I reread Rick’s message and reply to tell him I’m in the mood for a chicken madras and a garlic naan. A bubble of excitement ripples up from my gut. If Rachel were here, she’d tell me to forget about Jack and see where things could go with Rick, and I’m prepared to accept the advice of the imaginary version of my voice of reason in lieu of the real thing. It’s just gone six, so I should just about have enough time to get ready before he calls for me.
DCS Rawani and Jack were certainly thorough with the taking of my statements and printed copies of both are safely secured in the satchel on my back. The second statement will remain locked in Rawani’s desk until such time as we need to use it. Jack has agreed to keep hold of the picture of Tomlinson with Turgood and Saltzburg as we all agreed it was too risky to have it tested forensically. Jack has already checked it for prints and has deduced that the envelope was pre-glued, so there would have been no reason for the sender to lick the flap. The chance of recovering DNA from the photograph or envelope is slim, and doesn’t outweigh the danger of Tomlinson’s face being recognised and word spreading. Rawani is right: we need to keep this off the books until we have more evidence pointing either towards or against Tomlinson’s involvement. As Jack rightly claimed, the photograph could be perfectly innocent, and sent by someone trying to deflect suspicion from themselves.
The sky overhead is thick with fluffy white and light grey clouds, the beach is deserted save for the occasional jogger or dog walker, and the only sound in the air is the call of the seagulls welcoming me home. I wouldn’t change it for anything! Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing I love more than paddling my feet as I walk along the beach with the heat of the sun on my face, but there is something so tranquil about my town during the winter. In a world so busy and loud, this is a little piece of paradise.
I have to double-take when I see two bright suitcases – one hot pink, and the other sky blue – stacked up beside my front door.
‘There she is!’ Rachel exclaims, throwing her arms into the air and hurrying across the road before wrapping them around me. ‘I was about to send out a search party!’
‘Rach? What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Spain?’
She kisses my cheek and I can’t get over the giddiness of her smile.
‘We literally got back at lunchtime and I told Daniella that we have to come straight here and tell you our news.’
I spot Daniella waving nervously from the edge of the pavement, as if she’s reluctant to intrude on our embrace.
‘News?’ I ask.
‘I will tell you inside. Come on, let’s go.’
Rachel links her arm through mine and drags me across the pavement, stopping only so I can greet Daniella, before she is thrusting me up the steps and to my door.
‘I did give you a spare key for a reason,’ I say as I open the door.
She grabs the handle of the pink case and pulls it inside. ‘Yeah, I know, but that’s at home and we came straight from the airport.’
I help Daniella with her suitcase and can’t imagine what she is making of my humble abode. She is a model used to the glitz and glamour of five-star hotels, where champagne is on tap and dinner comes in those tiny bite-size portions. She must feel like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole.
We park the cases in the hallway and squeeze through to the kitchen, and I immediately fill the kettle. ‘Your postcard only arrived this morning,’ I say, pointing to where it’s stuck to the fridge door with a magnet.
She turns and looks at where I’m pointing. ‘See, that’s what I’ve been saying for years! I wrote that on about day three of our trip and I almost beat it home.’ She turns back and I can see that her frustration at the poor delivery time hasn’t affected her excitable mood.
‘So how was the holiday? Sorry, Daniella, I know it was work for you.’
Daniella joins Rachel at the breakfast bar. ‘It was really nice.’ Her Italian accent is as strong as ever. ‘How have you been?’
I open my mouth to offer my usual ‘I’m fine,’ before closing it again. ‘I want to hear whatever your news is.’
Rachel’s smile widens as she looks into Daniella’s eyes and they clasp hands. ‘Shall we tell her together?’
‘No, you tell her,’ Daniella replies, her cheeks darkening a fraction.
Rachel turns back to look at me and I can genuinely say I’ve never seen her looking so happy, and tears start to haze my vision. She takes a deep breath. ‘Well… while we were away, Daniella asked me to marry her, and I said yes.’
If Daniella wasn’t holding onto Rachel’s hand, I dare say she would have torn round the room like a rapidly deflating balloon. She thrusts her left hand out, and I see the sparkling shimmer of the gem on her ring finger.
I throw my hands up and my mouth hangs open. There are so many words I want to share: to tell her how happy I am for her; how happy I am that she’s found someone who can make her this happy; how it’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. The words remain in my head as they vie for attention, and instead I
