Tania Carver - The Surrogate

Phil smiled, lifted one bra strap, then the other, easing them down her arms, unclasping it from behind. He looked at her, drank in her nakedness in the half-shadowed room.

He smiled. ‘You’re beautiful.’

She smiled in response, then began unbuckling his belt. Remaining clothes and footwear were stripped in a blur. Naked, they held each other, feeling the sensation of each other’s body through their own skin. Kissed once more, then pulled apart. Phil took Marina in once more: the shape of her breasts, the colour of her nipples, the way she had trimmed her pubic hair, her soft thighs. Her belly perhaps curved more than he remembered it. It didn’t matter. She did the same for him: his broad shoulders, lightly haired chest, strong thighs, his penis, hard for her. She smiled.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said once more.

‘So are you.’

Time froze. It was a moment both had fervently wanted but neither had believed would ever happen again. It felt so right, so comfortable. But beyond the passion, they were both terrified. It was more than just sex. They both knew that. It was a line. Once it was crossed, neither could retreat back over it.

‘I love you.’ The words were out of Phil’s mouth before he could stop them.

‘I know. Don’t let me down.’

‘I won’t.’

The line had been crossed.

They moved to the bed.

Together.

Marina heard voices. Strong, opinionated voices. Her eyes jolted open and for a few seconds she didn’t know where she was. Then, as a lost piece of jigsaw completes a whole picture, she remembered. Phil’s bed. The radio alarm clock had just gone off, Radio Four’s Today waking her up. Her eyes closed again. She smiled.

They had made love another three times, eventually drifting off to sleep some time in the early hours. It had been beyond what she remembered, beyond what she had imagined: intense and sacred at times, hot and filthy at others. But always physically and emotionally satisfying. She had drifted off to sleep with Phil’s arms encircling her. She had felt safe. Coming back to Phil’s house had been the right decision.

Now she lay there, letting the voices from the radio wash over her. It was familiar, the same show she woke up to at home.

Home.

She thought about Tony. She had phoned him as they left the crime scene, telling him she wouldn’t be back, giving him an excuse about pulling an all-nighter to work on the latest murder. He had been his usual understanding, reasonable self, asked her if there was anything she wanted, anything he could do to help. She had felt guilt at those words. But not because she wanted to be with him. Just because he was so good to her. Like a father should have been. She thought of the cottage in Wivenhoe. Not warm and comforting, just hot and enclosing. Maybe it was time to leave home.

She turned over, stretched out her arm, expecting to feel Phil. Nothing. His side of the bed empty. Opening her eyes once more, she sat up, looked around. Just in time to see the door open and Phil enter carrying two mugs of coffee – freshly brewed, from the smell. He crossed to the bed, placed one on the table at her side, one on his own, took off his dressing gown and slid, naked, back under the sheets with her.

‘Thought you’d gone to work without me,’ she said, smiling.

‘As if I’d do that,’ he said. He took a mouthful of coffee.

She took a sip. Lovely. Milk, no sugar. Just as she liked it. She replaced it. ‘You remembered how I take it.’

He frowned. ‘Why should I forget?’

Warmth spread inside her at his words. He had always been a good listener. ‘Why should you?’

The smile lingered on his face as he turned and looked at her. His eyes began to travel down her body.

‘We haven’t got time,’ she said.

He gave a mock sigh. ‘I know.’

A thought struck her. ‘Should we go in to work together or separately?’

‘Nobody else’s business.’ He placed the mug on the bedside table, lay back. ‘Does it bother you, what people might say?’

‘Does it bother you?’

‘Did last time. The gossip. What people were thinking, what assumptions they were making.’

‘And now?’

He looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps for the investigation. If anyone tries to use this as an excuse for us not getting results, it would bother me. But other than that, no, I don’t care.’

She snuggled in to him. ‘Good.’

They lay there in silence for a while, both sleep-and-sexhungover, comfortable in each other’s silence.

‘So,’ he said eventually, ‘what happens next?’

‘I’m going to leave him,’ Marina said. The words, said aloud, surprised her. Like an idea made real by speaking it. She hadn’t known that that was what she was planning until she said it.

‘For… for me?’

Silence once more. Then, from Marina, ‘Let’s see.’

Phil nodded. Said nothing. Eventually looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get going.’ He threw back the duvet, got out of bed. Found his dressing gown once more. ‘You want the shower first?’

‘No, I’m okay.You go.’

He started to walk to the door, turned before he reached it. ‘I… look. I meant what I said. Last night. I won’t let you down.’

‘Good.’

‘Right.’

And he left the bedroom.

Marina reached for her coffee, took another mouthful. Replaced it. Sighed. She heard the sound of the shower. She stroked her stomach, felt the baby moving inside her. Thought of other conversations she had to have with Phil.

She finished her coffee, then got out of bed. It would all have to wait until later.

She had a monster to catch.

‘ Phil? Call for you.’

Phil looked up from his desk, where he was gathering notes and photos together, preparing for the morning briefing. Adrian was holding up the handset on his desk, motioning to him. Phil mouthed the words, ‘Who is it?’ Adrian mouthed back, ‘Solicitor.’

Phil picked up the receiver, transferred the call. ‘Detective Inspector Phil Brennan,’ he said.

‘Good morning, Detective Inspector,’ a female voice said. ‘You’re CIO on the dead babies inquiry?’

Phil said he was.

‘Linda Curran of Hanson, Warnock and Gallagher.’ She paused as if he should know them. He certainly did. He had dealt with them, and Linda Curran, before. Many times.

‘Hello, Linda, how can I help you?’

‘I’m representing Ryan Brotherton, Detective Inspector, and I’m informing you that my client has instructed me to sue Essex Police, and in particular your department.’

Phil’s features hardened. His grasp on the receiver tightened. ‘Is that right?’ he said.

‘Indeed it is,’ Linda Curran said. From the tone of her voice, she took no particular joy in the message; she was merely doing her job.

‘Oh come on, Linda,’ he said. ‘That’s ridiculous. What is it? Harassment? How does he work that one out? We’re charging him with attempted murder.’

There was the rustle of paper down the phone. ‘Harassment, wrongful arrest, deprived of basic human rights whilst in custody, loss of earnings and emotional distress. ’

‘Okay,’ said Phil, ‘let’s go through these. Can I do that? Or will it prejudice the case?’

‘Feel free.’

‘Okay. Harassment. Brotherton’s name came up several times in a murder inquiry. We went to see him at work, and when he attacked my DS, we brought him in for questioning. He was never arrested.’

‘He attacked your…? You allege he attacked your DS?’

‘Dropped a ton of metal on him. Or would have done if he hadn’t got out of the way in time. No “allege” about it. Didn’t he mention it?’