When You Are Mine(54)

Our favourite Chinese restaurant in Wandsworth serves yum cha on weekends. It’s full of families at this hour. Henry has missed a smudge of mud on his earlobe, which I wipe away. As we wait to be seated, Archie slips from his side and peers at the fish in an aquarium. He taps the glass and talks to them, rocking back and forth on his heels.

A waitress shows us to the table. Henry inventories his aches and pains, showing me his grazed elbow and saying he might have ‘tweaked his hammie’. He seems different lately. Stressed. Normally his eyes are so warm and welcoming, but I’ve noticed a hardness in them, particularly when I mention Tempe or talk about the wedding. It’s as though he holds her responsible for my troubles at work, which I think is unfair. Whenever a man’s finger seeks someone to blame, it always seems to find a woman.

I’ve been off work since the hostage incident and will face a panel of inquiry into my surrendering of my weapon. The body-cam footage will exonerate me, as well as Lucinda’s statement, but I can’t take anything for granted because I have no allies in this fight.

This is one of the reasons that Henry is struggling – the politics. Why aren’t my colleagues leaping to my defence? Why isn’t the Police Federation doing more to support me?

‘What is going to happen at the hearing?’ he asks, toying with Archie’s box of crayons.

‘I will tell them exactly what happened.’

‘You’re not going to mention Goodall, are you?’

‘I have no proof.’

‘People are taking advantage of you,’ he mutters.

‘What people?’

‘Goodall. Your mother. Your friends.’

He won’t say Tempe’s name.

The waitress arrives, a skinny thing with a high ponytail and heavy mascara. Henry is much nicer to her than he has been to me. He negotiates sweetly with Archie, who only wants prawn crackers, but agrees to have some egg fried rice.

Our drinks are delivered and then the food. Henry orders another beer, then another. Looks like I’ll be driving home. Meanwhile, the restaurant buzzes around us and I feel captive rather than loved.

When our meals have been eaten, I excuse myself and visit the ladies. I’m on my way back to the table, when I hear Tempe’s voice.

‘Great minds,’ she says. ‘Are you here with Henry?’

‘And Archie. How about you?’

She holds up a laminated menu. ‘Picking up takeaway.’

‘Do people still do that?’ I ask, teasing her. ‘Why not get it delivered?’

‘I’m old-fashioned,’ she says. ‘And I feel sorry for those cyclists.’

‘But you don’t have a car.’

‘I borrowed one from a friend.’

I want to ask her which friend, but she’d realise that I’m prying.

‘How did you know about this place?’

‘You mentioned it. You said it was the best yum cha in London.’

‘Did I?’

I glance back at Henry, who is signalling to the waitress that he wants another beer.

‘We’ve finished eating, otherwise I’d ask you to join us,’ I say.

‘I could have a quick drink,’ she says brightly.

‘Look who I found,’ I say, as we reach the table. Henry nods a greeting but doesn’t get to his feet. Tempe has to find a chair. She doesn’t seem to notice his chilliness as she makes a fuss over Archie, letting him show her his matchbox toys and the racetrack he’s drawn on the tablecloth.

Our waitress arrives at the table with another beer for Henry, but he’s changed his mind and asks for the bill. Tempe doesn’t seem put out, but I’m embarrassed for both of us. My fairy-tale prince is acting like a toad, which is so unlike him. He lost a rugby game. I bumped into a friend. Ungrateful sod!





29


I make a point of visiting Tempe the next day to apologise. I pick up a bunch of carnations at a florist near the station, a Bulgarian who calls me ‘pretty lady’ and says that a boy should be buying me flowers. After a short drive and a lucky parking spot, I jog up the steps of Tempe’s building. As I reach the buzzer, I jerk my arm away. Someone has defaced the front door with red paint. The word WHORE is written in leaking capital letters that reach to the edges of the doorframe. More paint has spilled onto the front step and splattered the handrail.

Tempe answers the intercom, saying, ‘I’m sorry about the door.’

‘Was it him?’

‘I don’t know.’

She meets me at the top of the stairs. We hug. She seems more fragile today. Her hair is unbrushed and her eyes hollowed out.

‘I’ll get Henry to clean it off,’ I say.

‘I have it sorted. Mr Swingler upstairs says we have spare paint in the basement.’

She takes the flowers. ‘What are these for?’

‘Yesterday. I’m sorry about Henry. He was being a dickhead.’

‘Don’t apologise, I’m used to it.’

‘Why?’

‘People don’t like me very much.’

‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind. My grandma used to say, birds always peck at the best fruit.’ Tempe’s eyes begin shining. ‘I’ve never had a friend like you. You’re always so happy to see me. You don’t push me away. When I’m with you, I feel complete.’