was?’
‘Indirectly, Greg Jay.’
She sat up straight, her mouth falling open. ‘You mean he had me bumped!’
I shook my head. ‘You’re not listening. “Indirectly”, I said.’ I told her the story of Greg Jay’s visit to the head of CID, of his litany of complaints about me and of his accusation of an improper relationship between the two of us. I left out the part about his early morning drive-by. If either of us chose to make that a disciplinary matter, Jay might have found himself wearing sergeant’s stripes again. Alf didn’t want it to go that far, but I couldn’t be sure that Alison wouldn’t insist on it if she knew.
As it was she was angry enough. ‘The swine,’ she hissed. ‘Next time I see him…’
I turned her face towards me. ‘You’ll say nothing, and you’ll think how lucky you are not to be working for the son-of-a-bitch any more.’
‘Are you going to let it lie?’
‘What did a friend say once? “All rights reserved, all wrongs revenged.” A nice turn of phrase, but it’s not necessary in this case. The boss has dealt with it, Alison. He threw Jay out of his office and he got you out of his reach. What more should I do?’
She sighed, pouting a little. ‘I suppose…’
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I’ve been told that I have a few virtues to counterbalance my faults, but patience is the one I’ve had to work hardest at. I’m getting there, though. There may come a time when Mr Jay’s career is in my hands. And then…’
She pulled me towards her, and kissed me, for quite a long time. ‘You’ll do nothing,’ she whispered, as we surfaced. ‘I see you with your daughter and I know that as hard as you are on the outside, you’re a softie at heart. You won’t do anything in cold blood.’
‘No?’
We kissed again. ‘No,’ she repeated, after we’d paused for breath once more. ‘On the other hand, my dear, I am as ambitious as you, and if the day should ever come when his career is in my hands… I’ll rip his balls off and enjoy listening to him squeal.’
I grinned. ‘You’re quite a scary lady, aren’t you?’
‘Mmm. Just as well you’re not in love with me.’
‘That isn’t everything. Close and comfortable’s good too. I know plenty of couples who’ve built a life around that.’
‘You’ll never be among them, though. You have to be in love, Bob. You still are, even after eight years; I could see that in your eyes tonight. That’s why we’re safe with each other. I want sex, not love, and sex is all you have to give.’
I drained my glass. ‘In that case,’ I murmured, ‘let me be generous.’
Nine
It was good, no denying that. Sex with Alison was energetic, enthusiastic, strenuous, and a whole lot of other adjectives, with the exception of acrobatic. We tired each other out after a while and fell asleep, with a window left open slightly to let us breathe.
I don’t know how long I’d have slept if my bed-mate hadn’t been wakened by the sound of the milk truck skidding round Goose Green, just after half past seven: in those days we had the fastest milkman in the east. I came to with my hand on her breast, my thumb massaging her nipple, very gently. ‘Bob,’ she murmured, ‘it’s morning.’
‘And?’ I mumbled. ‘Since when did you only do it in the dark?’
We were out of bed by eight, though, at least I was, having insisted on first go in the shower so that I could get breakfast under way. By the time Alison emerged at eight fifteen, her short, blonde-tinted hair still in damp disarray, Alex was up too, scrambling eggs and grilling bacon and tomatoes, while I made tea and toast. ‘Not for me, please,’ Ali said. ‘I’m a cereal only girl.’
She relented, though. My kid has always done very good scrambled eggs. It’s an undocumented fact: one- parent families do not have room for a bad cook.
Breakfast over, we got on with our weekends. Alex left first, to walk to Daisy’s place. She told me they were going food shopping in Haddington so I gave her forty quid and a list and told her to pick up some stuff for us. At thirteen I’d have trusted her with a debit card on my account, but legally she was too young to sign the slips. After she’d gone, I tidied in the kitchen, while Alison dried her hair, and packed her bag.
‘You don’t have to go,’ I pointed out, once more. ‘You could just chill out here, and wait for me.’
‘No, I can’t. Apart from anything else, I was air-dropped into a new office yesterday, and unlike you, I had no warning. I’m going in this morning as well. I need to read up on our current investigations. We’ve got a couple of pub break-ins on our hands, and one serious assault that might turn into murder. That’s a break from the norm. Two young male victims, stabbed, last Saturday: one’s unconscious, on life support, but the other’s wounds were superficial. At first he said they were attacked, but the story kept changing. Eventually he admitted that he and his mate tried to mug a gay bloke, but got it badly wrong.’
‘In Grove Street?’
‘Yes. The witness thought he was a dead man, but someone turned into the street and the guy ran off.’
‘I read about that in the Saltire,’ I recalled. ‘There was no mention of the poofter aspect, though.’
‘Poofter?’ she repeated, raising an eyebrow. ‘Are you homophobic, Bob?’
‘Do I have a fear of homosexuals?’
‘You know what the word means.’
‘Alison,’ I told her, deadpan. ‘I treat everyone the same, regardless of creed, colour, gender or sexual orientation.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Just for a second, I thought you sounded really bitter. No,’ she continued. ‘Mr Grant held that back from the media. He’s got officers out tonight going round the gay pubs and discos. The two would-be muggers said they saw their prey coming out of one in Morrison Street and followed him.’
‘Have you got a description?’ I asked.
‘Orange hair and heavy eye make-up, that’s all.’
I laughed. ‘You may take it that by now the hair will be a different colour and the kohl will be gone.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ she agreed, ‘but I’m the new girl, so I kept it to myself.’
I considered the situation. ‘Between you and me, I’d have given the press everything.’
‘Why?’
‘Because all kidding aside, this man sounds dangerous. Your two victims probably intended no more than to rough him up a wee bit and nick his wallet, but what they got in return… Gay man out on a Saturday night tooled up? That’s hardly typical of our pink community.’ I paused. ‘You’re not part of the pub trawl, are you?’
‘No, it’s boys only, Superintendent Grant said.’
‘So you could come back here tonight?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve got something on. I’m going to my friend Leona’s for dinner. She’s married to an MP, he’s away to South America on some parliamentary jaunt or other, she’s pregnant, and we’re having a girlie night.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Roland McGrath. He’s a real prick; I can’t stand him.’
I sensed bitterness. ‘Let me guess: he tried it on with you.’
Her eyes turned grim. ‘A week before their wedding. The stag and the hen nights merged into one later on. Everybody was a bit pissed and Roland caught me in a quiet corridor of the hotel and offered me what Leona was going to be getting for the rest of her life; that was how he put it. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, so…’
‘So? So what?’
She laughed, suddenly, beautifully. ‘So I threatened to arrest him. He didn’t believe me until I cautioned and cuffed him.’
‘You took your handcuffs to a hen night?’ I gasped.
