‘She is a witness. You are not allowed to speak to her.’
A witness! Am I on trial here?
I have to wait for a car to become available. In the meantime, I stand on the far side of the road, where neighbours have gathered to watch and speculate, taking photographs and posting on social media.
More personnel arrive. Paramedics. Forensics officers. Detectives in rumpled suits. Nish volunteers to drive me back to Southwark. He’s the only officer who has asked about my welfare. The others treat me like I’ve cost them the game in the dying minutes of extra time. What game? I want to scream. I chased him. I cornered him. I confronted him.
Staring straight ahead, I watch the world slip by outside the car – the pedestrians, diners, dog walkers and joggers; the people coming home late from work, or heading off to late shifts.
‘Did I make a mistake?’ I ask.
‘No. You gave us the right address.’
‘But Horgan said—’
‘He misheard you.’
The silence seems to hum. Nish sucks in a breath, expanding his chest, and holding it for a good ten seconds before he exhales.
‘When we got to the address and it was obvious that you weren’t there, Horgan could have called the dispatcher and confirmed your location, but he insisted that we check out the other address first.’
‘Why?’
There is another long pause.
‘You think he wanted to leave me exposed?’ I ask.
Nish doesn’t answer.
My eyes are flat and my hands motionless, but I feel like I’ve stepped from a fairground ride and the ground is buckling and dipping beneath me.
‘You should have stayed outside,’ says Nish. ‘You should have waited for back-up.’
‘Which wasn’t coming,’ I say bitterly.
He glances in the side mirror and indicates before changing lanes.
‘I haven’t known you long, Phil, but it’s obvious that you’re trying to prove yourself. I used to think it was because of your gender, or your size, but I think you’re trying to prove that you’re nothing like your father.’
A bubble of emotion is caught in my throat. It hurts when I swallow.
‘I am a good police officer.’
‘You don’t have to convince me, but they are trying to drive you out. And you can’t afford to make any mistakes.’
28
Sunday afternoon and I’m watching Henry play rugby at a sports ground in Chiswick. It’s the first game of the season and Archie is more interested in jumping into puddles and poking sticks into muddy holes. I normally enjoy watching these games, but now I worry every time Henry gets tackled, or charges into a ruck as though he’s still nineteen and indestructible.
This is supposed to be a social league, but they take it very seriously, huffing and puffing as they pack down into scrums. They grunt and shove and grunt some more. It’s like watching a reverse tug of war, because they’re pushing instead of pulling. Henry’s team are losing. The opposition has some huge players, who effortlessly break tackles or bring opponents to a shuddering halt.
When the final whistle blows, the teams shake hands and embrace, suddenly best mates after ninety minutes of crashing into each other. Archie runs onto the field to greet Henry, asking if they won and if Henry scored any points. No on both counts.
Henry hoists him onto his shoulders, spreading the mud around. Archie will have to change his clothes before we go out to an early dinner.
The crowd disperses. Henry showers and changes, while I wait in the car, putting on a story-time CD for Archie. He says he’s too grown up for Thomas the Tank Engine, but listens to the stories anyway.
Our favourite Chinese restaurant in Wandsworth serves yum cha on weekends. It’s full of families at this hour. Henry has missed a smudge of mud on his earlobe, which I wipe away. As we wait to be seated, Archie slips from his side and peers at the fish in an aquarium. He taps the glass and talks to them, rocking back and forth on his heels.
A waitress shows us to the table. Henry inventories his aches and pains, showing me his grazed elbow and saying he might have ‘tweaked his hammie’。 He seems different lately. Stressed. Normally his eyes are so warm and welcoming, but I’ve noticed a hardness in them, particularly when I mention Tempe or talk about the wedding. It’s as though he holds her responsible for my troubles at work, which I think is unfair. Whenever a man’s finger seeks someone to blame, it always seems to find a woman.
I’ve been off work since the hostage incident and will face a panel of inquiry into my surrendering of my weapon. The body-cam footage will exonerate me, as well as Lucinda’s statement, but I can’t take anything for granted because I have no allies in this fight.
This is one of the reasons that Henry is struggling – the politics. Why aren’t my colleagues leaping to my defence? Why isn’t the Police Federation doing more to support me?
‘What is going to happen at the hearing?’ he asks, toying with Archie’s box of crayons.
‘I will tell them exactly what happened.’
‘You’re not going to mention Goodall, are you?’
‘I have no proof.’
‘People are taking advantage of you,’ he mutters.
‘What people?’
‘Goodall. Your mother. Your friends.’
He won’t say Tempe’s name.
The waitress arrives, a skinny thing with a high ponytail and heavy mascara. Henry is much nicer to her than he has been to me. He negotiates sweetly with Archie, who only wants prawn crackers, but agrees to have some egg fried rice.
Our drinks are delivered and then the food. Henry orders another beer, then another. Looks like I’ll be driving home. Meanwhile, the restaurant buzzes around us and I feel captive rather than loved.
When our meals have been eaten, I excuse myself and visit the ladies. I’m on my way back to the table, when I hear Tempe’s voice.
‘Great minds,’ she says. ‘Are you here with Henry?’
‘And Archie. How about you?’
She holds up a laminated menu. ‘Picking up takeaway.’
‘Do people still do that?’ I ask, teasing her. ‘Why not get it delivered?’
‘I’m old-fashioned,’ she says. ‘And I feel sorry for those cyclists.’
‘But you don’t have a car.’
‘I borrowed one from a friend.’
I want to ask her which friend, but she’d realise that I’m prying.
‘How did you know about this place?’
‘You mentioned it. You said it was the best yum cha in London.’
‘Did I?’
I glance back at Henry, who is signalling to the waitress that he wants another beer.
‘We’ve finished eating, otherwise I’d ask you to join us,’ I say.
‘I could have a quick drink,’ she says brightly.
‘Look who I found,’ I say, as we reach the table. Henry nods a greeting but doesn’t get to his feet. Tempe has to find a chair. She doesn’t seem to notice his chilliness as she makes a fuss over Archie, letting him show her his matchbox toys and the racetrack he’s drawn on the tablecloth.
Our waitress arrives at the table with another beer for Henry, but he’s changed his mind and asks for the bill. Tempe doesn’t seem put out, but I’m embarrassed for both of us. My fairy-tale prince is acting like a toad, which is so unlike him. He lost a rugby game. I bumped into a friend. Ungrateful sod!