Ten Years On

by Tom's Mum

A short sequel to A Moment of Madness

This is a short sequel to a Moment of Madness.

"Are we nearly there, daddy?"

Richard Poole glanced over his shoulder at his daughters on the back seat. Eva, as usual, was bent over a book but Zoe had tossed hers aside and was looking at him plaintively. He sighed and stared at the solid lanes of traffic creeping at snail's pace round the M25 as if by glaring at it he could somehow induce it to speed up. Living on a small island in the Caribbean he had almost forgotten how horrible the M25 could be; traffic jams were certainly not one of the things about England that he missed.

"Well, it's not that far, darling, but the traffic is very slow."

"Why is it so slow?"

"I don't know – I think there has been an accident or a breakdown somewhere. The matrix signs just say Incident which tells you precisely nothing. So very helpful."

If Camille had been there he would probably have launched into one of his rants about supposedly smart motorways that were hopeless at keeping drivers properly informed and out of date matrix signs that kept warning of fog long after the sun had come out. But she wasn't there – and that was why they were making this tedious journey down the M1 from Leicestershire, where the girls had been staying with his parents, and round the M25 to Heathrow, where Camille's plane was shortly due to land.

Eva looked up. "We won't be late for mummy, will we?" she asked anxiously.

"No, I allowed plenty of time. Carry on with those puzzle books that granny gave you while we're stuck in this queue."

"I've finished mine" Eva announced.

"I haven't finished, but I'm bored with puzzles." Zoe sighed and looked out of the window. The car they had been following for the past twenty minutes was still crawling along in front of them. "Why does granny always give us puzzle books?"

"Because daddy used to like them when he was young. Isn't that right, daddy?"

Richard assented. "Yes, I spent many years with puzzle books, and then I graduated onto crosswords. They filled many an empty hour."

"But then you met mummy and had us and then you didn't have any more time for puzzles!" Zoe was triumphant.

"Well, yes, but …"

"Granny told us how she met grandad", Eva said dreamily. "She was at a dance and all the other girls had partners. Grandad saw her sitting all by herself and asked her to dance because he felt sorry for her, and they danced together all evening and fell in love." She sighed ecstatically. "So romantic …!"

Richard raised his eyebrows a little. Eva was growing up fast – too fast for his liking. Camille often had to remind him not to be too protective and one of their biggest arguments had raged over allowing them to sleep over at their friends' houses. He had been their primary care-giver when they were small and the bond between them was so strong that he found it hard to let go, but he knew he had to let them grow up, find their own way and make their own mistakes. Knowing didn't make it any easier, though.

Zoe broke through his thoughts. "How did you and mummy meet, daddy?"

"Well, I'm afraid it wasn't at all romantic. In fact, I locked her in a cell with a goat."

Two pairs of astonished eyes gazed at him in awed respect.

Eva spoke in a hushed whisper. "Was she very cross?"

A reminiscent smile flickered over his lips. "Well, she wasn't best pleased, as you can imagine. But it was her fault – she was acting very suspiciously, pretending to be a cleaner and then turning up on a smuggler's boat. Nobody told me she was an undercover police officer."

"I bet she really told you off."

"Yes", he admitted, "and on a number of other occasions. She really didn't like me at all in those days."

"And did you like her?"

"No, not a bit. But I didn't like anything about Saint-Marie, and she was just part of it. And she was just too French!"

"We're a quarter French!" Zoe protested.

"Yes, I know, but I was a different person in those days. I thought England was the only place to be and anything that wasn't English was second-best."

"That wasn't very nice, daddy!"

"No, and I hope I've learned to be a bit more open-minded now. But the early days in the Caribbean were very difficult for me."

"Why did you decide to go, then?"

"I didn't decide, I was sent – by a boss who couldn't wait to get rid of me. I thought it was only for a few days while I solved a case, but it turned out the move was permanent. That was bad enough, but then the Commissioner arranged for mummy to work with me and that was even worse, as we couldn't stand each other!"

The traffic started to speed up. Richard had the girls' enraptured attention.

"I know you and mummy argue sometimes but I can't imagine you not getting on."

"Well, we didn't. Not at all. Not for a long time. She was far too feisty for me in those days – I really didn't know how to handle her. But we got used to working together – had to, really. And then we discovered that we each had our different strengths and if we put them together we could get results. And so we managed to solve a lot of cases – with the help of uncle Dwayne and uncle Fidel, of course."

"So when did you realise that you liked mummy after all?"

"That's a hard question, Eva. I don't really know – it was a very gradual thing." With relief, he saw the Heathrow tunnel approaching. "Anyway, here we are at last at the airport. Let's park the car and go and wait for mummy in Arrivals."

Waiting in the Arrivals hall with hundreds of others the girls were excited. It was two weeks since they had seen their mother, and they had so much to tell her. Coming to England with their father had been a big adventure, made possible because they were currently in the middle of their summer holidays. They had – mostly - enjoyed staying with their grandparents while daddy was working, but there was nothing like having the family back together again, especially with the prospect of a holiday in Cornwall in view. Every time the doors swung open and trolleys appeared they craned eagerly, even though Richard had told them it would be some time yet before Camille emerged.

He studied them fondly. It was more than ten years now since he had made the momentous decision to move to the Caribbean to bring up his family, and he had few regrets. Yes, he still found the climate difficult and there were some things in England that he missed, but that was far outweighed by what he had gained.

Zoe would be eleven in a couple of months, and he had been there from the very day she was born. He had of course missed much of the first year of Eva's life, but he had more than made up for it since. She was twelve now, and took her role as big sister very seriously. Temperamentally the two were quite different – Eva the more serious, studious one and Zoe full of life and vitality – but they were immensely close and Eva would always look out for her younger sibling.

And as for Camille … well, she had certainly changed his life – and very much for the better. Over time they had both mellowed a little but they were still essentially the people they had always been, which made life always interesting and occasionally challenging. Fundamentally they were quite different and they still argued frequently, but with the passing years the bond between them had grown ever deeper, and although she still sometimes accused him of being grumpy and he invariably retaliated with a muttered comment about feisty Frenchwomen, they understood each other far better than they had in the early days. He recognised now that winding each other up was a key part of keeping their relationship fresh and he had learned to accept a considerable amount of teasing with as much good grace as he could summon.

Finally, the doors opened and a very familiar face appeared. "Mummy!" the girls shrieked and charged through the rope barrier to fling themselves into her open arms. Richard quietly took charge of her trolley and guided the party out towards the car park. Apart from an exchanged smile, they had no contact; Camille knew that even after all these years Richard would not kiss her in public, so she contented herself with hugging her girls and slipping a hand into his for a quick squeeze. She knew that once they were in private things would be different. Very different.

"So what have you girls been getting up to with granny and grandad?"

"Oh, we went to see the king they found in the car park …"

"Richard III", interjected Eva, "he's buried in the cathedral now."

"And we did lots of shopping with granny and we went to the swimming pool. That was nice, but not as good as swimming in the sea. And then …"

Zoe chattered happily on, bringing her mother up to date with the minutiae of their existence over the past fortnight. Richard listened with only half an ear – he had after all heard it already. He stole a sideways glance at Camille. It was not that he was not perfectly capable of living on his own – he had after all done it for many years before he met her – but when she was not there he was conscious of something missing. After more than 10 years they were like two pieces of a jigsaw that fitted perfectly together.

As if conscious of his scrutiny she turned her head and smiled at him. "So how did it go at Hendon, Dr Poole?"

It still felt a little strange not to be Inspector any more, but it was a long time since he had given up police work to concentrate on his PhD. That had been completed very successfully – so successfully, in fact, that he had been offered a post in the Law Faculty at the University of the West Indies. Someone high up in the UK had also read his thesis and as a result he had been invited to give a series of guest lectures at the Police Training College.

"Very well, I think. Well, they seemed to enjoy it anyway, and they've asked me to come back and do the same again next year, so I suppose it must have been alright."

She patted his thigh. "Of course it was alright. I knew you would wow them in the aisles."

Eva's voice broke in on them. "Mummy, did daddy really lock you in a cell with a goat?"

Camille giggled at the memory. "Yes, I'm afraid he did."

"It was a very nice goat, as goats go" he offered mildly. "You know, friendly and not very smelly."

"It was still a goat! I was as mad as fire!"

"I seem to remember that."

"Why were you pretending to be a cleaner?"

"Well, I was on an undercover assignment in those days, and daddy caught me searching his shack for evidence, so I just made it up on the spur of the moment."

"You were very convincing, particularly the crying bit. I even gave you my best handkerchief!"

"So did he let you go in the end?"

"Well, I rang the Commissioner who came along and explained to daddy that I was an undercover police officer. Of course at that point my cover was blown, so the Commissioner made me stay on the island and join daddy's team."

"Didn't you want to?"

"No I did not! I didn't think I could work with daddy. And indeed it was very difficult for a long time."

"Why?"

Richard knew what was coming. "Go right ahead - don't mind me" he said drily, "I'll just find a dark corner to crawl into and massage my bruised ego."

Camille settled herself and smiled happily. "Don't worry" she promised him with a special smile, "I'll help with the massaging later." Then turning to her daughters she began the litany of Richard's first months in the Caribbean.

"Well, you see, daddy was so very English when he first came out to Saint-Marie. All he wanted to do was to get back to London. He hated everything: it was too hot, there were creepy-crawlies everywhere, nothing worked, there were no proper procedures and worst of all he couldn't get a decent cup of tea."

The girls laughed out loud; they knew all about daddy and his tea.

"And then he was so uptight and reserved – he wouldn't relax or let his guard down at all."

"Well, how was I to know you were different to the people I worked with in Croydon? All I had known all my life was slights and bullying – it was just a defence mechanism."

"You were bullied, daddy?"

"Yes, all the time. At school and at work. Just because I was a bit different. It was miserable and it made me very wary of the world. You must never bully anyone, girls – and if anyone tries to bully you, just stand up to them, and don't be afraid to talk about it like I was."

They nodded solemnly, secretly impressed that people had been stupid enough to think they could get away with bullying their father.

"We didn't understand him at all, but he just wouldn't compromise" Camille continued. "He insisted on wearing his woollen suits even though he fainted several times from the heat."

"Woollen suits in the Caribbean?" Zoe was incredulous.

"I thought it was appropriate for a police chief to dress accordingly", Richard protested weakly. He knew he was never going to win this particular argument.

"Didn't you tell him not to be so silly, mummy?"

She smiled. "Many times, but he was very stubborn. And annoying, and grumpy and childish and pedantic."

"What does pedantic mean?"

"Well, you know when daddy is telling you something and he insists on explaining even the smallest details …?"

"Yes!" they chorused.

"Well, there you are!"

"Have you quite finished the character assassination?" he enquired plaintively.

"But of course he was also quite brilliant – and very funny once you got used to his sense of humour, so it wasn't all bad. And although he frequently drove us up the wall he was actually a good boss – he always said well done to the team and he didn't try to hog all the credit for himself."

"Daddy said he doesn't really know when he started liking you, mummy. When did you start liking him?"

She pondered for a while. "I think it was probably the first time I saw him in his pajamas!"

"Mummy!"

She had the grace to blush a little. "No, not like that! I used to pick him up in the morning and if I was early I sometimes arrived before he had got dressed."

"Weren't you very hot, daddy?"

"Yes of course I was."

"You don't wear them any more, though, do you?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "No – do we really have to discuss this now? We're nearly home."

Later that night in the master bedroom of the house they were renting in North London, Camille slid her arms around his waist and pulled him close. "Let me help you massage that bruised ego of yours", she whispered into his shoulder.

"Um … that sounds very tempting but the girls are in the next room and the walls don't look very thick to me …"

"Trust me, they would sleep through an earthquake. They're so excited about going to Cornwall tomorrow that they've worn themselves out."

"Well in that case …"

Some time later when the heavy breathing had finally subsided, Camille propped herself up on her elbow and prodded him in the ribs. "So when did you start liking me?"

He lay on his back and closed his eyes. "I think it must have been some time around the Megan Talbot case. You asked me what my type of woman was – remember?

She nodded. "I teased you a lot about Megan Talbot …"

"You certainly did. I said then that I didn't know, but I think I realised as I said it that it was a lie."

"Well at least I've never shot you in the head."

"Believe me, sweetheart, my gratitude knows no bounds." He shifted his position a little. "So what have you been getting up to back on Saint-Marie these past weeks, Mrs Poole?"

"Inspector Bordey, to you!" She pouted. "What do you expect if you leave me on my own for so long? A woman has needs, you know."

He closed his eyes again in pained resignation. "So who was it this time? Not the Commissioner again?"

She sounded petulant. "He's so powerful, it's a real aphrodisiac. How could I possibly resist?" she whined.

"Well, I suppose this time I shall have to divorce you", he said dreamily. "How very tedious."

"Just so long as I can keep half the books. You can have A-L, I've read them, and I'll keep M-Z."

He sat up suddenly. "Oh no, I can't possibly let you have the books. Damn. I suppose that means I shall have to take you back."

"I promise I'll be good", she said in a small, provocative voice.

"I suspect that would be extremely dull …"

She giggled and snuggled closer. "Well, we can't have that, can we, Richard?"

He wagged an admonitory finger at her. "Sir, to you", he said reprovingly, and moved swiftly to avoid a punch in the ribs.