The Babysitter(63)

Guessing at Jade’s age, Lisa was checking yearly college student intakes when she heard Edwards raise his voice. He wasn’t happy. By the sound of it, neither was Mark. ‘I was out last night,’ he yelled heatedly back. ‘Yes, I had a few drinks. Since when did that become a criminal offence?’

‘Since you’re obviously so hungover you can’t see straight! You’re exhausted. Go home!’

Wincing, Lisa glanced in Cummings’ direction. He was just loving this, the smug bastard.

‘Immediately, DI Cain,’ Edwards called after him, as Mark emerged furiously from his office.

Lisa closed down her search window and hurried over as Mark yanked his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘That went well then?’

‘It just gets better. I’ll text you… ring you tomorrow.’ He stormed to the door, and Lisa saw his jaw clench as Cummings stood to open it for him.





Forty-One





MARK





Attempting to calm down, Mark selected some soothing music as he drove around for a little while before going home. Chopin’s ‘Piano Sonata No. 2’, though, served only to heighten his anger and frustration. Was he being monitored on overhead cams by Cummings, he wondered, for whatever perverse reason that would no doubt become clear? Probably. Bastard. Blowing out a frustrated sigh, Mark selected Vaughan Williams’ ‘The Lark Ascending’ instead – one of Evie’s favourites – and tried to get some perspective on his life. Edwards was right, of course. He wasn’t capable of doing his job. Mark dearly wished he hadn’t dragged him over the coals in earshot of that wanker Cummings though, who would probably get off on it.

He was exhausted, weary to his bones. He needed to do as Edwards had advised and take some time. He was no use to anyone like this. At least he wasn’t being put on ‘voluntary’ gardening leave for the foreseeable future, as he’d half expected to be. That was something.

Feeling more in control, Mark turned for home. He couldn’t help wishing it felt more like a home, that he could turn the clock back, or forward. That he could make this whole mess go away. He couldn’t. No one could. All he could do was be there. And he would be. If Mel was fighting, he’d fight alongside her.

Mel’s car wasn’t there, he noticed as he pulled up, which meant that Jade and the kids weren’t back yet. That was good. As much as he loved his children, it would be nice for Mel and him to have some space.

Mark parked up and let himself in, and his heart nose-dived. Cosy conversation wasn’t going to happen, he realised, any more than dinner was. Clangs and curses were coming from the kitchen, followed by ‘For God’s sake, Hercules, get out of the way!’ Mark headed in that direction, stopping confounded in the doorway as a scene of utter chaos greeted him.

‘Mel?’ he said. The first thing he noticed was the open red wine bottle on the island, half empty, he noted, his heart plummeting further. Warily, he turned his gaze towards Mel, who appeared to be fishing wormlike spaghetti from the overflowing sink. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, trying hard to reserve judgement.

‘This bloody house happened!’ Mel swiped her hair from her face, clanged the colander on the drainer, and turned to glare at him. ‘The bloody sink’s blocked up. I told you the plumbing was packing up. Everything’s packing up. Hercules! Get out!’ She scowled down at the dog, who was helping herself to the spaghetti on the floor.

Mark’s heart skipped a beat as Mel grabbed her roughly by the collar and attempted to drag her out.

‘Jesus, Mel, don’t.’ Mark stepped in, herding Hercules towards the back door. ‘She’s just doing what dogs do.’

‘Yes, scavenging!’ Mel snapped, dropping down to scrape up the spilled spaghetti. ‘Because you didn’t take her to training lessons, because you were too busy working! As usual. She’s been asleep in the middle of the kitchen floor for the last hour. I’ve had to keep walking around her while I’m trying to cook. She’s completely out of control.’

What? Mark definitely couldn’t get his head around that one. The demands of work meant he’d missed one or two sessions, but the dog had been to training lessons. Not eating spaghetti off the floor hadn’t been covered, but he decided for the sake of argument not to point that out. Christ! About to help her clean up, he headed fast for the gas hob instead, where he realised there was a pan close to catching fire.

‘Shit!’ he cursed, grabbing the handle without thinking and then dropping it as fast as he’d picked it up. It landed with a crash, spewing the contents across the ceramic tiles to add to the mess already there.

Mel looked up sharply. ‘Why in God’s name did you do that?’

‘It was hot!’ Dammit. Shaking his scalded hand, Mark headed for the sink to run it under the cold tap. He cursed silently when he realised he couldn’t.

‘Are you hurt?’ Mel asked, concerned now she’d realised he’d hurt himself.

Mark reached for the tea towel, wetting it and wrapping it around his hand. ‘No,’ he said tightly, turning to face her. ‘Have you been drinking?’

Mel shook her head, confounded. ‘What?’

Mark looked at the ceiling, willing himself not to lose it. ‘The wine?’ He nodded towards the bottle.