By the time he reached Bevham, very late in the evening, Serrailler was aching, hungry, thirsty and longing for a hot shower. Every connection had been delayed or else the train had been cancelled, he had stood for three hours in a packed carriage, and there had been no buffet car from Glasgow. Why had he not spent money sensibly and got a flight down? The rail fare had cost him almost as much.
He had planned to get a cab to the supermarket, buy food, and then collapse into his own flat to catch up on washing, sleeping and eating for a few days. But it was almost eleven o’clock, there would be no heating on, and he had a sudden need, which he knew was pathetic but which he gave into without a fight, to be looked after.
There were no taxis on the rank and when one came after twenty minutes the driver was disgruntled at having to take a fare in the opposite direction to his own home. He looked at Simon as if he might mug and rob him en route. At the very least, he would make the interior of the cab smell. It was only after Serrailler handed over thirty pounds before he got in that he agreed to start. He tried to call Cat but his phone was out of battery. That didn’t worry him, he had a key to the farmhouse, but knew he would not need it. They were never early to bed. He would get his supper and whisky, the hot shower and a long sleep.
After he had rung the bell twice, someone shouted from inside, before the bolts were drawn, and Sam opened the door, on the chain.
A series of expressions went across his face from surprise to alarm to pleasure. But he said, ‘Listen, they’re in the middle of a mega-argument and Grandad’s here …’ Simon dumped his bags in the hall. He heard voices from upstairs, slightly raised but not sounding especially angry.
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ Sam said.
‘Any cold leftovers? Nothing on any of the bloody trains.’
Sam hesitated. ‘Sure.’ But he didn’t make a move.
‘What’s up?’
Sam shrugged. He looked as if he were aged seven and caught out in something.
A door slammed above. A moment later, Simon heard his father’s querulous voice.
‘I’d better go up.’
‘Maybe not,’ Sam said, looking even more embarrassed.
‘Can you just drop a hint at whatever this is all about?’
But Sam was saved by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
‘And what the hell are you doing here?’
Cat was slightly flushed, her hair dishevelled where she had been rubbing it with her hand, something she had done since childhood when angry or upset. Simon’s own tic was to push his hair back, from where it flopped onto his forehead. At this moment, they looked as alike as they ever did, which was not very much.
‘Sorry.’ She went to the cupboard and took down a bottle of whisky. ‘You?’
He nodded. ‘I gather Dad is here.’
‘Christ.’ She sat down at the table. ‘And I know what he’s like, and I am not desperate to have him here for the foreseeable either, given the way he behaves, but he is still quite ill, he couldn’t be alone in the house even if it weren’t let, and the hospital needed his bed. Well, of course they did, seeing as they assumed I would be doctor, nurse and dutiful daughter. Ignore me.’
‘No. I’d feel the same and say worse. And I guess Kieron isn’t happy?’
Cat drank her Scotch. ‘We haven’t had a single argument, let alone a row. Not one. Of course it had to be Dad who broke the duck, didn’t it?’
Simon went behind his sister, hugged her tightly, took his whisky.
‘Yes. On the other hand, what did he expect you to do – put him in a nursing home?’
‘He feels … oh shit, you know what? Let’s talk about why you’ve popped up here out of the blue. What happened?’
‘Nothing. Time to come home.’
‘You can have Hannah’s room if you want to stay tonight and don’t mind pink fluffiness … only …’
‘I don’t want to queer the pitch – I can go to the flat, no problem.’
‘Which will be cold and cheerless. Do that tomorrow. I’ll help you, I’m free in the morning. But not for now, I’m bushed and I’d better settle Dad down. Are you going to look in on him?’
‘Maybe. Listen, this is just something and nothing, isn’t it? With Kieron?’
‘What about me?’ he asked, coming into the kitchen. ‘Where did you spring from?’
‘It’s complicated. How are you?’
Kieron hesitated, then looked at Cat. ‘I’m sorry.’
She shook her head
‘No, I was out of order. He’s your father, of course he has to be here, for a time anyway.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of it being permanent, Kieron, I couldn’t stand it any more than you could.’ She reached out her hand. ‘But it’s fine. He does this to all of us. Always has, probably always will. Did Sam go upstairs?’
They sat round the table, not chatting, not comfortable, all of them tired and frayed at the edges.
‘You staying, Simon? You’re welcome of course.’
‘Just tonight.’
They had another drink. Simon made himself an omelette. Cat went to see to her father, and then to bed.
‘He’s a bugger,’ Simon said after a few minutes. Kieron nodded. ‘Don’t hold back, say what you want about him. I have.’
But Kieron shook his head. ‘You think you’ve got something on the Still case?’
‘I think so. It was a cock-up, essentially.’
‘All right. Tomorrow’s full, but let’s have an hour on it first thing Thursday. You have to convince me that I should allocate some of the budget to reopening a case and the budget’s tight, as ever. Tighter. These bloody fires have stretched us.’
‘Still happening?’
‘Not for a while. Which is what is bugging me of course. Arsonists don’t just stop, you know that, and they don’t go to the other side of the country to start up again either, they like their home patch. Familiar territory. He’s out there planning something and how the hell can we stay ahead of him? We can’t. There’s no pattern to it.’
‘No sense to it.’
‘Not to us. There will be to him. We’ve got an exhumation tomorrow night as well.’
Simon raised his eyebrows.
‘I know. An exhumation is a rare event and we get two in eighteen months. It was one of yours actually. The woman found in the stables?’
‘Yes. That was natural causes though.’
‘Maybe not. You want to come?’
‘I’m not operational yet.’
‘No. Just a thought. Get you back into the swing.’
‘I’ll tell you something, Chief –’
Kieron frowned.
‘No, this is a work conversation, so, Chief.’
‘OK – tell me what?’
‘I’ve been in the force one way and another for twenty years and I have never attended an exhumation. Still, given their rarity, you could say that of most of us.’
‘Time to tick the box then, Superintendent.’