Paparazzi, Jo Fenton [books under 200 pages .txt] 📗

let Mum have a few minutes alone with Dad,” Alison says. “Let’s find somewhere to get a drink. I’d kill for a can of coke.”

The girls leave me with Matt, and I sit on the chair next to his bed and take his hand. His face has more colour than yesterday, but he looks pale and tired.

“You look knackered. Have you had a hard morning?” I stroke the back of his hand with my thumb as I speak. I’m rewarded by a slight relaxing of the lines around his eyes.

We chat for a while about his treatment, and expectations for recovery, and by the time the girls come back he looks a lot brighter. Joanna’s name is not mentioned again this visit.

Chapter Five

I leave the club at eleven, after the main band. The object is still in sight, and I take a few more photos outside, before walking to the office – a convenient half a mile away.

The cold air clears my head and allows me to think. Research is essential. The office is never completely empty, even so late on a Saturday night.

By the time I arrive at my desk, I have a strategy in place. I smile at the other late workers and place my bag on the floor. The office is organised to allow for privacy; it’s difficult to see what others are working on without their permission. An arrangement that suits me well, particularly now. I turn on the powerful computer and search.

Information is more difficult to locate than I expected. I need help, but need to be careful. I return to Google with a different type of search.

Chapter Six

It’s Friday morning – almost two weeks since Matt’s heart attack, and he’s recovering at home now, watching box sets on Netflix. Alison’s back at Uni, and Cheryl is at school. A strange sort of normality has set in, albeit a different normality from a fortnight ago.

Matt gets sick pay, so we’re not totally desperate for money, but nothing has been quite the same since I left the police. I took retirement, as I’d been in the force for over the required twenty years. But on only half-pay, with a daughter at university, money is a bit tight.

I’ve thought, at odd moments, about Joanna’s suggestion. If I’m being totally honest with myself, I miss working. I don’t think I could handle the danger any more, but maybe sitting at a desk doing research – that kind of detection would suit me fine. Joanna can do the dangerous stuff. That sounds mean, I know, but I’m still angry with her for appearing to trigger Matt’s heart attack.

She said there was nothing to it – just a few drinks; a story that Matt has corroborated since he’s been home. But then, Cheryl told him what Joanna had said. Now I’ll never know what Matt would have said if he’d not heard her version of events first.

Could I work with her? We liaised all those years ago to help Dan. She was useful to bounce ideas around with, and had the handy ability to see things from unusual angles.

I put the kettle on, and make a cup of tea for Matt and coffee for myself. Setting his down on the coffee table in front of him, I look at him critically. He seems a lot better and has been making progress every day, but he gets tired easily, and even though he’s watching TV I know he’ll be going up for a nap after lunch.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not so bad. You should watch this, Becks. It’s brilliant.”

“What is it?”

“The Marvellous Mrs Maisel. It’s hilarious, but it’s very realistic too. Come and watch it with me. You’ve got nothing better to do.”

Shit! Is that how he sees me? I’m turning into a bloody housewife. Not that I have anything against housewives; it was just never my thing.

“I need to remedy that. I’m just going to make a call. I’ll leave you to watch in peace.”

Joanna’s number is in my phone still. I call her from the kitchen, with the door shut.

“Becky, hi. How are you doing? How’s Matt?”

I can’t help the hackles that go up as she mentions his name, but I suppress them for the moment.

“He’s getting better; he’s home now. How are you?” I inject friendliness into the inquiry, but it’s an effort. Maybe this is a bad idea.

“I’ve been house-hunting. I just put a deposit on a little terraced property. It’s about ten minutes’ walk from you. They’re doing the reference checks, but hopefully I can move in early next week.”

“That’s great. How long is the lease?”

“Six months to start off with, then they’ll extend to a year if it suits both sides.” There’s a pause. “Becky, will you come and have a drink with me? I’d really like to speak to you properly.” She sounds genuine and nervous.

The voice in my head that is pushing me in her direction gives me another nudge.

“Okay, sure. There’s a pub near your hotel. The Paper Mill. We can get a sandwich or something there too.” We arrange to meet at midday and end the call. I have an hour to get ready.

I don’t tell Matt where I’m going, just that I’m meeting a friend for lunch. It’s nearly true, even if I haven’t yet decided if Joanna is still a friend.

***

“You look tired,” she says, as I arrive at the table.

“Thanks. It’s been a challenging week.” I glance around the area, trying to look nonchalant, but my pulse is tumultuous. Apart from the hospital, I’ve avoided crowded areas since that day in the warehouse. Even shopping is difficult. Matt has been the regular supermarket shopper, with me managing brief trips to our local Co-op. I’m going to have to force myself to go to Tesco tomorrow, and I’m dreading it.

Most of the restaurant customers are parents with young kids having lunch; no doubt on the promise of going through to the soft play area if they’re good.

Joanna stands