King followed her inside. “I know,” he said, seemingly relieved. “You must find it difficult to deal with, day in and day out.”
“We all die,” she said quietly. “It’s not the bodies, that’s merely an organic experience. A process. We die, our body starts to decompose. On a cellular level, it’s meat and fat and bone.”
King nodded. He’d spent much of his adult life analysing death, from the metaphysical to the biological. He had felt the need to justify and live with some of the things he had done. It hadn’t helped much.
“But it’s the abstract details,” she continued. “Had Mr and Mrs Jameson argued? Had they had sex the night before, fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Cuddled all night? Had they realised what was about to happen, mouthed I love you before…” She drank more of the wine, half a glass in a gulp. “Liam Jameson. He would have been terrified. He would have wanted his mummy and daddy. He will never kiss a girl, drive a car, go to university…” She wiped a tear away from her cheek.
King looked at her. She was barely thirty. And she was burned out. He had seen it before. She was at the top of her field, but she was done. She didn’t know it yet, but her path led to addiction and failure. He watched her drain the glass. She still had failure to go, but it looked like the addiction was covered. He watched her pour another glass. The bottle was empty, and she drank the glass, the empty bottle still held in her other hand.
“How about those steaks?” she called out to him.
King dropped the two ribeye steaks on the grill and wiped his hands on a cloth. The steaks were thick and well-marbled. The fat started to melt, and the flames licked at them through the bars. He twisted on some pepper from an oversized cruet, then he peeled back the lids on the two ready-made salads, and spooned them onto the plates. Caroline had designed and organised the outside kitchen area and they had enjoyed wonderful evenings sat outside, warming themselves from the evening chill beside the barbeque, which King would load up with kindling and logs after they had eaten. They would watch the flames and talk into the early hours.
He felt ridiculous. What had possessed him to offer to cook dinner? And now the woman was getting drunk. He had suggested a cup of tea or coffee, she had felt like a drink, offered her hotel bar, he had not wanted to talk anywhere too public. Snell’s death had been subject to a non-discloser, or Section-D. Nothing would be reported in the press until the authorities had looked at the cause of death. King had suggested his place and before he knew it she had taken it as an invitation for dinner. Now, as he spooned out some of the freshly prepared potato salad next to the coleslaw and dropped a few rocket leaves onto the plate, he knew he had crossed a line in his relationship. He knew he was not going to do anything with Amanda, but he wouldn’t exactly be telling Caroline about this scenario either. That was enough to tell him he’d been an idiot in letting it get this far.
The steaks were ready for turning and he flipped them, huge flames engulfing the meat and lighting up the area briefly. He tossed on some sea salt that was flecked with seaweed and three kinds of spice. He couldn’t remember what they were. It had been a purchase of Caroline’s at a local food market. The fact he was using it made him feel worse.
“Looking good!” Amanda said, sidling up to him. Again, her shoulder brushed his arm. He noticed she smelled good, not only the expensive perfume he recognised as Caroline’s favourite, but shampoo or conditioner with a hint of vanilla. She was drinking white wine now. King hadn’t seen her carrying anything other than a small handbag and the bottle of red. He knew there were a few bottles in the kitchen, but wine wasn’t his thing. He sipped his red, more for a distraction than to slake a thirst, and took the steaks off the grill to rest on a plate. “I’m starving,” she said, slurring her words a little. The wine was evaporating fast.
King served up the steaks. He felt awkward about eating in Caroline’s outside dining area and made a move towards the lounge. He carried both plates. Amanda followed. Her glass was empty. She had put the bottle on the coffee table and King noticed it was half-empty.
“I’ll get us some cutlery,” she said and walked out to the kitchen. There was a sway to her hips that hadn’t been there before, but there was a lot of sway everywhere else that hadn’t been there before either. She came back with the knives and forks and perched herself down on the edge of the leather sofa. “This looks wonderful,” she said, and started to fork at the coleslaw.
“So, what got you into pathology?” King ventured.
“Well, you’ve got to seriously fuck up to harm the patients!” she giggled. “What got you into your line of work?”
He shrugged. “A lifetime of poor decisions.”
“You like what you do?”
“I suppose so,” he said. “My tasks have changed a bit over the past year or so. It’s been workable.”
“Do you work with your partner. Your fiancé,” she said, a little harsh emphasis on the word.
“Sometimes. We’re in the same department.”
“So, where is she?”
“She’s on something else.”
“Really? Your department doesn’t deem this important enough for a bigger team?”
King shrugged. “I don’t make the decisions.” He concentrated on his steak and picked at the salad. He watched her drain her glass. The elephant in the room
