Holly was shaking her head, but Fleet could tell she knew he was right.
“And it wouldn’t be fair to the kid, either,” he went on. “Think about it, Holly. It wouldn’t. How could it be?”
Fleet tried to continue. What he wanted to say was that his reluctance to have children was nothing to do with being afraid of the responsibility. Responsibility, he could handle. The thing he didn’t think he could—the thing that terrified him about having children most of all—was the sorrow, the anguish, the sheer bloody heartache that would come if he were to fail them. It would destroy him, Fleet knew. And in turn it would destroy him and Holly.
They sat in silence, still holding hands. Holly used a tissue from her pocket to dry her eyes.
“You always said we sounded ridiculous,” Fleet ventured, after a moment. “Robin and Holly. Like a cheesy Christmas card. Right? So maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.”
Holly gave a laugh that sounded like a sob.
She turned away.
“You’re staying,” she said, turning back. “Aren’t you?” She moved her chin, loosely indicating the town.
“Not forever,” said Fleet. “But for a while, I think. I’ve got some bridges to build.”
Holly looked down at her lap. She freed her hand from Fleet’s. When she looked at him, her eyes were the color of rain.
She rose, and it took all of Fleet’s willpower not to stand up beside her.
“Look after yourself, Rob,” she told him. “Please.”
And then Fleet could only watch, as slowly his wife walked away.
* * *
He got up eventually. Holly had turned left, toward the center of town. Fleet went right—south—toward the harbor. He passed a litter bin and stopped beside it. He hesitated, but only for a second. He tossed away the packet of cigarettes and kept walking.
After a few moments he heard a car pull up behind him. He turned, and was only mildly surprised to see a marked squad car. The passenger-side window hummed down.
“Need a lift?” said Nicky.
“Thanks,” Fleet replied. “But I could use the exercise.” He patted his stomach and Nicky smiled.
Fleet raised his chin. “Off anywhere exciting, or are you just hitching a ride?”
Nicky’s smile set harder. “We’re off to pay a visit to Stephen Payne. Social Services are meeting us there.”
As part of their final interview with Mason, they’d asked about his relationship with his father. About how often Stephen Payne hit him. That was another thing that had made Mason cry, though this time Fleet had at least taken some comfort from the fact that the boy’s tears would ultimately offer him some release. Nicky, Fleet knew, would make sure of that.
“Send Payne my regards, won’t you?” Fleet said.
Nicky nodded. “Will do, boss. Enjoy your walk.” She pressed the button to raise the window.
“Oh, and Nicky . . .”
The window stopped moving.
“You might want to check the contents of his wallet,” Fleet said.
“His wallet?”
“Right. And if you find anything, I’d start by asking him about his friends. The local dealer, Nathan Murdoch, in particular.” Lion, Fleet thought. “A man like Stephen Payne . . . he’d throw his mates under a bus if it meant dodging a charge for possession. Particularly given everything else he’s going to have to answer for.”
“Gotcha,” said Nicky, and she waved as the squad car drove off.
Fleet walked on.
He passed bait shops and greasy spoons and, on the corner where the road met the water, the Harvester where Sadie had worked since she’d turned fifteen. And ice cream vans. Half a dozen, at least. Seriously, came Cora’s voice. How many ice cream vans does one town need? Only one was open for business, and Fleet half considered buying a can of something, purely out of sympathy. There wasn’t another customer in sight, and he had his doubts there would be for months now. The weather might slowly have been improving, but the summer was definitively over. Already the town had the feeling of a place that had shut up shop. Like one of those villages in the Arctic Circle that, when the seasons reach a certain point in their cycle, don’t see daylight until the following spring.
When he reached the harbor, Fleet spotted a light on in one of the rooms in Anne’s B&B. Even without the rain, on a day in early September, it was gloomy enough that natural light simply didn’t cut it. But the sun would be back, Fleet thought, looking at the horizon. The strip of blue was strengthening, and slowly extending the town’s way.
He passed the fishing boats, and the spot he’d had his run-in with Mason’s father. Compared to how it had appeared to Fleet last time, the promenade didn’t actually look that shabby. Strange, how perceptions were influenced by the way you were feeling. For the whole of his adult life, Fleet had thought he hated this place. The promenade, the beachfront, the entire town. But really it wasn’t so very different from anywhere else. It was tired, certainly, but at least it was trying. It was like with people: what more could you ask of them but that?
When Fleet was halfway along the walkway, he saw her sitting on the bench. Somehow he’d known she’d be there. He drew close, and waited for her to acknowledge his presence. When she didn’t, he joined her in looking out over the sea.
“You found her, then,” said his mother at last.
Fleet’s eyes caught on the inscription on the bench. His mother still wasn’t looking at him, and he found it hard to interpret who exactly she was talking about.
He sat down, at the opposite end of the bench from his mother.
“Are you staying?” she asked him, this time turning his way.
Fleet didn’t know if she meant it the way Holly had, or if she
