Scrunching the envelope up, she stuffed it into her pocket with one hand, pouring water into the mug with the other as the back door opened and her husband entered. “Would you like tea, love?” She reached for another mug before he could reply. Ken wouldn’t drink instant coffee, so there was no point in asking but she wasn’t going through the palaver of making a fresh coffee for him if she couldn’t be bothered to do so for herself.
“Yes, please.”
He walked past her and into the living room, casting an eye over the children. Even though he was facing away from her, she knew he would be frowning. You hate the television. He disliked streaming services even more but it kept the children quiet, up to a point. Something he never managed to do. He turned back and she looked away, hoping he wouldn’t read her thoughts by way of her expression.
“Did you get a paper?” Ken asked, looking around.
“Oh… no, sorry.” What am I supposed to say? Suddenly, she was lost for words. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t spent the entire walk home playing out different scenarios in her head, how to frame the news, what she should be thinking… or feeling. “Something came up.”
“What was that then?”
He sounded disappointed, annoyed even. Sorry you didn’t get your blasted paper. Go to the shop yourself if it means that much to you. “I… I’ll tell you in a minute. Can you finish making the tea?” She left the kitchen, retreating into the cloakroom. Putting the lid to the seat down, she slid the lock across the door and took the envelope out of her pocket. Sitting down, she fought for calm. The cloakroom smelt funny. That mixture of fresh paint tinged with a touch of damp. Ken insisted it would dry out once the summer kicked in but usually she chose to go upstairs such was the strength of the odour, particularly on rainy days. This morning was different.
The glue on the seal hadn’t taken firmly and the flap came apart from the sleeve with ease. The envelope itself appeared old and battered. Perhaps the glue had dried out. Carefully removing the letter from inside, not wishing to make a sound despite there being practically zero chance of anyone hearing her beyond the door, she unfurled the crumpled paper. The handwriting was poor, barely legible and with several crossings out at various points. The letter was short, the message clear. Reading to the end, her eyes flicked heavenward and it took a few seconds before she realised her hands were involuntarily shaking.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and sought to calm herself once more. The sound of a car pulling up in the yard outside carried to her. Standing up, she could make out a dark shape through the frosted glass of the cloakroom window. Silently cursing, she folded the letter flat several times and secreted it in her back pocket, along with the envelope. Lastly, she depressed the flush and unlocked the door, hurrying back towards the kitchen.
By the time she reached the kitchen, Ken had already ushered the men inside. The kids were both leaning over the back of the sofa eagerly inspecting the new arrivals. She recognised the young detective constable although his name escaped her. He must have told her earlier but, what with everything else, she hadn’t taken it in. He was nice enough, a bit drippy for her tastes. The other wasn’t present when she left, of that she was certain. She would have remembered. He was tall, athletic, with a shock of floppy fair hair but, unusually, with a Mediterranean complexion. His expression was serious, his features chiselled and angular and yet offered a promise of kindness.
The younger officer deferred to the taller and Jane deduced he must therefore be senior. He eyed her approach, smiling and offering her his identification. She gave it a cursory nod before chancing a glance into his dark eyes, yet another contradiction when considering his hair colour. She was sure the latter was natural.
“You found a body?” Ken was overly dramatic as he was often prone to be. Accusatory. The children were wide-eyed with excitement, the response that only those without the ability to process the enormity of the events could generate. “Why didn’t you say?”
“Because you disappeared into your studio.” As you always do on the weekend in spite of promising you would spend more time with the kids. She chose not to voice the thought, bearing in mind the company they had. “I was about to just now.” Whether the explanation was satisfactory or not, he didn’t comment further.
“I was just making tea, if you would care for some?” Ken suggested, looking between the two officers. His tone was light, upbeat. He had slipped into the mode of a welcoming host, much as he used to before when they lived back in Fulham. Ken could be a charming man when he turned it on. “Look at the time, it’s nearly lunch. We could put some food out seeing as you are here. It will only be bread and cheese, perhaps some fruit.”
The young detective looked eager. His eyes lighting up as the presence of his appetite made itself known. The other appeared ready to decline but Jane stepped in, asserting control like she usually did.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she asked, approaching and extending her hand with an accompanying broad smile.
“Detective Inspector Janssen, Tom Janssen.” He took her offered hand. The grip was firm, his hand was large and yet gentle, feeling soft to the touch. He must use moisturiser. Takes care of himself. As he returned her smile, she took the initiative. “Ken is right. You must have something to eat with us. Who knows when you’ll next get the chance?” He looked about to object but relented against the tide of her persistence, instead
