Cold Is The Grave

they could rebuild their relationship and move on. True, they had sold the Eastvale semi and Banks’s cottage would be a bit small for two, but they could manage there for a while at least. If Banks went through with his transfer to the National Crime Squad – if they offered him it – then who knew where they might end up living. And with Riddle owing him now, he would be all right for a glowing recommendation.

“I saw Brian last week,” Sandra said.

“He told me when I phoned him the other evening. I wanted to drop by and see him while I was here, but he said they were off to play some gigs in Scotland.”

Sandra nodded. “That’s right. Aberdeen. He’s really excited about their prospects, you know. They’ve already almost finished their first CD.”

“I know.” Their son Brian played in a rock band. They had just cut their first record with an indie label and were on the verge of getting a deal with a major record company. Banks had heard the band play the last time he was in London and had been knocked out by his son’s singing, playing and songwriting talent, had come to see him in a whole new light, a person unto himself, not just an extension of the family. He had almost written Brian off as an idler and a layabout after he nearly failed his degree, but Brian was his own person in Banks’s mind now. Independent, talented, free. The same feeling had happened with Tracy, when he had seen her with her new friends in a pub shortly after she started university. He knew he’d lost her, then – at least lost the daughter of his imagination – but in her place he had found a young woman he liked and admired, even if she was off in Paris with the monosyllabic Damon. Letting go can be painful, Banks had learned over the years, but sometimes it hurts more if you try to hold on.

“I thought you were taking Tracy to Paris this weekend?”

“She told you?”

“Of course. Why shouldn’t she? I am her mother, after all.”

Banks sipped some wine. “Something came up,” he said. “She’s gone with a friend.”

Sandra raised an eyebrow. “Male or female?”

“Male. Bloke called Damon. Seems all right. Tracy can take care of herself.”

“I know that, Alan. It’s just… just difficult, that’s all.”

“What is?”

“Trying to bring up two kids this way.”

“Apart?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Even if we were still together, it would be like this. We’re not bringing them up anymore. They’re grown up now, Sandra. They live away from home. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? I’m just saying it’s hard, that’s all. They both seem so distant now.”

“They are. But as I said, it would be like that anyway.”

“Maybe.”

Their food arrived and they both tucked in. The sausage was good, more meat than fat for a change, and so were the garlic mashed potatoes. Sandra pronounced her positive verdict on the steak. A few minutes into the meal, she said, “Remember when I dropped by to see you up at Gratly?”

“How could I forget?”

“I want to apologize. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Not unannounced. It was unfair of me.”

“Never mind.”

“How is she?”

“Who?”

“You know who I mean. Your pretty young girlfriend. What was her name?”

“Annie. Annie Cabbot. Detective Sergeant Annie Cabbot.”

“That’s right.” Sandra smiled. “I can’t believe you tried to con me into thinking the two of you were working. Her barefoot in those tight shorts. It was plain as the nose on your face. Anyway, how is she?”

“I haven’t seen much of her lately.”

“Don’t tell me I scared her off?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, she can’t have much staying power if she let a little thing like that scare her away.”

“I suppose not.”

“I’m sorry, Alan. Really I am. I don’t want to spoil anything for you. I want you to find someone. I want you to be happy.”

Banks ate more food and washed it down with wine. Soon, the carafe was empty. “Another?” he suggested.

“Fine,” said Sandra. “I’ll probably only have one glass, though. If you think you can manage the rest by yourself…”

“I’m not driving.” Banks ordered more wine and filled their glasses when it came.

“Was there anything… I mean, was there any particular reason you wanted to see me?” Sandra asked.

“Do I need a reason to have dinner with my own wife?”

Sandra flinched. “I didn’t mean you needed one, I just… For crying out loud, Alan, we’ve been separated for a year now. We’ve hardly spoken so much as a few words to one another in that time. And that mostly over the telephone. You can’t expect me not to wonder if you’ve got some sort of hidden agenda.”

“I just thought it was time we buried the hatchet, that’s all.”

Sandra studied him. “Sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“All right, then. Consider it buried.” They clinked glasses again. “How’s Jenny Fuller?”

Jenny was a mutual acquaintance; she was also a clinical psychologist and Banks had sought her help on a number of cases. “I haven’t seen a lot of her. She’s pretty busy now she’s back teaching at York.”

“You know,” Sandra said, toying with her few remaining frites and looking at him sideways, “there was a time when I thought you and Jenny… I mean, she’s a very attractive woman.”

“It just never worked out that way,” said Banks, who had often wondered why it hadn’t, even when it seemed that both of them wanted it to. Fate, he supposed. “She’s got poor taste in men,” he said, then laughed. “That wasn’t meant to sound that way. I didn’t mean to imply that I’d be a particularly good choice for her, just that she seems destined to end up with men who treat her badly, as if she’s constantly reliving some sort of relationship, trying to get it right and failing every time. She can’t break the cycle.”

“I know what you mean,” said Sandra. “She told me once that despite everything she’s done she doesn’t have a lot of confidence in herself, much self-esteem. I don’t know.”

They finished their meals, put their plates aside and Banks lit another cigarette. Sandra declined his offer of one. While she was at the ladies’, he poured himself more wine and debated how to broach the subject that was on his mind. As she walked back across the restaurant he noticed she was wearing jeans under her various flowing layers of clothing, and her figure still looked good. His heart gave a little lurch, and another part of him stirred, unbidden.

Sandra looked at her watch after she sat down. “I can’t stay very much longer,” she said. “I promised to meet some friends at half ten.”

“Party?”

“Mmm. Something like that.”

“You never did that up in Eastvale.”

“Things have changed since then. Besides, Eastvale closes down at nine o’clock. This is London.”

“Maybe we never should have left,” Banks said. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, let’s be honest, I was getting pretty burned out. I thought a quieter life might bring us closer together. Shows how much I know.”

“It was nothing to do with that, Alan. It wouldn’t have mattered where we were. Even when you were there you were always somewhere else.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Most of the time you were out working; the rest of the time you were thinking about work. You just weren’t at home. The damnedest thing is, you never even realized it; you thought everything was just hunky-