Spencer was staring at her as she spoke. 'No she doesn't,' he protested, loudly. 'She gives us our breakfast on trays while we watch Live and Kicking. It's only on our birthdays she does that.'
The little girl glowered back at her brother for a few seconds, until her head dropped, and until the first big tears fell into her lap.
'Hey Lauren,' said Sarah, gently, 'come on through here with me for a bit. Bob, you dish up the cereal.'
They were gone for around five minutes. When they returned, the child was pale but smiling, her eyes red, but dry. She took her place without a word, and began to tuck into her breakfast. Spencer reached across and gave his sister's arm a quick squeeze. 'Hey Lauren, look out there,' he spluttered, his mouth not quite empty. 'We've been
watching an oil rig.' He pointed out of the conservatory, towards the estuary, where two tugs were hauling a great three-legged structure out towards the open sea.
'Sometimes they bring rigs in here for maintenance,' said Mark, in his matter-of-fact voice. He was younger than either of the Mcllhenney children, but carried himself, automatically, as their equal, as often, he did with adults. Bob and Sarah's step-son, adopted after the death of both of his parents, was a remarkably assured and gifted little boy; if they had a concern about him it was that somehow, through all his experiences, part of his childhood had passed him by.
'Okay,' Sarah interrupted, briskly. 'What are we going to do this morning?'
'Internet,' Mark replied at once.
Jazz simply laughed and slammed his spoon down on the tray of his high chair. 'Stop splashing, young man,' his mother said. 'Mark, you can go on the Net any time during the weekend. I've got a better idea. Lauren, Spencer, I asked your dad to pack your swim stuff, so what say I take the three of you to the Commonwealth Pool, and we all go on the flumes?'
Spencer's eyes lit up. 'Phwoah! Yes please!'
'That would be nice,' Lauren added.
'As long as I don't have to go on the big one,' Mark whispered.
Always, he made that proviso, Sarah knew, yet always, when it came to it, he plucked up his courage and made the vertical slide.
'Right,' she said. 'That's a done deal. As soon as breakfast is over you can go and get ready.'
'What about Jazz?' Spencer asked. 'Can't he come?'
'James Andrew is still a bit young for the flumes. His dad will look after him while we're swimming.'
'Hear that. Kid?' Bob laughed. 'It's just you and me. Maybe we'll go fishing: how about that?'
'You can do what you like, as long as you meet us afterwards at the Bar Roma. I'll book a table there for one thirty.'
The pace of breakfast picked up. Soon the three older children were excused from the table, to go and pack their swimming trunks and towels. 'How was Lauren?' Skinner asked, as soon as the little girl had gone.
'Scared,' his wife answered. 'She's a very perceptive kid. She doesn't really understand what's happening to her mother, but she knows it's not good.
'I told her that Olive had an illness and that she was having treatment that wouldn't hurt her but that would make her sick for a day or two, before it made her better. I told her that after that, she would need Lauren to be very grown up, to help by doing things around the house that she might be too tired to manage.' Sarah smiled.
'Know what she said then?'
Bob shook his head.
'She asked if her daddy would be all right.'
'What did you say?'
'I told her that Neil needed her to be brave, just as much as Olive did.'
She broke off as the children reappeared. 'Okay,' she called out.
'Line up, let's count heads and let's go. Bob, I'll take your car, just so we don't have to swap over Jazz's safety seat.'
Skinner nodded, reached into the pocket of his jeans and tossed her the key. He walked them to the door, waving them off as the BMW pulled out of the drive, then returned to the conservatory, where his younger son was shifting impatiently in his feeding chair.
'So, young man,' he boomed. 'Here we are. The toys, is it? Or would you rather do something else?' A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. 'How would you like to come to work with your Old Man? No, you're never too young to learn about being a detective.'
44
There was an empty parking space at the back entrance to the veterans' nursing home in Calton Road, next to Dr Surinder Gopal's flat. Skinner lined up Sarah's 4x4 against the white wall, and looked up at the top floor of the old brewery store, where Brian Mackie had said that the missing doctor lived.
'She comes here every morning,' he said to his son, over the noise of the Spice Girls. They were Jazz's favourites; he was still short of his second birthday, but there was something about their music which could keep him happy for hours. 'She does the dusting, feeds the budgie and takes in his mail. The boy's Mammy's good to him, isn't she.
'Let's just check whether she's here just now. Back in a minute.' He jumped out of the car, paid the parking fee, grudgingly as always, then walked to the entrance door to the old building. He found the buzzer marked 'Gopal' and pressed, leaning on it for several seconds.
Eventually, a woman's voice answered 'Yess?'
'Is Mary in?' Skinner asked.
'Pardon?'
'Is Mary in?' He looked at the names beside the other buzzers.
'Mary Blake.'
'There no Mary here,' said Mrs Gopal, impatiently.
'Aw sorry, hen,' said the policeman. 'Must have pressed the wrang bell.'
He was still smiling as he climbed back behind the wheel of the Freelander. Sitting with his back turned to the door, he looked into the back seat, at his son, who was still listening to the Spices, and mangling a picture book in his strong hands. 'She's in, right enough.
Let's just wait and see where she goes next.'
'This is what CID work is really about, Jazzer,' he murmured.
'Long hours spent sat on your bum…'
'Bum,' the child repeated.
'… or worse, stood out in the could freezing your chuckies off.
But every so often…' He smiled,'… you get lucky, and that makes it all worthwhile.'
He sighed. 'I miss it, you know. Wee Man. Times like this; they're bonding experiences, the detective and his neebur — or neighbour, as we say in Edinburgh — his partner, sharing the hours of boredom, then sharing the buzz when they do get a result.
'I have to tell you, too, that I still get a perverse pleasure out of stealing a march on the lads.' He laughed, softly, as Jazz began to sing nonsense sounds along with Stop, making a passable effort at following the tune.
'I almost told Mackie yesterday that he should try this, but then I thought, "No. Keep it for yourself, Robert. Take the chance to get out of that bloody office."'
He was still smiling when he heard the soft knock from behind him, on the driver's window. He turned, annoyed by the interruption, to see Steve Steele looking through the glass, a shade anxiously.
He had to switch on the car's electrics before he could lower the window. 'What the hell are you doing, sergeant?' he asked.
'The same as you, I think, sir. Just being curious.'
'Do it in here then. Get in.'
The young sergeant nodded, walked round the back of the car and climbed into the passenger seat, being careful not to scrape the door against the wall. Skinner nodded towards the back seat. 'This is my oppo,' he said, 'my younger son, Jazz.' He looked over his shoulder.
'Wee man, this is Stevie. There's worse detectives than him on the force, believe you me.'
He paused. 'Did you tell Mr Mackie you were going to do this?' he asked.
Steele shook his head. 'No sir. I suppose I should have.'
'Aye,' said Skinner heavily, guilt setting in. 'So should I.'