The evening had drawn in quickly, the house cold enough that she could see her husband’s breath as he snored on the sofa. Lynn put down her book and slowly, painfully, struggled to her feet and made her way to the thermostat in the hall to turn the heating on. The arthritis in her hip seemed to be worsening by the day. She didn’t need a walking stick yet, but she knew it wouldn’t be long. Not a happy thought.
She limped into the kitchen, filled the kettle and set it to boil. She took two mugs from one cupboard, two hot-water bottles from another and then reached to the highest shelf for the locked metal cash box that held their medication. One tablet for her in the evening, several more for Pete.
She made the tea and carried the cups through to the living room separately, so she could use both hands to hold them steady, then did the same with two glasses of water. As she put the glasses down and sat beside her husband, he stirred and opened his eyes, smiling at her.
‘I was going to make the tea,’ he said. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Not long,’ she lied. He sat up and reached for the mugs on the coffee table, handing Lynn hers first. He saw the plastic medication boxes she’d brought through, seven days’ supply of drugs for each of them already counted out into separate compartments.
‘Tablet time again?’ He grimaced. ‘We’ll soon be rattling.’
Lynn sipped her tea. ‘Andrew sent me a text earlier,’ she said. ‘He wants to know if we’d like to go to watch Sophie’s Christmas play with them.’
Pete nodded. ‘Do you remember the year Andrew played Joseph in the nativity and knocked Mary off the stage?’
Lynn nodded. ‘Accidentally.’
Pete grinned. ‘Still. Her mum wasn’t happy.’
‘Well, you know what some parents are like. Their child has to be the star of the show.’
‘No chance of that with ours.’ Pete took a mouthful of tea. ‘Both too shy.’
‘You’re talking about primary school, Peter. It’s a long time ago.’
He looked at the pills lined up on the table. ‘Don’t I know it.’
‘That girl, the one that played Mary, she always had her finger up her nose. I can’t remember her name.’ Lynn paused, looked at her husband. ‘Is that someone at the door?’
‘I didn’t hear anything.’
She shuffled forward on the seat. ‘I’ll go and check. It’ll be Andrew, it’s his five-a-side night. He might not have his key.’
Pete put out a gentle hand to stop her, mindful of her sore hip. ‘Stay there, I’ll go. No point in you getting up again.’
He pushed his feet into his slippers, put his cup down on the table and made for the door.
The hallway was in darkness, but he could see a shadow on the step outside as he switched on the light. He frowned, wondering who was there. Andrew would have just knocked on the door until one of them opened it, or rung to say he was outside. He usually let them know if he was going to call in on his way home from football anyway. Pete wasn’t a nervous man, but he slid the security chain on all the same as he fumbled with his keys and peered around the door. Instantly his expression changed as he recognised the person who stood there. Beaming, he wrenched off the chain and threw open the door.
‘Hello, Dad,’ Caelan said as she flung her arms around her father.
Five minutes later, she was sitting on the settee between her parents with a piece of home-made Victoria sponge and a coffee. Already she felt more relaxed. This was home: the house she’d grown up in, the people who loved her.
Her mum was grinning at her. ‘This is a lovely surprise,’ she said. ‘You should have let us know you were coming.’
‘And you’d have baked a cake?’ Caelan smiled, her parents laughing at the weak joke, as she’d known they would.
‘You’re a long way from London,’ her dad said. The house was south of Manchester, in an area called Withington.
‘I need to be back there tomorrow morning, though,’ Caelan said, knowing she was going to disappoint them. ‘I’ll have to leave before five, but I wanted to see you. I’m going away for a bit and I won’t be able to call.’
Caelan had never told her parents exactly what her job entailed, but she knew they had probably figured it out. Most police officers didn’t work nine to five, but they didn’t disappear for months on end without a word either.
‘You can’t stay?’ Her mum pouted. ‘But we haven’t seen you for ages.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Caelan bit into the cake to avoid having to say more.
‘It’s Sophie’s Christmas play tomorrow – if you stay, you could come to watch it with us.’
Caelan chewed, swallowed. ‘I’d love to, but…’ Sophie was at school already? In Caelan’s mind, her niece was still a baby. She got to her feet, still holding her plate, and went over to examine the framed photographs that stood on the fireplace. Her parents on their wedding day, one of herself in a party dress with pigtails and a shy smile. Andrew stood beside her, a huge grin displaying his missing his top teeth. She picked up another photograph, this one of her brother and his family – Andrew holding Sophie’s hand while his wife Jen cradled their other daughter, only a few hours old.
‘Eleanor’s walking now,’ Caelan’s mum said, coming to stand beside her.
Caelan stared at the baby in the photograph. ‘Already?’
‘She’s ten months old, Caelan,’ her mum said gently. ‘It’s not unusual.’
She put the photograph down. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.
‘The girls would love to see you,’ her mum said. ‘You could stay here for a few days. You know your bedroom’s always ready for you.’
‘You know how busy she is, love,’ Pete said quickly. ‘More criminals in London than there are tourists.’
Caelan knew her mother was right. She didn’t see them enough, couldn’t even phone as much as she wanted to. Her job always got in the way. Now, though… Now that the Met didn’t own her, she would change her ways. Her parents had always been older than those of most people her age, and it was beginning to show. Her mum had been thirty-five when Caelan was born, her dad eight years older, meaning they were now mid sixties and early seventies. When she’d spotted the medication on the coffee table, she’d had a shock. Now she nodded at the pills.
‘What are all these for? Looks like you’re going to open a pharmacy.’
Her dad laughed. ‘The doctor insists we take them. Load of rubbish if you ask me.’
Caelan looked at her mum, who shook her head. ‘Your dad’s in denial, but his blood pressure and cholesterol are too high.’
Pete leant over Caelan and gave his wife’s thigh a playful push. ‘When you bake most days and then force me to eat it, what do you expect?’
Caelan sat back and sipped her coffee, allowing the warmth and comfort of home to soothe her. She would sleep in her childhood bedroom, knowing she was safe, and that she could forget every shitty thing that was part of her work and her life in London.
For the next seven hours, at least.