He had managed to get away from work shortly after four and he had been glad. It meant he had been able to honour his promise to take the boys to their football coaching session. Besides he enjoyed it, especially the final twenty minutes when the session always ended with a dads’ against lads’ kick-about. It brought back the memories of when he’d played amateur soccer in his twenties for a Sunday pub team many years ago. In fact the last time he had been able to play regularly was two years ago when he had played weekly five-a-side games whilst with Drug Squad.
He pushed through the front door into the hallway to find Beth holding onto the bottom newel post of the spindle staircase bawling up to emptiness, “Put your smelly clothes in the wash basket the pair of you and then get in the shower. I’ll be up in ten minutes to dry you off. And no putting on Sponge-Bob Squarepants until you’ve done that!”
Hunter used the bottom of his heel to close the front door. As he was doing so Beth spun round to catch him. She glared. He held up his son’s sports bags.
“What?” he replied, trying to suppress a grin. “I’ve got my hands full.”
“You’re as bad as they are,” she huffed. “How am I supposed to get them to treat the house with respect if you won’t take any notice?” she rebuked him.
He put on his scolded-boy look and leaned in to plant a kiss on her cheek.
She held him off with her hand on his chest but couldn’t help but break into a smile herself. “You’re stinky as well. Into the shower yourself before you come anywhere near me. Here give me the bags, I’ll sort them out and for your sins you sort out the boys.”
She relieved him of the sports bags and as she turned he slapped his hand affectionately against her firm bottom before sprinting up the stairs.
“You’re not too big to feel the back of my hand yourself Hunter Kerr!” he heard Beth shout from below as he made his way to the boys bedrooms to bundle up their discarded football kits and confine them to the clothes basket.
Fifteen minutes later, clean and refreshed and dressed comfortably in jogging bottoms and T-shirt Hunter stepped into the large dining kitchen; a rear extension of their three bedroom semi.
Beth was at their double cooker removing a dish from the oven. He slid behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist and nuzzled the nape of her neck.
“Smells good.”
“Home-made Lasagne.”
“Hmm, yummy. Fancy a kir?”
“Oh I’d love one Hunter. I’ve had a pig of a day. A man had a heart attack in the waiting room this morning. The doctor and I managed to get his heart beating again, thank goodness, but by the time the ambulance came to take him to hospital we were an hour behind with all our patients. And you can imagine that some of them were in a state themselves after witnessing it. I’ve been in catch-up mode all day.”
“And I think my day’s been tough!”
Going to the wine cupboard he placed a small amount of Frais des bois liquer in two wine glasses and then added the chilled Muscadet from the fridge. He took a sip and savoured the crisp cold fruitiness of the French aperitif. Then he handed a glass to Beth and letting out a deep sigh slunk into a chair around the farmhouse table centre-stage of their kitchen. He smoothed a palm over the hand-hewn oak surface reminiscing for a few seconds about the time when they had bought this. They’d both spotted it in an antique shop in the village of Settle when they’d spent a week in a cottage in the Yorkshire Dales a few years ago. It was an old battered piece of furniture and only three of the chairs matched but they’d instantly fallen in love with it and on the spur of the moment they’d bought it. It had proved to be an ideal gift to one another; it suited the deliberately designed shabby-chic appearance of the rest of the kitchen.
“I’ve left the boys in Jonathan’s room they’re playing on their X-Box,” he said casting his eye back to Beth who was slicing through the crusted topping with one hand and sipping her kir with the other. “I called in at mum and dad’s with the boys on the way back.”
“Oh yes,” she replied not turning around. “What did they have to say?”
“Mum was in on her own. I asked her where Dad was and she said he’d had to go back up to Scotland for a funeral.”
“Oh that’s sad. Anyone we know?”
“She mentioned a name, Archie something, but it didn’t ring any bells.”
Beth stopped what she was doing and spun around. “This is going somewhere isn’t it Hunter?” She raised her glass close to her lips but held it there. “Come on spit it out. I can read you like a book.”
He returned the look she was giving him. “It was just the way she said it. She said it was an old friend of his — she couldn’t remember his full name. I asked a few questions but I could tell she just wanted me to stop and shut up.”
“Well you’ve given your dad a hard time just recently.”
“And rightly so. I saw him arguing with someone, which he denied. Then they were run off the road by some maniac, which I think was linked. And when I push him for some answers he won’t talk to me. I know he’s hiding something but I don’t know what. Now this sudden disappearance back up to Scotland — he’s not been back there for years and years. In fact come to think about it I can’t ever remember him going back up there.”
“You’re too suspicious Hunter do you know that. It could be a genuine funeral for all you know. Think about it, all your dad’s pals from his past will be getting on in years now.”
“I can’t help but have that feeling that if I hadn’t called in to see them it wouldn’t have been mentioned.”
“I know what you’re saying Hunter but there’s nothing you can do about it is there? He’ll tell you when he’s good and ready. Just give him some space.”
“There’s something not right,” he muttered. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
Glagow, Scotland:
“Cop!” Billy almost upended the tray, containing his fish supper, onto his lap as he fought frantically to get his baseball cap down over his eyes.
“Where?” demanded Rab, instinctively sliding himself lower into the driver’s seat.
“There!” Using one hand to point, with the other, Billy pulled harder on the peak, lowering it a little further. Satisfied that he had hidden enough of his face he lifted his head slightly and peered through the windscreen, setting his sights, twenty yards in front, on the dark haired man in the short grey overcoat who was leaning back against the driver’s side of the dark blue Vauxhall Vectra. The man appeared to be scanning the street, and he shot a glance in their direction, but it was only fleeting.
Rab went for the key in the ignition but Billy snapped a gloved hand around his wrist.
“No, just wait! I don’t think he’s spotted us.”
“How do you know he’s a cop?”
“I saw him a couple of weeks ago at the bail hostel, talking with the supervisor.”
Placing his hands on the dashboard he leaned forward to get a clearer view.
“I wonder what he’s doing here, in this neck of the woods? And it looks as though he’s alone. Just wait a moment and see what he’s up to. If he clocks us then we piss off.”
Billy pushed himself away from the dash and settled back into his seat. Returning to his supper, whilst watching intently out through the windscreen, he picked out several chips from the polystyrene tray and loaded them into his mouth.
Five minutes later he caught sight of movement; a slim, dishevelled man appeared from a small side street, parallel to where the Vauxhall Vectra was parked, and stopped opposite the plain clothed cop.
“Well just look who it is?” Billy’s eyelids screwed into hardened slits as he watched the pair strike up a conversation. “I wonder if we’re on their agenda by any chance?”
Watching as the shabbily dressed man accepted a cigarette from the detective, he reached beneath his seat, exploring, until he sought out what he had been looking for. Hooking his fingers around the steel wheel brace he began to slide it out from beneath its hiding place.