hand found mine. I heard myself exhale a big breath, not knowing where to begin. “Cambridge, next week,” I tried.
Sophie nodded. “Mmm,” she mumbled.
“I just want to say that, you know, it’s a whole new world for you. It is for anyone. If you have any, you know, difficulties…”
“If I have any problems,” she interrupted, “if anyone gives me any hassle, let you know and you’ll come down and sort them out.”
“Well, that’s part of it.”
“It’s all right, Charles,” she continued. “Nobody will give me any hassle, and Dad’s said the same thing to me already.”
“It’s not just that,” I told her. “What I really meant was, well, money’s bound to be tight. Impoverished students, and all that. Don’t do without, Sophie. And don’t keep running to your dad. I wanted to buy you something special, but I didn’t know what. There’ll be books you’ll need, and other things. You’re my family, too, you know, all I’ve got, so come to me first, eh?”
She bowed her head and put her other hand on mine. After a few moments she looked up and said: “That’s really lovely of you, Charles. Dad had told me that, too, but…”
“What?” I interjected. “He told you to come to me if you were short of money? Wait ’till I see him…”
She squeezed my fingers, saying: “No, silly, he told me to go to him first, not Mum.”
We sat smiling at each other in the dark, our fingers intertwined. After a while Sophie asked: “Is it true you saved Dad’s life?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“He told Mum you did. She said he won’t talk about it but that’s why you are such good friends.”
“I hope we’re good friends because we get on well together,” I replied. “We’ve had a few adventures, like all policemen, that’s all.”
“She said it was a long time ago, when you were both PCs.”
“Oh, I remember,” I declared. “Yes, it was when we were both PCs. We were at Leeds Town Hall Magistrates’ Court, and your dad had to go in the witness box to give evidence. Someone pinned a note on his back that said: I am a plonker. Everybody would have seen it when he went to the box, so I told him about it. He said: ‘Thanks, Charlie, you saved my life.’ That must be what he means.”
Sophie squeezed my fingers. “I don’t believe you,” she giggled.
“Well it’s true.”
“Charles…”
“Mmm?”
“I…I love you.”
It was a tiny, hesitant voice, but the words were unmistakable, what we all long to hear: I love you. What do you say: “Don’t be silly” or “You’ll get over it”? I never subscribed to the views that babies don’t feel pain, or that the emotions of the young are less valid than those of their parents. Love at eighteen is probably as glorious — or as agonising — as it gets.
“Yes, I know,” I replied, softly, aware that I hadn’t used the words myself for a long time, not sure how they would sound. “And I love you.” There, it was easy, once you took the plunge. The pressure of her fingers increased. “I loved you when you were a baby,” I explained, but it was not what she wanted to hear and her grip loosened. “And when you were a moody teenager.”
“I was never a moody teenager,” she protested.
“No, you weren’t. You’ve never been anything less than delightful. And I love you now, as a beautiful young woman. Love changes, and it’s a different sort of love.” She was squeezing my fingers again.
“But,” I went on, “this is as far as it can go. You realise that, don’t you?”
She looked at me and nodded. We held each other’s gaze for a few moments until, as if by some secret signal, we both moved forward and our lips met.
We pressed them together, held them there, and then parted. I disengaged my fingers from hers and sat back. Her mouth had stayed closed, no tongue sliding out like a viper from under a stone to insinuate its way into my mouth and check out my fillings. She was still her daddy’s little girl. “That was nice,” I whispered.
“Mmm.” She agreed.
“Remember what I said.”
“Yes.” She reached for the door handle, then turned, saying: “I think Annabelle is a fool.” From the pavement she added: “And I hate her,” and reinforced her words by slamming the door so hard that the pressure wave popped both my ears. Why do women do that? I watched her into the house and drove home. I don’t know why, but there was more joy in my heart than I’d felt in a long time.
Somerset Bob rang me Friday morning and I told him what I wanted. He was pleased and eager to be on the case and suggested I come down the A420, M4, and A350, but not the A361. I began to worry that we’d spend most of Saturday discussing the merits of the motorway versus those of A-roads, in which case I’d have to remind him of why I was there, but he was just being helpful and I needn’t have worried. He invited me to stay the night with himself and his wife if we had a long day and I couldn’t face the journey home, which was thoughtful of him.
I pulled everything that might be useful from the Silkstone file and made copies for Somerset. I was extricating details of his early life in Heckley from the photocopier chute when Annette joined me, holding a letter she wanted duplicating.
“What’s all that?” she asked.
“Stuff about Silkstone, for Somerset,” I replied. “I’m going down there tomorrow to look at their files.”
“There looks to be a lot.”
“There is.”
“Why didn’t you ask? I could have done it for you.”
“Because: a, you were busy; and b, you’re a detective, not a clerical assistant.”
“Sorry,” she replied. “Put it down to a hundred thousand years of conditioning.”
“Pull the other one,” I responded, lifting the original off the bed and gesturing for her to put her document on it.
“Thanks, I only want one copy.” I pressed the button for her. “Are you driving down?” she asked.
“’Fraid so. Early start, about six o’clock.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
The light tube moved across and back again, and I lifted the lid. “Why?” I asked. “Aren’t you going to York?”
“No. He’s taking the girls to see their grandma. It’s her birthday, and I’m not invited.”
“Damn!” I cursed. “I wish I’d known. I’ve arranged to stay the night at Bob — the DC’s — house. It would have been a good day out, and you could have shared the driving.”
“Tell him there’s been a change of plans.”
I thought about it. “How were you going to spend the day?” I asked.
“Shopping in Leeds, and a hair-do,” she replied.
“Harvey Nick’s? House of Fraser?” I suggested.
“That’s right.”
“Treat yourself?”
“You bet!”
“Made an appointment for the hair-do?”
“Yes. What’s all this leading to?”
“No,” I said. “Thanks for the offer, Annette, but you have your day out in town. You’ve probably been looking forward to it, and you deserve it.”
“I don’t mind cancelling,” she offered.
“No, but there is one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t let him cut too much off. I like it how it is.” She blushed, so I followed up with: “And as it’s an early
