“I’m fine, but I’ll have a few minutes. Everything is almost done.”
Gardener sat down and put his slippers on. Spook curled up on the mat in front of the fire. His father sat next to him.
“I’ve invited Anei and Jacqueline. I wanted us all to have Christmas dinner together. No doubt you’ll think I’m a sentimental old fool, but Anei has made me feel special, and I wanted to do something for her.”
“Why tonight? Why not Christmas Day?” asked Gardener, a little taken aback, unsure of how he really felt about it.
“Jacqueline and Anei are spending Christmas in Romania. Anei wants to go. She’s not been back to her homeland since she left. Chris, you go and run your poor old dad a hot bath, and I’ll finish off in the kitchen,” said Malcolm, glancing at his watch. “They’ll be here by seven-thirty, and I want everything just so.”
Chapter Fifty-two
Gardener found himself running through the park. Up above, grey storm clouds were brewing. Brown leaves crunched underfoot due to a mild ground frost. The park was empty of people and animals, creating a feeling of isolation.
He was running while he was staring at the sky. The shapes of the clouds were frightening him. He knew something nasty was going to happen, but he couldn’t figure out what. Only that it would involve him. He tried to remember why he was there. Was he searching for someone? Meeting somebody?
He halted at the bridge that crossed the small stream. As he walked over, he could see dead fish in the water. Fishermen were sitting on boxes at the side of the bank, their rods cast. Why? Couldn’t they see the fish were dead? He was about to start running again when he noticed his mother and father. They were not walking but gliding. His mother was constantly admonishing his father for the forgotten TV license.
Gardener panicked. He had to tell her. He reached into his jacket for his mobile phone, but neither the jacket nor the phone were there. Glancing down, he noticed all he had on was a pair of shorts.
As he stared ahead, his parents disappeared. He could see Sarah in the distance, sitting on a bench, staring vacantly ahead as mothers pushed their children on swings. That was why he was here. He was here to meet Sarah. She had something to tell him. He started running towards her, somehow aware that if he didn’t, she would be in danger. Leaving the bridge, he turned right, following the path. Gardener froze in his tracks as he saw the vagrant called Bob Crisp.
Crisp was staring at him, waving his arm. He was talking as well, but Gardener couldn’t hear anything. He was reluctant to move any nearer. But he had to if he wanted to reach Sarah.
She was in some kind of trouble. He closed his eyes, ran as fast as he could. As he passed the vagrant, he heard something about a new life and that he must save Sarah.
What the fuck was he going on about? He already knew he had to save his wife. He simply didn’t know why.
Gardener opened his eyes and found he was only yards away from her. Sarah’s golden blonde hair was swinging carefree in the wind. She was dressed in a white cotton dress, his favourite. The one he had bought her for their anniversary.
Running towards her, he opened his arms, aware that a shadow was approaching from his right.
The cockney accent startled him. “I told you. Stop meddling in my affairs!”
Gardener glanced at Warthead, saw the gun aimed at Sarah.
“No. Don’t shoot!” But Warthead didn’t listen. Gardener stared at his wife as the gun went off. The white dress turned a deep shade of red. Sarah disappeared.
Gardener shouted. He was losing her all over again…
The next time he bellowed, he woke up and fell to the floor. The landing was a bad one. He hit the bedside cabinet with the corner of his eye and rolled into the wall.
“Fucking hell!” he shouted, reaching out for the bedside lamp. He only succeeded in dragging that to the floor. Gardener lost his temper, threw it across the room. Why did he always dream about Sarah? More to the point, why her death?
He stood up, pulling his dressing gown from the bed. The clock read 02:05.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Fifty-three
Twenty minutes later, he was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of herbal tea in one hand and a photograph of Sarah in the other. In front of him was his hat, her parting gift. The one that meant so much to him.
He placed the tea and the photograph on the table and picked up the hat. Even now, he still couldn’t work out why she had bought it. He’d never told her he wanted one, and she’d never shown any interest in hats all the time he’d known her. But she had bought it for him, and he loved it. He wouldn’t part with it.
He poked his finger through the bullet hole, thinking how lucky he’d been on that night.
The bullet could so easily have blown his head apart. Maybe Sarah would still have been alive.
Gardener thought about that possibility for some time. He wouldn’t have liked that. Not because he would have been dead and she would have lived, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of her having to suffer like he had.
Gardener grew extremely angry. One careless moment was all it had taken. One stupid instant when he couldn’t forget the fact that he was a policeman. He put the hat on the table and placed
