‘Which would you rather be — a clown or a fish?’

‘What?’

‘A clown or a fish? Which one would you rather be? If you could only be one.’

Doyle considers the question with the seriousness it surely deserves. Such matters cannot be regarded lightly.

‘Okay, well I think probably a clown. Because then I could take off my outfit and make-up and become a normal person.’

Amy shakes her head vigorously. ‘No. You can’t do that. Whatever one you choose, you have to stay like that, for the rest of your life.’

‘Oh. Well, that’s different. A clown or a fish?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about a clownfish?’

‘A what?’

‘A clownfish. You know, like Nemo.’

‘Oh, okay. But that’s still just a fish. Is that what you want to be?’

‘Yes. A fish. Because clowns are scary, and I wouldn’t want to scare you.’

Amy beams at him. ‘That’s a very good answer, and so you can have a prize.’

‘A prize? For me?’

‘Yes.’

She reaches for a tin box on her nightstand. She calls it her Shiny Box. Anything shiny, glittery or of perceived worth in a child-centered value scheme goes in here. The hinges creak as she lifts the lid and takes something out. She hands it to Doyle. A button. It has ‘Captain Awesome’ written on it in lightning-yellow letters on a pale-blue background.

‘Why, thank you, Amy.’ He pins it onto his shirt. ‘Now I really feel important.’

‘Good. You can borrow it for one week.’

A whole week. Doyle feels supremely honored.

He tucks Amy into her bed, kisses her goodnight, then goes into the living room. Rachel is there, languishing on the sofa and watching an old movie. Black and white, with lots of clipped British accents. Brief Encounter, maybe.

Rachel glances up at him as he enters. ‘What’s that?’ she asks, gesturing to the same point on her own chest.

‘I got a promotion. I made captain.’

‘Does that mean I have to salute you now?’

‘Absolutely. And you have to do everything I say, at all times.’

‘Pah! In your dreams, mister.’

She turns back to the television. Doyle stands behind the sofa, watching it with her.

‘Is this gonna make you cry?’

‘Probably.’ She points down to a cardboard box on the rug. ‘I have tissues at the ready, just in case. You want to join me?’

‘Does it have any car chases?’

‘No.’

‘Any gunfights? Explosions? Martial arts? Babes in bikinis?’

‘No to all the above. Stop trying to be so stereotypically male. You know you like a good cry as much as the next woman.’

‘I do not.’

‘No? What about ET?’

‘That’s an exception.’

‘Uh-huh? And I suppose Free Willy is an exception too. And that movie where all the people come out of comas.’

Awakenings. All right, enough already. I admit I’m in touch with my feminine side. There, I’ve said it.’

He regrets it when he sees the look of amusement on her face.

‘My God, Cal. Next you’ll be telling me you like musicals too. Is this just the tip of the iceberg? Are you wearing my underwear?’

‘Hey, I can still be tough too. You should’ve seen me today.’

‘Why? What’d you do? Claw someone’s eyes out? Pull their hair?’

‘Ha! Very funny. You mind stopping with the insults now? I went to see that private investigator. You know, the one who’s conning old Mrs Sachs?’

‘Is he still doing that to that poor woman? I hope you smashed his kneecaps, that bastard.’

Doyle stares at her. He was about to tell her how he got his message across to Repp, but saying that he made the man’s finger bleed doesn’t seem to match the level of vengeance that Rachel expects.

Their conversation is interrupted by the chirrup of Doyle’s cellphone. He checks the screen, sees that there is no caller ID. Kills the call.

‘Who was that?’ asks Rachel.

‘Nobody.’

She gives him a searching look that feels to him as though it’s penetrating his skull and tearing its way through his mental database.

‘By nobody I guess you mean somebody, but somebody you don’t want me to know about.’

‘I. . no. That is, it’s not that I’m keeping it from you, it’s just that it’s not a call I want to take. And I don’t just mean now, because you’re here. I mean ever.’

He can see the questions scrolling across her eyes. Like a Las

Vegas slot machine. Which one will come to rest there first?

She says, ‘That has to be one of the biggest loads of garbage I’ve ever heard you speak.’ She pats the seat next to her on the sofa. ‘Come here, Cal. Sit down.’

He doesn’t want this discussion, and it’s like he’s walking through treacle as he comes around the sofa and then lowers himself onto it. He feels like a kid who knows he’s about to get that birds and bees lecture.

She grasps his hand in hers, but it’s some time before she speaks. The earlier levity has become a fading memory.

‘Cal, what’s going on? You haven’t been yourself for days. All these phone calls you don’t want me to hear, it’s driving me crazy.’ He stares into her eyes, not knowing what to say. Feeling that he wants to tell her everything, but not wanting to put her in that uncomfortable position. And the longer he sits there in silence, the more he senses her distress building.

It is left to her to break into that silence, and when she does there is a tremor to her voice and a pooling of water in her eyes that threatens to overflow and cascade down her face.

‘I just want you to tell me that. . I need to know that. .’

He studies her face, trying to read her. Trying to finish her sentence for her.

And then it hits him. He understands. And he hates the fact that he can understand. It shouldn’t be able to enter his mind. Shouldn’t be able to sneak into Rachel’s head either. Their relationship should be stable enough to fend it off.

But there it is, and all because of what happened with Laura Marino, his ex-partner. Or rather, the thing that didn’t happen with Laura Marino but which seems to have established its own poisonous existence in their past.

He clasps Rachel’s face in his hands. ‘Rachel, listen to me. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. This has nothing to do with another woman.’

She sniffs. ‘I. . I wasn’t trying to say. .’

‘It’s okay, really. I understand. I’ve been acting kinda weird and you’ve been looking for explanations. But it’s not a woman, okay? You’ve been watching too many of these old movies.’

She nods. ‘All right. So what then?’

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