All the Rage

Adam Fawley
3 April 2018
09.15

You don't need to tell me I didn't handle that very well. I was just a bit wrong-footed, that's all. It's been years `“ years when I've done my damnedest to lock it away, and now, out of nowhere `“

My phone rings. It's Challow. He hasn't bothered waiting for me to call him. And he doesn't bother with informalities either.

`˜You got the email?'

`˜Are you absolutely sure `“ it couldn't be anything else?'

`˜Unlike human beings, chemistry doesn't lie. It's one reason why I like this job.'

`˜Shit.'

`˜Yes,' he says heavily. `˜I suspect that's probably the most appropriate response. In the circumstances.'

There's a silence. Then, `˜What are you going to do?'

`˜I don't know.'

I hear him draw breath. `˜You need to tell your team `“ it's not fair to keep them in the dark `“'

`˜I know. I just need some time to think this through.'

I can almost hear him shrug. `˜Well, that's your call, though it wouldn't be mine. But either way, you have to speak to Harrison. And without wishing to sound like a shit, if you don't, I will.'

* * *

Everett and Somer have opted to hang out in the canteen at the FE college in an attempt to keep things casual, but even without uniforms they stand out like grannies in Doc Martens. The students buy coffee and Danish and gather chattering at adjacent tables, but all the while you can sense the tension, see the glances thrown in the officers' direction. It's not unease exactly, but disquiet, an awareness that something's up.

`˜So what do we do?' asks Everett in an undertone. `˜Pull on our size elevenses and start gatecrashing?'

Somer gestures towards a girl who's just joined the coffee queue; she has a large portfolio on the floor by her feet, a pixie haircut and wide brown eyes. `˜That may be as good a place to start as any.'

`˜OK,' says Everett. `˜I'll start the other side.'

`˜You're doing Art, are you?' says Somer as she takes her place in the queue behind the girl with the portfolio.

The girl turns and smiles. `˜Fashion and Design actually. But the bloody sketchbooks are no smaller.'

`˜We've been talking to some of your classmates, but I don't think I remember you?'

The girl gives her order and turns back to Somer. `˜Yeah, I heard about that. You're from the police, right?'

Somer makes a rueful gesture. `˜Rumbled.'

But the girl seems unfazed. `˜I had that bug over the weekend, that's why I wasn't around on Monday. I'm Jess, Jess Beardsley. You were asking about Faith?'

`˜You know her?'

The girl makes a face. `˜Not exactly know, but I don't think anyone here does really.'

Somer buys a bottle of water and follows the girl towards an empty table.

`˜So you're on the same course, the two of you?' she asks as they sit down.

Jess nods. `˜But she's out of my league. Seriously shit hot. No one else is even close.'

`˜And that doesn't make other people jealous? No one likes a swot, do they?'

The girl laughs. `˜Faith's not like that. She doesn't mind helping you out. You know, making suggestions and stuff. She isn't up herself.'

`˜Does she have a boyfriend?'

Jess shakes her head. `˜No one here, anyway. Not for want of trying by some of them. But she doesn't seem that interested. Though, frankly, I can see her point.'

She glances across at the lads at the next table; they're laughing at something and digging each other in the ribs. `˜Bunch of overgrown kids, most of them.'

Somer returns the ironic look. `˜How about girlfriends?'

Jess picks up her spoon and starts to stir, a small smile on the edge of her mouth. `˜You mean girlfriends or girlfriends?'

Somer keeps her voice neutral. `˜Either.'

`˜Neither, in fact.' She licks the spoon then puts it down. `˜And that's not for want of trying, too.'

* * *