Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 11

She headed downstairs to the kitchen and flipped the kettle on. Recently she’d been dreaming a lot. As her return to work had drawn closer, her anxiety had found its release in nightmares. She had kept these to herself, keen not to give Steve further ammunition.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’

Steve had snuck into the kitchen and was looking at her. Charlie shook her head.

‘Nervous?’

‘What do you think?’ Charlie replied, trying to keep her tone light.

‘Come here.’

He opened his arms and she gratefully snuggled inside.

‘We’ll take it a day at a time,’ he continued, ‘I know you’re going to be great, that you’re going to get there… but if you ever feel it’s too much, or it’s not the right thing, then we can think again. No one will think any the less of you. Right?’

Charlie nodded. She was so grateful for his support, for his ability to forgive her, but his determination to get her to leave her job riled her. She understood why he hated the police force now, hated her job, hated the awful people out there in the world, and many times she’d thought about heeding his advice and just walking away. But then what? A lifetime spent knowing she’d been beaten. Forced out. Broken. The fact that Helen Grace had returned to work a month after Marianne’s death only poured fuel on the fire.

So Charlie had dug in, insisting she would return to work when her sick leave was up. Hampshire Police had been generous to her, had given her every ounce of support they could, and now it was her turn to give something back.

Breaking away, she made them both coffees – there was no point going back to bed now. The boiling water fell into the mugs erratically, splashing over the sides. Irritated, Charlie stared at the kettle accusingly, but it was her right hand that was to blame. She was shocked to see how much it was shaking. She swiftly put the kettle back on the mount, praying Steve hadn’t seen.

‘I’m going to skip coffee. Just shower and run today, I think.’

She turned to leave, but Steve stopped her, once more folding her into his big arms.

‘Are you sure about this, Charlie?’ he asked, his eyes boring into her.

A brief pause, then Charlie said:

‘Yes, absolutely.’

And with that she was gone. As she tripped up the staircase to the shower, however, she was well aware that her brave optimism was fooling no one, least of all herself.

‘I don’t want her.’

‘We’ve had this discussion, Helen. The decision’s been made.’

‘Then un-make it. I can’t say it any more clearly, I don’t want her back.’