her.
Which
reminded her. Nina, who devoured gossip like peanuts at a party, said, ‘This
medal, then.’
Lucky
looked surprised. Understandable, Nina thought with a fleeting pang of remorse:
sudden friendliness from this misassembled crone who’d been giving her a hard
time from the moment she’d stepped through the gate. She smiled and said, ‘All
mine.’
‘I
hear you talked down a suicide from the Norwood mast.’
‘Yeah.’
‘How’d
you do it?’ Nina smiled back. ‘If it’s not breaking a confidence.’
‘I
don’t want to sound bigheaded.’
‘Course
not. I won’t tell anyone.’
Lucky
smiled again and brushed a hand in front of her face. ‘I said to him,’ she
replied, choosing her words cautiously, ‘look me up and down, and did he really
want to chuck away a world when there were girls like me in it to chase after.’
She flinched as she saw Nina’s expression start to change. ‘It was the first
thing that came into my head.’
Aghast,
Nina heard herself laughing. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, tapping Lucky on the
knee with her gear hand, ‘I don’t believe in hiding my light under a bushel
either.’
‘I
dunno about that - I’m not vain,’ Lucky said. ‘But when you’re sitting on a
girder with half a mile of fresh air under your arse you get a very clear
perspective on sin.’
‘You
a Catholic and all, then?’ Nina giggled.
‘Bulgarian
Orthodox,’ Lucky said. ‘Much as I try not to be.’
She
stared into her lap, and Nina was still trying to work out what that meant when
the Mini breasted Spout Hill, trundled down into Shirley village and the
building she was looking for appeared on the right. She said, ‘Let’s go to
work.’
‘You know what gets
me,’ Nina broke a long silence on the drive back afterwards, ‘why we always
feel so guilty.’
‘Guilty?’
Lucky said.
‘Don’t
you?’ Nina tried to inject a lighter note into her voice. It came out as a
squeak. ‘I mean we’re there to detect. What’s to feel guilty about?’
The
question hadn’t been intended as rhetorical, but even as she repeated it the
answer came to her in fragments. It was the terrible fear, the knowledge, that
though they might detect the perpetrator of the crime against Mrs McMinn, nothing,
absolutely nothing, they did or said could take back what had happened to her.
This was a woman who’d lived through a century during which the world had
changed beyond recognition; who’d battled, loved and mothered through a world
war, a depression, the collapse of an empire, the Cold War, man on the moon,
the opening of the atomic and electronic ages; who’d witnessed it all, and come
through adversity and triumph with a lifetime of achievement to mark against
her name. But for Violet McMinn, an invaluable treasury of experience had been
indelibly tainted in one hellish moment; what should have been final years
passed in quiet, proud dignity obliterated by the senseless act of a slag with
no regard for that worth.
Some
time since the previous day she’d fought and suppressed the demon in her head,
and greeted them with the stoical calm bred into so many of her generation. Her
blue eyes were the only part of her now that was not lucid: they stared bleakly
beyond the two policewomen and into purgatory. She gave calm and courteous
answers to their questions, made her statement, and seemed to reach into Nina’s
heart and see the ill-defined revulsion that lay there. She understood that
there was only one thing they could do.
‘Just
catch the evil little toerag,’ had been her parting words.
Easy
to say.
‘Maybe
it’s losing control,’ Lucky said, interrupting Nina’s dark thoughts.
‘Control
of what?’
‘Sometimes
you can’t master the disgust. You think you’re feeling it worse than the
victim, and that’s why you feel guilty.’
‘I
guess what it boils down to,’ Nina said, after a pause, ‘I just wanted to get
out of there. No, worse, I wanted it never to’ve
Which
reminded her. Nina, who devoured gossip like peanuts at a party, said, ‘This
medal, then.’
Lucky
looked surprised. Understandable, Nina thought with a fleeting pang of remorse:
sudden friendliness from this misassembled crone who’d been giving her a hard
time from the moment she’d stepped through the gate. She smiled and said, ‘All
mine.’
‘I
hear you talked down a suicide from the Norwood mast.’
‘Yeah.’
‘How’d
you do it?’ Nina smiled back. ‘If it’s not breaking a confidence.’
‘I
don’t want to sound bigheaded.’
‘Course
not. I won’t tell anyone.’
Lucky
smiled again and brushed a hand in front of her face. ‘I said to him,’ she
replied, choosing her words cautiously, ‘look me up and down, and did he really
want to chuck away a world when there were girls like me in it to chase after.’
She flinched as she saw Nina’s expression start to change. ‘It was the first
thing that came into my head.’
Aghast,
Nina heard herself laughing. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, tapping Lucky on the
knee with her gear hand, ‘I don’t believe in hiding my light under a bushel
either.’
‘I
dunno about that - I’m not vain,’ Lucky said. ‘But when you’re sitting on a
girder with half a mile of fresh air under your arse you get a very clear
perspective on sin.’
‘You
a Catholic and all, then?’ Nina giggled.
‘Bulgarian
Orthodox,’ Lucky said. ‘Much as I try not to be.’
She
stared into her lap, and Nina was still trying to work out what that meant when
the Mini breasted Spout Hill, trundled down into Shirley village and the
building she was looking for appeared on the right. She said, ‘Let’s go to
work.’
‘You know what gets
me,’ Nina broke a long silence on the drive back afterwards, ‘why we always
feel so guilty.’
‘Guilty?’
Lucky said.
‘Don’t
you?’ Nina tried to inject a lighter note into her voice. It came out as a
squeak. ‘I mean we’re there to detect. What’s to feel guilty about?’
The
question hadn’t been intended as rhetorical, but even as she repeated it the
answer came to her in fragments. It was the terrible fear, the knowledge, that
though they might detect the perpetrator of the crime against Mrs McMinn, nothing,
absolutely nothing, they did or said could take back what had happened to her.
This was a woman who’d lived through a century during which the world had
changed beyond recognition; who’d battled, loved and mothered through a world
war, a depression, the collapse of an empire, the Cold War, man on the moon,
the opening of the atomic and electronic ages; who’d witnessed it all, and come
through adversity and triumph with a lifetime of achievement to mark against
her name. But for Violet McMinn, an invaluable treasury of experience had been
indelibly tainted in one hellish moment; what should have been final years
passed in quiet, proud dignity obliterated by the senseless act of a slag with
no regard for that worth.
Some
time since the previous day she’d fought and suppressed the demon in her head,
and greeted them with the stoical calm bred into so many of her generation. Her
blue eyes were the only part of her now that was not lucid: they stared bleakly
beyond the two policewomen and into purgatory. She gave calm and courteous
answers to their questions, made her statement, and seemed to reach into Nina’s
heart and see the ill-defined revulsion that lay there. She understood that
there was only one thing they could do.
‘Just
catch the evil little toerag,’ had been her parting words.
Easy
to say.
‘Maybe
it’s losing control,’ Lucky said, interrupting Nina’s dark thoughts.
‘Control
of what?’
‘Sometimes
you can’t master the disgust. You think you’re feeling it worse than the
victim, and that’s why you feel guilty.’
‘I
guess what it boils down to,’ Nina said, after a pause, ‘I just wanted to get
out of there. No, worse, I wanted it never to’ve
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