'What the hell were you doing practically in my armpit?'
'It hurts.'
'I can see it hurts. Skin's not broken though.'
I squint through my good eye at the youth on the ground. Right now, I feel like giving him a good kick in the …
'Sorry,' says James, shrugging. Obviously all in a day's work for him.
'S'OK,' I mumble, still viciously glaring at the prostrate figure. James gets him up and we all walk back towards the house. Vince has resumed snapping away and my hand has resumed its position over my eye. An old lady is walking up the road towards us and had my sense of humour not deserted me I might have laughed. She looks absolutely horrified and steers a very large berth around us. We must look a very motley crew. One sulky, handcuffed youth. One dusty detective. One gay photographer and one blonde weirdo doing a good impersonation of Pudsy the Bear. Terrific. This is a day to look back on with fond memories.
We walk into Mrs Stephens' back garden.
'I live here,' says the youth sulkily, his eyes firmly fixed on the ground. We all stop in surprise and huddle around the saturnine juvenile.
'You what?' says James.
'I live here.'
'Then why were you climbing out of the window?' James asks. Good question, well put.
'Yes. Why were you climbing out of the window?' I echo fiercely, my hand still firmly clasped over my throbbing eye.
'Grandma doesn't know that I'm home,' he mumbles. Grandma? GRANDMA?
'Let's go in and talk to her, shall we?'James says lightly. The group walk on, leaving me gnashing my teeth like Mutley behind them. I've got a black eye because he didn't want to tell Grandma he's home?
James knocks loudly on the back door and after a few minutes Mrs Stephens appears. From the surprise on her face I can tell our suspect really is her grandson. They all go inside, and then James pops his head back out. 'Holly? Are you coming?'
I trail my bitter body into the house and follow them down the back corridor and into the sitting room I was in a few days earlier. James takes the cuffs off the youth and we all sit down in a very civilised manner, in a strange contrast to the frenzied behaviour of a few minutes ago.
'Andrew, what are you doing? What's happened?' asks Mrs Stephens, her gentle face panic-stricken at the scene before her.
James interjects. 'Mrs Stephens, I saw him climbing out of a window. Naturally, I assumed he was a burglar. I yelled "Stop, police" but he made a run for it. That normally tends to indicate that the person in question doesn't wish to be caught. I'm sorry.'
She clasps her hand up to her mouth and looks genuinely distressed. '
I'm
sorry, Detective. For putting you to all this trouble.' I clasp my hand back up to my face in a pathetic attempt for the spotlight. Nothing. Everyone ignores me.
Mrs Stephens turns to the boy. 'Andrew, why aren't you at school?'
'Didn't feel like going,' he mutters sulkily at his shoes. Well, sunshine, we all feel like not doing things occasionally, I think to myself savagely. In fact, I feel like it every day at the moment.
'Why?'she asks gently.
'Dunno.'Absolutely riveting stuff.
James gets up. 'Well, as this seems to be a purely domestic dispute, we'll be on our way, Mrs Stephens. We did want to ask you a few questions, but I'll come back another time when you're less busy. Don't worry about seeing us out,' he adds as she makes a move to get up.
Vince and I similarly get up and shuffle over towards the door. I resist the urge to give Andrew a swift kick as I pass him.
Once outside, I pick my bag up from where I dropped it during the chase and we stand around, strangely subdued. Vince says, 'That was a bit strange, wasn't it?'
'Not really. Just a case of mistaken identity.' James shrugs.
'Is that it for today?' Vince asks.
'Yeah, I think so. In a pictorial sense anyway. Holly isn't up to much else, are you?' says James with a grin, obviously finding it a little more amusing than I do. Oh sure, chortle away, laughing boy.
'I don't know how you do this every day, Detective Sergeant. I think I'm getting a migraine,' says Vince, clasping his hand to his forehead and wandering off towards his car.
James guides me into the passenger seat of our car as though I am a suspect being taken in for questioning, and then walks around to his side. I tentatively unclasp my hand from my eye and blink slowly. The throbbing sensation has gone and now I am left with just a dull ache. We set off back to the station but stop after a few minutes at a small corner shop. James leaps out without saying anything. I immediately whisk down the passenger sunshield in order to survey the damage to my face in the mirror. Not as much swelling as I would like, but still I think it's going to be a shiner.
James comes back and, without saying anything, chucks a bag of frozen peas and a bar of chocolate on to my lap. In spite of myself I smile, and we wordlessly drive off.
Back at the station, Dave-the-grumpy-git-desk-sergeant doesn't say anything at all at the sight of me with a bag of peas stuck to my eye. I grin mindlessly at him. He raises his eyebrows.
'Everything all right, sir?' he says to James.
'Yes Dave. I, er, hit Holly in the eye. Accidentally, of course.'
'Of course, sir. Accidentally,' he murmurs, managing to intimate that he wouldn't have blamed James at all if he had just socked me in a non-accidental and rather deliberate fashion.
We reach the office and Callum bounces over as soon as he sees us. James and Callum are back on talking terms.
'Latest fashion accessory, Hol?' he asks doubtfully as soon as he clocks the peas.
'James punched me in the eye.' A look of horror comes over Callum's face as he stares at James.
'I did not. Well, I did, but it was an accident.' James looks round at me. 'Would you not use the verb "punched"? It sounds deliberate.'
'How can a verb sound deliberate?'
'Just don't use it,' he snaps and walks off.
I grin. I am now starting to enjoy this enormously and appreciate the pure potential of the situation – I could milk it for weeks! Callum and I work our way towards our desks and it takes an inordinately long time.
Rest of the department (horrified): 'Holly, what happened?'
Me (gleeful): 'James smacked me in the eye!' James (crossly, from by the coffee machine): 'Accidentally!'
Callum (disparagingly): 'That's what
he
says.' Rest of the department (wickedly): 'Well, that's not very Dick Tracy-like, is it?'
After Callum has brought me a cup of hot sweet tea, I give myself up to the fact that I'm not going to get anything else done today and settle back to read the forensics reports from Mrs Stephens' burglary. Basically, they still don't know what the mysterious substance is that keeps being found at the scene of the crime. As I know that the forensics department is hopelessly overstretched and we are way down on their list of priorities, reading between the lines I sense that unless the solution presents itself on a plate we are unlikely to ever know what this substance is. Opposite me, James gets on with some reports.
Partly due to lack of other material and partly because I think it will make a good story (especially with Vince's photos), I write up today's escapade on my laptop for the diary, as well as the latest update on The Fox.
James gets off the phone.
'That was Mrs Stephens. She was calling to apologise for this morning.'
'Hmph.'
'She's sorted it all out with Andrew. Apparently he's been missing his parents. Anyway, he's agreed to go back to school and she says he seems a lot better after their chat together.'
'Hmph.'
'She asked how your eye was.'
'What did you say?'
'I said it was bad. Very bad.'
'Good.' He smiles and goes back to his work.
Towards the end of the afternoon, after I have been down to see Robin to show off my black eye and generally been fed doughnuts and cosseted by everyone, I head off to the paper and once there go straight to Joe's office.
'That's going to be a beauty,' he says as I waltz in after the habitual 'COME!'.
'Got smacked in the eye.' I turn to examine it in the mirror hanging on the back of his door. Blimey. The bruise is already starting to come out. My eye is slightly closed and surrounded by purple and yellow tissue.
'I know, Seen the photos,' he says, pointing down at his desk. I look at the coloured spreads in front of him and he reads my diary instalment while I pick the best ones out. I'm careful not to include Andrew in any of them. We then agree the photo choice between us and include a couple of great action shots of James' elbow making contact with my face. That done, we both lean back in our chairs and Joe links his hands behind his head.
'Had any more problems from the
Journal
!'
I shake my head slowly. Joe chuckles to himself. 'They couldn't scoop us on this one anyway! One of
their
journalists wasn't bashed in the eye during a chase!' he says triumphantly. T think we've got them licked! You go home now, Holly.'
I smile and nod thankfully. I am actually feeling a little tired. Must be all the excitement.
'Get that boyfriend of yours to look after you.' Some hope, but I suddenly remember that he's due to be coming round tonight as Lizzie can't make our usual Monday night ice cream fest. It's not like me to ever forget Ben is coming round. I am normally soaking in three feet of soapy, scented water and frenziedly brandishing my razor by now. I suppose a lot has been going on today.
'And don't forget that TV thing on Friday.'
I stare at him in horror. I had actually forgotten all about it.
'I can't go on TV with this.' I point at my half-closed eye.
'Sure you can. Bruising will be down by then. Besides, it will be great publicity. It will show just how genuine the diary is. Go on, go home,' he says, waving his arms in a shooing motion. 'Some of us have got work to do.'
I can't be bothered to argue and besides, the end of the week feels like years away. I make my way home and immediately start running a hot bath. Not for Ben particularly, just for me. I lie in it and let the comforting warmth of the scented water seep into my bones. The phone rings just as I am getting out. I quickly wrap my towelling robe around me and run to answer it.
'Hello?'
'Darling! How are you?' It's my mother. I settle myself down cross-legged on the floor.
'I'm fine except for the fact I've got myself a black eye.'
'How careless. How did you manage that?'
'Well, James … I mean Jack …' and I give her the whole story.
'Darling, how absolutely thrilling! It sounds as though you're having a
fabulous
time!'
'Well, maybe not fabulous. I mean, it did hurt at the time,' I say doubtfully. 'Anyway, you'll see it all in the diary. We've got pictures too now! Oh, and I have a TV interview on Friday with the local TV station! Do you get it down there?'
'No, I don't think we do. How wonderful! You'll have to make sure you record it for us!'
'I will, I promise.'
'Do as my director tells me. Enunciate clearly, remember your vowels and sit up straight.'
'Thanks for the advice,' I remark drily.
'I always pass on good advice. I've got no other use for it. Shit McGregor, darling! Have to fly! The cat's on fire!'
I raise my eyes heavenward, replace the receiver and go and get dressed.
Ben arrives twenty minutes later, I open the door to him and he recoils at the sight of my swollen face.
'What the hell have you done?'
'Accidentally got hit in the face.'
'Well, I can't take you out looking like that. People will think I did it.' He troops into the sitting room and plonks himself on the sofa. 'Did it hurt?' 'A bit.'
'Get them all the time in rugby,' he says with an attitude lacking in the relevant sympathy.
'How was your day?' I ask.
'Really good. Do you remember that bloke I told you about? From accounts? Well, he came up to me today …'
After half an hour I decide I'm a little bored of staring at him adoringly and admiring his teeth.
'Aren't you going to ask me how it happened?'
He stops mid-flow, surprised at my interjection. 'Of course I am, babe. I didn't think you wanted to talk about it.'
And so I relate my story again.
'You'll read all about it tomorrow anyway, so you'll just have to skip over that bit.'
He stares at me. 'Read about it?' he asks doubtfully.
'Yes. In the diary,' I say patiently.
'Of course, of course! The diary. Could you try and plug the game on Saturday?'
'It might be a little difficult as it's about the police. But I'll try.'
I get up and go through to make some omelettes for supper. I busy myself getting eggs, milk and cheese out of the fridge. 'Do you want cheese or herbs or both, Ben?' I shout.
No answer.
I walk through to the sitting room. Ben is standing over the magazine rack, staring down with the strangest expression on his face.
'What's wrong?'
His head jolts up. 'Eh?'
'Cheese or herbs?'
'I, er, just remembered. I can't stay. Got a team meeting.'
'Tonight?'
'Er, yes. On, er, team strategy.'
'Do you have to go?'
'Yes, very important. Can't miss it, in fact.'
I raise my eyebrows in surprise and then shrug. 'OK,' I say and walk with him to the door. I open it and lean on the frame.
'Well, might I see you later in the week?'
'Er, yes, probably. I mean, definitely!'
I lean forward to kiss his mouth. He moves, probably to kiss me, and so I end up planting a square one on his ear.
'You moved!' I say embarrassedly.
'Yes! Sorry! See you soon! Bye!' he says and sprints out into the hall and down the stairs. I close the door and stare at the white paintwork for a minute, biting my lip. How strange. He was behaving a little oddly. Almost as though … I wander back into the sitting room, sit down on the sofa and stare into space. I didn't even get a chance to tell him about my TV interview.
My face suddenly gets very hot and I involuntarily clench my hands into fists. He didn't have a rugby meeting. He wanted to leave, to get away. I remember where he was standing when I came into the sitting room. I get up and walk over to the magazine rack and stare down. A beautiful girl dressed in pure white and clutching a bouquet of flowers stares straight back at me. A bride. It's one of Lizzie's bridal magazines.