Road Closed (3 page)

When Geraldine opened her eyes the next morning, her head felt as though someone was thumping it with a bottle. Groaning, she rolled out of bed and kept her eyes shut as she felt around for her clothes.

‘So I did suffer when my mother died, after all,’ she thought sourly.

3

Sophie

‘Slow down. You’re making me nervous,’ Tom said. Sophie jammed her foot on the accelerator. ‘Slow down.’ The car jerked forward.

‘She can’t even be civil,’ Sophie fumed. ‘From the first moment she set eyes on me, she’s resented me. Well, the feeling’s mutual.’

‘It’s me you married, not her. And I love you.’

‘I’ve never been good enough for you, as far as she’s concerned. Who does she think she is, speaking to me like that?’

‘I appreciate your keeping your temper with her,’ Tom said humbly. He stared at the streetlights zipping past and waited for his wife’s temper to cool. Sophie was never angry for long.

‘She’s never liked me. I don’t know why we have to go and see her every week. Every bloody Sunday. And she’s still not satisfied. What more does she want?’ They both knew the answer.

Whenever they visited her, Tom’s mother harped on about how she had been twenty-one when her son was born. ‘It doesn’t do to leave it too late. It’s not natural. It causes all sorts of problems. And I’m here to take care of the baby whenever you want to go back to work. I know some women prefer not to look after their own children these days. Best leave the upbringing in capable hands. All these new ideas they have nowadays, they don’t do a child any good. Look at how the youngsters behave these days. It’s not surprising, left to train themselves. It’s a wonder they’re ever toilet trained. I had my Thomas on the potty at six months. More tea, Tom?’

Sophie wasn’t thinking about starting a family. When she did, she would be back at work within six months, with a nanny at home. She would swing before she let her mother-in-law care for her children.

‘She’s on her own. She’s lonely,’ Tom murmured, lighting up a cigarette.

‘That’s no excuse for being rude.’ Sophie eased her foot off the accelerator and glanced across at her husband. It wasn’t his fault. ‘It’s hard for you, being stuck in the middle,’ she apologised. ‘She is your mother. I shouldn’t go on about her like that.’

Tom shrugged. ‘She brings it on herself. I’m with you now. If you want to stop going to see her… Well, you’re the only one I want. You know that.’

Sophie smiled. ‘And you’re the only person who matters in my life,’ she said fiercely, ‘the only one.’

Absorbed in computers, Sophie had never considered herself lonely. When a girl at the office had issued a blanket invitation to a Christmas party, Sophie hadn’t even replied. Parties held no appeal for her. The other girl paused when she happened to walk past Sophie’s workstation the afternoon of the party.

‘You coming tonight?’ she asked. Flattered by her colleague’s interest, Sophie accepted the invitation.

She regretted her impulse as soon as she arrived. Everyone in the room seemed to be talking. No one acknowledged Sophie’s arrival. She didn’t understand why she had been invited. She stood in a corner, pressing her back against the wall, uncomfortable with the noise and smell of so many people crammed into one small room. It was a complete waste of her time. There was a new update waiting for her to install at the office, where she could have been working uninterrupted. She turned to leave, and bumped into a stranger.

‘Sorry,’ she muttered.

‘I don’t know anyone here,’ he blurted out. She heard the panic in his voice and hesitated.

‘I don’t know why I came,’ she replied.

With music thumping, conversation was difficult. ‘It’s so stuffy in here,’ she complained. She would have gone home but didn’t want to be rude.

‘We could go somewhere else?’ he suggested. She felt an unfamiliar thrill and wondered if he was coming on to her. ‘I mean, for a coffee or something. Or a drink. There’s a pub round the corner. I mean, if you don’t mind. My name’s Tom Cliff.’ He held out his hand, oddly formal. Over his shoulder Sophie could see a couple in a passionate clinch.

They left the party together and went for a drink. ‘Funny we’ve never met before,’ they agreed.

‘I don’t really leave my desk,’ he admitted.

‘Me neither.’

‘We’re there to work,’ Tom said. Sophie nodded seriously.

After a couple of months Tom took her home to meet his widowed mother. Sophie wasn’t clever at reading people, but she recognised the other woman’s hostility straight away.

‘You’re imagining it,’ Tom insisted. ‘Mum’s not like that.’

‘You’re a substitute for your father,’ Sophie told him, with rare insight. ‘You live in the same house, you eat together every night, you even go on holiday together. She’ll never let you go.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ he replied, ‘because I intend to live with you, as my wife.’

‘Do I have a say in this?’ Sophie asked, smiling.

When Sophie announced her promotion, Tom’s mother was shocked. ‘What do you mean, you might have to go to work
on Sundays? You always come and see me on Sundays. It’s the weekend. No one works on Sundays.’

‘I’m only on call. Chances are they’ll never need me on a Sunday. I’m only on call every other night and it’s only on alternate weekends.’

‘Can’t someone else do it?’ her mother-in-law asked. Her grey curls bounced as she handed Tom a cup of tea. ‘Tell them you’re engaged on Sundays. I’m sure they can manage without you. It’s not as if you’re a brain surgeon, Sophie. It’s hardly life and death, is it? It’s only computers.’

Sophie explained that the printers had to be kept working round the clock churning out bank statements, pay slips and other essential documents.

‘Nonsense,’ her mother-in-law interrupted. ‘It’s nothing that can’t wait till Monday morning. What if there was a power cut?’ Her eyes gleamed as she slid a slice of pie on to her son’s plate. He lit another cigarette and waved the glowing tip in the air in protest. ‘You’ll have to come here later on, when your office is closed.’

‘I may be called out at night,’ Sophie said, irritated by her mother-in-law’s interference. ‘I may have to work all night.’

Tom’s mother stared at her, dumbstruck, cake slice in hand. ‘You’re a married woman.’

4

Dubrovnik

The heat in Dubrovnik was debilitating. Beneath the heavy scent of oleanders a stench of drains lingered. Pink flowering bushes and purple boughs of bougainvillea hung bright against white washed walls. Geraldine followed Craig gratefully into the shade of an arch at the side of a square where tourists gathered to drink from a central fountain. Geraldine screwed her eyes up against the glare of sunlight and watched pigeons perch on top of the fountain. She was aware of Craig’s presence at her side. She could feel the warmth of his arm almost touching hers and breathed in the scent of his aftershave.

‘I don’t think I’ll risk that,’ she screwed her nose up at the fountain. ‘Like drinking pigeon piss.’ Tiny lines around his eyes crinkled as Craig smiled down at her. The heat of the day softened slightly as the afternoon strolled towards evening and they climbed up on to the ramparts to view the city of terracotta roofs spread out beneath them in the soft heat haze. Geraldine turned and gazed down at the sea. Flecks of sunlight flickered on the water like fairy lights, winking up at her.

‘It’s beautiful, Mark,’ she murmured.

Words once spoken couldn’t be unsaid.

‘What?’ She didn’t answer. ‘Did you just call me Mark?’

Geraldine hesitated. Craig knew that she had lived with someone for six years, but she couldn’t remember if she had told him her ex was called Mark.

‘A mark,’ she stammered stupidly. ‘There’s a mark.’ Flustered, she rubbed at Craig’s shoulder. He shrugged and turned away from her feeble lie. The moment was tainted.

Staying in Dubrovnik felt like stepping back in time, a world away from the stresses of her normal day’s work: studying crime scenes, reading post mortem reports, observing bodies laid on cold slabs, interviewing suspects, reading witness statements and the endless paperwork that accumulated at every step of the process. Geraldine revelled in the sense of purpose her job on the Murder Investigation Team gave her but, along with her colleagues, deplored the pointless paperwork demanded by bureaucrats who had probably never seen a cadaver, let alone felt a thrill of adrenaline at the start of a case. If they had, they wouldn’t care whether officers filled in forms or not, only about putting the killers behind bars.

Geraldine smiled at the feel of Craig’s hand on her shoulder. He had suggested a city break when her last case had finished and booked a flight as soon as she could escape.

‘Surely you’re entitled to a break before they throw you into your next case? You’ve been working twenty four seven for weeks.’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’ Geraldine had tried to explain the importance of the paperwork that followed a successful arrest. ‘We have to make sure he doesn’t get off on a technicality.’

‘How can he possibly get off? He’s locked up. But you’re not.’ Eventually the case was tied up and they booked their holiday.

‘You look better already,’ Craig told her as she rolled out of bed after their first night in Dubrobnik.

‘Better than what?’ she asked, grinning. Craig was right. Three days in Dubrovnik with Craig was just the tonic she needed. She hoped it would give them a chance to establish the terms of their relationship, but they didn’t seem to be making much progress with that. There never seemed to be time to
broach the subject at home. They had been seeing each other on and off for a year, but she still wasn’t sure how serious their relationship was. Going away together had offered them an opportunity to talk. She had ruined it by calling him Mark.

‘You’ll be home before it arrives,’ Craig told her when she wrote a postcard to Hannah. He read it upside down. ‘All well. Beautiful city. Lunch in restaurant overlooking bay. Hot enough. Flowers everywhere. Love Geraldine.’ Craig gave a mock frown. ‘No mention of the wonderful company?’ Geraldine remembered to post the card at the hotel desk as they were leaving.

‘Here’s hoping you’ll have a few days’ grace before they whisk you off on another case,’ Craig said on the flight home. He sounded tetchy.

Geraldine gave him a rueful smile and went back to studying her passport. ‘You can hardly see it.’ She pointed to a faint imprint of a stamp with the name ‘Dubrovnik’ barely legible.

‘Write over it,’ Craig suggested.

‘I can’t do that.’

‘You can’t, but I could,’ he replied, laughing. ‘All you need is a fine black biro.’ He grabbed her passport. Geraldine snatched it back and turned away, irritated.

The next day she downloaded the photos from her phone and trawled through them with a smile that wavered only when her own face appeared. She studied her image on the screen and tried to be objective about her dark hair, unruly when it wasn’t pinned back with slides, her large black eyes that always seemed to glow with health, and her small crooked nose that spoiled her looks.

The phone rang. Geraldine hung back for a moment before answering it. She didn’t want Craig to think she had been waiting for his call.

‘Well? How was it?’ Hannah asked.

Geraldine swallowed her disappointment. ‘Lovely,’ she replied. She knew what her friend meant. ‘It’s a beautiful city. I’d recommend it. And the weather was perfect. Not too hot.’

‘I’m not interested in Dubrovnik,’ Hannah interrupted impatiently, ‘How did it go with Craig?’

Geraldine hesitated. ‘Probably too well,’ she admitted.

‘When are you seeing him again?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know? How can you not know? You’ve been seeing each other for nearly a year, and you’ve just been on holiday together.’

Geraldine sighed. It was all right for Hannah. Married for eight years, she had no reason to feel insecure about her relationship. Geraldine felt like a love struck teenager waiting by the phone. She kept herself busy with chores, but the days passed and he didn’t call. On Thursday evening she caved in and dialled his number.

‘Craig Hudson.’

Geraldine felt her breath quicken at the sound of his voice. ‘Don’t make a fool of yourself,’ she thought. ‘Hi, it’s me,’ she answered breezily. ‘Geraldine. I wondered if you’d like to come over for dinner one evening? If you’re free, that is.’ Intending to appear casual, she sounded apologetic.

To her relief Craig answered straight away. ‘Sounds great. When did you have in mind?’

‘How about Saturday? Around seven thirty?’

‘Saturday? No, I can’t make this Saturday. Tell you what, let’s make it Sunday.’

‘Fine. See you Sunday.’

Geraldine gazed round her tidy flat and wondered how Craig was planning to spend his Saturday evening – and whether he would be spending it alone. He was charming and attentive when they were together but then weeks would pass without her hearing from him. When he did want to see
her, the chances were she would be preoccupied with a case. Her relationship with Mark had been straightforward. With Craig, everything was so complicated. But Mark had met someone else. Geraldine had no idea how long he had been seeing the other woman before he left. Perhaps life had only seemed simple then. She remembered how hot it had been in Dubrovnik and shivered.

5

Market

‘It’s bloody hard work,’ Alice said, ‘and it’s getting harder. I don’t know how you manage, with your kids. You’re a bloody marvel.’

‘A martyr more like,’ Maggie grunted.

‘I mean,’ Alice warmed to her protest, ‘I suppose we do better than some I could mention, who haven’t even got a licence. But even so, working the market all weathers, it’s no picnic, is it?’ She ran a hand through her iron grey hair before repeating, ‘I don’t know how you manage.’

Maggie grimaced. ‘It’s bloody hard work. You’re right there. But needs must. No point complaining when we haven’t got a choice.’