Bad Tidings (20 page)

Henry listened, feeling very sorry for him. It was a tough call being an authorized firearms officer, but when it came to
that
moment, the one when the trigger had to be pulled, lives had to be saved, lives had to be taken, the resultant fallout had to be lived with. Authorized Firearms Officers were under no illusions about that, but no amount of training could prepare anyone for it.

‘Like I said, though,' Bill went on, ‘it was the hesitation that was a problem. If that dickhead had been any good, we could both be dead, Henry, and it would've been my fault.' He sounded totally distraught.

‘Bill, you did exactly the right thing. I'll back you up one hundred per cent, like I did last time. I'll give a statement to IPCC, too. I've just had a long discussion with FB and he promises the full backing of the force.'

‘Excuse me if I vomit disbelief,' Bill said.

‘It will be OK,' Henry insisted.

‘Yeah, right . . . I know you'll be there for me . . . it's the other twats that worry me. I need to go, Henry, get my dog . . . it's got something horrible in its mouth.' He finished the call abruptly, just as Henry drew up on the driveway of his house.

Parked on the road, much to his relief, was Lisa's Mercedes. On one side of the drive was the tiny SmartCar that Leanne had inherited from Kate. Also on the road was Jenny's car. But best of all – and completely unexpected – was the sight of Alison's newish, sporty Hyundai.

He was coming home to a houseful of women.

W
ith a nice, thick, fluffy bath sheet wrapped around his middle, Henry stepped out of the shower, then walked through to the bedroom from the en suite. Alison sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. The shower had cleansed him of a full day of grit and sweat and he felt almost human. Tired, sleepy, but better, even if the blow to the side of his head was still open and bleeding.

Alison tapped the bed next to her. ‘Let me have a look at that.' On the bed was the small medical kit she always carried in her car.

Henry sat beside her and angled his head. ‘Again, thanks for coming . . . a wonderful surprise,' he said as her fingers went to the cut and she peered closely at it. She had worked hard at the Tawny Owl until past midnight but had left the clean-up to Ginny and her boyfriend. She had driven to Henry's knowing without having to be told that he wouldn't make it to Kendleton.

‘Mm,' she murmured dubiously. There was an accusing look in her eye which put him on his guard. He swallowed nervously. Over the past few hours he had faced a madman who tried to kill him, witnessed fatal shootings, tried valiantly to prevent a drive-by killing, seen a shaved vagina, cracked skulls with an escaping gunman and found a body riddled with bullets. None of these things induced as much terror in him as the look on this woman's face, even if he did love her truly, madly, deeply, passionately.

‘You didn't phone or text me,' she said simply, looking closely at the wound and then squeezing some antiseptic cream into it.

He winced and rubbed a hand towel through his short-cropped hair, which didn't need much drying. He gave her his best remorseful expression. ‘Things kind of spiralled out of control.'

‘I gathered.' Thin-lipped, not impressed. She rooted through her first aid kit and pulled out a pack of butterfly strips, peeled one free.

‘I mean – all night long,' he said.

‘And there was no time whatsoever in all those hours to call or text me?' She squeezed the sides of the wound together and gently thumbed the butterfly strip into place.

Henry pouted. ‘Somebody tried to shoot me.'

‘As you were texting me?' She positioned another strip into place.

‘Uh, no, not exactly.'

She applied a third one and inspected her handiwork by taking Henry's chin between her finger and thumb and holding his head to the light. She seemed reasonably pleased by the surgery.

Then she turned his face so it was head-on to hers, eye to eye. ‘
Just let me know
. I know it's old ground even for us, but I expect to be kept in the loop. Nay –
demand
.' She paused. Her eyes criss-crossed his face. He tried to keep up with her. ‘Not a lot to ask, even on busy nights . . . and by the way, I wasn't making light of someone pointing a gun at you.'

‘I know.'

‘I just want to know you're safe, OK?'

‘Point taken.'

She pulled his face to her and their lips met softly, then meshed. Drawing away, she said, ‘When are we going to tell your family?'

‘About what?' he said stupidly.

She raised her left hand and waggled the significant finger, on which was the ring Henry had placed there what seemed a million years before. His innards sank at the prospect.

‘Haven't they seen it? They're women, after all. They home in on things like that. Primed from birth.'

‘I didn't have it on when I arrived. I didn't wear it at work just in case it went in the soup.'

‘Do we have to? I need my bed,' he said dramatically.

Her look of contempt at his cowardice gave Henry the answer.

‘I'll put my dressing gown on.'

When he'd landed home, his daughters had just arrived from a night at the hospital, reporting that their grandmother had had a good few hours' sleep. They were downstairs in the kitchen chatting to Alison, who'd arrived before them, while Lisa was upstairs sleeping in Jenny's old room; no one knew where she'd been, but at least she was safe.

Now, half an hour later, they were all assembled in the lounge, drinking tea, catching up with gossip as a hesitant Henry and a beaming Alison entered. His three relatives stopped talking, turned towards the couple, who were holding hands like gawky teenagers.

Henry cleared his throat, which seemed to have had concrete poured into it.

‘Alison and I have a little announcement,' he said, noting the instant downward glances of all three women towards Alison's left hand, then back up at Henry. There was horror on Leanne's face, delight on Jenny's and despair, or something like it, on Lisa's.

Responses he expected. Leanne had mostly been very negative about Alison from the start, constantly making unfair comparisons to Kate. Henry believed this had something to do with her own rocky relationships with men. Jenny, from afar, and who had only briefly met Alison, was pleased for them. Lisa, Henry thought, was also happy for them, but her facial reaction puzzled him somewhat.

‘Jesus – you're not up the duff, are you?' Leanne blurted unkindly. ‘I couldn't stand some bleeding half-brother or sister, or whatever.'

Henry tried not to get mad; his mind was muzzed enough from his night of action. So he forced a crooked, fatherly grin and said sweetly, ‘No, nothing like that.'

He held Alison's left hand aloft like a boxing referee lifting up the winner's hand.

‘We're engaged to be married.'

‘Oh, Jesus Christ – even worse,' Leanne said.

Jenny beamed, clapped delightedly, got up and hugged them both. Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks. ‘I'm really happy, Dad. You're great together.'

Alison's bottom lip quivered and her eyelids fluttered. Henry started to blubber a little, too.

Leanne emitted a dreadful moaning noise, showing total disapproval and rolling her eyes.

‘Stop it, Leanne,' Jenny admonished her.

Leanne's mouth twisted like wire. Obviously there was an internal wrestling match going on. Then her face softened, and she stood up and embraced Henry as her tears also began to roll. She stepped back from him and turned to Alison. ‘It's not you,' she said and opened her arms. The two women embraced.

Henry watched, his own blubbering becoming hard to control, as the girls suddenly decided to examine the engagement ring. Soon they were cooing and clucking over it.

He glanced at Lisa, sitting there with her hands tucked palm to palm between her thighs, her expression forlorn, little girl lost. Their eyes locked.

Henry disengaged his fingers from Alison. He stepped over to Lisa and held out a hand. ‘Come on, sis,' he said gently. She took his hand and followed him like a puppy into the kitchen. Henry caught Alison's eye and got a nod from her.

Lisa leaned against the cooker, head bowed.

Henry stood in front of her and tilted up her chin with the tip of his forefinger, forcing her to look at him. ‘What's going on?'

Her chin wobbled and she blinked rapidly as tears began to fall in perfect droplets. He could see the weariness in her eyes, smell the stale alcohol on her breath and just a whiff of body odour. None of these things fitted with his perception of his kid sister. As whacky as she was, she was always turned out immaculately, day or night, and always smelled great. But here in front of him was a different creature, tousled uncombed hair, make-up that had run, smeared lipstick. She looked a mess – and, Henry was forced to admit, she looked her age.

She shook her head. ‘I've made a terrible mistake,' she admitted quietly.

Henry did not fill the next pause. That was up to her.

‘I . . . I thought I wanted something else – as usual,' she snorted in contempt of herself. ‘Always looking for the next best thing. Greener grass and all that. Been doing it all my life – but never looked back before.'

He could not disagree. Although he didn't have a leg to stand on and was in no position to judge, having lost count of the number of times he'd put a bloody good marriage in jeopardy for stupid, cock-driven reasons. He and Lisa were alike in so many ways, not always good ones. ‘Tell me,' he said.

‘I met Mister Bloody-What's his name . . .'

‘Sherbet Lemon, the jeweller?'

‘Perry Astley-Barnes, actually,' she chuckled. ‘Met him through the business and he's rich and rakish and good-looking, like a character from a bloody Wilbur Smith novel. He's divorced, drives an Aston, got a lot of successful shops, makes a mint . . .'

‘Ticks all the right boxes. What's not to like?'

‘Nothing. He's actually a good guy. I'm the arsehole.' She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘But I realized I actually had everything I needed in every way with Rik. And I've treated him appallingly.'

‘Been there, done that,' Henry said.

‘Got the T-shirt,' they said in unison.

‘Been out all night, just driving and ignoring the phone, trying to get my head around it all.'

‘We've been worried about you.'

‘Sorry . . . I've completely screwed up, Henry.'

He looked at his achingly gorgeous sister, who so far had failed to find any real happiness and stability in her life. She had even fled from London back to the north because she'd had an affair with the son of a London gangster whose psychotic ex had put a contract out on her.

That's when she'd run into the arms of Rik, a commitment-phobe if ever there was one. But somehow it had worked. Like two suns colliding and meshing together.

‘Maybe it's just cold feet,' Henry suggested. He cupped her face with the palm of his hand and looked deep into her eyes. ‘Jitters happen.'

‘Will they happen to you this time?'

‘No, no they won't,' he said confidently. ‘I've found someone very special and I won't do anything to jeopardize it.'

Lisa inhaled another faltering breath. ‘Do you think I've messed up completely?' She sounded vulnerable.

Henry shook his head, remembering how Rik had said ‘No' not so long ago. ‘I think there's a guy out there who loves you like crazy, but he's been hurt badly. That said, he'd have you back in a heartbeat.'

‘You really think so?'

‘For sure.'

‘Oh God.' She buried her face into his chest and sobbed, really let it out. Henry patted her lovingly and realized that he was an amazing couples counsellor after all. Perhaps it was something he could train for after retirement. Or maybe not . . . the idea of working behind the bar at the Tawny Owl was much more appealing.

‘So call him before he hits the sack. He's been out working all night, too. Go and screw his brains out, if that's what it takes, tell him you love him and you're sorry and he'll forgive you. He's shallow like that.'

‘He's still up?'

‘You might just catch him.'

She detached herself from Henry and twisted out of the kitchen door onto the decking out back, taking out her phone. Henry watched her pace back and forth, hand held to her forehead, talking quickly as a connection was made, then gesticulating as she stalked and talked.

Alison materialized by his side, slid her arm though his. ‘Sorted?'

‘I think I'm hallucinating. Never before have I witnessed Lisa calling and pleading with a man. It's
always
the other way round.'

Lisa punched the air and turned victoriously to Henry, the smile on her face, the relief, instantly wiping away those extra years Henry had seen.

‘Just another night on the Henry Christie lurv train,' he said sassily. ‘But if I don't get some sleep, I'll collapse.'

Alison tugged his arm. ‘Let me tuck you in.'

‘Is that a euphemism for something dirty?' he asked hopefully.

‘Yes – me tucking you in.'

He didn't even make it to the foot of the stairs.

In a moment of madness on one of his far too frequent visits to a well-known coffee chain, Henry had foolishly invested in a travel flask with their world famous logo on it. Coffee on the go. Of course he had never used it since and it had found its way to the back of a kitchen cupboard. Now, for the first time in its pristine life, it came in handy as he bade farewell to his house full of ladies . . .

He and Alison had been about to say goodnight to everyone, Henry looking forward to being tucked in. He had been about to put his foot on the first step when the house phone rang. He had left his mobile phone upstairs after his shower and these days it was pretty rare for calls to be received on the house phone – usually it was telesales companies cold calling – so he instinctively knew it was work. The landline was always the second means of contact.