Another Life by Peter Anghelides Page B

grumbled. He scrunched up his face in dismay, because he’d just absentmindedly put his unshod foot down on to the rainy pavement. ‘All right. Not looking so cool, now. Time to call it a night.’
    ‘What about this lot?’ Gwen jerked her head at the corpse. There was so much left to do here, and yet she knew she was exhausted. She felt the sides of her face tighten, but subdued the tired reaction.
    Jack peered into the Vectra. ‘I’ll take her back to the Hub. You get our police friends over there to disperse, and then you can go home.’
    Gwen couldn’t stifle the yawn any longer.
    ‘There you go,’ Jack smiled. ‘An honest opinion, openly expressed. I’m boring you. Go home. It’s past nine.’
    She checked her watch and was dismayed to find he was right. Where had the day gone?
    He was still looking into the car, probably wondering how he was going to move the body. Or maybe move the whole car. The obvious problem was that the unfortunate Jennifer Fallon was still in the driver’s seat.
    ‘Go home,’ Jack urged Gwen once more. He angled his head to look up at her. ‘Rhys is waiting. You promised me that you’d keep hold of your life, remember? You may even have promised him. Don’t let it drift.’
    ‘What about you?’
    Jack straightened up, and pushed his shoulders back to release the tension. ‘Think I’m going swimming. I’m wet enough already. And it’s time to reconnect with life after all this death today.’
    ‘Sounds like fun,’ Gwen smiled.
    She walked back over to the police cordon, to let them know they were no longer required. The police photographer repacked his camera case with bad grace. The Brummie was trying to object, but Gwen cut short his protests, more snappishly than she would normally.
    In the distance, Jack was opening the nearside door of the Vectra and reaching into the passenger seat. Gwen could see the thick woollen sock on his shoeless foot, sodden from his journey through the puddles. He’d still be working long after the rest of the team had finished, as usual.
    She dialled home. Told Rhys she was sorry to be late. Again.
    Should she be ashamed, or relieved, or grateful that he reacted so calmly? Again. Was he being calm, she wondered, or did he really not care? Or maybe he was watching Matrix Reloaded on the DVD. Again.
    Rhys told her that he’d saved her some tea, and he promised not to eat it if she got a shift on. ‘Get a shift on’ was what he told the drivers at his office when they were running late. She told him thank you. And yes, he could eat the final strawberry yoghurt if it was reaching its use-by date – she didn’t fancy it tonight.
    She listened again for clues in his voice, to anticipate how he might be when she got back to the flat. Tired? Irritated? She let his words wash over her for a while, until she abruptly realised that he’d fallen silent. Asked her a question and was waiting for an answer. She’d let her mind wander, hadn’t been listening properly to him.
    She told him sorry, she was a bit tired, and they could have a proper talk when she got home. But as she hung up, she knew that she’d said that to herself every night for the past two months. That’s what their evenings had become. Chit-chat, usually from him about office intrigue, or Banana Boat’s road warrior stories, or Sonja the Secretary’s latest emotional crisis. Telly often. Eating off a tray, some quick meal that Rhys usually cooked. Maybe some perfunctory lovemaking if they weren’t too tired before bedtime.
    She was going to walk home now. She gave Jack one last look, then turned towards the main road. The drizzling rain that had clung to her all evening was now a steady stream, splashing in the growing puddles all around her.
    Was this her life now? Was this what you expected, she asked herself. Can you continue to keep this from Rhys, from whom you never had secrets before? Or is this something new? Another life that you never expected, never knew existed.