couldn’t have been The Reaper. Brook shook his head. He’d been so sure…
A faint noise disturbed him again. This time there was no mistake. This was no cat foraging, no external presence. His bedroom door was opening.
Brook didn’t move. His hands were behind his head. He tried not to make a noise or change his breathing though he didn’t know why. Wasn’t it best to show the intruder he was awake to scare him off?
Brook flexed his fingers ever so gently, inclining his head towards the door. All was black. But he hadn’t imagined it. He could feel a change in the air currents.
He didn’t know how he knew, perhaps it was the imperceptible changes in leg tension that signalled movement, but whoever it was, inched closer.
‘Daddy,’ whispered a voice. Brook guessed it was Vicky a split second before she spoke. He could still faintly remember the scent of a woman. Soap. They always smelt of soap. They like to wash.
Brook shivered as she pulled back his duvet and thrust her cold hands under his vest. ‘Hold me, Daddy.’
She was naked. To check Brook quickly ran his hand between her shoulder blades down to her downy buttocks, and just as quickly pulled it away.
‘What are you doing, Vicky?’ It was a stupid question because her hand was already on his pants, massaging him into an aching erection, one which had been waiting in the wings for months, and which now emerged with the eagerness of the understudy given his big chance.
‘Stop it!’ Brook’s voice carried a collapsing authority that she must have detected because she continued to move her thumb and forefinger delicately around his straining manhood. ‘Vicky. Stop it!’
‘Do you like that, Daddy?’ Brook liked it. But he had to put a stop to the fireworks exploding along his thigh.
Brook grabbed her hair and leant across to the lamp and flicked it on. ‘That’s enough.’ He looked down at her eyes which began filling with tears. He tried not to look at her body, her breasts pointing at him, the perfect curve of her groin down to her pubic hair.
‘Do you like my teeth, Daddy? I’ve been to the dentist.’
‘I’m not your Daddy, Vicky. Now snap out of it!’
‘Don’t worry, Daddy. I won’t tell. It’ll be our secret,’ she looked nervously at the door. ‘Mummy’s gone shopping.’ She closed her eyes tight and lay back, inviting him to her.
Brook shook his head. ‘Vicky. This is wrong.’
‘Please Daddy. I won’t tell. Promise.’ She opened her eyes again and looked at Brook and the despair in his face.
He loosed a groan from way down deep and closed his eyes to shut the door on his loneliness and self- loathing. ‘I love you, Daddy,’ Vicky sobbed, putting her arms around his buttocks and pulling him towards her.
‘Vicky, I can’t,’ whispered Brook, his voice dripping with distress. ‘It’s not right. Please go.’
‘But I’m scared, Daddy. It’s dark. I don’t want to be alone.’
‘I’m sorry. But this can’t happen.’
Brook held her away, trying not to look at her soft warm body. Vicky stopped struggling to reach him and her body relaxed. She looked at Brook. ‘Just hold me then? Keep me safe.’ The little girl voice had gone and she gazed up at Brook with large sad eyes.
Brook looked back at her for what seemed an age. Finally he nodded. ‘I can do that.’
Vicky lay down next to him and closed her eyes. Brook placed a strategic pillow between them and lay down to enfold her slight frame with his arms. She was cold now and he stroked her forearms to warm her up. She in turn rested a velvety cheek on his hand.
‘Am I still Daddy’s special girl?’
‘Daddy’s special girl,’ he muttered, half into the pillow, and reached over to turn out the lamp.
When Brook woke, it was because of noise again-this time a pounding on the kitchen door. He glanced at the display of his alarm radio. He never used the alarm. Why would he? It was ten past six. Wendy Jones was late. Brook loathed tardiness but decided against mentioning it to her. He extricated himself from Vicky’s embrace.
She didn’t wake. Brook was glad. Perhaps he could leave before she realised he was gone. That would be the simplest way. He didn’t want to lie-he wasn’t good at it-but right now he knew he’d have said anything, done anything to cover his tracks with Wendy.
‘Morning sir.’ Wendy Jones raised an eyebrow at her superior knotting his dressing-gown belt severely. She was accustomed to his being dishevelled but being unprepared was a surprise. Brook bore little resemblance to the man who prided himself on his attention to detail, to cold logic and control. This was more like the man at whom she’d thrown herself, last New Year’s Eve. The recollection brought a blush to her features, but the embarrassment was tinged with pleasure.
Brook waved her to sit at the kitchen table. No need to go through to the living room. He obviously didn’t want her revisiting the site of their furtive passion and Jones was grateful for his thoughtfulness.
Brook was uneasy, unsure what to do. If he made tea, they’d be delayed. But if he hurried her out, Wendy might suspect something.
At least it gave him a problem to solve-take his mind off what had happened, stop him wondering if he’d done or said anything to cause Vicky to come to his bed. Maybe she’d seen him peeping at her. She would think he was a pervert. The sewer he’d been trying to flee for nearly twenty years had taken root inside him. He was its prisoner. There was no way out. He could see that now. Pointless trying. In an odd kind of way, the knowledge was quietly liberating. But that was what worried him, what was causing the dull thud in his head.
He tightened the tatty towelling robe around his diminishing waist still further. He must eat more. He could see the clench of his genitalia through the material and turned back to the corridor to avoid exposure.
‘I won’t be a minute. Help yourself to…something.’ Brook darted to the bathroom, showered in one minute and dressed in three. The note to Vicky could take twice as long but he didn’t dare permit himself the time. He had to get Wendy away before Vicky woke. He couldn’t heap public humiliation onto private suffering.
Jones looked in the fridge, expecting to amuse herself at its desolation but was mildly surprised to see food and wine, albeit sparse, on one shelf. She then noticed that the sink contained no piled plates and the drainer was empty, unlike her last visit.
She had just about decided that Brook had tidied up for her benefit when she saw the two glasses on the side, red dregs still at the bottom. Lipstick clung to the rim of one of the glasses. To her surprise, she felt a rush of something approaching jealousy and was ashamed. She knew she had no right. After all she’d spent nearly a year trying to ignore both him and the jibes from her colleagues. Until the murder of the Wallis family and her involvement with the case, she’d almost persuaded herself that nothing had happened between them. And then he’d walked through the screen at the hospital and her heart had lurched in a way she hadn’t experienced since her childhood sweetheart had first brushed her breast with the back of his hand. And now she’d missed her chance, assuming she still wanted one.
Brook emerged from the hall in a plain grey jacket and trousers. He had suits, but he’d forgotten to keep them together and often wore different combinations of the same two suits on consecutive days, causing much hilarity behind his back.
As he walked in, he noticed the wine glasses before Jones looked up. There was nothing to be done. Perhaps she hadn’t spotted them. He smiled at her in a businesslike fashion and she returned it with something approaching warmth.
‘Shall we go?’ he said, indicating the door.
‘Have you said goodbye to your guest?’ said Jones, with what she hoped was a playful smile.
Brook couldn’t hold her look. ‘I left a note,’ he muttered to the linoleum, in a voice that declared the matter closed.
Jones stood, feeling very foolish, and brushed herself down. She hadn’t wanted to wound him but she had. Then again, he’d humiliated her at the briefing and she was able to take a measure of comfort from a debt paid. However, the way things had started wasn’t good. They had a long journey in front of them and things were already awkward.
