them. But Phil still loved visiting. It made his Sundays special.
‘I’m still coming. And I’m looking forward to it.’
They said their goodbyes, Eileen rang off and Phil was alone once more.
He sighed. Her words had hit a nerve. He looked around the living room of his own home. It was well furnished, with books on shelves, CDs and DVDs. Prints on the walls. It told of an interesting life. A full one. He was happy with his own company. He had been on his own for most of his life. But sometimes, he thought, sometimes he would enjoy having someone to share it with. Someone to come home to.
He laughed out loud at how self-pitying he sounded.
‘Maybe I’ll get a dog,’ he said, to no one in particular.
He took another mouthful of beer, pointed the remote at the stereo. Elbow started playing again and his mind was immediately cast back to Marina. He had been listening to the album when they first got together. Each track reminded him of some aspect of her, but one in particular stood out. He knew that was coming soon, looked forward to it with both longing and trepidation, knew it would bring back memories he found almost too powerful to cope with, but memories that he wanted to be reminded of nonetheless.
They had met through work. The Gemma Hardy case. And the attraction had been instantaneous. He had looked up from his desk that day as Fenwick had escorted her across the office and done a double-take that verged on the comedic. She was so beautiful. In an office full of hard-bitten, badly dressed, sweating, cynical police officers, even more so. It looked like she had arrived from another planet, a more cultured and enlightened place. He couldn’t help but stare.
He vividly remembered their first meeting at the briefing, even down to what she was wearing. He recalled it now. A black velvet dress that accentuated her trim figure and flared out around her legs, plus high-heeled knee- length black leather boots that made her appear taller than she actually was. Thick black curly hair, pushed back at one side, held in place with a glittering hair slide that matched her necklace and earrings. Round, expressive hazel eyes. Full red lips. His first thought: he had never seen a woman that looked so perfect.
And his second: don’t even think it – she’s way out of your league.
But she’d soon proved him wrong.
They had been teamed up together in the case, her psychological expertise matching his experience as a detective. They had been left alone to work. At first he found it difficult to speak to her. When he tried to discuss the case he would catch her eye fleetingly, because he couldn’t hold it too long, and find her smiling at him, those beautiful hazel eyes wide and shining. It was unnerving; he felt she was teasing him. The educated university lecturer laughing at the poor, plodding copper. He tried to ignore it, not let it get to him, just concentrate on finding the girl’s stalker.
But she kept smiling at him. And he kept focusing on the case.
Then they touched. Accidentally, both standing over a desk, looking down at a spread of reports and photos. As she went to point at something, her hand came down on top of his. It was like an electric current passed through him. Like it jolted him awake, alive. Made him feel truly connected to another human being for the first time in his life. He looked at her as if shocked. And in that moment, that look, he knew: she felt the same way. She was still smiling at him, but he understood the smile now. She wasn’t laughing at him, mocking him. There was affection there. And something more.
‘Listen,’ he had said, ignoring the reports and looking directly at her, her hand sliding slowly off his as if reluctant to move, ‘I was just wondering, d’you fancy a drink or something some time?’
Phil had felt himself blush then, massively. What was he doing asking her out? What had possessed him to say that? He worked hard within the force to be seen as a man’s man when he had to be and a thief-taker by trade. He had shrugged off death threats from criminals that other officers would be seriously concerned by. But with women, he was all but clueless.
His mouth was open, ready to attempt to take his words back, when she said yes, that would be lovely.
‘Why did you say yes?’ he had asked her on their first proper date, in the Olive Tree restaurant in Colchester’s town centre. It was relaxed and comfortable with good, if slightly pricey, food. The kind of place professionals came to eat. But not usually police officers of his rank. He figured it for a safe place not to be seen.
They had made small talk on shared interests, discussed the case, whereabouts they both lived. Then Phil decided to move things on.
And her response was that smile again. Her wine glass at her lips, the deep reds matching, the candlelight dancing in her hazel eyes. ‘Why not?’ she said, taking a slow mouthful of wine. Phil watched as her lips lifted from the glass, glistening. ‘You’re handsome. You’re intelligent. You look like you can handle yourself if you need to, but you’re sensitive too.’
Phil laughed. ‘Is that a professional opinion?’
She nodded. ‘A personal one. But it’s true. I can see it in your eyes.’
He didn’t know what to say.
She laughed. ‘Are you happy being a detective?’
Phil was surprised by the question. ‘Yeah. Are you happy being a psychologist?’
Marina smiled. ‘They say all psychologists are damaged and are just trying to find their way home.’
‘They say all police are racist, violent thugs.’
‘Not the ones with sensitive eyes.’
Phil was feeling uncomfortable but exhilarated by her honesty. ‘So is that the case with you? Are you trying to find your way home?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m on the right path.’
She asked what appealed to him about police work. He was going to give her something boring and mundane: the hours were good, the pension scheme, something like that. But seeing her eyes, feeling the way they bored into him, and after the answer she had given him, he couldn’t just do that. She needed something more, something honest.
‘Well, it’s like this. You get a case. You get called out. Something’s happened. A robbery, a murder. Whatever. It’s a mess. There’s usually someone in tears, a house torn up, lives in pieces. Something like that. And they don’t know what to do next.’ He shrugged. ‘And it’s up to me to find out what’s going on. See what’s gone wrong and help repair it. Make sense of it.’ She was still looking at him. He felt suddenly self-conscious. This woman was unlike any he had ever met before. He picked up his wine glass to hide behind. ‘That’s it, really.’
She slowly nodded. ‘Did you go to university?’
He shook his head.
‘Did you want to?’
Another shrug. ‘Maybe. Wasn’t an option at the time.’
She toyed with the stem of her glass, frowning slightly. It left a lovely little crease in her forehead. ‘You like reading, I bet.’ A statement, not a question. ‘But you don’t tell anyone at work in case they have a go at you about it.’
He thought of the bookshelves in his flat. Filled with all sorts of stuff. Everything from philosophy and poetry to literature, biography and airport thrillers. He had a thirst for knowledge, for understanding, the roots of which he was sure lay in his childhood. He hadn’t found what he was looking for, though. The only thing that gave him real satisfaction was police work.
He shrugged again, growing even more uncomfortable with her questions.
‘You had a bad childhood, didn’t you? Lot of hurt there. Damage.’
The exhilaration was gone. Phil felt only discomfort. ‘Sorry. Off limits.’
‘No,
Phil looked at her, said nothing. She slid her hand across the table. They touched. Electricity sparked again. As if the touch confirmed that they understood each other instinctively.
‘D’you want to know about me? I don’t mind,’ she said. She opened up then, told him of her home life, how her alcoholic, abusive father had walked out on her mother and two brothers when she was only seven years old, coming back occasionally into the lives only to cause anguish and upset.
‘He was a bastard: a pathological liar, a bully, a cheat, a wife-beater,’ she said, her eyes clouding over with unpleasant memories.
