Skinner's mission

4

‘If the fire was that strong, then for once I don’t blame Banks for reserving his opinion.’

Sarah Grace Skinner was not the greatest fan of her professional colleague, but she nodded in grudging approval as Bob described the scene of the blaze and the discovery of the body.

‘Once the pathologist has a look inside, though, he’ll be able to tell the gender right away. Add to that the fact that Mrs Charles has been with the same dentist for twenty years, then if it’s her you should know as soon as he sees her records.’

Bob nodded. ‘I expect so. On top of that there are the wedding rings. Jackie gave us his. Our lab people will look at the hallmarks under a microscope. If they match, that’ll back up the identification.’

He gave a small involuntary shiver. ‘What a subject to be discussing when I’m holding my only son, for almost the first time in a month.’

He thrust James Andrew Skinner, known by one and all as Jazz, high above his head. The child squealed with delight. ‘Boy,’ said his father, ‘but you’ve grown since I’ve been away.’ He looked sideways at his wife. ‘That’s what annoyed me most of all about Jimmy booking me for that American trip; the fact that I would miss a whole month of this fella’s first year.’

‘He missed you too,’ said Sarah with a smile, looking in her full-length bedroom mirror and adjusting her grey business skirt. ‘I had nothing but “Da-da-da” out of him every time the phone rang. I think he’s held back his first steps so that you would see them.’

‘He’s ready to walk, you think?’ he said, surprised. ‘I mean, he’s not a year old yet. Alex didn’t stir off her arse till she was about sixteen months.’

‘Asse,’ Jazz shouted, gleefully, relishing the sibilance of the sound.

‘Bob! I’ve told you to watch what you say around him. He’s like a parrot!’

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. Bottom, Jazz, okay? Bottom, bottom, bottom!’

‘Bmm! Bmm! Bum!’ the child mimicked, his strong voice rising in a triumphant crescendo.

‘Oh no! Look pal, let’s just concentrate on the toddling bit, okay?’ Bob lowered the baby on to his feet beside the bedroom chair, watching him as he took a grip of its arm with his chubby little fingers, then releasing him to stand upright, with only the chair’s support.

‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘Any day now.’

He stood up and turned his wife to face him, his hands on her shoulders. ‘And how’s his mother getting on? I haven’t had a chance to ask you since I got back. Still enjoying the University job?’

She looked up at him seriously. ‘There was a time, not so long ago, when you wouldn’t have had to ask me that question. You’d just have known. We used to be closer than Siamese twins, Bob. What’s happened to us?’

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and his face screwed up in exasperation. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said softly, ‘I’ve been accused of a few things in my time, but being knocked for not being telepathic any more, that’s a first.

‘I’ve been away for a month, remember. In your homeland.’ His voice rose, and Jazz frowned up at him, with a child’s keen awareness of changes in tone or expression.

Sarah nodded. ‘Yes, I realise that, but before you went away. .’

‘Before I went away, during the day you went to give your lectures, and I went to the gym, building myself back into something like I was before I was knifed, so I could go back to work as if nothing had ever happened to me. But at night you never talked about your work. Christ, you never talked about anything.’

She shot him a hot look. ‘No, because I knew there was only one thing you really wanted to talk about: my predecessor, Myra, and your newly-discovered obsession with her death, or rather, with your guilt.’

She saw his jawline tense. ‘What do you mean, my-’

‘Don’t. .’ She held up a hand to stop him ‘. . let’s get into this now. Or ever again, even!

‘Okay. You ask me about my job. Fine, I’ll tell you. I hate it. I don’t know why I ever took it on. Ego probably, the idea of having a chair, and being a Professor at my age. The reality is that it chills me to the bone. All those young faces, either thirsting for knowledge, or more likely putting in their specialist lecture time and waiting for the boring cow to finish. I stand up there every day and I feel unreal. I’m a doctor, and a damn good one, yet I’ve allowed myself to be turned into a dictating machine.’

‘What do you mean “turned into”?’ he snapped.

‘Don’t mess with me. I know what happened. The Principal asked Jimmy Proud if he could suggest anyone for the course, and you and he put your heads together and came up with me, because you thought it would give me more holiday time to look after the baby.

‘You manipulated me, Bob.’

He looked at her with pure scorn. ‘Rubbish! Jimmy came to me and asked if I approved of his putting your name forward, and we both came to you and asked you. And you said “Yes”. That’s how it was.’

She shook her head. ‘I did that because the way you looked at me made it quite clear that was what you wanted me to say. Not because it was what I wanted to do.

‘Still,’ she acknowledged, ‘I said “Yes”. As a consequence, during all that time you were recovering, I’d come home every night quivering with frustration. But you never even noticed, because your mind was on something — no, someone — else.’

They were both dimly aware of the staccato, staggering movement at their feet, yet they were staring at each other so fiercely that neither reacted to it, until each felt strong little fingers grip their clothing at the knee.

Only then did they look down, to see Jazz, beaming up at them in his delight at his first steps, which they, in their anger, had missed.