Liar Liar

87

Charlie lay in bed and listened to the sirens. Another night, another set of fires. It was unbelievable but it was true. She had tried to avoid anything work-related given the horrific day she’d endured, but Southampton’s news was now national news, so even though she’d flicked her DAB radio to a classical station in an effort to relax, the news bulletins still brought real life crashing back into her world. In the end, she’d turned the radio off, pulling the duvet up around her chin, hoping against hope that she could block out the madness and get some sleep.

But old habits died hard. And even as she lay there tossing and turning, there was a part of Charlie that wanted to text Sanderson or McAndrew to find out what was going on. In normal circumstances she would have done so already, probably while driving to the station to pitch in, regardless of whether it was her shift or not. As a police officer you just want to know the details – to find out if you can help, if there is anything that can be done. Even now, with Steve counselling her not to dwell on recent events, with Charlie herself trying to wrench her mind towards more mundane, domestic matters, there was a part of her that craved the detail. What was happening out there?

When you’re wallowing in ignorance, your mind conjures up the very worst kind of images. Who’s to say that their arsonist hadn’t exceeded himself tonight, visiting his most serious night of chaos on Southampton? Charlie shook her head to ward off such morbid thoughts, but suddenly all sorts of nightmarish images presented themselves. Charlie knew she was disturbing Steve and didn’t want to have to explain why, so she fled their room, heading past Jessica’s bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen.

She poured herself a cool glass of water from the jug in the fridge and, having downed half the glass, held it to her forehead. She was surprised to find that she was sweating and for a moment the cold glass soothed her. Draining the glass, she refilled it and drained it again. She seemed to be locked into some kind of panic now. She felt dizzy and, steadying herself with a hand on the kitchen island, lowered herself to the floor. It was cool down here, the quarry tiles radiating a wintery chill from the frozen ground below, but Charlie liked the sensation, so slowly spread herself out, feeling the coolness seep into her chest, her stomach, her thighs. If Steve found her like this he’d probably ship her straight off to the funny farm, but Charlie didn’t care. She just wanted to be calm, cool and quiet for a moment.

Lying in the darkened kitchen, Charlie felt invisible and momentarily safe from the world. Perhaps this could be her sanctuary for the night, a place where she could process the terrible tragedy of little Alice’s death without disturbing Steve or Jessica. But to do so she’d have to ignore the sirens that wailed outside, ebbing and flowing, but never truly going away. It was as if every emergency vehicle in Southampton was out there right now, chasing shadows. And each time they neared her house, they seemed to accuse Charlie directly, shaming her for her absence. And tonight she felt every bit of that shame. They were right to lambast her – she deserved no mercy from them.

She’d always thought of herself as a dedicated and diligent officer, but tonight she felt nothing of the sort. Tonight she knew in her heart that she was nothing but a coward and a fraud.