She smiled, the tears starting again. Phil gently put his arms round her. She fell into his embrace. She turned her face upwards to his, eye to eye once more. The tears in her eyes making them glitter like diamonds in the streetlights.
On that cold, narrow street, they kissed.
And Phil, tired beyond endurance only a few minutes ago, had never felt more alive.
57
The Hole in the Wall pub was, as it claimed, in a hole in the wall. The old Roman wall that ringed the town loudly proclaimed its heritage, having been preserved and patched up over the centuries. Built into the Balkerne Gate, an old Roman entry point, the pub had its own kind of heritage. It was near the town centre but didn’t attract squaddie or townie drinkers, which meant less violence, which in turn meant, for Clayton, less chance of bumping into colleagues.
He walked inside, unused to the surroundings, trying quickly to get his bearings. Not a coppers’ pub, he thought, then amended that: he could imagine Phil in here. But certainly no one else.
Walls bare except for flyers advertising gigs at the Arts Centre and plays at the nearby Mercury Theatre; stripped floorboards; deliberately mismatched old wooden furniture. At a table sat a bunch of people in paint- splattered overalls, scenery painters and designers on a break from the theatre. Some goth types sat at the bar, and despite their spiked piercings and fierce tribal make-up, Clayton presumed they were harming no one but themselves.
The layout of the pub was haphazard. It looked as if sections had been added over the years. Consequently the floors were uneven, with steps up and down to various levels. There were open spaces and hidden spaces, high ceilings and lower, sloping ones. Clayton scoped the place, frowning at the noise coming from the jukebox, something thrashing and insistent, something he would never appreciate if he lived for ever, looking for the person who had texted him. He found her sitting on a leather sofa in a secluded section at the back of the pub, underneath slanted wooden roof beams.
Sophie.
She was sitting with a drink in front of her – vodka and Coke, he imagined – wearing jeans, boots and a shiny black padded jacket. He noticed there was a very large handbag at the side of the sofa. He crossed over to her, looked round once again to make sure there was no one he knew in the pub.
‘They let you go then?’ he said.
‘Had to. Had nothing to keep me on,’ she said, taking a mouthful of her drink.
He sat down next to her. ‘I’m takin’ a big risk meetin’ you here. This better be worth it.’
She put the glass back on the low table, moving her shoulders back, thrusting out her breasts in the process. A faint, fleeting smile played across her lips. ‘I’m worth it.’
Clayton said nothing.
Sophie’s mood changed. The smile disappeared, to be replaced by something darker. ‘I’ve left him,’ she said.
‘Brotherton?’
‘Who else?’ Her voice matched her features.
Clayton wished he had bought a drink at the bar now. ‘What did he say?’
Her face dropped, her eyes on the table. ‘Haven’t told him yet. Just went home, grabbed my stuff and left. He’ll find out when he comes home.’
‘He’ll be well pissed off.’
‘That’s his problem.’ She took another mouthful of her drink, a large one.
Clayton sneaked a look at his watch. Wondered what Phil and the team were doing. He felt bad about being dropped from the team. Like a striker who was having a goal drought. He knew that wasn’t the case, but that was how it felt. He was embarrassed about it. His first thought: what do I tell my mum? She was always so proud of his achievements. And he gets dropped from the highest profile case he’s ever worked. Not his fault, but how would she feel when she found out? He should have been out there, working, investigating. Not sitting here worrying about his future. But he knew he had no choice. So when Sophie called, he didn’t know what it was about, but if it was something that could save his career he had to go. And now he knew.
‘Well, good luck.’ He stood up, made to go.
‘What you doing?’ She looked up at him.
He turned, stood over her. Looked right down her cleavage. Well, he thought, it was there, rude not to. ‘Leavin’. Nothin’ more to say, is there? You’re leavin’ him. Good luck.’
Anger flashed in Sophie’s eyes. A kind of anger Clayton hadn’t encountered before. ‘That’s it, is it? Good luck? Good fuckin’ luck? Oh no you don’t.You owe me, Clayton.’
Clayton felt anger of his own begin to build. ‘Really? I owe you? Yeah? You’re a big girl, Sophie.You make your own decisions. ’
He started to walk away. She stood up, came round the table, grabbed hold of his arm. There was a surprising strength to her grip. Her fingers dug in. He turned.
‘You walk out of here, Clayton, you walk out on me, and you’ll be sorry. Really fucking sorry.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Because there’s still things about you I can tell your boss. Or your mate. DC Hepburn, isn’t it?’ A smile crept back on to her face. No warmth, just a sick, calculating coldness. ‘She doesn’t like you, does she? Or maybe she does. Maybe that’s her problem. Perhaps she’s the one I should talk to. Tell her about your past. What d’you think?’
And once again, Clayton felt scared of Sophie. Not just because of what she could reveal – he had experienced that before – but because of the way she was behaving. This was a side of her he hadn’t seen before. One he didn’t want to see again. Not just scary, unnerving. He opened his mouth to speak. She stopped him.
‘And don’t tell me I wouldn’t. ’Cause you know I would.’
Clayton sighed, too angry, too scared to speak. She smiled again, and this time there was warmth in it. Or an approximation of warmth.
‘Why don’t we sit down again?’ she said. ‘Talk this through.’
The grip on his arm relaxed, becoming a gentle guiding hand. Another smile. This was more like the old Sophie. The one he knew. Or thought he did. He allowed himself to be led, sat down next to her.
‘Right,’ she said, as if they were two old friends together. ‘Let’s discuss this properly.’ She took another mouthful of her drink, prepared herself. ‘I’ve left Ryan. I’ve got nowhere to go, nowhere to live, Clayton.’
A shudder passed through him as he realised what she was saying. ‘You’re jokin’.’
‘No I’m not, Clayton.’
Saying his name again, building up repetition, like a sales-person trying to sell him something. That was what she was, he thought. That was what she had been as long as he had known her.
‘No.You can’t…’
She leaned in close to him, the warmth in her voice now spreading to the hand she placed on his thigh. Another smile. If anyone glanced over from the bar they would just assume that they were a courting couple sitting in a private part of the pub, having a close, intense conversation that would end up in bed.
‘I’m staying with you, Clayton.You live alone, you started this.You’ve got no choice.’
He sighed, said nothing.
‘Besides, when Ryan finds out what I’ve done, he won’t be happy, will he? He’ll come after me.’ She moved in closer, her hand snaking round his arm, her thigh against his, slowly moving backwards and forwards. ‘I’ll want protecting. And who better to do that than a big, hunky policeman…’
Clayton felt his head spin, his hands shake, as if his whole body was in a whirlpool and he was being sucked down into some dark vortex. But he felt something else, too. Something that he shouldn’t have been feeling. Because despite her words, her threats, he was getting an erection.
Sophie guessed what was happening, shifted her eyes to his groin. She smiled, snaked her hand gently over it. He gasped.
