As he approached Loreburn Street Farrell felt distinctly on edge. Walking through the corridors on the way to his office, he wondered whether it was his imagination or was everyone avoiding eye contact? Hardly surprising, mind you, he thought, given everything that had gone on. He pushed open the door to his office and stood there rooted to the spot.
‘Surprise!’ yelled a sea of faces.
It looked like he had stumbled onto the scene of a child’s birthday party. There were balloons and streamers and a big banner saying ‘WELCOME BACK’ that was dripping with glitter glue.
Lind walked forward.
‘The twins helped with the banner.’
‘I guessed as much,’ said Farrell.
His room appeared to have been feminized in his absence with a pink furry thing, flowers, and pictures.
Mhairi bounced forward, irrepressible as ever.
‘I baked you a cake,’ she announced, pushing Byers aside to reveal a towering edifice covered in chocolate and bearing more than a passing homage to the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
‘Heart attack on a plate,’ Farrell said. ‘My favourite.’
From the back of the room, DI Moore picked her measured way towards him.
‘Welcome back, Frank,’ she said, handing over a slim leather-bound book of Psalms, exquisitely illustrated.
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
As he leaned over to give her a peck on the cheek he was amused to notice Mhairi glaring. He immediately disengaged himself.
‘Who’s for chocolate cake?’ he asked.
After half an hour everyone slowly dispersed until it was only Farrell and Lind left.
‘So, how are you, really?’ his friend asked.
‘Turned the corner, I reckon,’ replied Farrell. ‘Ready to get back in the fray.’
‘The super wants you on light duties for a couple of weeks. And er …’
‘Out with it,’ groaned Farrell.
‘He asked me to convey that he will quite understand if you would like to apply for a transfer,’ finished Lind, looking awkward.
Farrell laughed out loud.
‘Tell him that God has revealed it is my vocation to serve the people of Dumfries and Galloway under his command.’
‘Did he?’ asked Lind, jaw dropping open.
‘’Course not, you pillock,’ replied Farrell. ‘Just can’t resist the opportunity to wind up the super.’
‘You’ll have to tell him yourself,’ said Lind on his way out the door. ‘He might decide to shoot the messenger.’
Left alone at last, Farrell sank back into his chair and exhaled deeply. There was a vast amount of paperwork on his desk and he pulled some towards him and got stuck in.
After half an hour or so, he drew back in his chair. There it was again … a scratching noise. Where the blazes was it coming from? Could it be mice? A plaintive meow rent the air. Farrell followed the sound with a frown. It was coming from the cupboard. He flung open the cupboard door, bracing himself. A very irate black-and-white cat with impossibly green eyes arched its back and spat at him.
‘Nice to meet you too,’ murmured Farrell.
Not only was there a cat in his cupboard but it seemed to have come with a whole pile of accessories, he noted. It was the lilac fur in the basket that gave the game away. Gently closing the door again, he charged down the corridor, meeting a worried-looking Mhairi on the way up.
‘Something you forgot to mention, DC McLeod?’ he asked, folding his arms.
‘Er, that depends, Sir.’
‘On what?’
‘On how what I might have forgotten to mention might be received?’
‘A cat, Mhairi? Whatever possessed you?’
‘Don’t you like cats, Sir?’
‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ he said.
‘I thought he would be company, something to come home to,’ she said, shrugging helplessly and refusing to meet his eyes.
‘Does he have a name?’ asked Farrell.
‘His name is Henry. He belonged to a really sweet old lady who died a few days ago. I couldn’t bear to see him put down.’
‘Relax, Mhairi,’ Farrell replied. ‘I’m sure that Henry and I are going to get along fine.’
That evening, as he drew the curtains and looked round the lamplit cottage, Farrell felt a rare feeling of peace steal over him. He poured himself a small drink, put on some classical guitar music, and sank into an easy chair by the crackling fire. After some hesitation, Henry leapt on his knee, turned himself around and settled down, purring contentedly. Farrell stroked him gently then came to a decision.
He picked up the phone from the table beside him and dialled a number from memory.
‘Hello, Mother …’ he said.