‘Not sure,’ he said flatly.
Anna got up and opened her briefcase; she took out the file of the newspaper clippings she’d taken from his flat.
‘I also wanted to talk to you about these.’ She placed the file down in front of him, but didn’t open it; instead, she went on to tell him about her talks with both Lewis and Barolli.
‘I tried to get them to explain a few things. They both took so long getting back to me, as they’re on enquiries and pretty busy, but I got the feeling that they didn’t really want to know: they felt you were putting pressure on them to trace your attacker, and… They said they couldn’t act like some kind of vigilantes, but I was stunned that, after what had happened to you, nothing seemed to be being done about trying to track the men down. Lewis was sure they would have got out of the country by now anyway.’
She wished Jimmy would say something, but he just remained silent, so she kept going.
‘When I was at your flat looking for some clean clothes, I found these newspaper cuttings. I know you’ve been collecting more whilst you’ve been here with me.’
He glared at her.
‘I wasn’t snooping about; they were in the drawer with your pyjamas.’ She waited, and then stood up. ‘For Chrissake, why don’t you say something?’
He suddenly hurled the champagne glass at the wall; it shattered, spraying the contents over the wallpaper.
‘Well, that was a reaction!’ she said angrily.
‘What the fuck do you want me to say?’ he grunted, and hauled himself to his feet, his face twisted with pain. ‘You sneak around, acting as if I was some mental retard that couldn’t deal with any of the shit you’ve just laid on me. These … these!’ He snatched up the file. ‘Just my personal research, nothing ulterior, nothing weird, just information for me to store up because of the screw-up confronting the Met. Like Lewis, like fucking Barolli, I am not intending to act like some vigilante to get these sons of bitches, nor did I ever at any time ask them to do anything improper or against the law. All I did ask was for them to keep me updated, because it isn’t over — not for me. I am not going to walk away and pretend this never happened. Why do you think I’ve been pushing myself to get back on the force? I want the fucker that sliced me open, and I’ll find him — but I’m not hiring a mask and a cloak, for Chrissakes!’
‘I never said you—’
‘You never said — that is it, isn’t it? You kept all this quiet, never opened your mouth about all this.’ He wafted the file. ‘Why in God’s name didn’t you talk to me?’
‘Because the time was never right! You almost died!’
‘You think I don’t know that?’
‘Maybe what you don’t know was what the effect of your injuries did to me and to everyone who knew you. I was afraid for you.’
‘Afraid?’
‘Yes. I didn’t want to upset you.’
‘Upset me?’
‘Yes! All I wanted was for you to get better; that was all I ever wanted and if I did wrong, then I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry I tried to protect you.’
‘Protect me from what?’
She burst into tears.
‘What the hell are you crying for?’
‘Because you make me feel as if I have done something wrong, when all I was doing, trying to do, was make sure you got well and fit.’
He stared at her, so angry that she could see the muscle in his cheek twitching. ‘I’m never going to be fit; I’ll have this for the rest of my life.’ He pulled open his shirt to show the scar. ‘I’ll look at this every day for the rest of my life. I’ll feel the ache in my knee just as a reminder. But they never slashed my brain, Anna; they never damaged my fucking head, and for you to tiptoe around, afraid I wouldn’t be able to deal…’
Anna turned and slammed out of the room and went into the bedroom. She flung herself onto the bed face down.
He kicked open the door. ‘I haven’t finished. Don’t you walk out on me like this!’
‘I’ve finished!’ she shouted.
‘Have you? You mean, there isn’t anything else you felt I couldn’t cope with?’
She whipped round. ‘I tell you what I am finding hard to cope with. You are a thankless, egotistical bastard, who never thinks of anyone but yourself. I have had to put up with all your shit for how many weeks? I can’t move in my own flat, but have you heard me complain? Have you? And all I tried to do was care for you, protect you. I didn’t want to bring up anything I’ve said tonight, for one reason. I didn’t want it to worry you.’
He was about to interrupt, but she flung a pillow at him.
‘Just for one second think about me; think about what I have gone through. I doubt that you can, because all you ever really think about is yourself!’
‘Well, now I am thinking of you. The sooner I get out of your life is obviously going to be the best for both of us!’
‘Fine — go ahead. You do exactly what you want, like you always do.’
Langton threw his clothes into a suitcase. She watched him for a few minutes before she walked out into the kitchen. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat at her breakfast bar, listening to him banging around the bedroom. After about fifteen minutes, he appeared in the doorway.
‘I’ll get the rest of my stuff packed up tomorrow.’
‘Whatever you want.’
He called a taxi and chucked his set of spare keys onto the coffee-table. She looked at him as he carried his case to the front door.
‘Won’t you need your keys to get into the flat to move all this crap out? Your bicycle, your rowing machine?’
‘I’ll let you know when I can get them moved out over to my place.’
Then he was gone.
All the shelves in the bathroom where he’d kept his rows of pills were empty. She was quite shocked, not at the available space, but how he had in such a rage remembered to take them all. He’d left some socks and a pair of shoes, his dirty laundry in the basket, a few shirts and one suit. She felt like taking a pair of scissors and cutting them to shreds; instead, she slammed the wardrobe door and went to clean up the broken champagne glass. Tipping it into the bin in the kitchen, she noticed a number of empty pill bottles. She took them out. They were all his painkillers but some of them, she noticed, had different strengths and, oddly enough, various labels, all from different chemists. She threw them back into the bin, tied up the plastic bag and placed it by the front door to take to the bins outside the next morning.
Anna had a terrible night. She couldn’t sleep, yet she didn’t feel like crying. The more she tossed and turned, the more angry she felt at the way he had behaved. She would not contact him; she was sure that, when he thought about the entire situation, he would apologize. She’d wait, because she did not feel she had in any way been at fault; all she had ever done was consider his recovery to be the most important thing. All he had very obviously done was selfishly make it his sole priority. Well, he had achieved what he was so determined to do: he had been reinstated as a leading detective in the Murder Squad. She would no doubt read about him in the Police Gazette, and by next week he would be attached to a murder enquiry.
Arthur Murphy’s trial would soon be over and she would be onto another case, obviously not with Langton. If he went down on bended knee for her to join whatever team he was selecting, she would never work alongside him again. In fact, by four o’clock in the morning, she had worked herself up into such a fury that she dragged down one of her own suitcases and hurled into it everything she could find that he had left behind. She then went into the hall and chucked it onto his rowing machine.
When Anna returned to bed, she decided she would ask Harry to help her remove everything and leave it at Langton’s flat. She punched her pillow with her fist and dragged the duvet cover around herself.