Edith was getting ready to leave when Jane walked in to the CID office and sat down at her desk, in a glum mood.
‘I’m off home now,’ Edith said.
‘Edith, do you think DCI Shepherd’s got it in for me? He keeps his distance from me, and I get all the dross. I’m investigating dead-end crimes that none of the other detectives are allocated. I know that he was very complimentary to me, and agreed for me to return to Bow Street…’
‘As I keep on telling you, Jane, the Met really don’t like giving women the kudos they deserve. They’re old-school, and Shepherd is as well… although he maintains that he’s a forward thinker, in my opinion he plays by the rules — and those rules don’t include female detectives.’
On returning to the section house Jane sat on her bed, feeling thoroughly depressed. She had been thinking of moving out and renting a flat of her own now she was earning a sufficient salary. She had saved a considerable amount living at the section house. The time was right for her to be independent.
Later that evening she called her parents and told her father that she was contemplating moving. Mr Tennison encouraged her to think about buying rather than renting. He even offered to help by paying the deposit, saying that in the long run it would be much better for her to own a flat and pay a mortgage, as it would be an investment.
Jane’s morale was boosted. If she couldn’t improve her working schedules at Bow Street, she could at least change her personal lifestyle, and be more independent.
DCI Shepherd didn’t approach Jane after their meeting, so she carried on working on the low-level investigations she had been assigned to. She was disappointed, but at least she now had another focus, spending her days off looking at possible flats. She was unsure how she was going to manage financially, as she had only just bought a second-hand VW Golf. However, Jane’s father actively encouraged her and produced a list of areas that he felt would be suitable.
‘I don’t want to jump the gun, Daddy. This is really going to stretch my wages… so far I haven’t seen anywhere suitable.’
‘It takes time, dear, and you won’t be jumping the gun. I’ll look into everything with you. If we find a place that needs fixing up you can call on your brother-in-law, Tony, to help with the carpentry, and I can do the decorating.’
Mrs Tennison was not quite as enthusiastic and was anxious about Jane moving into a flat on her own and taking on such responsibility. She had even suggested that Jane might want to go back and live at home with them again. She constantly worried about Jane and felt that, if she wasn’t living at home, it was safer for her to be in secure accommodation like the section house, along with other police officers.
‘It sometimes feels like I imagine a school dormitory would be, Mum, with no privacy… and I hate the communal bathrooms. I really want to find my own place.’
‘Well, in my opinion, if you get your own place there’ll be no incentive for you to meet someone, get married and set up a home together. Just like Pam and Tony did.’
After years of being compared to her sister, Jane had learnt not to argue with her mother, or to listen to her opinions. Mrs Tennison was still unable to cope with Jane’s career choice, and would far rather that she had been more like Pam and had chosen a safe ‘homely’ job. She had always been prone to anxiety, and if she had known of the horrors that Jane had been subjected to during her training and at her various attachments since then, she would be even more neurotic.
On her days off, Jane and her father scoured the estate agents’ windows, viewed endless properties and made arrangements for a mortgage. She had a file of estate agents’ particulars and spent her breaks in the canteen having coffee and sifting through them all. Edith was very supportive of Jane buying her own flat, although she was quick to dismiss one property after another as being too far out of the West End, or in an unsatisfactory area. Edith owned her own small terraced house in Hackney but constantly complained that the neighbourhood was going downhill and that it was not a good investment for her future. Her elderly mother suffered from dementia and she was dependent on social welfare carers to be able to look after her. Jane had once asked Edith if she had considered placing her mother into a care home.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it! She might be the bane of my life but she’s my mother… even though she often doesn’t know who I am, and she’s a constant worry, but when she is lucid it makes it worthwhile. I’m sure if you were ever in the same situation, Jane, you would do the same.’
Jane nodded in agreement, although the thought of losing one or other of her parents and having to care for them by herself was too much to even contemplate.
As she was pondering, DCI Shepherd summoned her into his office.
‘Detective Tennison, I have been giving your request for a transfer some serious thought. You are, as I have said to you before, far too inexperienced a detective to join an elite squad like “The Sweeney”. But they have a sub-division known as the “Dip Squad”… if you do well there it could be a stepping stone towards the Flying Squad. They’re quite keen for a female to join them, and I can get you up on an attachment, if their DCI agrees.’
‘What exactly is the Dip Squad, sir?’
‘Well, they deal with professional pickpockets… there’s shed-loads of them descending in force from overseas, most notably Italy, Chile and Colombia. The Dip Squad are working right now with teams along Oxford Street, Regent Street and Piccadilly, as well as teams covering underground stations at Victoria, Embankment and Oxford Circus. So, how does that sound to you?’
Jane wasn’t at all sure, but at the same time if this might be a possible route to the more glamorous Flying Squad then she knew she should accept.
‘Thank you very much, sir.’
Shepherd stood up, dismissing her. ‘Good. I’ll let you know as soon as I get confirmation.’
Jane was beaming when she went back into the CID room and Edith swivelled around to look at her.
‘I may be transferred to the Dip Squad.’
Edith shrugged and turned back to face her typewriter. ‘Rather you than me, dear… it’s a dreadful, dirty little office and they don’t even have any clerical staff. Oh, by the way, I meant to show you this.’
Edith handed her an advert from The Job, the Met’s official newspaper.
‘I think it sounds really interesting… an ex-clerical worker based in Scotland Yard is offering her flat for sale. Good location, just off Baker Street, a minute from the Underground. It’s got two bedrooms, and I think it’s a very reasonable price.’
Jane jotted down the information. As she was off duty that afternoon she arranged to go and see the flat in Melcombe Street. She walked the short distance from Baker Street underground station and liked the location as it was so close to Regent’s Park. Melcombe Street was a small turning, with a row of shops on one side and narrow three-storey houses opposite. There was no front garden as they were built back from the pavement, but the houses were whitewashed and looked well kept. The door to number 33 was freshly painted with a row of brass bells on one side. She rang the bell for the top flat and waited.
After a short while a very pregnant woman opened the door and introduced herself as Mrs Taylor. Jane could immediately see why she wanted to sell the flat. She followed the woman up three flights of narrow stairs, and reaching the top floor, Mrs Taylor had to stand and gasp for breath.
‘Are you all right?’ Jane asked, concerned.
‘Yes, I just get so breathless. I used to run up these stairs before I was pregnant… they never bothered me. But I’ve only a month to go and it feels like I’m carrying a sack of coal in front of me!’