and people stood around dazed by the suddenness of it all.
Girls wept and boyfriends comforted them with cuddles and braggadocio.
Smoke pressed against the ceiling, as if from cannon fire, and the clock behind the bar showed one minute past midnight. We'd missed it.
A small crowd stooped around a figure sitting on the floor near the bar, so I walked over, feet crunching on broken glass, to see if assistance was required. It was the landlord, bleeding profusely from a head wound. There is a God, I thought.
'Got 'it by a can,' a youth explained.
'Not light ale, I hope,' I replied.
'No, it looked like Webster's to me.' I was obviously in the presence of an aficionado.
A hand slipped into mine and I turned to find Jackie with me. 'We're going,' she said. 'Our taxi's here. I just wanted to say goodnight.
And Happy New Year.'
She tipped her head back and stood on tiptoe, for a kiss. I planted one smack on those gorgeous lips, like I'd wanted to do ever since I'd first met her, sometime last year. Her eyes were sparkling, literally a million fireflies whirling and spiralling in them in some ritual dance of passion. I pulled her closer and revelled in my newly acquired power over women. The floor was sparkling, too. I looked up and saw that we were standing under the globe of mirrors, which had been turned on for extra atmosphere.
'Happy New Year,' I sighed, stealing an extra squeeze. 'I'll come out with you. Where's your coat?'
'I haven't brought one.'
'You'll freeze to death. And mind your feet on the glass.' As we reached the door a pair of bobbies in flak jackets strolled in, big and intimidating. I winked and received a brief nod of recognition. In the car park I said: 'It's Charlie, by the way. Hugo's identical twin.'
'Hello, Charlie. And goodbye. I'm Jacqueline. Are you sure you won't come to this party?'
'No. I'd better not.'
'Are you married?'
'No.'
'But you have a girlfriend?'
'Yes.'
'I bet she's rather special, isn't she?'
Her friends were squeezing themselves into the back of a white Granada.
'This is ours, Jackie,' one of them called to her.
'Yes, she is,' I said.
'Ah, well,' she sighed.
Jackie was shivering with cold. My jacket was unzipped and I enfolded her in it as we kissed for the last time. Her lips parted ever so slightly before she took them away. The curve of her back, the silken material under my hands, and the smell of her reached parts of me that no fizzy lager ever did.
'Either put him down or bring him with you,' Green Specs was saying. We disengaged reluctantly and Green Specs gave me a cherry brandy peck.
She was still holding the champagne glass. I reached out and took it from her.
'Jackie!' I called as she moved towards the taxi.
She turned back to me. 'Be careful,' I said, quietly. 'There's some nasty people about.'
'Are you a policeman?' she asked.
I stooped until my lips were next to her ear. 'No,' I whispered. 'I'm a policewoman in disguise.'
Her laugh was every bit as generous as the rest of her. 'I thought so,' she said. 'They knew you.'
'Listen,' I went on. 'If you ever come across a man called Darryl, run away, drop him, fast as you can. Understand?'
She looked concerned and nodded.
'And tell your friends.'
'Darryl. Right. And you be careful, too, Charlie.'
As the taxi drove away three faces turned in the back seat, pale in the street lights, and hands waved. I waved back and cursed myself for being fifty kinds of fool. There was a footfall beside me, and one of the PCs said: 'Trust the CID to get all the perks.'
'Life's a bitch,' I said, planting the champagne glass in his gloved hand. 'Here, have one on me.'
Next morning I awoke with a hangover. At first I blamed the mono sodium glutamate in the Chinese, until I remembered the large gin and tonic I'd taken to bed with me. I've never done that before, and it didn't start out as a large one. It was just that some adjusting of quantities was required after the initial sip, and before I knew it the tumbler was full. Annabelle had left greetings on the ansa phone and I was missing her. The g and t was compensation.
After breakfast and a shower I rang the number that Pete Drago had given me for Herbert Mathews, and Mrs. Mathews answered. After the introductions and explanations I asked: 'Do you think he'll be well enough to talk to me?'
'Oh, he'll be delighted,' she said. 'What he's missing most of all is shop talk. He's been a bit better over Christmas, but he's still in bed at the moment. We had a late night, last night. When would you like to come?'
'This afternoon, about two?' I asked, tentatively.
They'd moved house, after Herbert's retirement, to the bungalow in the country. Now they lived halfway between Burnley and Keighley, on the edge of Bronte country. The little brick cottage stood in a quarter of an acre and would have had long views if it hadn't been for the neighbours' cypress trees. I'd have chain sawed the lot the first time they went on holiday.
When I saw Herbert he reminded me of my father. He'd made an effort, bless him, and wore a shirt and tie, with a fawn cardigan over them.
But there was no disguising the sunken cheeks and the claw-like hand he extended, or the plastic pipe that ran across his face, bleeding oxygen under his nose to enrich the air, because his lungs were down to twenty-five per cent. I'd seen it all before. The muscles of my jaw tightened as I shook his hand, and hardly any sound came out as I tried to say hello. I sank into an easy chair opposite his shrunken figure and Mrs. Mathews went to put the kettle on.
I said: 'Welcome to Yorkshire, Herbert. Was it a lifetime's ambition to live this side of the border?'
'Property prices are lower,' he retaliated. 'And now I know why.
Coming here gave me this.' He tapped his chest, trying to smile and cough at the same time.
'I'd have thought all this fresh air would be good for you.'
'You would, wouldn't you? But it's too late for that, even if it were so simple.'
We chatted about the weather and the job for a while and his wife brought the tea. I told him that Pete Drago sent his regards. He wasn't impressed.
'How long have you to go, Charlie?' he asked.
'Couple of years. A bit less.'
'Are you married?'
'No.'
'I never rated Drago,' he said. 'Thought he was a waster. But now I'm prepared to admit I might have been wrong. He knew what he wanted from life and he went for it. Didn't care who he hurt. I don't agree with that, but I wish I'd been a bit more like him. If there's anything you want to do, Charlie, do it now. Don't put it off or wait for it to happen.' He reached out and put a hand over his wife's and I raised the teacup to my lips, to hide behind.
'And another thing,' he went on. 'Choose your friends carefully. How many from the job do you think have visited me since I finished? Go on, have a guess.'
'Not many, I don't suppose.'
'None. Not one.'
He became agitated and started to cough. Mrs. Mathews passed him a handkerchief and told him not to upset himself.
When he'd recovered I said, lamely: 'It's a bit out of the way, up here.'
'We haven't always lived up here, Charlie. Believe me, once you leave, you're history. Nobody wants to know
