Cath Staincliffe - Split Second

Louise looked down at the table, sombre now.

‘What is it?’ he asked her.

‘Luke. What if I sign the form and let him go when one day he might have woken up?’

He put his glass down. ‘You know the statistics.’

‘Yeah. And I don’t believe in miracles. Opium of the masses.’

‘Think that’s shopping these days, not religion.’ He took a drink. ‘If you leave Luke alone, ignore the form, and against all the odds he wakes up. What then? The chances are he’ll be locked in, or unable to do more than blink, maybe swallow.’

‘I know he’ll never come back, the Luke I had.’ She groaned and covered her eyes with her hand. ‘I go round and round and round. If only he could tell me what he’d want.’

‘I think you know what he’d want,’ Andrew said.

She looked at him sharply, and he feared he’d gone too far. She turned her face away. ‘He could run so-’ She stopped. ‘And climb,’ she said. ‘We took him out to Alderley Edge once, me and Eddie. Have you been?’

Andrew nodded. He and Jason at the small stone circle. Lifting Jason on to a low branch, promising to hold him tight.

‘Luke was still using a buggy. He’d have been three or so. I was pregnant with Ruby. He went over the edge, the cliff bit, like Spiderman. He met this dog, raced off to play. But how can I starve him? Sit there and watch?’

‘If you want, if it’s any help, I’ll come, I’ll be there.’

‘It’s a big ask,’ she said.

‘What are friends for?’

‘Not that, usually!’ she joked.

He laughed, full-throated. She always made him laugh. He took a drink.

She ran a hand through her hair. ‘Okay. If it comes to that. Thank you.’ She settled back, sat for a few moments, smoking and sipping her wine.

He looked up at the heavens, the pole star flaring phosphorus white. The brilliant orb of the moon, with its tracery of blue from the mountains and craters that sculpted its surface. In a garden close by a cat yowled, and then he heard the spat of a cat fight.

‘I’d better be off,’ he said, and drained his glass.

‘Okay.’

He got up, stretched.

‘Don’t leave it so long next time,’ Louise said.

He nodded. ‘And if you need me…’

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Do you want a cab?’

‘No, I’ll walk.’ He looked up at the sky again. ‘It’s such a lovely night.’ He made his way past the sycamore tree and out into the street, and set off among the black shadows and the soft silver light.

She was sitting on the doorstep as he came into the drive, her hair bright in the moonlight. A jolt ran through him.

‘Val?’

She got to her feet, gave a ghostly smile. ‘You’ve been out?’

He tasted the lie, tempted, but swallowed it. He would not lie to her. ‘Louise’s.’

Val blinked, gave a small nod. ‘Just friends?’ she said, the faintest tremor in her voice but no sarcasm that he could discern.

‘Yes,’ he said simply, waiting for her to meet his gaze and judge he was telling the truth. Holding his breath, tensing in anticipation of her reaction.

‘How’s Luke?’

‘The same,’ he said, relieved that she had cared to ask.

‘I want to come home,’ she said, her face crumpling.

He moved to her, his heart kicking in his chest. ‘Val.’

‘I don’t want to sell the house.’

‘No, of course not.’ His arms went round her. She burrowed her head in the crook of his neck.

‘Jason, his whole life was here, we can’t lose that,’ she said.

‘I know.’ Was that the reason she wanted to come back: for Jason, his memory, his history, to keep that close? His fingerprints on every door jamb, his laughter in the paint and plaster. Was that all of it? The house a museum, and Andrew – what, a curator? That wasn’t enough for him. He wanted her love, her passion; he needed her to want him just as deeply. Not to cling together because of what they had shared and lost, but to cleave together for what the future held, tomorrow and the next day and the years to come. To grow.

He placed his hand on the crown of her head, felt her silky hair and the heat beneath.

‘I want you, Val,’ he whispered. ‘I want you back here with me.’ He felt her convulse, a sob in her shoulders. Then she raised her face to look at him. Tear-streaked. She edged closer, closed her eyes. Kissed him. A lover’s kiss. Long and sensuous. Leaving them both breathless.

‘Let’s go in,’ he said, blood singing in his veins. He couldn’t take his eyes from her face, her lips.

‘I love you,’ she said, starting to cry again. ‘Oh Andrew, I love you so much.’

He pulled her close, hushing her, kissing and stroking her hair. He drank in the warm night air and the honeyed scent of wallflowers; he stared up at the luminous disc of the moon, climbing higher now, and felt the peace settle inside him.

Across the street, Jason, arms outstretched, walked along the edge of a tall garden fence to the corner. He stood there, wobbling precariously, and beamed at Andrew. That hundred-watt smile. Then he jumped down and set off along the pavement towards town. Andrew watched until he was out of sight.

Then he took Val’s hand and they went in together.

Cath Staincliffeis an established novelist, radio playwright and creator of ITV’s hit series, Blue Murder , starring Caroline Quentin as DCI Janine Lewis. Cath was shortlisted for the CWA John Creasey Best First Novel award for her acclaimed Sal Kilkenny series, and for the Dagger in the Library award in 2006. Her latest stand-alone novels all focus on topical moral dilemmas. She was joint winner of the CWA Short Story Dagger award in 2012 for Laptop . She is a founding member of Murder Squad, a group who promote crime fiction.

www.cathstaincliffe.co.uk