Tania Carver - Cage of Bones

Silence once more.

The wind blew dead leaves against the window. They could feel a faint draught coming through, the world outside penetrating the room inside.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Mickey, after deliberation.

‘Me too,’ said Anni. ‘Haven’t been able to do much else in here.’ She pointed to the TV. ‘Except watch Clash of the Titans on pay-per-view. Again.’

‘When you’re up and about, d’you want to… ’ He felt himself reddening. ‘D’you fancy going out one night?’ He suddenly found the window beside her hugely interesting.

Anni smiled. To herself. ‘You asking me out on a date?’

Mickey didn’t trust himself to answer immediately. He feared his tongue would trip his words.

‘Yeah,’ he said eventually. ‘Yeah, a date.’ He looked at her this time. Saw her smile. For him.

‘Yeah,’ she said, ‘I’d really like that. I’d love that.’

He tried to hold her hand, but it was strapped up. Settled for touching her arm.

‘Ow.’

Sorry.’

They both laughed. Kept looking at each other.

Outside, it was a miserable day.

But inside, the room was warm.

Donna had never had a good time with religion. Standing outside the church of St James and St Paul on East Hill, she thought of turning, walking away. Not going in.

But she bit down on her fear. Pulled the last bit of life from her cigarette, crushed it under her boot. Went into the church.

Inside, it was as she had expected. Dark. Polished wood. Stone. Tall stained-glass windows, high carved ceiling. All of it dwarfing the people inside. Making small lives seem smaller.

Don and Eileen were sitting about halfway back. Her first impulse was to go to them, join them in their pew. But she resisted. They might not want her with them. Might not welcome her. So she sat near the back. Easier to escape when it was all over.

Donna hated funerals. She had been to Faith’s just a couple of days before. It hadn’t been anything like this. Much simpler. A nearby church, the crematorium, then drinks at the Shakespeare. She had sent Ben to school. He didn’t need to be there, she had reasoned. His mother wouldn’t be.

She had witnessed the vicar glance at his watch while he talked about Faith, seen her cheap wooden coffin go through the curtains, then watched while people she barely knew used her death as an excuse to get hammered. Later she had picked Ben up from school, taken him out in town for a meal. Watching him eat, laugh and tell her about his day at school, she became determined to honour Faith’s memory in a better way. And do something for herself – and Ben – while she was at it.

She looked round the church. A lot of coppers there. Some she recognised. Not always happily. Part of her wished she hadn’t come. But part of her knew she had had no choice.

The service went on. Phil was asked to speak.

She had liked him. A decent copper, a decent man. All too rare. She watched as he stood at the lectern, fumbled to take his papers from his pocket since his arm was strapped up, looked round the church.

‘Rose Martin,’ he said, and glanced down at his notes, ‘was one of my officers for a time. And in that time I came to know her well. She was… ’ He paused, glanced down at a very attractive dark-haired woman who had been sitting next to him. She nodded. He looked up, kept going. ‘She was all the things a good police officer should have been. Conscientious. Hard-working. Loyal.’ He swallowed hard. ‘And that she should die in this way is… particularly upsetting. Now, we didn’t always see eye to eye, Rose and me. But we were on the same side. And she knew it. When she needed an ally, when she needed help, she came to me.’ He sighed. ‘And I wish I could have saved her. I wish… ’ He stopped talking, trailed off. Looked at the stained glass. ‘I wish she was still here. I wish I wasn’t standing here saying this. In the end, I was proud to know her.’

There was more, talking of Rose’s achievements, her accomplishments. But Donna tuned out. That was just cop talk. Nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with the woman she had known briefly, who had died in her house.

Died in her house . A lot had changed in the few weeks since that had happened, thought Donna. A lot. She wanted to move on. Not sell her body any more, not take her anger out on the world. She had responsibilities now, she had Ben to look after. She had to look after herself, for his sake if nothing else. After what she had been through recently, she owed it to him. And Faith. And herself.

So she had gone to St Quinlan’s Trust, asked for help, enrolled in some classes. And she had felt good about herself. The first positive thing she had done in ages. She had a long way to go, but she had made a start.

Someone else was up now, another copper, talking about Rose. Donna tuned out again. She had come, paid her respects, that was enough. She could just slip out the back door, no one would notice.

And that was when she noticed Don turning round, looking at her. He smiled. Caught, she smiled back.

Now she would have to stay.

So she listened, and she stood and sat when they asked her to. She sang a hymn, or at least mouthed the words. And as she sat there, something came over her. Grief. She hadn’t mourned Faith’s passing. Not really. She had wanted to remain strong for Ben. But now, thinking of Rose, she let it all come out. Rose, this woman she had hated, who had hated her. Rose, who she had developed respect for, knew it had been reciprocated. Rose, who had died in her house.

She began to cry. Torrents of tears, flooding from her body. An unstoppable flow. She didn’t scream, didn’t cry, just let them come. Sat there, on her own, hunched forward, crying. For Rose. For Faith. For Ben. For what she had done with her life.

And then it was time to leave. Donna stood with the rest of them, tried to duck out. But couldn’t quite move. She took a deep breath. Another. And felt cleansed. Purging the grief from her system had made her feel clear-headed.

Don came alongside her. ‘How are you bearing up?’

Donna tried to smile. ‘OK,’ she said, her voice small and wet.

Eileen passed her a tissue. ‘Take it, I’ve got plenty.’

Donna thanked her, took it.

They walked out of the church together.

‘We’re… we’re going back home,’ said Don. ‘There’s a proper reception for Rose. But we’re not going.’

‘No,’ said Donna.

‘Would you like to come with us?’ asked Eileen. ‘Have a bit of lunch?’

Donna thought of their house. How warm it was, how safe it felt. And she was tempted. Very tempted.

Don and Donna. I could be your daughter …

She shook her head. ‘Thanks. But no. I’ve got to… ’ I’ve got to make my own way. I’ve got to make my own safe house. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘OK,’ said Don. ‘But you’re welcome any time. Any time at all. You’ve got our number, give us a ring. Let’s get together.’

Donna nodded. ‘Thank you.’ Turned and walked away.

Out of the dark and into the daylight.

The table was laid, the chicken roasting in the oven, the wine bottles open. Don, beer in hand, took over the kitchen on a Sunday, wouldn’t let anyone else in. Insisted on doing the whole thing himself. Phil and Marina, exiled to the living room with their glasses of wine, joined Eileen, who was playing with Josephina on her mat.

An almost stereotypically happy family Sunday scene.

But the picture was distorted. Disguising just how difficult the last few weeks had been.

For all of them.

When Phil had recovered consciousness and was lying in a hospital bed, he had opened his eyes to find Marina by his side.