‘I’m fine.’
‘What are you doing when you go off duty?’
‘I’m playing squash with Ben Cooper. Apparently.’
‘Really? Good luck then.’
‘And I’m going to thrash him too.’
‘Are you? So you’re a squash expert as well, then?’
‘Not really, just averagely good. But I’m fit, and I’ll have him begging for mercy on that court. Old Ben looks like a real softy to me.’
‘Ben? I don’t think so. He’s a bit of a chip off the old block really. Soft on the surface, but tough as old boots underneath, like his dad.’
‘So you’re a fan of Sergeant Cooper’s too, are you, sir?’
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‘We all are in this station. How could we be anything else?’ ‘And what exactly has he done to earn this adulation?’ ‘If you want to know about Sergeant Joe Cooper,’ said Hitchens, ‘I suggest you stop off downstairs in reception for a few minutes. You’ll find his memorial on the wall near the (rout counter. It’s about tvvo years since he was killed.’
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13
(Cooper screwed up his face, bared his teeth and let the power surge through his muscles. He glared at the ball, swung back his
O O O ‘ O
arm and released a ferocious serve that flew off the front wall like a rocket and hit the back corner so fast that Fry hardly had time to move.
‘Thirteen-three.’
They changed sides of the court, passing each other near the ‘The. Cooper refused to meet Fry’s eye. He was completely absorbed in his game, as he had been since the start. His concentration was total, and Fry felt she might as well have been a robot set up for him to aim at. As they passed, she smelled the sweat on his body like the sweet resin of a damaged pine tree.
‘Your serve’s incredible.’
Cooper nodded briefly, lining up the ball with his left side turned to the front wall. He waited a few seconds for Fry to get in position, then, with a grunt, unleashed a cannonball that bounced straight at his opponent’s face, making her instinctively want to get out of the way, rather than try to hit it back. Returning Cooper’s serve was proving a futile exercise anyway.
‘Fourteen-three. Game point.’
Fry had given up trying to make conversation during the game. Her comments brought no response, other than another crushing serve. Those that she managed to return resulted in an exhausting rally, during which she ran herself ragged backwards
O J O OC?
and forwards across the court, while Ben Cooper kept control of the ‘The’. He would thrash the ball time and again against the
O O
front wall, now just above the tin, now curving high into the air over her racquet. She could see that her arms and legs had turned lobster-red with the exertion, and the perspiration was trickling past her sweat band to run down the sides of her face and soaking into the elastic of her sports bra between her breasts.
Cooper served again, and she managed to get her racquet under the ball, lobbing it towards the near corner. He darted
O
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I I i
across court and collected the shot with ease, ready to bounce his return to the far side. Fry stretched to reach it, ducking low and hitting the ball straight and hard back along the side wall. Glad to have made a return, she spun round, almost off balance, in an effort to get back to the ‘The’, and collided with Cooper on his way to return the shot. Their racquets clashed and their hot limbs tangled sweatily for a moment before they could separate themselves. shee breathed hard and rubbed her knee where she had knocked it against some part of Cooper’s body that felt like rock.
‘Obstruction,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘OK. Game, then.’
‘And match. Unless you want to play three out of five.’
‘Oh no. I think I’d be safer conceding.’
o
‘Whatever.’
Cooper collected the ball. For the first time, a small smile touched his lips. ‘I win, then. Thanks for the game.’
‘I’d say it was a pleasure, Ben, except that you play like a machine.’
‘I take that as a compliment from you.’
‘I’m absolutely wrecked.’
Cooper shrugged. ‘You tried hard.’
At another time, Fry might have found his tone a bit patronizing and reacted quite differently. But just now she
