Chapter Two

They went into the kitchen and she shut the door as overly-dramatic cartoon music began blaring from the television. The kitchen was miniscule, only about six feet square. With the cupboards, worktops, sink, and appliances, there was barely enough room for her to move around, never mind share the space with a furious Stephen.

“Too bloody right we need to talk. Tommy doesn’t have a clue who I am, does he?” Stephen demanded.

“No.” She moved as far away from him as the tiny kitchen allowed, feeling the sharp corner of the sink digging into her back.

“Doesn’t he ask why he doesn’t have a daddy like other children?”

“He’s beginning to, yes,” she admitted.

“And what do you tell him?” Stephen added savagely. “That I’m dead?”

“No.” She was adamant. “No, that you’ve gone away but will be back one day.”

He pulled a disbelieving face. “And now what? Are you going to tell him who I am?” She peered down at her hands. “Becca, for God’s sake, please. I’m his father.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “And married to your job.”

“What?”

“Jan told me,” she explained, raising her head. “Inspector at thirty-one. Congratulations. What’s it going to be – chief inspector before you’re forty? Superintendent a few years after that?”

“Please allow me to be Tommy’s father?” he asked instead of answering.

“Stephen, he needs someone reliable. Someone who, when they tell him that they’ll take him out at six o’clock, will take him out at six o’clock. You will never be able to guarantee him that.”

He slumped back against the worktop. “No, I won’t, but I’d make it up to him.”

“Guilt presents?” she suggested, shaking her head, and noting with relief that it wasn’t pounding quite as much as it did earlier. “No. I see far too many of them at Tommy’s school. Trainers, smartphones, video games – anything they think will make up for the disappointment.”

“Please just think about it, Becca?” he asked.

“What else did you think I was going to think about now?” she snapped.

“Jackie,” he replied. “Jackie’s family. I’ve just come here from telling them she had taken an overdose of painkillers and was dead.”

“Why the hell should I think about her or her family?” She exhaled a short, humourless laugh. “I don’t need to tell you what I thought of her. I’ve never met any of her family, and it’s not very likely that they’re going to give a toss about me or Tommy.”

“They asked me who the little boy was and I had to tell them. They’d have found out, anyway. Did you tell anyone, Becca?”

“No,” she replied simply and, adding before he asked, “because it was safest that way.”

“Well, there’s a good chance that Jackie has told your family where you are,” he told her and her heart lurched before it sank like a stone. “We found her iPhone and the last call made from it was to an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone.”

“Knowing Jackie, she probably tracked me down and took Tommy, hoping that John would take her back. ‘Please take me back’.” She mimicked Jackie’s high-pitched voice. “‘I even took Becca’s little boy so we can be a proper family, and we can bring him up as one of the next generation of Burns Boys’.” She rolled her eyes. “The stupid cow. Tommy will never be a Burns,” she spat. “Never. Knowing John, he probably just laughed at her.”

“Probably,” Stephen agreed. “There’s no way he’d want anything to do with a police officer’s son.”

His stomach rumbled as he spoke and she glanced at the clock above the doorway. Six o’clock. She really had to eat something and so did Tommy. It was his bedtime soon. “When did you last eat?”

He shrugged. “Can’t remember. Breakfast, probably.”

“Do you have to be somewhere?” She heaved herself away from the sink.

“No. I won’t get the official post-mortem results for a few days at the earliest. Then, Tommy needs to be interviewed, as well as you.”

“So Jan said. When?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he told her.

She nodded. “Well, today is pizza day. I hope you still like pepperoni?”

She saw him trying and failing to hide his surprise. “Yes, I do.”

“It’ll be about twenty minutes. Have one of these in the meantime.” Squeezing past him, she went to the fridge freezer, took out a pot of petit filous followed by a spoon from the cutlery drawer, and passed them to him.

“Thanks.”

Squeezing past him again, acutely aware of how he made no effort to move out of her way, she lit the gas oven. Extracting the pizzas from the bottom of the fridge freezer, she pulled them out of the box and cellophane and put them in the oven before turning around.

“Look.” She pointed to his tie. “You’ve dripped some on it.” He began wiping the blob away with a dishcloth but only succeeded in making it worse. “Stop.” Taking the cloth from him, she went to the sink and ran water on a corner. Holding up the tie, and feeling his eyes watching her every move, she wiped it clean. “There.”

“Thank you.” He pulled it loose then undid the top button of his shirt.

“Who irons your shirts these days?” she asked, going to a cupboard and taking three dinner plates out.

He gave her a little smile. “Non-iron.”

“Cheat.”

He laughed. “I burned holes in six shirts before I gave up.”

“And who goes around after you now picking up socks, boxer shorts, and T-shirts?” she added. “Jan or one of the other female officers?”

He stiffened. “No-one.”

She noticed and changed the subject. “Do you still live on Dixon Street?”

“Yes. Alone.” He finished the pot of petit filous and put the pot and spoon on the draining board. “I got fed up of renting so I bought the apartment. A couple of years later, I bought the apartment next door and knocked the two together. The living room is now three times the size and there are now three large bedrooms instead of the original two tiny ones plus a roof terrace.”

“Three bedrooms?” she echoed. She’d loved the old apartment but not their small bedroom and cold bathroom.

“Got to keep my harem of female police officers somewhere,” he told her. She grinned and his eyes widened. “Was that a grin I saw?” he teased with a smile.

“Something like that.” She busied herself in flattening the pizza box while staring at his reflection in the door of the microwave oven before putting the box and cellophane in the bin. He was maturing well, his face a little fuller, his hair cut a little shorter, but his smile hadn’t changed one bit and could still turn her legs to jelly. What did he think of her six years on? Did he find her prematurely old? Haggard? Coarse? At least her hair was still beautiful. “So, you haven’t quite managed to work your way through all the Met’s female officers, then?” she asked, turning around.

He gave her a humourless smile. “My longest relationship since you lasted all of a month.”

“That long?” This time he did laugh. “Jan fancies you,” she added, and his smile vanished.

“I know she does but I don’t fancy her.”

The forcefulness of his tone took her aback a little. “Once bitten twice shy?”

He shrugged. “Something like that. But you and I were the same rank back then.”

“Yes, so don’t expect me to call you sir now.”

His lips twitched. “I won’t.”

The kitchen door opened slowly and they both turned to look at Tommy. “Mummy? I’m hungry.”

“The pizzas are in the oven,” she assured him. “They won’t be long.”

“Okay.” Giving Stephen a puzzled look, he retreated back to the living room.

She sighed. “I’m going to have to tell him something. I’m not going to have it all come out tomorrow when he’s being interviewed.”

“What will you tell him?” Stephen asked, and she could hear the trepidation in his voice.

“That his daddy has come back,” she said simply. “I’m not going to lie to him. Are you ready?”

He took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Come on, then.” She opened the door. “Tommy, turn the television off, please.”

“Oh, Mummy,” he protested.

“Now, please. Then, go and sit in the armchair.” Tommy climbed up and sat down, reaching for the remote control and switching the television off. “Good boy. Now,” she began, glancing around the room. Where was Stephen? He was standing at the kitchen door and she beckoned him to come to them. “Tommy, remember when you asked me where your daddy was?” she continued and he nodded. “What did I tell you?”

“That he was away but that he would come back one day.”

“Yes. Well.” She stroked his hair. “He has come back. Tommy, this is your daddy.”

Tommy peered up at Stephen, who crouched down beside the brown armchair with a smile.

“Hello, Tommy.”

“Where’ve you been?” the little boy asked him.

“Working.”

“Doing what?” Tommy persisted.

“I’m in the Metropolitan Police,” Stephen explained. “A detective.”

“Mummy watches Inspector Morse,” Tommy informed him. “A lot. It’s on for ages.”

“Does she?” Becca saw Stephen’s lips twitch. “Well, I’m an inspector, too. Not a chief inspector, though.”

Not yet, Becca added silently.

“Do you have a big car, too?”

“I have a car but it’s not a Jaguar. It’s a Ford.”

“Oh.” Tommy sounded disappointed. “What’s your proper name?”

“Stephen Connor.”

Tommy nodded, his brain clearly processing the information as fast as he could. “And you’re really my daddy?”

“Yes, I am.” Stephen smiled again.

“Are you coming to live here?”

“No.” Stephen’s face fell. “I have my own apartment. You and Mummy will have to come and see it sometime.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-six, a year older than Mummy.”

“That’s okay.” Tommy gave him a solemn nod and Becca couldn’t help but smile. Tommy had no idea what thirty-six was.

Stephen’s eyebrows rose. “Is it? Why?”

“My friend Simon’s daddy is really old. And his hair is all grey. Yours is nice and black.”

“Thank you,” Stephen replied, before nodding at the television. “What were you watching?”

“The Tweenies.”

Stephen frowned. “The what?”

She laughed. “Oh, dear, we’ll have to educate, Daddy, won’t we, Tommy?”

“Yes.”

“Do you watch the Teletubbies, too?” Stephen inquired.

Tommy gave him a scornful look and she couldn’t help but feel sympathy for Stephen. This was going to be a very steep learning curve. “They’re for babies.”

Stephen pulled an awkward expression and adjusted his position, getting down on one knee. “Oh. Right. Well, what do you like?”

“My Disney DVDs.” Tommy pointed to a scatter of DVDs on the floor beneath the television. “And Scooby Doo.”

Stephen’s face brightened. “I used to watch Scooby Doo.”

“You?” Tommy replied sceptically. “What else did you used to watch?”

“Oh.” Stephen paused, clearly racking his brains. “Play School, Grange Hill, Blue Peter...”

“Do you love Mummy?” Tommy interrupted.

“Tommy,” she scolded, feeling blood rushing into her cheeks.

“I used to,” Stephen told him. “I used to love her very much.”

“Then, why did you go away?” Tommy continued and Stephen’s shoulders shrugged.

“Mummy thought I didn’t love her anymore.”

“Do you love Mummy now?”

Stephen exhaled a long sigh. “I haven’t seen Mummy for a few years. You can’t just go back to the way things were back then. I would like to be friends with Mummy again, though. And with you. Would you like that?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes. When can I see your apartment?”

“When Mummy says it will be all right.”

“The lady today. She said she was married to Mummy’s brother.” He glanced up at her. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“I haven’t seen either of them for a few years,” Becca explained. “The lady didn’t hurt you, did she?”

“No. She just told me to watch the television, argued with someone on the phone and then she cried a lot. She’s got satellite television. Have you got satellite television?” he asked, turning back to Stephen.

“Yes, I have.”

“You mean you’ve got the Disney Channel?” Tommy added, his eyes widening with excitement.

“Erm,” Stephen scratched his head. “Probably. I’ve got lots of sports channels for the football. Do you like football?”

“Yes. I support Arsenal.”

Stephen’s face broke into a grin. “So do I. We must go to a match sometime.”

The oven timer beeped and Tommy slid off the armchair. “Good. I’m hungry.”

“Go to the bathroom and wash your hands,” she instructed and he ran out of the room. Stephen stayed kneeling beside the armchair, his head bowed. “Stephen?”

He sniffed, running a hand over his face. “Sorry.” He got up and wiped his eyes. “Becca, he’s beautiful.”

“He likes you,” she told him gently, fighting the urge to take him in her arms. “I mean it. If he didn’t, he would have told you.”

“Yeah.” He smiled through his tears.

“Daddy?” Tommy stood at the hall door making Stephen jump violently at being called that for the first time. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh.” He fumbled in his trouser pocket before pulling out a handkerchief. “I’m just so glad to see you and Mummy again.”

“Can I see your apartment soon, Daddy?”

“We’ll see,” she replied instead and went to the kitchen to serve the pizzas.

 

It was Jan, not Stephen, who greeted them in the morning at the police station. 

“The chief inspector has asked to see Detective Inspector Connor,” Jan explained. “He’ll get his wrists slapped, nothing serious. This is Marie.” She introduced a smiley middle-aged woman with red curly hair. “She’ll be interviewing Tommy.”

“Hello, there, Tommy.”

“Hello.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Marie assured him. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Come on in.”

Becca was about to follow them into the interview room when she saw Stephen hurrying along the corridor towards her. Clean-shaven and in a different suit, he seemed fresher than the previous day, but as he halted beside her she noticed how bleary his eyes were.

“Sorry.” He gave her a little smile. “The chief inspector wanted to see me. Gave me a bit of a bollocking and took me off the case but nothing too serious. Have they started?” he added, nodding towards the interview room door, and she shook her head. “Okay. How’s your head today?”

“A lot better.” She’d locked and bolted the front door, then wedged a chair under the handle, before going to bed soon after Tommy and sleeping for twelve hours. “Thanks for asking. When will Jackie’s inquest be held?” she added.

“I don’t know yet but neither you nor Tommy will be expected to attend.”

That was a relief. “What’s the matter? You look a bit peeved.”

“Oh, only at the chief inspector. She said she was surprised I didn’t have a dozen sprogs, as she put it, out there.”

“So you do have a reputation,” she muttered, turning to go into the interview room, but he caught her arm.

“Listen to me, Becca. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” Her eyebrows rose and he pulled an exasperated expression. “Thinking of you and Tommy in that horrible flat. Come and live with me?”

“No,” she replied, shaking off his hand.

“Why not?” he demanded.

Because it would be too easy for me to fall back into bed with you, she told him silently.

“Because I haven’t seen you for six years and I am not unsettling Tommy unless it is absolutely necessary. I’m not going to stop you seeing Tommy, though,” she added and saw relief flooding into his face.

“There’s a bedroom for me, for you, and for Tommy. Please tell me you’ll think about it?”

“All right.” She rolled her eyes.” I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you. Come for dinner tonight, you and Tommy?”

“Stephen…” she began before having to move aside to allow a female police officer to pass them.

“Wouldn’t you like to witness the spectacle of me cooking?” he asked with a grin.

“You ringing for a Chinese takeaway, you mean?”

“No, Stephen Connor at the cooker. Spaghetti Carbonara, garlic bread, wine, candles, the lot.” She couldn’t help but smile. He’d always been a terrible cook and she couldn’t visualize him cooking anything which didn’t involve a microwave oven. “Tommy does eat spaghetti, doesn’t he?”

Opening her mouth to say, ‘Silly question,’ she stopped herself just in time. Stephen probably knew next to nothing about children in general, never mind his own son. “Yes. Tommy loves spaghetti,” she told him.

“And ice-cream?” he added.

“And definitely ice-cream.”

“So, you’ll come, then, Becca?”

She sighed. “Yes, all right, but it will have to be early.”

“Six o’clock?” he suggested as she heard Marie saying something to Tommy which produced a laugh.

“Make it five o’clock. Will you be home in time?”

He nodded. “I’ve asked for and been given some leave.”

“I see.” She continued on into the interview room and the door was closed behind her.

 

Becca hadn’t been anywhere near Dixon Street since she had walked out almost six years ago. She got off the bus with Tommy around the corner from Stephen’s apartment block and she stared up at it as they approached. The whole building seemed to have undergone a complete makeover since she had last seen it – new windows, new fancy intercom system – bloody hell, there was even an underground car park now. She took a deep breath before pressing the intercom button. “It’s us,” she announced when Stephen answered.

“Come on up.” He buzzed them inside and met them at the door of his apartment dressed in an Irish rugby shirt and faded blue jeans. She felt irritated and overdressed in her navy blue suit and high heels. “Sorry, I haven’t had time to change. I spend far too much time in a suit, anyway. I hope you’re hungry?”

“I’m really hungry, Daddy,” Tommy declared.

“Good. Well, shall we do the grand tour before we eat?”

“Yes.”

He brought them along the hall and into a bedroom painted cream. “My room.” It was spartanly furnished with a double bed, bedside lockers, chair, and wardrobe. The walls were bare and there was a door in a corner, presumably to an ensuite bathroom. “This next bedroom is empty,” he said, opening a door to a large room with white walls. “I haven’t got around to it yet. Maybe it could be your room, Tommy, when you come to visit. Think about how you’d like it decorated?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“And this is the guest room,” he said, opening a third door to a bedroom painted mauve. “Dad hates it, he says it’s a girly colour.”

“How are your parents?” she asked politely.

“Very well, thanks. Dad retired last year.”

“Have you told them?”

“Not yet.” He ushered them back along the hall and into an enormous open plan living area and kitchen.

“Wow!” Tommy raced across the wooden floor to the windows.

“You like it, then?” Stephen called after him.

“Ye-es!”

“How about you?” Stephen asked, turning to her.

“It’s lovely,” she had to admit. The pokey apartment they had found and rented, decorated and furnished together eight years ago, was unrecognisable. It had been transformed but was modern, light, and airy and surprisingly clean and tidy for a bachelor pad.

He smiled and they walked to the kitchen. “Are we ready to eat?”

“Yes. Tommy,” she called. “Go to the bathroom and wash your hands.”

“Where is it, Daddy?” he asked, turning away from the windows.

“Oh, go down the hall and it’s the room opposite the bedroom with white walls.”

“Thank you.” Tommy ran out of the room.

“Glass of wine?” Stephen suggested.

“Yes, please,” she replied, glancing around the kitchen at the shiny red cupboards and black granite worktops. She couldn’t see any appliances so they must be all integrated. Does he actually use any of them, she couldn’t help but wonder.

“Does Tommy drink lemonade?” he added, pouring two glasses of white wine.

“By the gallon, if I’d let him.” Accepting a glass from him, she watched him serving the spaghetti. “Can I do anything?”

“It’s all under control, thanks.”

“I don’t believe it. Domesticated at last.”

He gave her his boyish grin, which made her stomach flip, then carried two plates to a large oak dining table while she followed with the third.

The spaghetti was delicious and they all opted for chocolate sauce on the ice cream.  Tommy was allowed to eat his on one of the two cream leather sofas in front of the huge plasma screen television while he searched for the Disney Channel. Seeing the melting ice cream sliding around Tommy’s dish, she hoped Stephen had a bottle of cleaner capable of removing dried chocolate sauce from leather.

“Need some help washing up?” she asked, pushing her dessert dish away.

“No, thanks. I’ll put it all in the dishwasher. More wine?”

“Yes, please.”

He poured the wine and passed the glass to her before getting up from the table. “Come with me.” Bringing her to an oak display cabinet beside the door to the roof terrace, he handed her a framed photograph of them standing in the old living room surrounded by cardboard boxes. “Remember this?”

She nodded. “The day we moved in here together. You put the camera on the tripod and set up the automatic thing. It took the picture then the tripod collapsed.” Passing the photograph back to him, she couldn’t help but laugh and gulped her wine down to try and hide it.

“You can’t try and forget that you loved me back then, Becca,” he told her, putting the photograph back on the display cabinet. “I don’t know how I would have coped with what you went through – first your family and then me. No wonder you disappeared. Please let me back into your life?”

“As what?” she challenged. “The mother of your son or something more?”

“All,” he replied straight away. “I want you both.”

“You’ve always wanted it all.”

“Found it, Mummy,” Tommy shouted from the sofa.

“Good. Don’t have it on too loud, and don’t spill that ice cream or the sauce on Daddy’s leather sofa.” God, it was weird referring to Stephen as ‘Daddy’.

“Think about it?” Stephen continued. “Please?”

“All right,” she conceded, just to shut him up.

“Thank you.”

“We have to go home now.” Returning to the kitchen with Stephen following her, she put her wine glass on the worktop. “It’s Tommy’s bedtime soon.”

“When can I see you both again?”

“Tomorrow is shopping day. So, Sunday?” she suggested. “I try to take Tommy out every Sunday with lunch out somewhere. You’re welcome to come if you’re not working?”

His face brightened. “Thanks. I’ll ring you.”

 

The lift in the tower block was working for a change and, with a worn-out Tommy’s arms around her waist and his forehead resting against her stomach, they travelled up to the top floor. Sangita, her next-door neighbour, ran over to them as soon as they stepped out.

“Oh, I wish you’d get a smartphone, Becca. Someone’s trashed your flat.”

She pulled Tommy to her. “When?”

“Just after you left,” Sangita replied. “I think they must have been watching you. The police are in there now.”

“Could you take Tommy? He’s almost out on his feet.”

“Of course I can. I’ll let him sleep on the sofa. Come around when you’re done.”

“Thanks.” She passed Tommy to her and ran along the corridor before introducing herself to a uniformed police officer standing outside her front door. “I’m Becca Hills.”

“Constable McDonald. We’re just finishing dusting for fingerprints.”

“Fingerprints?” she echoed. “Why? Usually, you lot can’t be bothered with burglaries.”

“Your neighbour thought she saw one of them carrying a firearm, Ms Hills.”

She bit back a groan. “Is the flat a total wreck?”

“I’m afraid it is a mess, yes. Have you anywhere you and your little boy can go tonight?”

Stephen’s? It looked as though she had no choice. Sangita’s flat was full to overflowing and there was no way she could afford to go to a Bed and Breakfast. “Yes, to Tommy’s father’s.”

“His name?”

“Stephen Connor.”

She watched the constable writing, ‘Stephen’ before stopping and frowning at her. “Not Detective Inspector Stephen Connor?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she replied, daring him to say anything.

“Okay,” he muttered, taking out a radio and turning away.

She went into the hall and met Jan coming out of the living room.

“Becca, it’s a mess. Scene of crime officers have just arrived. You’re impossible to get hold of. Your neighbour hadn’t a clue where you’d gone.”

“I don’t have a smartphone.” She peered over Jan’s shoulder into the living room. It had been turned upside down. “God, I’m glad we were out.”

“Detective Inspector Connor is on his way.” The constable joined them in the hall. “Is it true your family could have done this?”

She wearily looked to Jan. “Do I have to go through it all again?”

Jan shook her head. “I have the details. You’ll be at Detective Inspector Connor’s, then, I take it?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Can I take some things for us for tonight?” Becca asked, trying to ignore Jan’s snappy tone and its undercurrents of jealousy.

“Sorry, no,” Jan told her, turning away, and going into the living room. “Wait outside,” she threw back over her shoulder.

What a bitch. Becca glared at Jan’s back, before going outside. Her bloody family had done this, but how could she move on again now that Stephen had found her and knew about Tommy? Rubbing her forehead, she groaned, then swore. The photograph albums. Oh, no, not the photograph albums.

“Jan?” She spun around, calling into the hall from the front door.

“What?” Jan snapped, coming back out of the living room.

“My photograph albums. Please, can you see if they are still in the drawers in the bottom of the display cabinet.”

Jan sighed but returned to the living room. A couple of minutes later, she joined Becca outside, confirming her worst fears.

“All the drawers are empty. I’ve been through the stuff on the floor but I can’t find any photo albums. I hope you’ve got the photos backed up somewhere.”

She hadn’t because she couldn’t afford a computer, and she bit back a curse. Trashing the flat, yes, because they were scum and that was what scum did, but how could her family take her only pictures of Tommy?

“Thanks for looking,” she whispered, fighting back tears and Jan gave her a brief nod.

Fifteen minutes later, the lift doors opened, and Stephen ran along the open corridor towards her. 

“Sorry, I had to get a cab because of the wine I had. Are you all right?” Taking her hands, he squeezed them. “Where’s Tommy?”

“In there.” She pointed to Sangita’s flat. “Asleep on the sofa.”

“Who’s here?” he asked the constable.

“Detective Constable Jan Carter, sir.”

“Stephen, they won’t let me take anything. Tommy and I need clothes,” she added, moving to one side to allow a scene of crime officer to leave the flat.

“It’s a crime scene, Becca. I’ll sort you out with clothes.”

“Thank you, but I still need to stop at a supermarket.”

“Fine,” he replied. “Shall we go? There’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Why can’t Mummy and I go home?” Tommy moaned when they went to collect him.

“Because we’ve been burgled,” she told him gently. “The police are there at the moment so we’re going to Daddy’s apartment for now.”

“Can I not get Bear, Mummy?”

“I’m afraid not, no.”

“But I want Bear,” he whimpered.

“Tommy no, I’m sorry, but the police won’t let me.”

“I’ll see what I can find back at the apartment.” They both glanced at Stephen in surprise. “Come on,” he picked Tommy up and they went down in the lift to the cab.

 

Following a detour by way of a supermarket, the cab dropped them off on Dixon Street. Tommy was almost asleep on Stephen’s shoulder as he let them into the apartment.

“I want Bear,” Tommy mumbled again.

“I know, but,” they went into Stephen’s bedroom and he opened the wardrobe, “meet Humphrey.” He pulled out a very old and battered teddy bear. “I’m sure Humphrey wouldn’t mind standing in for Bear for now.”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Tommy clutched Humphrey to him.

Five minutes later Tommy, in one of Stephen’s T-shirts, and Humphrey, in his birthday suit, were tucked up and fast asleep in the double bed in the mauve bedroom.

“A drink?” Stephen whispered to her.

“Yes, please.” She followed him into the living area. “A large one.”

“Coming up,” he said, going to a kitchen cupboard, and taking down a bottle of Irish whisky and two glasses.

“I really thought I’d left them all behind. I’m surprised I didn’t have television companies ringing up wanting to do programmes on the Family From Hell.”

He poured the whisky and passed her a glass. “Here. Think about taking out an injunction, I won’t have them putting you and Tommy in danger. Better still, come and live here.”

“Stephen…”

“What the hell is it with you?” he demanded, slamming his glass down on the worktop. “Every time I try to help you, you throw it back in my face.”             

“I’ve just got out of the habit of asking for help. I never liked doing it anyway.”

“I know.” The telephone began to ring and he went to answer it. “Connor.” He listened for a couple of moments before sighing. “No. No. Why? Because it’s over. Please don’t call me again.”

“After one date? Well, fuck you, Stephen,” she heard a woman’s voice shout and the call was promptly ended.

“Women trouble?” she enquired as he put the handset down.

“Not anymore. I just couldn’t commit to any of them.”

“How many were there?” She pulled a stool out from under the breakfast bar and sat down.

“A few.” Pulling out a second stool, he sat down opposite her and took a sip of the whisky. “How about you?”

“Two.”

“Did they last longer than a month?”

She met his eyes. “No,” she told him truthfully. “The first just liked the idea of having sex with a single mum. The second didn’t like Tommy so that was it with him.”

“And what about you?”

She shrugged. “All I wanted from the first was meaningless sex. Tommy was still a baby and he wasn’t aware of him being around but the second just didn’t like Tommy and Tommy didn’t like him and I wasn’t going to have strange men in the flat. I’d seen enough of that at home with Mum’s boyfriends when I was growing up and I didn’t want to turn into her.”

“You can’t hide from your family forever, Becca.”

“But what the hell can I do?” She rested her head on a fist.

“Take out an injunction. You should have done it years ago.” Reaching across the breakfast bar, he gently caressed her deaf ear. It felt wonderful and she fought a hard battle not to visibly shiver with pleasure. “Before they did this to you.”

“I know, but it’s too late now.”

“Does Tommy know about it?”

She nodded and took a sip of whisky. “He thinks it was an accident, though, not an attack.”

“Does he ever ask about them?”

“No, because I haven’t told him anything about them.” She sighed, cradling the whisky glass in her hands. “I wish I could. I wish they were worth telling him about but they’re not. He has no idea what it is like to be not the black sheep of the family but the white sheep, the only good person in a family of scumbags. And for me to join the police was just the last straw for them. So they did this so I’d have to leave.” She touched her ear. “And then there was you and me. If Jackie hadn’t waded in in her size sevens they still would have broken us up somehow.”

“But they hadn’t betted on Tommy, had they?” he said quietly.

“No. And I’m scared…I never thought I’d be found and I don’t know what to do anymore.” She put her glass down on the breakfast bar before she dropped it. “And I’m so tired all the time. I’m going to bed, it’s probably going to be a long day tomorrow.”

“Before you go to bed, listen to me,” he begged, clasping her hands in his. “Live here, please? I will be here as much as I possibly can. It has to be better than you being in that flat on your own with Tommy.”

“But if they find out?”

“The injunction, Becca. Think about it?”

“Yeah.” She extracted her hands from his and finished her whisky before sliding off the stool. “You’ll have to lend me a T-shirt or something.”

“Okay, come with me.”

She followed him into his bedroom, noticing again just how austere it was. Kneeling down at the drawers beneath the wardrobe, she watched as he opened one and pulled out an item of clothing.

“Here.”

She took it and held it up. It was a pink silk-effect nightdress with thin shoulder straps she had left behind in her rush to leave. “You kept this all this time?”

He nodded. “In the hope that you might come back.”

Oh, God. “I see.” Putting it over an arm, she retreated to the door. “Well, thanks. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Closing the door behind her, she hurried down the hall to the mauve bedroom.

Tommy was fast asleep still clutching Humphrey as she turned the bedside lamp on, undoing her plait, and shaking out her hair. She got undressed and slipped into the nightdress, finding it a little tight over her bust. Since she had last worn it, she had both given birth to and breastfed Tommy. Getting into the double bed beside him, she turned off the bedside lamp. She stared up at the ceiling, remembering the nights she and Stephen had sat at their old kitchen table talking into the small hours putting the world to rights. Oh, God, how she missed those nights. And, God, how she missed him, too.

 

Two hours later, she was still staring up at the ceiling. This was hopeless. Getting out of the bed without disturbing Tommy, she went to the kitchen and took a carton of milk out of the fridge. She poured some of the milk into a mug and put it in the microwave oven for forty-five seconds but opened the door with one second to go before it pinged. Taking the mug over to the display cabinet, she stared at the photograph of herself and Stephen with all the cardboard boxes. When had she laughed like that since?

Opening one of the doors in the bottom of the cabinet, she found two large photograph albums and pulled them out. Taking the albums over to one of the sofas, she sat down, opened one, and took a sip of the warm milk. ‘The Two PC Plods’ was written under a photo of the two of them as police probationers. She smiled, shaking her head, they were so young. The photograph below it was taken by Stephen’s younger brother, Gerard. She and Stephen were kissing. Talk about a tongue sandwich and a half. She quickly turned the page.

“That’s one of my favourites.”

She jumped, almost spilling the milk down her front. “Stephen,” she hissed.

“I couldn’t sleep either.” He sat on the sofa opposite her, dressed for bed in his usual T-shirt and boxer shorts. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me coming in.”

“Well, I didn’t.” She watched his eyes move up and down, taking in her loose hair and how fully she now filled the nightdress. God, how she wanted to straddle him and sit on his lap and push her breasts into his face and let him kiss them and – oh, God – so many other things she missed so much. “I helped myself to some milk,” she said instead.

“Good.” He smiled, raising his eyes to her face.

“How’s Gerard?”

“He’s very well, thanks. He told me that I was a bloody fool to mess you around.”

She groaned. “Let’s not go into that now, I’m too tired.”

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” he asked. “Are you ill?”

“No, just overtired.” She drained the mug. “And sad. And fucking angry. They took all my photograph albums – all the photos you looked at of Tommy as a baby. Spying on me and trashing the flat I can take, kind of, because they’re scum and that’s what scum does. But taking the photos…only the lowest of the low would do something like that.”

“Live with me?” he added quietly. “Let me look after you both.”

“Stephen.” Banging the mug down on the coffee table, she got to her feet, the photograph albums falling to the floor. “We don’t need looking after.”

“Becca.” He got up from the sofa and grasped her shoulders. “Please?”

“Let me go.”

He complied and bent down to retrieve the albums. “The nights I lay awake wondering if that bloody family of yours had done something else to you. Every time a female body was found it used to scare the shit out of me…”

“Don’t.”

“But they know where you are now, Becca.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I know. I’ll just have to move again.”

“But think of Tommy and school?”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of not thinking about him,” she spat. “I think and worry about him every day – ever since he was born – ever since I found out that I was pregnant if you must know. I even thought about getting an abortion after I left you but I couldn’t.”

“Tell me why not?” He pointed to the sofa. “Please?”

She sighed and sat down and he re-took his seat, placing the albums beside him.

“The baby was yours and mine. Ours. Not my bloody family’s – ours. Despite everything that happened I just couldn’t get rid of him. We made him. It was on that long weekend in Brighton, just after we’d agreed to try for a baby.”

“Brighton?” He smiled. “I’m not surprised, we hardly left the hotel room.”

“I know, but I hadn’t counted on me getting pregnant immediately.”

“I should have asked you to marry me there.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Before, during, or just after?”

He shook his head. “Over dinner the first evening. I’ve regretted it ever since. And I’ve grabbed every chance that has come my way since. And, yes, I do want to make chief inspector before I’m forty.”

“Jan was right,” she muttered. “You are married to the job.”

“You could have made inspector, too.”

“Well, there’s no point saying that now.” She touched her ear. “I’m happy at the bookshop.”

“There’s a crime bookshop here, just around the corner,” he told her. “And Tommy could go to St James’ Primary School. It’s only five minutes walk away.”

“I do know where it is.”

“So what’s your excuse?” he challenged.

She gave him a defiant stare. “Don’t bloody interrogate me, Stephen.”

“All right.” He got up, went to the kitchen, and poured himself a whisky. “But I’m only worried about you.”

“I know you are,” she replied quietly. Getting up from the sofa, she went to him, turned his face towards hers and kissed his cheek. “I need to try and get some sleep.”

“Becca.” He caught her hand. “Before you go, tell me what it was like being pregnant. Please? I missed out on so much.”

“I was huge. And he kicked my insides black and blue.”

“How big were you?” he asked, putting his whisky glass down, standing behind her and taking her hands. “Will you show me?”

She could feel his body pressing against hers, his breath on her ear, and couldn’t help but tense. It felt far too good. “My stomach was out here.” She held his hands out from her body, not at all sure how accurate she was being but just wanting to show him something and then move away from him. “It was huge. I waddled for the last few weeks.” Letting his hands go, she turned around, backing away from him. “I was in labour for sixteen hours and Tommy weighed eight pounds and one ounce.”

“You breastfed him?”

“Yes, I did,” she replied matter-of-factly, not wanting to move onto the subject of her breasts. “And now I really must try and get some sleep,” she told him, walking to the hall door and opening it. “Goodnight,” she added and closed it behind her. She leant back against the door for a moment, raising her hand to her forehead, and finding it damp with perspiration. “Fuck you, Stephen,” she whispered.