In A Dark House

There was, however, half a bottle of her mum’s Australian Chardonnay, and after a moment’s deliberation, Rose poured herself a glass. She wasn’t much of a drinker. Although she sometimes went to the pub with the lads after a day tour of duty, she usually nursed a half pint through the evening. Tonight, though, she thought the alcohol might help her relax.

Taking her glass to the open conservatory door, Rose gazed out into the garden. The day had stayed warm, and the faint breeze that had made the humidity bearable seemed to have faded with the sunset. She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering sense of claustrophobia that had plagued her all day. It was absurd – she was used to wearing a mask, and she had never panicked in a fire, even as a raw recruit. Why should she feel now as if she had a weight on her chest?

She thought back to her meeting with the superintendent from Scotland Yard, the only time that day that the heaviness had lifted. Duncan, he’d said to call him. A nice name, and he was bloody good-looking, too. He hadn’t made fun of her theory, but perhaps he’d just meant to be kind. She was wondering about his partner, and about his reluctance to discuss his domestic situation, when her mobile rang.

She scrambled back to the computer desk where she’d left her phone, flipping it open with one hand while she juggled her wine in the other.

“Hey.” The voice was not Station Officer Farrell’s, but one much more familiar.

“Bryan,” she said, making an effort to disguise her disappointment.

“What’s up, Petal?”

“Not a lot.” Away from the station, she didn’t bother complaining about the nickname. “You?”

“I thought you might fancy a drink.”

It was the first time he’d ever rung her off duty and asked her to do something socially, and she heard his slight hesitation.

“Um, I don’t think I’m up for it,” she said awkwardly. “What with the early start tomorrow and all.”

“I just thought you might want some company.” Bryan paused, then added, “Are you all right, Rose?”

They hadn’t really had a chance to talk since she’d been called on the carpet by Wilcox, and for a moment she was tempted to tell Simms what she’d been doing. She knew she could trust him to keep it to himself, but it was clear from the concern in his voice that he thought she needed looking after, and she didn’t want to encourage that. Nor was she in the mood to have her ideas shot down, however kindly.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m fine, really. We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah? I’ll see you at roll call in the morning.”

“Right. Cheers, then.”

When they’d rung off, she walked slowly back to the garden door. There she stood for a long time, cradling her still-untouched glass of wine against her chest, searching the darkening sky for a telltale smudge of smoke.

Having quickly familiarized herself with Fanny’s kitchen, Winnie had prepared supper, pasta with a simple marinara sauce, some cheese she’d bought at Borough Market, and a salad. She’d hoped that something both light and comforting would encourage Fanny to eat, but she’d watched in growing frustration as Fanny pushed the food around on her plate, and she’d felt guilty for her own appetite.

“I’m sorry,” Fanny said at last. “You’ve done so much already – I hate for you to think I don’t appreciate it. It’s not your cooking, I promise you. It’s just – I can’t-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Winnie stood and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll do the washing up, then we can have a cup of tea and a biscuit. And” – she delved into the bag she’d brought with her- “I thought we might watch a video.”

She kept a collection that she thought of as her “ailing parishioner kit.” Through experience, she’d discovered that prayer had its place, but that there was nothing more healing to those who were ill or worried than a good belly laugh. Tonight she’d pulled out two of her personal favorites, A Fish Called Wanda and Waking Ned Devine, plus some old episodes of Fawlty Towers. They were all irreverent, but in her opinion reverence was highly overrated, and she even had a secret fondness for the ecclesiastical absurdities of Father Ted.

“Oh, Winnie.” Fanny seemed to sag in her chair. “I don’t think I could manage it. Could we just have the tea… and chat?”

“Of course. I’ll just help you settle in for the night, shall I?”

Winnie made short work of the dishes, and when she’d put the kettle on she turned to see Fanny fingering the videos she’d left out on the table.

“Elaine would never have watched these,” said Fanny, looking up at her. “Nor my parents. I remember how much my mother hated Fawlty Towers when I was growing up. There’s nothing the Chinese find more offensive than rudeness, and to her Basil Fawlty was the devil incarnate. ‘That awful man,’ she called him.”

Winnie filled their mugs and sat down at the table. “I’ll bet you watched it on the sly, then.”

“I did, whenever I could manage.” Fanny grinned, remembering, and Winnie realized it was the first time she’d ever seen a real, unfettered smile on her friend’s face. The difference it made was astonishing. “And worried about getting caught,” Fanny went on. “It was probably the worst thing I ever did. They had such expectations, my parents, and I never wanted to disappoint them.”

“What about Elaine?” asked Winnie, beginning to see disturbing parallels between Fanny’s home life and her relationship with Elaine Holland. “What did she like to watch?”

“Oh, serious things. Old movies, sometimes. I didn’t like to complain. She…”

“She what?” Winnie prompted when Fanny didn’t continue.

“She – she could be… unkind.” Fanny gazed down at her mug, as if unwilling to meet Winnie’s eyes.

Holding herself very still, Winnie measured her words. “Unkind, how?”

“Oh…” The cat, Quinn, came in through his door and jumped into Fanny’s lap, kneading her with his front paws. “She – she would say I was lucky to have her… that no one else would want to be saddled with me, the way I am.” Fanny stroked the cat’s back and he butted his head against her shoulder, purring loudly. “She would say I was never going to get better, that I was fooling myself. But that was only when she’d had a particularly bad day, and I thought it was all right, really, because she’d had such a hard time in her own life.”

Looking down, Winnie saw that the knuckles on the hand she’d wrapped around her cup were white. “What sort of hard time?”

“I at least had parents who cared for me. I mean, they were strict, but I mattered to them, more than anything else. Elaine… Elaine’s mother committed suicide when she was twelve, in their shower, so that Elaine would find her when she came home from school. What kind of mother would do that to her own child? And after that, her father cared nothing for her, but when he got sick she took care of him until he died.”

“She told you this?”

“In bits and pieces, most of it when she’d been particularly… cross. She was – she could be – she did care for me, in spite of how it sounds.”

“You’re very forgiving,” Winnie managed to say. “But you know that neither of the things she said about you were true.”

Fanny looked down at her body in the chair. “It’s getting harder and harder to imagine anything else.”

“That will change, I promise,” said Winnie, vowing that she would make sure of it.

At least Fanny had begun to speak of Elaine in the past tense, which Winnie could only see as a positive step. Whatever had happened to Elaine Holland, Winnie hoped that Fanny, having made such a confession, would not be willing to take her erring roommate back with open arms. And as much as it shamed her, Winnie found herself wishing, just for a moment, that Elaine Holland would never walk in Fanny’s door again.

Kincaid leaned against the doorjamb, watching Gemma in the bath. The tub, an old-fashioned roll-top, was one of the things Gemma loved most about their house, and tonight she’d made the most of her retreat. Candles flickered, the water foamed with something flowery, and a piano nocturne drifted from the CD player. All were signs that she’d had a particularly stressful day.

“Is this the ritual bath?” he asked lightly.

“It’s much easier on the goat this way,” she said without turning, but he heard the smile in her voice. She’d