Beth pulled her mobile from her pocket and checked for messages. There were some, but none from Graham. Shoving it back into her pocket, she headed downstairs. The smell of food in the kitchen made her stomach lurch. She made a mug of tea and, with it cupped between her hands, she went into the small front room and gazed out the window. Streetlights cast an eerie glow over the dark narrow road.
On the other side, the terraced houses were a mirror image of the row she lived in; she could see the house directly opposite, lights showing in some of the windows, the flicker of a TV screen, the occasional figure moving across a brightly lit room, neighbours going about their normal everyday lives. Not a mirror image of her house where everything had changed. A wave of terror washed over her. Was this emptiness going to be her new normal? She was so good at sorting out the broken lives of others, why couldn’t she do it for herself?
Restless, she took her tea and went back to the dining room. She pulled out the chair and sat at the table he’d set with such care. A bunch of yellow freesias was set into a small glass vase. She picked it up, held it close, taking in their sweet scent. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d bought her flowers; it made these all the more special, all the more heart breaking. If she’d been the crying type, she’d have sobbed. Instead, she held a hand over her trembling mouth and wondered if this were the end.
After so many years together, she couldn’t imagine her life without him. She’d thought, despite their problems, that he felt the same. Was there someone else? He was such a handsome man: shaggy blond hair, gorgeous eyes and a fit athletic body he insisted was the best advert for his personal training business. She took out her mobile again. Still nothing from him. Should she send him a message? Her fingers hovered over the keys. What could she say that she hadn’t said a hundred times before, even when she didn’t mean it but said it to end an argument? Sorry. She guessed it no longer had any meaning, but she couldn’t think of another suitable word. Tapping it out, she added several xs, sent it, and then stared at the phone for several minutes willing him to reply. When he didn’t, when it stayed stubbornly quiet, she threw it onto the table.
She was damned if she was going to sit there pining, not when she had work crying out to be done. Back in the sitting room, she sat on the sofa, and picked up the first of the folders she’d brought home.
Minutes later, she was lost in her job, all worries about Graham temporarily forgotten. The notes she’d written made for the inevitable sad read. The woman… girl… had been groomed and raped by a man she met on the internet. How many times would Beth have to read the same story? She rubbed tired eyes and turned to the next page. This victim was unusually observant; it had made Beth’s job easier, made the case against the defendant almost solid. But she was too good an officer to make the mistake of being cocky. She’d make sure the case was watertight before handing it over to the Crown Prosecution Service in the morning – too often she’d seen them throw out cases for lack of evidence.
She moved on to the next file, the case she’d been involved with that afternoon. She’d spent the last few hours in the nearest specialist centre for victims of rape and sexual assault. Usually, she’d have been able to hand the fourteen-year-old victim into the care of a Sexual Offence Investigative Technique officer but there had been a problem in one of the other centres and two of the SOIT officers had been temporarily reassigned over there, leaving her office short.
It didn’t make any difference to the case. Beth, as the Officer in the Case, had equivalent training. It just required her to stretch herself even further than she usually did. It also meant, of course, that she couldn’t get away until the victim’s statement was taken and the examination done. Then she’d sat with the victim and her shocked parents, explaining what would happen next, and advising them of the help that was available. The whole process wasn’t something you could rush.
Somewhere in the crazy afternoon, she should have rung Graham to let him know, but there just hadn’t been a minute free. She refused to acknowledge the tiny voice that said she hadn’t given him a second’s thought the whole day.
She checked over the notes she’d written. Tomorrow, she’d update the computer at the station. Dropping the bundle of files onto the floor, she swung her legs up and rested her head on the arm of the sofa. Truth was, every day in her job was crazy busy. Every morning, she checked the briefing slide provided by the Jigsaw team who managed registered sex and violent offenders; every day there were new people to watch out for so that no matter where she was, or what she was doing, her eyes were constantly checking out the faces of the men and women around her.
Graham had found it amusing at first. Less so in the last couple of years. And the previous week, when they were out for dinner, he’d been unusually irritable. ‘Can’t you, please, stop checking out people,’ he’d growled.
‘Sorry. Hadn’t even realised I was doing it,’ she said, thinking her confession would make it easier between them.
It hadn’t. It had made things much worse. ‘That’s the problem,’ he’d said, screwing up his mouth, ‘you do it automatically. I see your eyes examine every face, male or female. I can almost see you tick them off that list in your head, one at a time. And then you relax, just for a moment, until new people walk in and you do it again.’
His words had stung, partly because he was right, it had become second nature to check everyone, but mostly because she thought he understood how important her role was. Keeping women and children safe from sexual predators and ensuring that the ones who got caught and arrested were prosecuted and put in jail, that was her job, more, it was her life. She thought he understood, that he was proud of the work she did and his criticism had cut her deeply.
Was that the start of the end? There had been an uneasy distance between them ever since, their conversation polite and careful, as if they’d been strangers forced to spend time together.
Her eyes followed a thin crack that crossed their sitting room ceiling. This house had been the second one they’d viewed when they’d decided to pool their savings and buy rather than continue to waste money renting. It was small but the location was ideal. Graham had been concerned about the crack but she’d dismissed it, as had the expensive surveyor he’d insisted they hire. Were there cracks in their relationship, even before last week, that she had dismissed just as easily? She’d thought they were solid, it looked like she was wrong.
She wondered where he’d gone. They… no, he had plenty of friends who would happily offer him a bed. Perhaps, when he got to wherever he was going, he’d send her a text. With a sliver of hope, she got to her feet and went to get her phone, the hope slipping away when there was nothing. She hesitated only a moment before she sent him another message, Let me know you’re ok.
There was nothing more to be done. Ignoring the chicken, the pots of cold vegetables and the sad table setting, she switched out the lights and headed upstairs. The hanging wardrobe door and open empty drawers seemed to be taunting her. She slammed them shut.
The night seemed endless. Beth couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept alone. Her hand stretched out to Graham’s side of the bed, the cotton sheet where his warm body should be lying felt cold and empty. She tossed and turned for hours before falling into a restless sleep to dream of cracks opening in walls and on the streets and everyone falling into them despite her screams of warning.
Waking in the early morning, convinced she’d heard the front door open, she jumped out of bed and tore naked down the stairs, words of love ready and waiting to be blurted out as soon as she saw him. But all she saw was the front door, shut tight. Standing on the bottom stair, all she could hear was the cold silence of the house and the sad thump of her heart.
She trudged back to her room. It was impossible to get back to sleep but she lay for another hour before giving up. Dragging herself from the bed, she took a long shower that she hoped would make her feel better. It didn’t. Nor did it make her look any better. Always pale, her complexion looked deathly, the smattering of freckles over her nose and across her cheeks standing out in sharp relief. The minimal make-up she wore at work didn’t help but she resisted the temptation to lay it on thickly. It would attract questions she didn’t want to answer. With a shrug, she dressed quickly in her standard workday dark jeans, pale blue shirt and navy jacket, pulled a brush through her hair and tied it back in a knot at the base of her neck.
It was early, she had plenty of time to sort out the mess in the kitchen, but she couldn’t bring herself to open the door and see that sad table set for a romantic dinner they’d never have. Instead, she picked up the files from the sitting-room floor and headed out. Getting to the office early would give her a head start on a day that was going to be exhausting.
It only took her an hour and several mugs of vile coffee to get everything ready to present to the Crown Prosecution Service. An hour later, Beth was walking into their offices in Westminster with a clear case to present. There were some members of the CPS’s Rape and Serious Sexual Offences Unit who were difficult to deal with, pernickety and awkward at the best of times, rude and uncooperative at the worst. That morning she was in luck; her case had been assigned to Megan Reece, one of the best on the team and her close friend.
‘Thank God it’s you,’ Beth said, collapsing into a chair in front of the desk in the small cluttered office. ‘I really didn’t need a hard time today.’
Megan smiled briefly. ‘Let me see what you’ve got. I never make promises.’
Beth watched her slowly and methodically read the contents of the file. As she usually did, Megan read straight through once and then reviewed the more pertinent parts more closely. Beth didn’t realise she was holding her breath until she heard her say what she’d been waiting for.
‘Seems pretty cut and dried,’ Megan said. ‘We’ll proceed with prosecution.’
‘Another bastard put away,’ Beth said, releasing her breath. Then, with the relief of that decision out of the way, she glanced at her friend more closely. Megan was, as usual, dressed neatly in a dark grey silk blouse with a neck tie tied in a bow, slightly off-centre. It looked effortlessly classy, but Beth knew she worked hard at it. She favoured ridiculously expensive red lipstick and usually it looked well on her olive skin. But today that skin was pale, almost colourless, and her red lips stood out in a bizarrely creepy contrast. ‘You look like hell,’ she said with the bluntness of friendship. ‘Is everything okay?’
Megan arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘You don’t look so bloody amazing yourself. Any paler, I’d have to check for a pulse.’
‘I’ve been busy, and not sleeping too well.’ It was a half-truth; Beth didn’t want to tell her the whole, didn’t want to say words that would make everything seem even more final than she guessed it was. It was better to put her troubles to the back of her mind and focus on Megan’s. They’d been friends for a long time and Beth could tell something wasn’t right. ‘Have you set a date for the wedding yet?’ It was a roundabout way of asking if Trudy was okay; she would know from her response if there was trouble in that quarter.
But Megan surprised her by ignoring her question, and asking, ‘How would you like to go away for a night? Just the three of us, you, me and Joanne? A girlie night. We can put the world to rights.’
Beth frowned. She didn’t need to be a detective to know there was something wrong, but it looked as though her friend wasn’t going to talk about whatever was worrying her. That made two of them. Sometimes emotional pain was too difficult to vocalise. She hoped the reason for her friend’s pallor wasn’t the same as hers. Beth gave herself a mental kick. It couldn’t be; Megan and Trudy were solid, made for each other. It wasn’t a good idea to transfer her relationship woes onto everyone else. Megan was probably working too hard which was why she was suggesting a break.
A girlie night away? It might be just what she needed. ‘Yes. I think that’s a brilliant idea.’ A girlie night away.
The idea had lost its lustre by the time Beth arrived home that night. She pushed open the door, weary and heartsick. The blast of heat took her by surprise and she shut her eyes in dismay. She’d left the heating on full. With the front door shut, she screwed up her nose as the stench hit her. She dropped her bag and pushed open the kitchen door, almost gagging as she stepped into the small overheated room. Trying not to breathe, she pulled out a black refuse sack and quickly emptied all the food inside, tied a knot in the top and put it outside the back door. Opening the door wide, she pushed it back and forth to create a draught and then left it propped open to clear the smell.
Her house stank, her life stank. She wanted Graham’s arms around her; wanted to hear him say he was sorry for leaving and this time, he’d be the one begging for one more chance. And they’d laugh, talk, make love, and everything would be back on track. And this time, this time, no matter what it took, they’d get past their problems; they’d make time for each other, she’d make more space in her life for him. Sitting, she dropped her face into her hands as she felt her heart crack. She knew she was fooling herself; much as she loved Graham, her job was always going to come first. Perhaps, he’d finally realised that himself.
The room was cold by the time she moved. Shutting the door, she trudged up to bed, kicked off her shoes and climbed, fully dressed, under the duvet. Eventually, warming up, she pulled her clothes off and threw them onto the floor. She curled up, hugged her knees to her chest, and tried to ignore the chilling sense of loss she felt deep inside.