The cafe on Brighton pier was dingy and the coffee was bitter and expensive. Terri twirled her ice around the bottom of her glass with a straw and Jones merely stared at the table.
When Terri stood to go to the toilet, he took his chance. ‘Wendy, I’ve got to have a word with Terri, in private. Do you mind?’
‘Not at all.’ She kept her eyes on the table. Her voice was clipped and formal but she’d dropped all pretence to acknowledge his rank. Something was wrong.
‘No please. Stay here in the warm. I need the air.’
‘Fine. Here comes Daddy’s special girl now.’
Brook’s hair stood on end his mouth fell open. Vicky. His heart sank as he realised his blunder. How could he have been so stupid? Vicky’s blonde hair. And Terri…
Brook swallowed a deep breath. He didn’t have time to wallow in the embarrassment. He had harder emotions to deal with.
‘Wendy…’
‘Please don’t call me that, sir.’
Brook nodded. Her anger made things easier. ‘I don’t have time to explain. I will later, if you want to listen.’ His cold tone gave Jones pause for thought but she still couldn’t look at him.
Brook stood as Terri returned to the table and escorted her outside.
‘Isn’t Constable Jones coming with us?’
‘Not just yet. I need a word.’ The wind swept in from the sea, cold and refreshing, and the pier was close to empty.
‘Terri.’
She stopped and turned back towards him, searching his face for an explanation. He looked suddenly serious and in pain as though he had a toothache. Something in her realised the reason for his visit and she looked away.
‘Terri. What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know what…’
‘You had something to tell me. Something you couldn’t say in front of your mum. What is it?’ She opened her mouth to speak but her expression caused Brook to dive in. ‘I want to know what’s going on between you and your stepfather. I want to know now.’
A cloud passed over Terri’s eyes as she sought the words to pacify her father, but they wouldn’t come. Instead she walked over to the rail and looked out over the foaming sea. Brook paced after her.
‘Terri, please. Talk to me.’
She looked up at him, then down at the boardwalk. ‘We’re in love.’
‘You’re what?’ Brook’s expression may have been uncomprehending but his heart was in the know. ‘Say that again.’
‘I love him, Dad. And he loves me.’
‘My God, you’re only fifteen, Terri!’
‘I’ll be sixteen in April.’
‘There are laws…’
‘The laws are like borders, Dad. They’re artificial constructs. There’s no…’
‘Did Tony tell you that?’
‘Dad, we’re in love. Deal with it.’
‘Deal with it?’ Brook stared, still processing the information. A million questions crowded in-questions which were noble in their concerns for others. What about your mother? What about the legal issues? How long has this been going on? But one question burned above all others. The visceral ache that no father of a daughter can deaden. The only question that matters.
Brook’s palms were sweating despite the cold. ‘Have you…? How does he love you?’ he said softly.
Terri looked at the deck of the pier again. She couldn’t find the words, perhaps realising there weren’t any. She looked every inch the schoolgirl now, despite her height, despite the make-up. She might have been in the Head’s office, being told off for throwing water in the labs. At last she mumbled her excuse but instead of blaming another pupil and saying ‘It won’t happen again, miss,’ Brook heard, ‘He loves me like a man should love a woman.’
Brook looked away, a strange wheezing noise emanating from him. It was his breath leaving his body as though he’d been punched in the solar plexus. He could see the brown water seething between the boards. It made him feel dizzy. ‘But you’re not a fucking woman,’ he spat at her.
Terri flinched at the obscenity and then her eyes glazed over into that shocking, hard-faced certainty patented by all-knowing teenagers who think it conveys experience but instead betrays only insecurity and selfishness. ‘I’m both of those things,’ she informed him, coldly.
Brook’s heart fell into the icy sea. Before the last syllable was out, he’d gripped her by the shoulders, and was shaking her violently. He closed his eyes and the moisture in them was forced onto his cheeks. Heads began to turn but Brook was oblivious.
‘Dad, you’re hurting me,’ Terri wailed, trying to prise off his whitening knuckles and wheeling around like a wrestler trying to break a hold. She looked around at the desultory passers-by who were assessing the free entertainment. A stall keeper took a step towards the dance. ‘It’s okay, he’s my dad,’ she panted. The man hesitated, deciding to wait for developments.
‘Dad!’ Terri shouted, shaking him in return. ‘People are watching.’
But Brook shook her and shook her. The man who ran the sharp shooting stall took a further step but Brook was unaware of everything, save the rushing in his ears. He was mumbling incoherently, spinning her round. He could see and hear nothing. He was unconscious, drowning. His life zipped across his mind and was gone and Brook hoped that would be the end of it.
But suddenly there was calm-an impression of stillness. Brook could feel the warmth of the sun on his face. Nothing else. He was in orbit, flying towards great heat. His body was weightless and his head felt like it was on a stick. He was very tired and his head slumped to his chest. He became aware of his legs. They felt heavy and unwilling to hold him upright. With an effort of supreme will he opened an eye to see the water swirling below his disobedient feet. Then the noise of the waves rushed in and he was able to locate Terri’s face. She looked at him. She was sad. Her eyes pleaded with Brook. Her mouth was moving but Brook couldn’t hear. She seemed to be crying, pulling at him.
A numbing cold grabbed Brook a second later and other senses came rushing in. He heard, ‘Your mother. Your mother,’ and realised he was speaking.
Terri still struggled against his grip. ‘Dad! Let go!’ Brook tried to let her go, to unfasten his fingers but couldn’t work out how to do it. Then a soft mouth from behind touched his right ear and then a voice.
‘Inspector Brook! Stop it. Let go.’
All was noise and bustle now. Brook heard the panting and snorting of those struggling around him. Wendy Jones had an arm squeezed into his neck, choking him. Don’t stop, Wendy. You don’t mind if I call you Wendy?
‘Sir. We’ve got to leave now,’ she insisted.
Brook looked to the heavens and saw the grey sky above. He relaxed his muscles to signal his defeat and slumped into Jones’s arms. She loosened her grip, just holding his shoulders to keep him upright.
‘He wants locking up, he does,’ observed the sharpshooter.
‘He’s a fucking lunatic!’ ventured an amateur psychiatrist, toffee apple in hand.
Finally Terri broke free and stomped away to the rail, sobbing. Brook turned his eyes to look at his hands still held in front of him like a novice bullfighter. He let them fall to his side as his knees gave way and collapsed to the floor. Jones lifted him up by the armpits and put her arm round him.
‘Come on, sir. Let’s go.’ She held his limp frame and walked him through the throng.
‘You should call the police, luv. Streets ain’t safe with nutters like ’im roaming around.’
‘I am the police,’ she spat back, ‘and if you want a night in the cells, just stay there shooting your mouth off.’
The potential have-a-go-heroes were aggrieved but wandered away, that’s-the-thanks-you-get expressions glued to their faces.
