Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(10)

Lowerson whimpered.

No television meant no Nintendo…

On that score alone, Yates was already thinking of where she might procure some cat treats to reward their furry friend for his public service.

As for the rest…

“The damage isn’t too bad, really,” she said, hauling the tree upright while Lowerson checked the cat’s paws for any nicks or cuts. “I can’t understand how he managed to get in here, though. We keep the door closed at night.”

Lowerson spotted a small mound of carpet fluff beside the door, where Paws had obviously tried to burrow his way in from the direction of the kitchen.

Probably best not to mention it, now.

He set the cat down and smiled as it wandered straight back towards the tree, having apparently forgotten the recent calamity.

“I think we may be fighting a losing battle,” he said. “Cats like to climb trees, and there’s a tree right there, decorated with all kinds of shiny, interesting things.”

Yates looked down at the cat, who belly-crawled its way towards a stray bauble before scuttling back again, in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

“After my sister died, my parents didn’t really bother celebrating holidays,” she said quietly, dropping down to ruffle the cat’s ears. “There were no more Christmas trees, no more Easter egg hunts or anything like that because…well, there was very little joy left in the house. Since having my own place, I’ve enjoyed being able to rediscover some of the magic again, but, if it means having to wake up to this kind of mess, every day…”

She shook her head.

“A cat can’t help being a cat; he doesn’t know he’s not supposed to climb a Christmas tree, but we can’t afford to keep replacing our television sets.”

Lowerson thought of Melanie as a younger woman, repressed within the confines of her parents’ home, and would never have denied her the simple joy of decorating a tree.

“I’ll be in charge of Cat Patrol,” he decided. “We’ll keep the door closed, for starters, and I’ll get him another scratching post and decorate that to look more like a tree, since he’s too young to go outside and play with the real things.”

Melanie looked across at Jack and felt a surge of emotion. They’d come a long way, she thought, and the road hadn’t always been smooth. But, standing there together, surrounded by gaudy Christmas tat, with a cat playing happily at their feet, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Jack?”

“Mm hmm?” he said, while he lifted the broken television up into his arms.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no trouble,” he said, tapping the edge of the box. “I’ll put it in the garage, for now—”

“No, I didn’t mean that,” she smiled. “I meant…thanks for all this.”

She spread her arms to indicate the room, their home—the life they now shared. It was more than anything she’d ever had before, and it would take some getting used to.

“I’m so glad we managed to work things out, so we could get to this point in our lives.”

Jack set the television down again and stepped carefully over the cat’s tail to link his arms around her waist.

“Mel, there’d be no home without you in it,” he said softly. “I should be thanking you for being so patient and forgiving. I know it hasn’t been easy, at times, and I’m sorry.”

Rather than answering him directly, she reached for a sprig of fake mistletoe that had somehow lodged itself behind one of the sofa cushions and held it aloft.

“Christmas kiss?” she offered.

“Let’s keep it hanging all year round,” Jack replied, and gathered her into his arms.





CHAPTER 5


By the time Ryan arrived at the Northumbria Police Headquarters on the stroke of nine, he’d lost count of the number of strong coffees he’d already imbibed that morning, but could be certain of one thing: there was always room for more.

He made a beeline for a trendy-looking vehicle, affectionately known as the ‘Pie Van’. It might have rebranded itself and polished up its rough edges, but ‘Stevie’s Coffee Shack’ would forever be known to the men and women of the Northumbria Criminal Investigation Department as the place to go for caffeine, sugar, carbs and questionable meat sources—which was just the way they liked it.

“Five coffees, please,” Ryan said, and yawned again. “Three with milk, two without, and throw a couple of sugar sachets on the side.”

It was a point of principle that he would never step foot inside CID without bringing his staff their first ‘proper’ coffee of the day.

“Cow’s milk, almond milk, soya milk or goat’s milk?” Stevie asked.

Ryan blinked. “What?”

“Cow’s mi—”

“No, I heard you the first time. I was just shocked you’d ask me, after all these years.”

Stevie stroked the beard he thought made him look ‘hipster’—but which, in reality, bore a strong resemblance to the one modelled by Captain Birdseye—and crossed his tattooed arms on the serving counter.

“Sorry, mate, it gets to be a habit,” he said. “Everybody’s changin’ their lifestyle, these days, and nobody gives you any notice until you’ve already frothed the milk. Take Frank—for ten years or more, he’s been asking me for coffee with full-fat milk and two sugars; three, if Denise isn’t lookin’. Then, out of the blue, he starts asking for a peppermint tea.”