Reginald Hill: Exit lines

And then he thought of the news which had reached the Gregorys that evening.

'Why? You interested in him?' asked Sowden.

Pascoe shook his head. Somehow it didn't feel quite such a betrayal as a spoken no. Betrayal of what? Of whom? He realized he didn't want to go home to an empty house. Tomorrow with luck it would no longer be empty. Ellie would be there. And Rose. One-year-and-one-week-old Rose. Perhaps they would give him the strength to contemplate what he ought to do about the Gregorys. Perhaps.

Meanwhile.

They had reached the lifts. Pascoe stepped in. Sowden stood back and watched him.

'Goodbye then,' he said.

The doors began to close. Pascoe racked his brain for something to say. Every parting should be treated as a rehearsal for the last one; everyone should have some piece of farewell wisdom or wit at his tongue's end; but, alas, for most, even the best prepared, this was probably how it would be; the doors closing, the light fading, the lift descending, with nothing said, nothing communicated.

The doors closed. His hand shot out and his finger pressed the open button. The doors parted and Pascoe stepped back out into the corridor. He grinned triumphantly at Sowden who looked at him mildly surprised.

'Some rehearsal, huh?' said Pascoe. 'Now, about that drink.'