Power on Her Own (17 page)

Graham looked at his watch. ‘I suppose you haven't any shopping to do?'

‘I've got a week's to do. Why?'

‘I promised my wife I'd bring some things in. And Sainsbury's is practically your corner shop. We could talk while we walked.'

She wasn't surprised he seemed embarrassed, but grabbed her bag, checked for her keys, and yelled to Alf to lock up if she wasn't back.

He stopped to look at the privet skeletons in the front garden. ‘Oh dear.'

‘I know. I shall have to get them out. But if I so much as think about it, Paul will be round there excavating them and telling me what I should do with the garden. Not so much telling as doing it, in fact.'

‘Well, what it needs is reducing to ground level, and then double digging with gravel and fertiliser. Sounds just the sort of job an outdoor type like him would love.'

‘But would I love him to do it?' She set them in motion down the road.

He looked at her sideways, a question in his eyebrows.

‘He's such an overgrown teenager. Doesn't know where to draw the line.'

‘You have to draw it for him?'

‘Precisely. But he's such a public-spirited sort – devotes himself utterly to the BB. Hasn't had time for girlfriends to civilise him, perhaps.'

Graham snorted. ‘Are you telling me you're doing a course of advanced community education for him?'

‘He'd love to hear you say that! Him a teacher – sorry,
lecturer
! – in some college.'

‘Talk about the blind leading the blind.'

‘Quite. And now I've got myself landed with him this evening. On top of tomorrow!' she wailed. ‘Just when I wanted a nice girlie chinwag with Cassie. Though she's terribly tetchy these days.'

‘Is he planning to enlist hordes of boys and girls from the Brigade to improve her shining hour?'

‘Maz – his sister – is on to that. In any case, it's Cassie who'll improve theirs. Especially if it comes to manners.' They'd reached the High Street. ‘You know, I really think we should cross at the pelican – it wouldn't look good in an incident report, two police officers flattened in the same RTA.'

They'd got as far as the delicatessen counter before he opened up. And then it was hesitant. ‘So now what?' he asked.

It took her a second to realise he was talking about work.

‘Have you had time to look at the PM results?'

‘It's the interpretation that's the problem. If I were absolutely convinced I wouldn't be standing here agonising over Camembert and Brie. I'd be mobilising everyone.'

‘Not convinced?' Her voice rose in disbelief. She controlled it with an effort.

As if he hadn't heard her, he continued, ‘I want to talk to the lorry driver, for a start. He's stuck in Calais until the barricades are lifted. Then young whatshername – the local PC –

‘Harjit Kaur?'

‘Right. And she's at a wedding – in Delhi. I'm talking to the parents as soon as Family Support think they're up to it. I want the disappearing Samaritans. And all the local newsagents and corner shops selling balls. They're being done now. No point in Uniform not earning a living.'

‘The ones that interest me most are the disappearing Samaritans. Any sort of ID at all from the paramedics?' She took her number from the dispenser. 107. The number now being served was 96.

‘I'd better get some bread,' he said. ‘Any for you? Or are you at the Manse for the duration?' He didn't sound pleased with the prospect.

‘I want to move into my home,' she said, surprising herself. Did she really think of that dump as home? ‘But I'm in a quandary. Would Maz and Giles see it as an insult if I wanted to return to what's basically a building site? Or would they be relieved to be lodger-free at last?'

‘Have you got a freezer yet?' he asked.

She blinked. It didn't seem an answer to her question.

‘And,' he pursued, moving to one side to let a stream of trolley-pushers through, ‘a fridge and a cooker and a washing machine and a TV and all the other adjuncts of civilised living? Because I'd start acquiring them. Then as soon as all your floors are safe and your units are in, you can move in properly. Meanwhile, if this is a murder inquiry – and I'm sure in my bunions it is, even if I haven't managed to convince Superintendent Gordon yet – then you'll be working all hours God sends and then some.' He bent over the brown sliceds. She thought he added, ‘Nest while you can, Kate!'

It didn't seem to be an answer to her question, but her number was coming up and she shuffled into the queue.

At the check-out, they carefully separated the contents of the trolley – mostly his, of course, despite her claim she had a week's worth to do. It was all so familiar – except there was no friendly bicker over paying – that she bit her lip to stop the tears coming. If that wasn't bad enough, someone in the straggle behind them was wearing Robin's cologne.

Cassie wasn't in her room when Kate and Paul tapped at the door.

They stared, Kate for some reason more nonplussed than she felt she ought to be.

‘Some sort of emergency, I suppose,' Paul said. ‘Why don't you sit down – I'll check it out for you.'

She shook her head. ‘Card room more like.' Her voice was flat and prosaic. But despite herself there was a sharp tug of guilt. What if Cassie were ill? All this time she'd never made the effort to go and see her! Even if she couldn't see her every day, the least she could do was contact her regularly. ‘Come on – it's this way.'

Paul's face was stubbornly concerned. ‘Nurse! Nurse!' he called. ‘The old lady – is she all right?'

The ‘nurse' was a tea-lady. ‘We got a lot of old ladies. Which one would you be meaning?'

‘Cassie Whitethorn,' Kate said. She pointed to the door.

‘Oh, the one who plays cards all the time. Patience. You her niece? Always talking about you, she is. Sun shines out of your ears, like.'

‘Is she all right,' Paul prompted, his voice urgent.

The woman shrugged. ‘Far as I know she is. Why don't you try the Card Room? She says the TV lounge is full of silly old buggers losing their marbles.'

Was the charm pure or applied? Whichever it was, Cassie and Paul got on as if they were aunt and favourite nephew. Kate watched with interest, aware that some of her aunt's gracious behaviour to a stranger might be to punish her for her absence. It was certainly on Paul's arm that Cassie leaned when they escorted her back to her room, and when she had to rest on one of the strategically-placed chairs, it was Paul who settled her as if she were the Queen Mother. He told her about his students and his houseplants, his Boys' Brigade and his love of boating. He flirted and he teased.

Cassie was entranced.

Kate let him get on with it. His energy seemed inexhaustible, whereas hers was ebbing fast tonight. She'd be glad of the Manse bed. And soon – as soon as she could fix it – her bed. Graham's mother-in-law's bed.

They drove back to the Manse in silence, and he made no attempt to come in. Well, he'd learned something. Perhaps now she could think about thawing a bit – at least to the level of politeness. Perhaps she'd over-reacted, been a bit puritanical, all this keeping him at arm's length.

But on the whole, she decided, as she pulled herself wearily up the stairs, arm's length was precisely where she wanted to keep him.

Giles's Sunday morning sermon had been particularly good, about the nature of charity. On a good day, he was clear and lucid, like a really good teacher. She'd managed to persuade the choir to rise above a dirge, too, and was generally feeling good about life. True, she'd be going into work later, but Graham would have told anyone interested that she had a right to religious observance. Whether God would class half an hour's goal-shooting practice as religious observance she couldn't say. But she certainly felt it was a social obligation.

If supermarkets used music to vary the pace of the punters, she didn't see why she shouldn't use a brisk voluntary to speed the dawdling worshippers out of the church. She tried to be subtle: no need to go round antagonising people. But – more quickly than she'd hoped – the chapel was empty and she was free to scuttle off and change her sober suit for a tracksuit.

Twirling her whistle on its cord, she stepped out into the sun, which was strong and low enough to dazzle. The lads were already charging round with enthusiasm, young Marcus among them. She waved cheerily, but then realised that two tall men were stepping between her and her team.

‘My goodness, this is what being arrested must feel like!' she said.

But their faces didn't produce answering smiles. It took her a moment to realise that embarrassment was one of their main emotions. For the life of her she couldn't remember their names, although she remembered them clearly. They'd been sherry drinkers. Attached, that was right, to one of the chilly women.

‘I'm Alec Walters,' said the elder. ‘And this is my son Derek.'

‘Of course – we met the other day, didn't we? How can I help? But first I'd like to get the boys doing something purposeful – can you give me two minutes?'

They exchanged looks. Reluctant agreement, she would say. Before they could change their minds, she gathered the boys into a circle and explained what they had to do. No problems understanding or implementing her ideas. Off they went, belting the balls into the white rectangle painted onto the wall.

‘Now, Miss Power – er, Kate – this is very awkward,' Alec said. ‘We can see you're doing a great job with these lads, but – but you see, there are procedures and if you're to be a BB officer we have to abide by them. You'll forgive me – but you should have filled in a form and supplied references. And we should have taken them up before we let you anywhere near the boys.'

Derek nodded. ‘We have to protect them. That's our absolute priority. Anyone wanting to be an officer has to go through the proper vetting and training.'

‘There are some nasty people around,' she agreed. ‘Look: I did some undercover work at a children's home a few years back: why don't you contact the people in the Met who organised that? They investigated me thoroughly, believe me.'

‘Isn't there anyone local we can talk to – to speed things up a bit?' Alec suggested.

‘I've only been here five minutes – I wouldn't think anyone knows me well enough to give the sort of assurances you need. Except my aunt, and I suppose family wouldn't count. You'd need long-term, in-depth knowledge of a person to be able to testify they weren't a danger to children.'

The men looked taken aback: perhaps she'd taken the words out of their mouths.

‘Look, I've seen what the wrong sort of person, shall we say, can do – it's part of my job. I wouldn't want
anyone
taken at face value if I were a parent. Any more than I'm sure you would. Now, the question is, what are we going to do with these boys while you check me out? By the way, I don't want to be an officer. I don't want to be involved in anything but this. I couldn't do the BB justice, not with a job like mine. Coaching I can commit to. Nothing else.'

The men shifted awkwardly.

It was time to cut the Gordian knot. She beamed: ‘Tell you what, why don't you train with them? That way you can keep an eye on me and get fit at the same time.'

‘It's a matter of time, isn't it? I mean, we've got a business to run.'

‘Take it in turns? Hang on!'

A skirmish had broken out. She whistled for silence and stillness, and got neither. She tried again, and yelled, producing the sort of volume that she used in street brawls. Instant success. ‘I thought you were supposed to be training? I thought you were supposed to be improving your ball skills?' She eye-contacted each boy in turn. ‘Or do you want the team to hold up the league as long as you're in it? A bit of success, wouldn't that be nice? A goal or two? Right! Get on with it. Now.'

Alec and Derek – now she came to think of it, more like brothers than father and son with their matching names – were deep in whispered conversation when she turned. She gave them a minute or two to finish. No point in harrying. When, however, she heard the name Paul Taylor her ears did prick. There was no way she was going to have him in her training group. The man liked to dominate people. And there was no way he could play second fiddle, no matter how good his intentions.

Alec looked up, catching her eye. ‘I gather you're on very good terms with Paul Taylor –'

‘With all his family,' she added quickly. ‘I'm staying with Maz and Giles, after all.' She might pre-empt them. ‘He's a rugby man, unfortunately.'

Alec looked crestfallen; Derek missed her point. ‘Wouldn't he want to be involved – after all, he's been in the Brigade years. Lives for it.'