New Directions (20)

When I arrived home Karen’s car was in the drive. I squeezed mine in behind it. The dashboard clock said 17:17. The driver door opened and Karen unfolded herself from her low sports-hatch wearing a bright yellow roll-neck and light blue baggy jeans. Her happy-face merged into horror as I stepped out of my vehicle. ‘Jesus, what have you been up to? You in trouble?’ Before I could open my mouth she sprinted at me and wrapped her arms tight around me. It hurt like hell.

Trying to untangle myself without offending her I said, ‘Not the kind of trouble you mean. Let’s get indoors, its cold.’ I smiled at her upturned face, ‘I’m starving. Where’s me Chinese?’

We took her stuff out the car. There wasn’t much; her heavy winter duffle coat she used for call-outs and a small rucksack with make-up and other feminine hardware. We always kept a spare set of clothes in each other’s homes.

Once we settled inside I showed her my battered body. She made a detailed inspection of my bruises. I felt like one of her furry patients. Inevitably the examination led to what most partners do when they’ve been apart for three weeks – but carefully. We ordered out for the Chinese.

*

Next morning I woke up feeling a little better. Karen by my side helped. The bruises, changed in colour, showed signs of fading around the edges. I called my GP and made an appointment for the stitches to be removed the following week. Karen could easily have done it, but she needed to return to Manchester on Monday. She still had six months to run on her contract, after that she was free to look for something in a local vet practise.

The night before while we ate and worked our way through the bottle of Shandon red that came with the meal I told Karen in as much detail as I could about my visit to Celia and the fall out. I told her about my call on Barry Stokes which did not go down well, but she understood. I didn’t mention my plan for a second visit. For the moment best thing was wait for the police to get their arses in gear and let them get on with it. Barry “the grape” could wait. With the law involved everybody would be laying low.

The next five days were for me and Karen. Anything else, including any problems with my own tenants that might crop up were put on hold. . . . I guess I was dreaming. . . . While we sat in the kitchen making a list of stuff we needed at the local supermarket and deciding which pub to go to for lunch my phone burped.

Sighing as I picked it up I knew it would be Dev. I made the mistake of leaving the speaker on, ‘Terence, good morning, I have received permission to go back to the cottage tomorrow. The police will finish their work today. . . . I was wondering if—.’

‘You want me to come too.’ I shook my head at Karen about to give Dev a polite fuckoff.

‘Hi Dev, its Karen. We’d love to come. I’ve heard so much about you and what’s happened to poor Celia. You’ll be needing all the help you can get to sort things out over there.’

Making a face I said, ‘We’ll see you tomorrow around eleven.’ Karen beamed back at me.