Richard arrived at his workplace rather early. He was determined to leave early today, so in order to get everything accomplished, he had to start early as well. He looked at the stack of files on his desk and sighed. Applications from officers who wanted to join the department, mostly. He knew that his e-mail inbox would be full of correspondence as well. But well, it was a good job, and the variety of tasks made it interesting…
In September, he had been fit to work part time again, according to the doctors. They had recommended a 60% workload for the first six months so he could re-adjust to being back to work, and the Met had offered him a position in North London. He had been pleased with that – he liked the area, and he wouldn't have wanted to return to Croydon, anyway… not that they would have wanted him back, either, for that matter…
His house in Croydon had been sold, and he had started looking for a suitable place in North London. For a few weeks, he had resided in the Met's guesthouse, but he had found a nice little house rather quickly – it just had needed some remodeling, so he had had to wait a little until he had been able to move for good. The house was in a respectable neighbourhood, though not in the super-posh part of the area, so it was affordable for him. The lady who had sold it had said she and her husband were going to move abroad (an 'ashram' was mentioned), and they needed the money, but didn't want to sell the place to just anyone, so they looked at each and every potential buyer individually, and if they had 'good vibes' about someone, they'd 'consider' them.
It had sounded somewhat far-out to him – some people really lived by strange principles, he had mused – but luck had been on his side. They had felt that he would really appreciate the house for what it was – and he should have it. Richard hadn't placed any bets on getting the place – from experience he knew that he usually wasn't the kind of person that sent out 'good vibes' to others, but maybe it had helped that he worked for the police and had a regular income – that might have improved his 'aura'… along with the large deposit that he had been ready to pay… and so, much to his satisfaction, the house had been his eventually.
It was a nice house - about the same size like his Croydon house, just a little bit larger, plus he had a tiny backyard, and the rooms were laid out differently, so he had a living / sitting / dining room downstairs, along with a small study where he placed a sofabed (so it could serve as a guestroom), a fairly large kitchen and a tiny bathroom with a shower – it reminded him of his bathroom on Saint Marie, actually - , and upstairs, he had two bedrooms and a full bathroom, complete with tub and everything. For one person, it was rather generous, but after the very limited space in his shack on Saint Marie, he had wanted something a little larger and more convenient. He could afford it, so why not? And of course, having a houseguest would be much easier this way…
Six weeks after he had started his new job, he had moved in. He had chucked out all the Buddha heads, Ganesha statues and other knick-knacks that the previous owners had left behind and given them to a charity shop, and his parents had helped him to find suitable furniture – fortunately, there were a few built-in closets, the previous owners had taken a selection of items with them, but had left their surprisingly comfortable sofa and a few smaller pieces, like shelves and side tables, and his mother's friend from Woking had given him her small dinner table with four matching chairs as she had just bought a bigger new set for her own home…
Coincidentally, all items were made of the same wood - walnut – so although the styles were different, they matched somehow. It made the interior of his house look rather unique. His mother had made him a sofa cover, curtains and cushions in his favourite colours, that had given it all a consistent look, he had found matching rugs, and little by little, things had shaped up.
For two weeks, he had slept on a futon that had been left upstairs by the previous owners, but it hadn't been very convenient, and his back had started to ache badly, so he had bought a large new bed with a high-end mattress in the end of October – it had been a display item in the nearby furniture store, and it had been delivered only a few days later, without a waiting period. And they even had taken the futon and discarded it for him – an additional bonus. He hadn't been too keen on having to take care of that, on top of everything else.
So, everything had gone smoothly in regard to the house, but he couldn't say the same about work. He had been given a DI position, formally, but due to the fact that he could only cope with a little more than half of the regular hours, his work had not been very satisfying. He hadn't had the chance to really participate in solving cases completely due to his reduced workload, and so he often had ended up just writing or compiling reports – and he had found that extremely frustrating.
The younger relief officer who had taken over his 40 % had been a part timer before and theoretically had been happy to work 90 % now as that meant a nearly full salary – but his other workplace had been at another station, so the commute hadn't been easy for him. It had taken a while until they had been able to sort out a decent way to share the work, and eventually, Richard had worked on three days per week while the relief officer had come on the other two days. He had felt constantly misinformed, useless and underrated, and he had realised once more how satisfying his work on Saint Marie had been. Why on earth had he ever wished to leave the island? He had no idea anymore…
He had fallen into brooding and wondering what he was doing with his life. On some days, things had gone well, and he had felt he had contributed to the success of his team. On other days, it had been different. So, he had been a little moody and found it hard to feel comfortable with himself.
As much as he would have liked to deny it, the 60% workload had been just right for him. He still had felt exhausted quickly, and he had realised that he would need more time than anticipated to get really fit and healthy again. Theoretically, that had been clear – but well, knowing something and understanding it… that obviously were two different shoes. Well, after all, his condition had become better, little by little… so there had been progress, although there still had been lots of room for improvement!
At least he had got on pretty well with the team, so that had been a bonus. He had become friendly with a few people, and although he had still remained reserved, he had at least not the feeling to be the odd man out literally all the time.
And there had been the situation with Camille. He had wished he could visit her over Christmas, but he couldn't possibly take off time at this point, and so a trip to Saint Marie had been out of the question. He had worried about their relationship – whatever it was -, and sometimes at night, when he had been lying in his bed all by himself, thinking of her and listening to the still rather unfamiliar noises in and around the house, he had wondered if her visit had only been a dream and if he had imagined her kisses and caresses… or if he had interpreted too much into the whole thing. After all, why would a beautiful, young woman like Camille want an old grumpy bachelor who had nothing to recommend himself? But then again… there had been that look in her eyes, and she had not stopped communicating with him after her visit…
He had also worried a little about the connection to her new boss… he had heard about Goodman's father who had been a well-known barrister with an amazing reputation before he had retired a few years ago, and the family had always moved in the best circles. Compared to that, he and his parents seemed rather insignificant. Of course, he had been aware of Camille's indifference to all that. She had never cared about status or money – but still… And the fact that Goodman was married obviously hadn't meant that Camille had been safe from his advances – she had mentioned in an e-mail that apparently his marriage was about to fall apart, and it had seemed they had been spending more time together. Admittedly, she had also made a snarky remark about how his constant 'vague niceness' and 'annoying indecision' had even made Fidel roll his eyes, and she had mentioned that his clumsiness was a permanent threat to everyone's safety and bothersome beyond belief – she wouldn't have said that to him if she had taken a shine to Humphrey. But well… Humphrey was there, and he wasn't…
Of course, he had known that all his worries and doubts wouldn't change a thing. And it had been reassuring that her e-mails had come regularly (more regularly than his, as he had to admit…), they had also talked on the phone and skyped a couple of times… but still, he would have given anything to see her again in the flesh. There had been moments when he had felt the longing so strongly – usually caused by an innocent remark from someone else, or by a memory that had come over him – that he had had to pull himself together in order not to scream with frustration. And he had thought of her so intensely that it hurt. In the evenings he had written her long e-mails – and deleted them before he had hit 'send'. He just hadn't dared to pour out his heart to her – he had been afraid of making a fool of himself. Oh, those self-doubts – they had driven him crazy.
Then, Christmas had arrived. He had been a little depressed because of circumstances – work had been going fairly okay by then, but he hadn't been happy, and he had missed Camille enormously – it had almost scared him a little. He had dreaded the visit at his parents' as he had been afraid they'd talk about Camille all the time – they had really, truly enjoyed her visit, and his mother had kept in touch with her. But then again, he had become closer to his parents over the past year, and it would have been nasty not to accept their invitation to come and spend Christmas with them. Not to mention he'd feel lonely…
She had sent a card – with Father Christmas sitting on the beach, wearing a striped swimsuit and sipping a cocktail! – and he had tried to phone her, but had only reached her voicemail. On Christmas Eve, he had given up… he had known he would hear from her eventually. But it had made him sad that he couldn't talk to her and wish her happy holidays. So, he'd sent her a text. He had set off to visit his parents, and when he had arrived there in the early evening, he had made up his mind – he would enjoy the holidays with his parents, no matter what, and afterwards, he'd just try to get in touch again and be more consistent about e-mailing.
When he had entered his parents' house, he had been fairly calm and balanced again, and his mother's question in the hall if he had heard from Camille hadn't unsettled him. He had taken off his coat and made a casual remark about her card and that he'd try to call her on the next day. Then his father had come to greet him, and they had all moved towards the living room. Richard had opened the door, and whatever he had been about to say… it had never been said.
He had stopped mid-sentence when he had seen Camille standing there, looking absolutely stunning in her holiday attire and smiling at him brightly. The Christmas tree behind her had paled in comparison… Her head had been tilted to one side, and her curly hair had surrounded her face like a halo, illuminated by the candlelight. He had completely forgotten that his parents had been behind him, and with a few big steps he had moved forward, grabbed her and given in to his feelings. He had felt her arms around his neck, her hand in his hair, and her lips coming apart under his – and he hadn't wanted this to end. Never ever. It had taken him some effort to break away…
Finally, her head had been on his shoulder, her lips had caressed his neck, and she had whispered "Merry Christmas, Richard!" "You've come back," he had replied softly, with an incredulous undertone. She had laughed a little and said "Told you I would, didn't I?"
It had been a perfect evening, and Richard hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. His parents had exchanged knowing glances, and for once, he hadn't cared – he had just been grateful that they had done this for him. He never would have dared to invite her over, out of – oh, at least a million of reasons, and most likely all of them were rubbish…
They had had dinner, played board games, talked, laughed… Camille and he had told his parents about Saint Marie, described some of the circumstances of the cases they had solved together and given them a lively picture of work at the station. It had been a very harmonious evening.
When it had been time to retire, he had become a little nervous, though. He had climbed the stairs to the first floor after Camille, and he had debated with himself – there had been his longing on one side and his insecurity and sense of propriety on the other. On the landing upstairs, they had stood together for a moment. She had looked at him – the lamp from downstairs had cast a dim light – and he had seen the love shining in her eyes. Feeling almost dizzy, he had dropped his bag… and before he had been able to say a word, she had taken his hand, opened the door to the guestroom and pulled him inside…