James Craig: Man of Sorrows

A look of annoyance appeared on Simpson’s face, but it quickly passed. ‘Of course.’

‘Thanks,’ said Carlyle, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, ‘ ’cos I’ve got to run.’

Despite the gusting wind and the threat of rain from a darkening sky, they chose to sit outside, on Lamb’s Conduit Street. Two tables down, the Goodfellas regulars were still discussing football and fiddling with their roll-ups. A white delivery van came along the road and pulled up by the kerb. The driver jumped from his cab, trotted to the back and pulled out a tray of fresh pastries. As he tracked the progress of the cakes inside, the inspector noticed a flyer taped to the café’s window and let out a small laugh. Having survived their brush with SO15 in the Strand underpass, the Eternity Dance Troupe was going to perform a gig in Red Lion Square.

‘What’s so funny?’ Helen squeezed his arm as she stared into the middle distance.

‘Nothing.’ Massaging the back of her hand, he let his gaze shift to the other side of the road. The undertaker’s immediately opposite showed no sign of life. In the flower shop next door, an elderly sales assistant was making up a large bouquet of lilies while chatting cheerily to a customer, a middle-aged man in a red windcheater. Leaving them to their conversation, Carlyle glanced at his watch. In less than fifteen minutes, they would be sitting in a consulting room round the corner in Great Ormond Street. Helen would be told whether she had the cancer gene, BRCA2. ‘We should get going.’

‘We’ve got plenty of time,’ she replied, seemingly reluctant to move.

‘But, still. There’s no harm in being a little bit early.’ Pushing back his chair, he got to his feet, gently kissing the top of her head before helping her up. Oblivious to the minor domestic drama nearby, the regulars continued their conversation about the appalling standard of referees in the Premier League. Skipping out of the café, the van driver jumped back into his cab, started up the engine and headed off. After a few moments, the customer came out of the flower shop carrying his lilies. Zipping up his jacket, he headed off briskly, in the direction of Holborn.

Carlyle took a deep breath. ‘You okay?’

Helen nodded.

‘Good.’ Taking his wife’s arm, he did his best to smile. Together, they began walking slowly down the street.