He reached the public toilets on the edge of the village and swung his rucksack from his back. He downed the last of his water, sitting on a nearby bench, watching birds feeding on flying insects. He hadn’t felt this good in years. A month after his suspension had kicked in, Brook was fit, brown and relaxed. He was eating properly and had put on a stone in weight, much of it muscle on his legs after four weeks spent walking a minimum of fifteen miles a day. Better yet, he hadn’t had a cigarette in three weeks and, more importantly, hadn’t wanted one.
Two days earlier, for the first time in years, Brook had started to entertain the idea of leaving the Force. He had plenty of money, even without his pension, and his lifestyle was not exactly lavish. The day after, he’d drafted his resignation letter which sat in his printer waiting for a signature and an envelope. He wouldn’t hand it to Charlton yet, not without speaking to Noble first — he owed him that much.
Brook continued his hike through the village and up the steep incline to his cottage.
He saw the postcard as soon as he opened the door. He bent to pick it up, but before it was in his hand he recognised the Eiffel Tower. When he turned it over, it was blank apart from Brook’s address. It had been posted in Paris four days earlier. He plucked his mobile from his shorts and thumbed at Noble’s number. A second later he rang off and turned the phone off.
He opened a cupboard and reached past the wine glasses for a jam jar. He poured a generous measure of whisky into it and topped it up with water before taking a large gulp. Then he rummaged for his lighter in the drawer, managing to ignore the pack of cigarettes he’d opened three weeks earlier.
Brook spent an hour staring at the postcard and sipping at his jar on the garden bench. Finally he finished his drink and held the lighter to the edge of the postcard to ignite it. A second later he stopped and extinguished the small flame catching at one corner.
He returned to the kitchen and stuck the postcard under his sole fridge magnet, gathered up a pack of cigarettes and, after a quick detour into his tiny office, returned to his bench to light up. The smoke from his first cigarette for three weeks was harsh on his lungs.
Instead of extinguishing the lighter, Brook held his resignation letter over the flame until it caught fire then dropped the fireball and watched it burn at his feet.
