'I'm sorry!' he called. 'I really am. I'm an idiot.' His hands fluttered as he spoke. 'I'm sorry.' He repeated the words more softly, as if for the first time he realised just how annoyed Ben was.
'You always are. But it doesn't stop you doing it again.'
'Let's go somewhere else and have a drink. I'll be perfect. I promise.'
Ben looked at the ground rather than at Drew. If he looked into his partner's hangdog expression then he'd only feel guilty about being angry, and that would make him more angry. He sighed. He just needed half an hour on his own.
'Go back to the hotel,' he said finally. 'I'll see you back there in an hour or so.' Turning his back, he strode away.
'Ben!'
Not looking round, Ben raised one arm in a half-hearted wave goodbye and then thrust his hands deep into his pockets, hunching over a little to keep warm. At least the rain had eased to a drizzle, the water a fine mist, teasing his skin. He sped up a little, enjoying the air filling his lungs, the exercise helping shake away the tension that squeezed at his insides.
Eventually the narrow road opened out into a more modern boulevard, large 1930s semi-detached houses uniformly lining one side, and a vast park filling the other. From the glow of the street lamps on the residents' side, he could just make out a children's play area close to the pavement. Smiling, he followed the green iron-railing fence until he reached the small entrance and stepped inside. For a moment, he cautiously peered across the softly sprung area. A see-saw was a mere grey shadow in the gloom, and the swings tilted backwards and forwards slightly on the breeze, the chains creaking like old joints. The roundabout was silently still. There was no one there; no drunks or junkies or kids waiting for some hapless passer-by to pick on or kick in.
He was alone.
The ground mute beneath him, he padded to the swings and sat in the middle of the three, leaving the other two empty to be filled by whatever ghosts of children danced in them in the night. The chains pressed into his hips, but he didn't mind. His knees bending slightly, he pushed himself back and then lifted his legs to let the seat do what it was designed to do.
Drifting backwards and forwards, he stared out into the inky blackness of the park. The gentle motion helped ease the tightness in his shoulders. Shutting his eyes, he let the damp air slide slowly in and out of his lungs, each time the breath lasting for longer than the previous. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted. In the invisible darkness a bush rustled.
When his lungs were relaxed, Ben began to sing.
THIRTEEN
Gwen lay in the crumpled mess of her bed, her legs tangled in the warm sheets that Rhys had just vacated, and grinned sleepily. Her thighs tightened as if it were still her husband they were wrapped around. She really was a lucky girl. She couldn't believe it had taken her so long before she'd realised it.
Beside her a cup of coffee was cooling, and from the bathroom she could hear Rhys humming badly as he brushed his teeth. She stifled a giggle. She couldn't even figure out the tune amidst the sound of the tap running and the scrubbing of his toothbrush that were not helping Rhys's general tendency towards being completely tone deaf. There was no need to worry about some alien coming and ripping him open for his vocal cords.
Although the thought had slipped frivolously into her head, her face darkened. She didn't want to think about the deaths of yesterday. It was only seven o'clock. She had an hour before she had to be at the Hub. One more hour of relative normality.
'Hey you!' Rhys paused his tuneless serenade, calling to her through the open bathroom door as the power shower burst into life. 'They keep telling us we're in a recession. How about we save on the water bill and you jump in here with me?'
Kicking back the covers, Gwen laughed. They'd had a pretty good date night, even after everything she'd seen yesterday. The food was brilliant, and everything that came after was pretty fabulous too. Despite the problems they'd had in their relationship when she first started at Torchwood, since they'd been married they'd rarely argued. Maybe part of that was to do with Owen and Tosh's deaths, and when she thought she'd lost Rhys himself. She wasn't going to risk that pain again. She still felt a wave of guilt tingeing her sadness when she thought of Owen and how she'd betrayed Rhys with him. It had been crazy and she wished she'd never done it, but it was all over now. She had to let it go, along with Owen himself.
'Well?' Rhys's throaty, dependable Welsh voice pulled her back from the dark memories of the past.
'I'm just coming.'
Sitting up, she took a gulp of her coffee before pushing the covers back and getting up. Stretching lithely, and feeling very much like the cat that got the cream, she decided there were worse ways to start the day. She'd taken four steps towards the bathroom when her mobile rang, and the metaphorical cream suddenly went off. Only work would be calling her at this time in the morning. In fact, as her time with Torchwood had gone on, it seemed that her mobile only ever rang if it was Rhys asking when she'd be home or Jack, Ianto, Tosh or Owen asking when she'd be getting her butt to the Hub. And now she was left with the fifty-fifty of whether it was Jack or Ianto.
'Hang on. My phone's going!' she shouted, hoping her husband would hear over the shower and his bad singing, as she dived across the bed to answer it. The caller ID showed it was Ianto.
'What's happened?' Before the words were even out of her mouth, she instinctively knew the answer. The alien had claimed another victim in the night. Dammit. Her stomach clenched and the memory of her lovely evening with Rhys was permanently soured. She should have been working. They all should have been.
'Watch the news. Then get to the Hub. Quickly.'
'I'm on my way.'
They hung up simultaneously without any of the niceties that society expected, and, with all thoughts of her shower gone, Gwen flicked the TV on and found the news channel. It was 7.15. Headline time.
'Maria Bruno, who left her natural home of Wales at 17 to find fame singing on all the finest stages of the world, was in Cardiff as part of the judging panel for the televised final of the city's annual Amateur Operatic Contest. At the height of her success in the nineties, Bruno was considered one of the greatest sopranos in the world, regularly performing alongside such greats as the late Luciano Pavarotti.'
Pulling her T-shirt on, Gwen glared at the perfectly coiffed woman on the TV. Why couldn't she just get to the point?
'Her sudden death has come as a great loss to all who knew her and will be felt deeply in the world of opera where she brought so much joy. We hope to speak to one of her fellow judges shortly, but right now we're going over live to the St David's Hotel in Cardiff, where Judy Glover has been since the news broke.'
The newsreader turned in her chair to face the screen behind her, where the familiar sight of Mermaid Quay came into view and a young woman, who was trying desperately to ignore the drizzle trickling down her face, stared seriously into the camera.
'So, Judy,' the newsreader continued from the dry warmth of the studio. 'Are you able to shed any further light on the events surrounding Maria Bruno's death yet?'
Yanking on her jeans, Gwen paused. This was the important bit.
Rhys emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. 'I thought you were coming to join-'
Without glancing at him, Gwen raised a hand to silence him. She needed to hear this. The bedsprings creaked as he sat beside her.
'Yes, I can.' The reporter on location looked grim. 'Obviously the police have yet to release a statement, but a source from inside the hotel has told us that Ms Bruno went to her suite at about nine o'clock last night and had some fruit salad delivered at nine-thirty. Her husband, Martin Meloy, who is also her manager, had a separate suite next door and he remained in the bar of the hotel until approximately half past eleven, when he returned to his own room. Ms Bruno was an early riser and her routine was that her breakfast was delivered to Mr Meloy who would then let himself into her suite and wake her with it.' The reporter paused. 'And it was when he did so that he discovered her body.'
