Still Waters (Charlie Resnick #9)(39)

“Oh, yeah, I forgot, you don’t notice these things.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Yes? How long is it since you went out with a bloke then, tell me that?”

Shifting the knife and fork together on her plate, Lynn shrugged.

“How long since you …” Lamb bone between her lips, Sharon mimed a gesture that made Lynn blush.

“Is everything finished here?” the waiter inquired, hovering at Sharon’s shoulder.

“Almost,” Sharon said, deftly tweaking away the last scrap of sweet meat between her teeth.

“Shall I bring the dessert menu?”

“Not for me.” Lynn shook her head.

“Yes,” said Sharon.

“Any coffees?”

“Black,” said Lynn.

“Later,” said Sharon.

They split the bill down the middle and ordered a cab to take Sharon home; Lynn could walk to her flat in the Lace Market in a matter of minutes.

“Seriously,” Sharon said, her taxi at the curb. “You haven’t got any doubts?”

“Not really, only …”

“Only what?”

“Helen Siddons.”

“What about her?”

“I’m just not sure; working under her, I mean.”

“She’s keen enough on you.”

“I know, I know, but …”

“It’s not because she’s a woman? You’re not one of those who doesn’t like taking orders from other women?”

“I really don’t know. I don’t think it’s that, no. It’s just … all the time she was talking to me, Siddons, trying to persuade me, buttering me up, I never quite believed what she was saying.”

The taxi-driver gave a short blast of the horn and Sharon shot him a look that stilled his impatience. “That’s not Siddons,” she said, “that’s you. You’re just not good at taking praise. Anyone tells you how good you are and you think they must be lying.”

Lynn took a step out onto the pavement. “Anyway, I promised her an answer, first thing tomorrow.”

“Okay, don’t let me down.” Sharon gave Lynn a hug and left a faint smear of lipstick across her cheek. “Either way, you’ve got to let me know, right?”

“Right.”

Lynn waited while Sharon climbed into the back of the cab, gave the driver his instructions, and then settled back, waving through the glass. Then she walked briskly down toward Goose Gate, heading home.

Lynn recognized Resnick’s car before she saw him, leaning in the half-shadow of the courtyard around which the flats were built. Her first reaction was that it was trouble, an emergency, something serious, work. But seeing his face as he moved toward her, she was less sure: Resnick, hands in pockets, the faint beginnings of a smile, which quickly changed into something more apologetic.

“Good night?”

“Fine, yes, why …?”

“Kevin said something about you going out for a bit of a do, celebration.”

Lynn’s hand wafted air vaguely. “It was just me and Sharon. Anything more, I’d’ve invited everyone.”

Resnick nodded. They stood there in the half-light, the evening humming round them, the ground, Lynn thought, tilting beneath her feet.

“You are taking the job?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good.”

“Is that really what you think?”

“Of course.”

“Before, when I was trying to get into Family Support …”

“Not the same.”

“No.”

Foolishly, Resnick looked at his watch. “I just wanted to be sure. Didn’t want to think there was any reason, anything to do with me, you and me, why you wouldn’t agree.”

“No. No. I don’t even think … I mean why …?”

Resnick didn’t know either. What was he doing there? “You’re going to accept, then?” he asked for the second time.

Lynn blinked. “Yes.”

Resnick shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, a step he’d forgotten how to make.

“Do you want to come up?” Lynn asked. “Coffee or something?”

He was almost too quick to shake his head. “No. No, thanks.”

Lynn hunched her shoulders, suddenly aware that she was standing there with just a linen coat over her short black dress. “Okay,” she said.

“Yes,” Resnick said. “Okay.”

By the time she had climbed the double flight of stairs to her landing, his car was reversing round, red brake lights flaring for an instant, before heading forward beneath the brick archway and away from sight.

Lynn opened the door and double-locked it fast behind her, sliding home the bolt. Kicking off her shoes and shucking her coat onto the nearest chair, she padded into the bathroom and began to run the shower. Three more days and then she would be reporting for duty at the far end of the Ropewalk, close to where she had been based these past four years. Almost five. Slipping the catch at the back of her dress, she pulled down the zip and let the dress fall to the floor. Moments later, naked, she looked at herself in the mirror, never quite liking what she saw. Breasts too small, hips too large. As if, she thought, it mattered, stepping into the gathering steam. As if it mattered any more.