Broken Skin

41

… and his eyes flickered open in the darkness, the dream coming to a sudden halt. Logan screwed up his face and peered out blearily from beneath the duvet — according to the clock radio it was nineteen minutes past four. No wonder it was cold: the heating had been off since half eleven.

He stuck a hand out, feeling along the mattress for Jackie, finding nothing but a deep-frozen expanse of bed. Still not home yet. No change there then, she was never … A noise from the hall — probably the same one that had woken him — someone fiddling with the flat’s front door. Cursing quietly, he shivered out of bed, grabbed his trousers off the chair in the corner and pulled them on, followed by what felt like a sweatshirt, and padded barefoot out into the hall just in time to see the door swing open and a familiar figure bundle in from the stairwell. Jackie, wearing her cat burglar outfit.

She clunked the door closed behind her, trembling as she peeled off her coat and gloves and headed for the kitchen.

‘Jackie?’

She froze for a moment, not looking round, then carried on, stripping in front of the washing machine, throwing everything in — hat, scarf, jacket, gloves, shirt, trainers, trousers, underwear — then added a couple of detergent pouches and switched the thing on. The hiss of rushing water sounded in the kitchen. Arms wrapped round her pale, shivering body, she marched through to the bathroom without a word. Her knuckles were swollen and red.

‘Jackie? What’s going on?’

Click: the shower power cord was pulled, then another click and the blow heater filled the bathroom with a deep whubwhubwhoooo and the faint smell of burning dust. The light came on, and Jackie’s pale skin fluoresced white as she clambered into the bath, goosepimples disappearing behind the blue plastic shower curtain. Wafts of steam billowed out into the cold room.

Logan closed the door. ‘Jackie, what the hell happened? What’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’ Her was voice muffled by the water, curtain and noisy heater, but he could still hear the tremor in it. ‘Nothing’s happened. If anyone asks, I was here all night.’

Oh fuck …’ Jackie?’

‘All night, OK? We spent the night here. You and me.’

‘Jackie what happened?’

‘Nothing happened. I was here all night: remember?’

‘Jackie?’

No answer. He hung around but she wouldn’t say anything else. As far as PC Jackie Watson was concerned, the matter was closed.