He looked at his watch. Fifteen seconds to go. He put the picture down, walked over to the gas cooker and stood over the boiling pan. As the second hand swept up to the two minute mark, he took the pan off the heat and ran cold water into it to halt the cooking process. As he took the eggs to the table, the toast popped up and his mother walked into the kitchen.
‘Perfect timing mum.’
His mother smiled. Yesterday she had looked drawn and tired. Now, with the ordeal of the funeral over, she looked young for her 64 years. He put the hot toast in the basket, covering it with a cotton napkin.
‘Thank you Ian. It’s good of you to stay on, but you won’t talk me out of selling this house you know.’
Ian gave her a rueful smile. ‘I never really supposed I would, I’m just hoping to persuade you to not to rush into something you could regret later.
‘Which means not selling up?’
‘No. It means not selling until you’re sure. Most of your friends are in this area. Moving to Hamsworth would mean not seeing them, and I’m not sure I want to spend the rest of my time in the force at Hamsworth.
‘It’s time you married again and put down some roots.’
‘Yes mum. Good idea, but just one snag. I’ve yet to find the right person.’
‘Dad thought Sally was right for you.’
‘So did I, but she couldn’t hack being married to a copper.
‘I never had that problem with your father.’
‘Dad was always uniform mum. He worked shifts; you always knew when he would be home.’
A silence settle between them as his mother tapped the top of her first egg and carefully removed enough shell to dip a teaspoon in. He sliced the top of his with a knife, before pouring her a coffee. They both liked it black. At least they had that in common.
The telephone rang. She held put a hand up to indicate he should stay where he was and went into the living room. A few seconds later she returned with the phone.
‘It’s Hamsworth police.’
He took the phone, walked over to the French windows and looked out into the garden. ‘Hi Jennie, what’s the problem?’
His mother studied his body language as he spoke and picked up on the gist of the conversation. There was a suspected murder and the woman thought he should visit the scene of the crime before they removed the body. He obviously trusted her as he immediately agreed, telling her that she should keep Kimberley out of it. Then he assured her that she had done the right thing in phoning his mother’s number. He would leave right away. He switched off the phone. ‘Sorry about that, but my mobile was switched off from yesterday.’
‘Finish your breakfast before you go Ian.’ There was no hint of disappointment although he knew she had been hoping he would stay another night.
He sat down and buttered a piece of toast. ‘Sorry mum, the one weekend I’m away and we have a suspected murder.’
‘It’s your work dear. Your father was always proud of the way you went about it. But tell me, who is Jennie? She sounds very nice.’
‘She’s on my team – Detective Constable.’
‘Are you on first name terms with all the people on your team?’
He smiled at her, knowing full well where she was coming from. ‘Not all, but I treat the best of them as equals, outside work.’
She shuffled forward in her seat. ‘So what is she like?’
He laughed. ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree mum. Jennie Leadbetter is very bright and very attractive. She is also twelve years younger than me.’
‘Not married then?’
‘No, but I think she was in a long term relationship when she was a teacher.’
‘What did she teach?’
‘Physical Education and Biology.’
‘You seem to know a great deal about her. You obviously fancy her.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘You pulled your stomach in when you talked to her.’
‘I don’t have a stomach.’
‘Yes you do. You’re getting a paunch; if you don’t do something about it, no self respecting girl will look at you. Don’t worry about clearing the table, I can manage, you mustn’t keep Jennie waiting.’
He laughed. ‘Mum, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I told you.’
‘Yes, and I know you fancy that girl, so do something about it.’
‘I’m too old for her, she’d never be interested in me. Besides, I would never make a pass at someone who works for me.’
His mother got up and collected the plates. ‘In that case, you’ll either have to encourage her to go back to teaching, or hope she makes a pass at you.’
Ian Cardhew's mother waved goodbye as he drove off but before the car had turned out onto the main road, she had dialled 1471, connecting back to the last call.
‘Hello, is that Jennie? This is Mary, Ian’s mother. He has just left: Now dear, don’t tell him I called but there’s something you should know…’
Peter Bunford was propped up in bed with a mug of tea. What a night! When they left the hospital, they took a taxi back to his house; as expected, Julie was not there. He collected a few clothes and toiletries and the taxi took them on to Lydia’s place. It was a two bedroom flat, in a block built on the old cinema site, close to the town centre. Peter could remember them being built and thinking how out of place they looked, but after eight years, the modern design had somehow blended in. Her flat was on the top floor, the fifth. They took the lift, dropped off his bag and set off for something to eat. They settled on a small bistro which was dimly lit and quiet. They had both seen the pictures in the evening paper and the last thing they wanted was to be recognised.
When they returned to the flat, she helped him take off his shirt and put on the pyjama jacket. Then she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his trousers. Everything was under control until she stooped to pull them off. His erection was immediate and unmistakeable, although she chose to ignore it, folding his trousers and carefully putting them on a hanger with his shirt. As she opened a wardrobe he managed to hook the thumbs of his bandaged hands over the waistband of his underpants and pull them off. Willing his erection to go away, he turned towards the head of the bed. She was moving around by the wardrobe for sometime, but his erection stayed solid. He felt her hand rest on his shoulder and give it an affectionate rub. ‘Shall we put these back in your bag?’ He put his hands down to cover his recalcitrant member and turned to face her. It was the first time he had seen her without glasses – and without any clothes on. She moved in close and he put his arms around her.
As he took another sip of tea, Lydia came back into the bedroom, wearing a long lime green dressing gown and her glasses; no longer the insatiable sex kitten of last night.
‘Have you finished Pete?’
He drained the cup. She took it and put it on the dressing table over by the curtained window, shrugged off the dressing gown, took off her glasses and snuggled under the duvet.
‘Now where were we?’ She unbuttoned the pyjama top and slithered up to give him a long lingering kiss. Then he felt her breasts brushing his chest as she eased down onto his extreme erection. He recalled the look of sheer joy on her face as she achieved full penetration the previous evening and there it was again, followed by a soft moan as she gyrated her hips before lifting up to tease herself on the tip of his penis. Peter would have preferred to be on top, but they both knew that would be difficult until his hands healed. She was doing all the work and it felt fantastic. Her breasts pressed hard against his chest and he carefully wrapped his arms around her as she began slowly lifting up and down the full length of his penis. With Julie, he would have been worried about finishing quickly before she wanted to stop, but he had no such fears with Lydia, who proudly told him every time she was about to come, or shoot, as she put it. Now he knew he could hold back and increase her pleasure, although it was difficult when she started grinding her hips against him as she was now.