then blushed puce and dropped it, thinking how presumptuous he was being. ‘It’s me, Emad. Emad Khan. Do you remember me?’
Gemma stared at him: a moment’s confusion then delight all over her face, making it light up. She looked a bit tired, but fantastic, he thought. The extra decade had slimmed down her round cheeks and dissolved her puppy fat, and braces on her once appealingly goofy teeth were dragging them back in line. Emad remembered how he’d first fancied her in sixth form, precisely because, he guiltily thought, she wasn’t one of the pretty and therefore unobtainable girls. She’d been the funniest, and the most outrageous, and she had gorgeous eyes – but she’d never been conventionally beautiful. And she’d always been kind to him, where most of the other girls had laughed at his shyness and how hirsute he was.
She was beautiful now, though, albeit still a bit plump and with traces of the old goofy teeth. All his long-forgotten feelings of lust for her came flooding back, reminding him of the times he used to lean against the wall outside the science lab, not having the nerve to go and speak to her, while she would clown around, giggling with her mates further along the same wall. She used to smile at him in class but otherwise mostly ignored him; apart from that one glorious time she’d played him ‘Lose Yourself’ on her iPod, sharing her earphones with him because she’d made some tenuous comment about Eminem and Emad being similar names.
‘Emad Khan! Look at you all grown up. I didn’t know you were one of us. Small world. Are you working here?’ Gemma gave him a hug, beaming. Then she sniffed his shoulder, in a far more familiar way than she ever had when they were doing their A levels.
‘New uniform, if I’m not mistaken? I remember that smell so well.’
He nodded, embarrassed and proud. ‘Only passed out of basic training three weeks ago. Better late than never, eh? Turns out I wasn’t cut out to be a photocopier salesman. Best decision I ever made … Well, I hope it was anyway. Bit early to tell yet. You’re a cop too? I don’t believe it…’
‘Detective, for the last five years,’ Gemma said, clearly unable to hide the note of pride in her voice. ‘DC. Maybe DS soon.’
‘Wow,’ he said with reverence. ‘That’s so cool. What are you working on at the moment?’
‘Gang-related murder in Farnham,’ she said. ‘We got the guy two days ago. Right evil bastard, he is. Hope they throw away the key.’
Emad tried to look at her ring finger, but she had her left hand hooked around the strap of her handbag and he couldn’t see it. She pressed a button on the Fitbit on her wrist.
‘I’ve got to run. I’m due in court at ten. Great to see you, Emad! I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again, now you’re based here too. It’ll be good to have an ally here.’
She clapped him affectionately on the shoulder and bounded down the steps, waving over her head at him without looking back.
Emad carried on into the station, his heart pounding with pleasure. He was already insanely proud to be a police officer. And now the job had just got a whole lot more appealing.
They did not cross paths again for another week, even though Emad’s eyes were out on stalks, looking for Gemma’s curly blonde hair in every corridor. Perhaps she’d been tied up with her court case, he thought, and anyway he was kept busy out on calls and arrests, buddied up with more senior officers while he was still on probation. He asked around after her, just casually, saying how she was an old schoolfriend and he’d heard she worked here; but nobody else had heard of her – it was a big station.
Then, one Thursday morning he was making a tray of teas in the third-floor kitchenette when he felt soft hands cover his eyes. ‘Guess who?’ she said, and he smelled something floral and sensual in his nostrils.
‘Hi!’ He turned and grinned at her, then nodded at the eight mugs in front of him. ‘You can tell I’m the newbie, eh?’
Gemma laughed. She looked even more gorgeous today, he thought, the dark shadows under her eyes a little less pronounced.
She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
‘We’ve all been there,’ she said. ‘Rite of passage…’
‘I’m an expert already.’ Emad busied himself pouring boiling water onto each teabag, and forced himself to keep his voice casual. ‘What time is your shift finishing today? Want to grab a drink and have a catch-up? You know, one of those “do you remember so-and-so” conversations.’
She smiled, but briskly and – Emad worried – almost patronisingly. ‘Another time, maybe. I’m knackered. But thanks. Don’t you have a family to get back to?’
Could she be fishing for information? Or just being polite? Emad had no idea. ‘No family,’ he said, far too hastily. ‘Single Pringle, that’s me. What about you? You married? Kids?’
‘Nope. One long-term relationship, ended a year ago when he cheated on me.’
Emad affected a look of outrage. ‘What a moron! Sorry, though.’
‘Yup.’
There was a slightly awkward silence. Emad stirred the teas one by one, fished out the teabags and left them in a steaming pile on the draining board, then pulled out a carton of milk from the little undercounter fridge.
‘Better let you get on,’ Gemma said.
‘With my very important police work,’ he added, sloshing milk into the teas.
‘Very important,’ she agreed, but her smile had fallen, and she looked bleak. In all their years at school together, he never remembered seeing that particular expression on her face. It must have been a bad break-up.
‘Catch you later, Emad.’