. Thick as shit.
Janet had watched the light go out in his eyes, watched him squirm lower in his seat, knowing she had enough for the CPS, that she had dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s and gone through the whole alphabet with careful penmanship – win a flippin’ calligraphy prize for it – and got it bang to rights.
She heard the clatter of Taisie arriving, the slam of the door that shook the floor beneath Janet’s feet and rattled the double glazing.
‘Shut it, don’t slam it!’ Janet yelled.
Taisie came through, glanced at Janet’s plate, sucked her lip.
‘Make some toast,’ Janet said.
‘Can’t you do it? I’m tired.’
‘I’m tired.’
‘You want me to starve? I’ve just dragged myself thirty metres up a vertical rock face. My arms don’t work.’
‘And I’ve been sat on my arse all day making daisy chains out of paper clips.’ Janet got to her feet anyway, opened the bread bin.
‘Can I sleep over at Phoebe’s on Saturday?’ Taisie asked.
‘Who else is?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘More details,’ Janet said.
‘But…’
‘And if it’s a party, the answer is no. And I am going to ring her mother in advance to check.’
‘I really like the way you trust me,’ Taisie pouted.
Janet smiled.
‘But can I?’
‘We’ll see,’ Janet said, sticking the bread in the toaster. ‘Jam or peanut butter?’
‘Both.’ She sat down heavily. ‘Please, Mum?’ she begged.
‘We’ll see.’ Gill’s words at work. Janet groaned inwardly, wondered if she could put up with Miss Bailey Cockypants for six whole weeks or if the MIT would end up investigating the murder of one of their own.
Rachel ordered pizza just for a change.
‘Your usual?’ the guy on the phone asked.
‘Yeah, and extra garlic bread.’
‘Ten minutes.’
The flat was on the first floor, a conversion in a big Victorian villa. High ceilings, huge windows, parking out front. Single, on a decent wage, she could afford a nice place to live. Not as swish as Nick’s; he was in the middle of town, all mod cons, fridge the size of a walk-in wardrobe that made ice cubes by the chute-full, wet room, power shower, view over the city centre. Once she made sergeant, then she could get something like that, unless he invited her to move in. She wasn’t rushing things, didn’t want to frighten him off, sensing one thing he liked about her was her independence, the fact that she wasn’t really into all the slushy side of relationships – the chocs and flowers left her cold. Leave that to people like Alison, her sister, who’d been swallowed up by marriage and motherhood and vomited back up like some loony 1950s bimbo, earth mother crossed with desperate housewife. Though she did actually have a job outside the home, she never stopped bleating on about how tough it was, how guilty she felt.
