Peter James - Dead Tomorrow

‘My father was a police officer,’ Grace said. ‘He was a terrific dad to me. I was always very proud of him.’

‘But he was a sergeant, wasn’t he?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Shit, I need a drink. How long before we can open that bottle?’

‘Maybe another ten minutes?’

‘I’ll get supper ready. Can you take Humphrey out on to the patio? He needs to do a pee and a dump.’

Grace dutifully took the dog up on to the roof garden and walked him around in circles for ten minutes, during which Humphrey did nothing except nip his hand several more times. Then, when he let him back indoors, the dog trotted down the stairs, peed on the living-room floor, then squatted and proudly delivered a massive turd on a white rug.

By the time he had cleaned up the mess, the Roederer Cristal was perfectly chilled. Two bowls of prawns, diced avocado and rocket salad were laid out on the small kitchen table. He pulled two crystal flutes from a cabinet, opened the bottle as carefully as if he was tending to a baby, then poured it.

They clinked glasses.

Cleo, seated at the table, looked stunning. So beautiful, so vulnerable. It was utterly incredible to him that she was carrying their baby. She took a tentative sip, then closed her eyes for a moment. When they opened again, they were sparkling, like the drink.

‘Wow! That is amazing!’

He stared into her eyes. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know I haven’t yet met your father, and there are protocols that need to be observed in your world – but – Cleo – will you marry me?’

There was a long, agonizing silence, during which she just stared back at him with an unreadable expression. Finally she took another long sip, then said, ‘Roy, my darling. I don’t want this to sound -’ she hesitated – ‘sort of weird or anything, OK?’

He shrugged, having no idea what was coming next.

She twisted the glass in her hand. ‘I just thought to myself that if you proposed to me, one day, because I was pregnant, I would never marry you.’ She gave him a helpless, lost-child look. ‘That’s not the kind of life I want – for either of us.’

There was an even longer silence. Then he said, ‘Your being pregnant has nothing to do with this. That’s just a very big bonus. I love you, Cleo. You are the most beautiful person, inside and out, that I’ve ever been lucky enough to meet in my life. I love you with all my heart and soul. I will love you to the ends of the earth and back. And more. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’

Cleo smiled, then nodded pensively. ‘That’s not bad,’ she said. Then she gave a rolling motion with her hand. ‘More?’

‘I love your nose. Your eyes. I love your humour. I love the way you look at the world. I love your mind. I love your kindness to people.’

‘So it’s not about me being a good shag?’ she said, in mock disappointment.

‘Yep, that too.’

She drank some more, then putting her elbows on the table, held her glass in the fingers of both hands and peered at him over the top of it. ‘You know, you’re not a bad shag either.’

‘Slapper!’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Horny bastard.’

‘You like it!’

Puffing herself up haughtily, she said, ‘No, I don’t. I only do it to please you.’

He grinned. ‘I don’t believe you.’

Later, Humphrey sat on the bedroom floor, barking and whining while they made love, until he got bored and went to sleep.

Lying in each other’s arms, Cleo kissed Roy on the nose, then on each eye, then on the lips. ‘You know, you’re an incredible lover. You are so amazingly unselfish.’

‘Are most men selfish?’

She nodded. Then she grinned. ‘Talking from experience, of course, all the hundreds of lovers I’ve had – not!’

‘I take that as a compliment, coming from an expert.’

She thumped him. Then she kissed him again. ‘There’s something else about you, Detective Superintendent – you make me feel safe.’

‘You make me feel horny.’

She slid her hands down his hard, muscular body. Then stopped. ‘Bloody hell, you want more?’

‘Did we just do it?’

‘About five minutes ago.’

‘Must be my premature Alzheimer’s kicking in. I thought that was just – you know – foreplay!’

She grinned. ‘You are the horniest man I ever met!’

‘You make me horny,’ he said, and kissed her lightly on the lips, and then on her neck, her shoulders and then on every inch of her arms, legs, ankles, toes. Then they made love again.

A long time later, in the flickering glow of an almost burnt-down candle, Cleo, wrapped around him and dripping with perspiration, said, ‘OK, I surrender. I’ll marry you.’

‘You will?’

‘Yes, I will. I want to, more than anything in the world. But isn’t there a complication?’

‘What?’

‘You already have a wife.’

‘I’ve just started the process to have her declared dead, under the seven-year rule. My sister’s been trying to persuade me to do that for a long time.’

‘ Cleo Grace ,’ she murmured. ‘Mmm, that has a nice ring to it.’

She kissed him again, then, clinging tightly to him, fell asleep.

Glenn Branson sat in silence behind the wheel of the black Hyundai, staring wretchedly at his house. He had been here for five hours.

The small, 1960s semi was on a steep street in Saltdean, inland from the cliff top and a real wind trap. In the hooley that was blowing, the car rocked constantly and rain thwacked on to the body panels.

Tears streamed down his face. He was oblivious to the freezing cold, to his hunger, to his need to pee. He just stared across at the little house with its bright yellow front door that was his home. Stared at the front façade that was now like some kind of a Berlin Wall between himself and his life. It was all a sodding blur. His eyes blurred by his tears. The car windows blurred by the driving rain. His mind blurred by love, by anger and by pain.

He’d watched Ari arrive home shortly after ten and she hadn’t spotted him in this car. Then he’d waited for the male babysitter, whoever the arrogant bastard was, to leave. It was now twenty past two in the morning and he still had not left. Over two hours ago, the lights had gone off downstairs, then had come on in her bedroom. After a while, they had gone off there too. Which meant she was sleeping with this babysitter. Screwing him in their house.

Were Sammy and Remi going to run into the bedroom in the morning, as they always did, excitedly calling out, ‘Mummy! Daddy!’, only to find a strange man in the bed? Or had they stopped running in now? How much had changed in his home during these past few weeks?

The thought was like a knife twisting in his soul.

He looked at the car clock. 2.42. He looked at his watch, as if hoping the car clock was wrong. But his watch said 2.43.

A plastic dustbin lid rolled along the pavement. Then he saw a flurry of ice-blue splinters in his mirrors and moments later a police patrol car shot by, roof spinners on but siren off. He saw it turn right at the top of the road and disappear. It might be going to a domestic, or an accident, or a break-in – or anything. Reluctant to risk getting called away from here, he hesitated before phoning in. But he was using a police pool car and that obliged him to be on call. And, despite all that was happening in his private life, he was still grateful to the police force for giving him the chances in life it had.

On his mobile, he phoned through to the control room at Southern Resourcing Centre.

‘Glenn Branson here. I’m the on-call DS for the Major Crime Branch. I’ve just seen the boys go by in Saltdean with the blues and twos – anything for us?’