Later, back on Silva’s boat and somewhat worse for drink, they kissed. For a few seconds Silva let herself go with the passion of the moment, but then she pulled away.
‘You don’t want this?’ Sean said.
‘I do and I don’t.’ Silva moved across to the galley area and filled the kettle. ‘I don’t want to go back to the way we were. A few days together and then weeks and months apart. It’s not good for either of us.’
‘Becca, you know how it is…’
‘Yes, I do know how it is. That kind of life ruined my parents’ marriage. Right now, considering all that’s happened, I need stability or nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘You’ll be gone tomorrow and I won’t know where you are or what you’re doing. I’ll have no idea of when I might see you again.’
Sean came over and stood next to Silva as she scraped some instant coffee from the bottom of a jar. ‘I wish things could be different.’
Silva leaned across and rested her head on Sean’s shoulder.
‘Me too,’ she said.
She took him to the train station the next morning, weaving through the traffic on her motorbike with Sean clinging on for grim death.
‘Jesus, woman,’ he said when Silva pulled up. ‘Dodging bullets in Afghanistan was preferable to that.’ Sean dismounted and took his helmet off. He handed it to Silva who put it in the rear pannier. He stood for a moment. ‘So is this goodbye or au revoir?’
‘Neither.’ Silva sighed. ‘Where’s the future in it, Sean? Being together wouldn’t be being with you. Most of the time you’d be away and that’s not what I want. Not at this point in my life at least.’
‘There’s hope, then.’ Sean said. ‘Years in the future. Decades. About the time when I’m in adult diapers and drooling.’
‘Stop it.’ Silva leaned across and hugged him. She hit the starter on the bike. ‘You’ll email this time? Phone, text, message. You know, like friends do?’
‘I might,’ Sean said. He looked as if he was about to make another quip. Then he reached out and touched Silva on the shoulder, all of a sudden serious. ‘No, I will. Promise.’
‘Good.’
She clicked the bike into gear and Sean stepped back. He turned towards the station and raised a hand as Silva rode away.
Chapter Twelve
Sean kept his promise to call much sooner than she expected when her mobile trilled out late the next afternoon.
‘It was so good to see you yesterday, Becca,’ he said. ‘Better than good.’
‘Hmmm.’ Silva felt her defences slip but she tried to play it cool. It had been good to see him, but she didn’t want to get his hopes up. ‘I guess.’
‘Do you want to do it again sometime?’
‘Sure, Sean. Next time you’re back in the UK give me a call.’
‘So you wouldn’t be on for tomorrow, then?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Something’s come up. I’ve got tickets for a special event here in London on Monday evening. Once in a lifetime. History in the making.’
‘Give me a hint. Theatre? Music? Sport?’
‘Sort of all three. I need a partner on my arm and you’re my first choice.’
‘There are others?’
‘Of course. They’re falling over themselves but you’ve got the first refusal.’
She felt herself wavering. Seeing him again had made her realise how much she missed him, how much she craved the simple human interaction between two people who were more than friends. She’d shut herself away after her spell in prison. Sure, there was Itchy and a couple of others, but she wasn’t close to them in the way she was close to Sean.
What the hell. ‘OK, I’ll—’
Sean hollered out something she didn’t hear, and then he was filling her head with timings and where to meet and what to wear.
‘What to wear?’ It wasn’t something Sean usually worried about. They’d spent the first three months they’d known each other in military fatigues.
‘It’s suited and booted. For me, at least. Just dress formal, I’m sure you’ll look great whatever it is.’
Silva thought about the handful of fancy clothes she had. ‘If you say so.’
They drove to Ipswich early Monday morning. On the way up Javed was a buzz of questions. One after the other. The incessant chatter began to annoy Holm. He was used to having space to think and had hoped the two-hour journey would allow his mind to drift round the subject of Taher and Tunisia and the mysterious informant who’d given them the tip-off.
No such luck.
Javed appeared to regard Holm as a fountain of all intelligence and policing knowledge he was determined to sup from. True, Holm did have several decades of experience while Javed looked as if he’d not even made the first repayment on his student loan. Still, the lad had to gain some respect before he earned the right to Holm’s wisdom. In the end Holm slipped a Miles Davis CD into the player and turned the volume up. Javed at first winced, then sulked, and then dozed.
Like a baby, Holm thought as he pulled into the car park at Suffolk police HQ and somewhat cruelly applied the brakes a little too harshly.
‘We’re here,’ Javed said, the sudden jerk waking him. He blinked and looked round. A large brick building encircled by a canal of green water stood in front of them. ‘Looks like they’re ready for anything. Perhaps we should dig up Millbank so we can have a moat too. MI6 have one, don’t they?’
‘I don’t think this moat has got anything to do with terrorism,’ Holm said. ‘Probably just an architect’s wet dream.’
‘Wet dream, good.’ Javed nodded in appreciation. ‘What do we do now?’
‘What we do is nothing. What I do is go in. Cornish is an old friend. I’d like to play on that a bit and you’ll be a gooseberry.’
‘Gooseberry?’ Javed tilted his head. He made an obscene thrusting movement with his hips. ‘So you’re hoping to slide back into your old parking space are you?’
‘No, of course not, I just meant…’ Holm stopped. What did he mean? It had been a decade
