Dead To Me

9

‘HOW WAS IT?’ Gill rang Sammy.

‘Not bad, I only just finished the last question, though.’

‘Did you get Mussolini?’ He was doing his AS practice papers and Gill thought it was touch and go whether he’d meet his target grades. It was hard weighing up how much to push and how much to trust him to get his course work and revision done under his own steam. Harder because she was dealing with it on her own. Thanks to Captain Arsehole.

‘Yeah, that was good.’

‘What you doing now?’ Gill said.

‘Going back to ours with Craig and Joe.’

‘OK. Watch the china.’

‘One thing!’ His voice rose in mock indignation. ‘We broke one thing. It wasn’t even a nice lamp.’

Smiling to herself. ‘And that’s why skateboards are designed for outside use only.’

‘I know, Mum.’

‘Food in the fridge; don’t eat the fish.’

‘Minging. Laters.’

He was pretty self-sufficient. Had to be, given that both his parents worked all hours. Sammy had been three, nearly four, when Gill saw the job advertised with the National Crime Faculty. It was a fantastic opportunity, but she’d known it would mean a lot of travelling away from home. Could she make it work?

‘What about Sammy?’ Dave’s first words when she told him she was thinking of applying. Not Brilliant! or You go for it! or even When’s the closing date? but straight into obstacles, disincentives.

He was jealous. It hit her with a shock. He was actually jealous. There had always been a healthy competition between them. At least, she had imagined it to be healthy. Who could get the sergeant’s exam first, who’d pass the tier three interview course quickest. But now she was confident enough to have a shot at working on a national level, knew she had a reasonable chance of getting selected, and he hadn’t even considered applying. He begrudged her.

She’d tried to be diplomatic, no need to rub his nose in it, but she wasn’t about to let Dave’s resentment colour her decision. ‘We’d have to get a nanny.’

‘We’re already struggling with the mortgage.’

The house had been bought off plan. One of a development of individually designed properties on the outskirts of Shaw near Oldham. It had been a roller-coaster of meetings and design discussions, site visits and fallings out with the builders, but now it was theirs. And it was beautiful. Not overly ostentatious, but quality workmanship, everything from the York flags on the patio and the wooden-framed windows to the tiles in the bathrooms and the kitchen with its black marble and beech fittings had been chosen by them. Gill adored it. And it worked perfectly as a family home. Double garage. Enough space for Sammy to have a playroom that could be adapted to a den as he got older. There was a sun terrace outside their bedroom window at the back with an uninterrupted view over the farms and moorland up to the reservoir. Gill often brought work home and, unless it was freezing, it was a place she loved to sit while she did it.

‘We’re not struggling, Dave. That’s not struggling. We’re just having to be careful. Besides, I’d be on a bigger salary, from the start.’

‘If you get it,’ he pointed out. She bit her tongue. ‘Sounds as if you’ve already made your mind up,’ he complained.

‘Your mum or mine can come over in emergencies. They’d love to help. We can make this work.’ That was Gill’s mindset: decide what you want, plan a strategy to get you there, and get on with it.

‘He’s only little,’ Dave said. ‘Maybe in a few years…’

Feeling a prickle of annoyance, Gill got up, walked to the French windows, looked out at the garden, the cherry blossom, Sammy’s Jungle Gym. Turned to face him. ‘I might not get the chance again,’ she objected. ‘You know how limited jobs at the faculty are. If I don’t jump at-’

‘All I’m saying,’ Dave cut her off, putting on his reasonable voice, ‘is that your priorities-’

‘My priorities? My priorities.’ She laughed, not in the slightest amused. ‘Would we be having this conversation if it was you?’

‘Of course,’ he said, not even thinking about it.

‘No,’ she said, brusquely, ‘we wouldn’t. “He’s only three, Dave, wait until he’s at school, till he’s bigger, he needs his father here”, she mimicked. ‘No way!’ She felt close to losing her temper, her skin hot, harsh words, dangerous words crowding her throat. ‘But I’m expected to put things on hold because we have a child. Takes two to tango,’ she said. ‘I need you to back me on this. So I’ll think about my decision while you think about that.’ She’d walked out then. Agitated, disappointed.

Janet had listened to her recounting the discussion with Dave over a bottle of wine in a bar in the town centre.

‘You can’t not apply,’ Janet told her, ‘you’d never forgive yourself. You’re meant for this, you know you are. Supercop,’ she added drily. ‘You go, girl.’

‘I’d be back in between jobs anyway,’ Gill argued, ‘have reasonable leave.’

Janet laughed. ‘It’s not as if you’d be going off to the Antarctic or something. This is the twentieth century, nearly the twenty-first. There’s a girl in records, Indian, she’s left two kids with her mum in Delhi while she makes some decent money over here for them all. We don’t know we’re born half the time.’

‘I think he’s miffed,’ Gill said, raising her glass. ‘Me doing it and not him.’

Janet raised her eyebrows. ‘He’s a big lad, he’ll get over it. You know you could hack it. Maybe he couldn’t.’

Gill looked at her for a moment. Janet always had this precise, understated way of telling the truth. No flag waving or drum rolls. Straight to the point, measured, sensible, incisive. ‘Maybe that’s gonna be a problem,’ Gill said.

‘He’ll do all right for himself,’ Janet said. ‘He’s ambitious enough.’

‘What about you, though?’ Gill held up the bottle and Janet accepted a top-up. ‘You’ve never thought of moving into an MIT?’

‘I’m fine as I am,’ Janet said.

‘So, you’re going to stay on Division all your life. Not had enough of burglaries and assaults yet?’ Gill asked.

‘I get pulled on to the odd murder now and again when they need an extra detective. Not as if I never get a look-in. I’m not sure I’d want to do it all day every day.’

‘Give it time.’

Gill was dragged back to the present by a knock on her office door, as Phil Sweet the CSM came in to discuss the implications of Sean Broughton moving the duvet.

‘Snafu?’ Gill asked.

‘You could say that.’