Detective Sergeant James Hathaway was having a wonderful dream. He was being stroked and caressed by a woman he cared for very much. She started kissing him: first on the mouth, then the chin, then his chest, and as she continued to move down his body, he realized he was awake and it was not a dream. He smiled languidly. An excellent way to start the weekend.
Some distance away, Detective Inspector Robert Lewis was having a similar dream. He was in bed with his wife, Valerie, and she was perched on top of his belly, teasing him by seeing how long he could just lie still. He finally could hold back no longer and had just started slowly rocking his hips when the persistent beeping of the rubbish truck cruelly drew him out of the dream. And it was, of course, only a dream, as always. Val had died years ago, and the sorrow that washed over him upon awakening dissolved his ardor into a cold and rather painful knot in his groin.
In a gloomy funk, he got up, went to the kitchen, and put the kettle on. He started to get the teapot ready, but was moving without any enthusiasm, and eventually he shut off the fire under the kettle and with resignation put the pot aside. Today would have been Val's birthday. This annual reminder of his loss was always difficult for him. Moody and frustrated, he sat just staring for a while. He soon realized he was staring at the half-empty bottle of brandy on the counter, and it was looking good. He roused himself from his dark reverie, glancing at the clock and seeing it was not even eight o'clock yet. He had to get out of the house.
He got dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and a comfy chambray shirt over that, and put on his trainers. He started walking briskly, heading in the direction of the canal. A long walk on the towpath would do him a world of good, he decided. But part of him longed for the quiet fog the brandy promised, and soon he was wandering aimlessly, not heading for the canal at all. In fact, although he wasn't sure how he had gotten there, he found himself on the street where his sergeant lived.
Maybe James could help, he thought. But as he headed toward the house, he changed his mind. It was early, too early to be calling on people, and he didn't want to dump his problems on James. And yet when he started to turn around, he recognized his mood wasn't any better than when he left home. The brandy would get him, he knew. Last time that happened, James made it very clear that Lewis had wrongly refused to seek the help of his friends. Lewis marshaled up his determination, went up the steps, and knocked on the door.
After half a minute, the door opened, and Hathaway stood there, wearing only grey sweatpants.
"Sir." He looked a bit puzzled to see his boss on the step at this hour on a Saturday.
"Oh, sorry, Hathaway. Did I wake you?"
"Uh, no, I was just . . . er, moving a bit slowly this morning." He cocked his head a bit. "What's up?"
Lewis took a deep breath. "I was just taking a walk and . . . well, it's Val's birthday today, y'know? I'm trying to, uh . . . stay vertical for the better part of the day." He added more quietly, "I think I might need some help with that."
Hathaway furrowed his brow. He knew it was extremely difficult for the older man to admit he could use help, let alone for him to actively seek it. He couldn't very well discourage Lewis from reaching out when he needed to. But this was not the most convenient time for him. He rubbed his nose and glanced over his shoulder.
Lewis caught the gesture and made the connection. "Aw, look, you're busy, aren't you? I'll just keep going with me walk then. Maybe I'll stop by Hobson's place." From the sudden, hot twinge he felt at the mention of her name, it occurred to Lewis that Laura Hobson might be better suited to take care of one cause of his bad mood that morning.
But James did not want to send Lewis away if he needed a friend. "No, no, it's fine. Look, give me a second to get dressed and I'll walk with you." He glanced up at the blue sky. "Nice morning."
"Okay, great." Lewis exhaled in relief and stepped inside the foyer as James retreated to the bedroom to get dressed, closing the door behind him. Lewis contemplated the door from where he stood. I wonder if he has something he needs to finish in there. He was surprised at feeling rather envious.
An instant later, Lewis heard a different door, and looked up to see a woman come out of the bathroom. She was wearing the black dress shirt Hathaway had worn to work the day before. And, from what Lewis could see, nothing else. Half a beat later, he recognized her.
"Laura!" His mouth dropped open. She looked good. His frustrated hormones flared, then flooded his system. The unfinished business of the morning rushed him, and his usually robust resistance failed completely, battered by his depression and thwarted release. In his fragile emotional state, he could do nothing but surrender to the primitive urge that overwhelmed him. Her. Now.
Looking a little embarrassed, she waved her fingers at him in greeting. He motioned her over. As she got closer, what was on his mind became increasingly obvious. She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.
His brain was no longer in control. "I've had a bit of a frustrating morning." His voice was hoarse. "Actually, I was thinking of coming to see you, only I ended up here somehow." He glanced down, self-conscious of his visible need. "I really need you, Laura. Is there someplace we can . . . y'know?"
She raised her other eyebrow.
"It's been a bad day for me, okay? Got woken up from a . . . very nice dream, if you know what I mean. At just the wrong time. It was right painful. And the sun's barely up and I'm already trying to avoid the call of the brandy bottle. And then you, that shirt . . . . Makes it hurt even more."
She had helped him out like this before when his need was more than he could bear. And she had promised she would help him again if it came to that. So she couldn't very well say no at this point. She began to rapidly unfasten his jeans.
"What, right here?"
"Well, how far away do you think you're going to get with that?" She glanced down.
"But James is just—" he caught his breath as she took hold of him. Then breathing harder, he pushed her back against the wall, moved her hands away, and after a moment's hesitation pressed his body into hers. She felt so good. No way he could turn back now. This would be quick.
James emerged from the bedroom, heading for the bathroom so he could put in his contacts. His attention was caught by sudden movement in the foyer. He squinted in that direction, and saw Laura leaning against the wall. Lewis, his back toward James, was backing away from her. Hathaway couldn't help wondering if he had interrupted something.
He popped in his contacts and strode over to the foyer as Laura headed into the bedroom. Lewis's expression was difficult to decipher.
"Sorry, mate, I didn't expect to see her here." There was a bit of an awkward pause. He didn't think James had seen anything. Still, he'd like to be sure. "You ready to walk or . . ."
"Sure, let's go. I'll just tell Laura we're off." Hathaway entered the bedroom without knocking. He stopped short just inside the door. Laura was using a tissue to wipe up the viscous fluid dribbling down her legs. He just stared and she looked up, startled. No, he hadn't interrupted anything. They had already finished.
He turned on his heel and practically bolted from the house, Lewis quickly following. Hathaway needed to buy time to figure out how to react to the affront. For now, he would act as if he hadn't seen. He was not good at confrontations.
They walked in silence for a while. When James lit his second cigarette, Lewis said, "I'm really sorry to interrupt your morning, James. I didn't know you were . . . y'know, seeing her, like." When James didn't answer, he continued. "It hadn't even occurred to me you might have someone over." He grimaced a little. "Guess I should have known."
Hathaway said nothing, despite Lewis's obvious invitation to respond. Finally, Lewis continued, "So are you two serious, like? Not that it's my business. Only, I've . . . y'know, called her once or twice, but I won't if . . . well, y'know. She never said anything." You haven't either, but it wouldn't be the first time for that, he concluded in his head. Lewis always felt awkward talking about other people's personal lives, and he was more than a little embarrassed about losing control over his own biology.
He didn't catch the bit of derision in Hathaway's snorted exhale. James knew he was not the only man in Laura's life. But Lewis's apparent show of respect for whatever relationship James had with Laura, just after having taken advantage of the opportunity for a quick round with her, seemed uncharacteristically hypocritical.
Hathaway realized that the longer they walked, the more angry he was getting. He and Laura weren't serious in the sense of getting together very often, but when they did, the electricity was fantastic. He found himself becoming resentful of Lewis for cutting in on him like that. This walk had to end, now. He suddenly stopped short.
"Sir, I have to get back. There's something I've just now remembered." Lewis stopped and looked curious, but said nothing.
Remembering what brought him here in the first place, James added grudgingly, "You'll be okay, Sir?"
"Aw, yeah, I'm better now." Then he took a serious tone. "Thanks. Yeah, I'll be okay. See you Monday." He turned and continued up the road.
Hathaway stared after him a second, confused. Lewis seemed so above-board, as usual. Either he thought nothing of what had happened in Hathaway's foyer, or Hathaway was reading him completely wrong. Lewis had never been a good liar.
James stewed all the way back. Laura was still there, dressed now. She sensed his foul mood. "James, Robbie just—"
"Oh, it's 'Robbie' now? Look, Laura, I know what happened. I'm not of a mind to talk about this, okay? I think you better go. If I'm ready to discuss anything, I'll call you."
"It's not what you think, James."
"Please just go!"
Shaking her head, she collected her bag and went out the door.
James sat on his sofa, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, trying to explain to himself why it bothered him so much. Lewis had as much a right to be seeing Laura as anyone. But it wasn't that so much as the false air of virtue the older man had. As if he never thought about women in that way, ever. It was all a façade, apparently. He could be as smutty as anyone: a quick poke, standing up, fully clothed, chance of being caught and all that.
When Lewis had come to the door, he seemed depressed and gloomy, about as far from randy as one could get. But despite that, he was able to get it up and in and out in record time, the horny bastard. Totally out of keeping with the chivalrous image Lewis cultivated. Looked like he was a good liar after all.
That was why he was so angry, James realized. He had respected the man, admiring Lewis's innate ability to do what was right. An honorable, honest man. James had striven to be like him in that way. Well, not any more.
Lewis continued his walk until he reached a small churchyard by the river. He went directly to one particular headstone, white marble shining in the sun.
"Happy Birthday, Pet." He knelt by the stone, feeling a bit guilty about coming empty-handed. I'll bring flowers when I come back later. Didn't expect to end up here this morning. Day started out a bit rough. I guess you know that. He could almost hear her soothing reassurance:
you'll be alright, love. it's good you're going for a walk.
Val, I'm not proud of what I did today.
you needed that, love, just like you need to eat. i'm sorry i'm not there to take care of you. james and laura will help you whenever you ask them. laura is a good woman. and james is a good man.
I know, Pet. He stood up, but continued gazing at the stone. I miss you something terrible. Every single day.
i miss you too, love.
He swallowed hard but his eyes were dry as he looked over the green vale and the silvery river below.
