IT WAS ALMOST midnight when Kate Daniels arrived home. She was totally spent but couldn’t bear the thought of another night at the B & B. She hadn’t even shut her front door when the phone rang. She swore under her breath. Ignoring the one in the hallway, she walked into the kitchen, chucked her overnight bag on the bench and picked up without checking who was on the line.
It was a nice surprise to find that it was Jo.
Kate sat down, wishing they were in the same room, talking face to face, a glass of wine, some night music, a few hours of passion ahead of them. If she could keep her eyes open that long. A kettle whistled in the background, nailing Jo’s location in her mind. She imagined her standing by the ancient cooker in her tiny seaside cottage surrounded by gadgets and cookery books that were not her own, sitting down on the sofa to drink her tea – that sofa – Nelson snoring in his basket next to the wood-burning stove.
There was something wrong with the picture.
Kate wondered if the photo of the two of them was out on display, a reminder of happier times, not hidden away like stolen goods. The image of it sitting on the shelf in the kitchen cupboard on top of tinned tomatoes was so strong she could almost hear the roar of the sea above Jo’s voice. She’d been talking for a full ten minutes, hardly stopping for breath as she recounted another frantic phone call from Emily McCann. A distraught one by the sounds of it brought on by a bloody awful row with Stamp.
‘She actually asked him to section Fearon?’ Kate said. ‘Good girl!’
‘I might have known how you’d react!’ Jo sounded pissed.
Again.
‘Well, I agree with her, don’t you?’
‘No, you don’t! It would be so wrong to condemn anyone to a mental institution no matter what Emily may think they’ve done. I told her—’
‘Bet that went down well.’
‘She became totally hysterical.’ A heavy sigh from Jo.
‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine. I just hate seeing her so distressed. She’ll see sense when she calms down. At least, I hope she will. Martin and I don’t always see eye to eye but on this occasion I must say I agree with him. We both reminded her that Fearon is an untreatable psychopath, not mentally ill—’
‘Same difference.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Jo said emphatically.
‘Well, if you want to split hairs. You think the general public give a damn about that? All they’re interested in is keeping scum like him off the streets for as long as possible.’
‘That’s what she said.’
‘And she’s right. People deserve protection from the likes of him. A medical diagnosis doesn’t change that.’ Kate stood up and opened the fridge. It was almost empty, so she shut it and flipped open the breadbin. No joy there either. ‘Put yourself in her shoes, Jo. She’s desperate—’
‘I know she is, but she’s not thinking straight. Her plan is flawed. Even if Stamp was willing or stupid enough to involve himself in an illegal conspiracy, she knows as well as we do it takes two psychiatrists to section someone, not one.’ Jo yawned. ‘Look, I’m exhausted and you are too. I’m sorry for calling so late. I’m tired and grumpy and . . .’ There was a pause. ‘I miss you.’
Kate smiled. ‘Miss you too.’
The phone went down.