Shaun Hutson: Death Day

'Don't you just love kids?' said Susan Howard, struggling past with an armful of books.

Debbie raised one eyebrow questioningly and Susan laughed. Nice girl, thought Debbie, about twenty, a year or so younger than herself. They got on well together. All the staff in the building did. There were just four of them: herself, Susan, Mrs Grady and Miss Baxter (who took care of the research section, or reference library as everyone else liked to call it). Debbie had wondered whether Miss Baxter would resent being under a woman more than thirty years younger than herself, but there had been no animosity shown. The previous head librarian had died three years before and few people suspected that the job would go to someone as young as Debbie, but her aptitude for the job was undeniable. She had, since she took over, tried to change the image of the building somewhat. She disliked the staid, Victorian picture of libraries which most people had. Of old spinsters in long skirts and horn-rimmed glasses hobbling about the corridors, and endless leather-bound dusty volumes which no one ever read. Since she had taken over, more youngsters had joined. Attracted no doubt by the presence of Susan, and, she hoped, herself. More men were members now than ever before.

She dropped her glasses into her handbag and stood up, shaking her legs to restore the circulation. She'd been sitting in more or less the same position for nearly four hours, bent over the ledgers and her shoulders and legs felt as if someone had been kicking her. She exhaled deeply and swept a hand through her shoulder-length blonde hair.

'Sue,' she called quietly, 'I'm just popping out for lunch.'

The other girl nodded and struggled on with her armful of books.

Debbie walked out, the noise of her high heels clicking conspicuously on the polished wooden floor. As she reached the exit door she eyed her reflection in the glass and smiled. She had a good figure, slim hipped, the small curve of her bottom accentuated by the tight jeans which she wore. The thick jumper which covered her upper body concealed her pert breasts and made her look shapeless, but she dressed for comfort, not show.

As she stepped out into the street, an arm enfolded her waist and she spun round anxiously.

It was Lambert.

Debbie smiled broadly and kissed him.

'I thought you were at home,' she said happily.

He shrugged, 'I ran out of things to do. You were the last resort.' He smiled as she punched him on the arm.

'Cheeky sod,' she giggled. 'I was just going for lunch.'

'I know.'

'My God, you're not a policeman for nothing, are you?' she said sarcastically, trying not to smile.

He slapped her hard across the backside. 'Come on, Miss Librarian, let me buy you some lunch.'

The nearest cafe was busy but they found a seat near the window and Debbie sat down while

Lambert fetched the lunch, picking food out from beneath the plastic fronted cabinets. He returned with a laden tray and began unloading it onto the table.

As they ate, she told him about her morning's work and about the kids. He smiled a lot. A little too much perhaps. She reached across the table to clutch his hand.

'You all right?' she asked.

He nodded, 'I walked down here to meet you,' he told her, 'I needed the air.'

She smiled, then trying to sound brighter, 'Were those letters anything important this morning?'

He told her about the bill. 'The other one was from my mother.'

'What did she have to say? Or do you want me to read it when I get home?'

'I tore the fucking thing up,' snapped Lambert.

Two women on the table next to them looked round, and the policeman met their stare. They returned quickly to their tea, and gossip.

'What did it say?' asked Debbie, squeezing his hand tighter.

He shrugged and took a sip of his tea before answering, 'The same old shit. Same as always. I don't know why the hell she can't just leave me alone. I never asked her to start writing in the first place.' He slammed his cup down with a little bit too much force, making a loud crack.

The two women looked round again and this time Lambert thought about saying something. But he returned his gaze to Debbie. Her eyes were wide, searching his own, trying to find something that lay beneath his visible feelings.

There was a long silence between them. The only sound was that of many voices talking at once, each lost in their own world, making sense alone but, combined, becoming a noisy babble of nonsense. People around them chatted about the weather, their families, their jobs. The everyday monotony of life.

'I phoned the station,' said Lambert, at last.

'Why?' asked Debbie.

'I wondered if there was anything I could do, or if they needed me.'

Debbie looked at him reproachfully, 'Tom, the doctor told you to rest. You're not supposed to be at work. Sod the bloody station. They can run things without you.'

'I can't sit at home all day doing nothing,' he protested, 'it's driving me crazy.'

'Well, going back to the station isn't going to help either.'

'At least it might give me something else to think about. That's what I need, something to take my mind off what's been happening. You don't understand what it's like, Debbie,' he gripped her hand. 'I relive that bloody accident, that night, every time I visit Mike's grave. Even when I'm not there, it's still with me, you don't forget something like that easily.'

'No one expects you to. Just stop blaming yourself.' She didn't know whether to be angry with him, or feel pity.

'Shit,' he said it through clenched teeth, his head bowed.

She watched him for long seconds, a feeling of total helplessness slowly enveloping her. Finally he looked up and swallowed hard, 'I'm sorry,' he whispered.

'Don't be,' she told him.

He shook his head, moisture brimming in his eyes. He exhaled deeply, 'I asked Hayes to get in touch with me if they need me anytime.'

She opened her mouth to speak but he raised his hand, 'It's the only way, Debbie. I'll go off my head otherwise.'

They finished eating. He looked across the table at her and smiled. She glanced up at the clock on the wall of the cafe and saw that it was approaching two o'clock.

'I've got to be getting back,' she said, reluctantly.

'I'll walk you,' he said, standing up.

The town was busier as they walked back to the library. People were looking in shop windows and talking on street corners. A number spoke to the young couple as they walked, as both were well known within the town.

When they reached the steps of the building, Lambert put his arms around his wife's waist and kissed her.

'What will you do this afternoon?' she asked.

'Never mind me,' he said, smiling. 'You get back to your cataloguing.'

He turned to leave but she caught his arm and pulled him to her, her lips seeking his. He felt her moist tongue flick over the hard edges of his teeth before plunging further into the warm wetness of his mouth. He responded almost ferociously, pressing her close to him, anxious to feel her body against his own. Finally she pulled back. He ran an index finger across her soft cheek and smiled.

'See you later,' he said.

As he turned, she called after him and he stopped, listening.

'Tom,' she said, 'I love you.'

He smiled, 'I know.' And he walked off.

Steve Pike poured himself another cup of tomato soup from the thermos and watched the steam rising from the thick red liquid. He took a sip, wincing at the plastic taste, but he persevered, taking a draw on his fag to deaden the flavour.

'Want some?' he asked, pushing the cup towards Mackenzie.

The other man shook his head, and after stuffing the remains of a sandwich into his mouth, pulled a small metal flask from the pocket of his parka.