He hadn't seen her this morning.
He and the boy were up, washed and dressed, one to nursery and the other work before Chummy made it past the front door thanks to Mrs Potter and young David, whose labour had decided to stall so sufficiently that the midwife's shift extended to two hours longer than expected. She had come home, and gone to bed, a little note from Freddie (with assistance from his father) saying he would see her this afternoon.
'Sleep tight Mummy'
She was so tired that the tears that fell at the spidery missive accompanied her upstairs and she tucked the note away in the memory box she had kept since school. Sleep soon took her though and the pillows welcomed her into oblivion without a second thought.
Away over at the Police Station, all was eerily and unnaturally quiet. The custody record was almost empty and Peter ran his eyes over the very short list of occupied cells, sighing as he did his mind wandering to Camilla and this situation that seemed to be developing unbidden. Still, he thought glancing at his watch, it's only a short shift and he would home around three; just enough time he hoped to tell her of his mother's news before she went off to work again or perhaps enough time to work out what he would be saying to her which seemed to be the more pressing issue.
His beat had been uneventful and with a cup of tea hidden under the custody desk Peter began to review the booking in forms for the sparse number of inhabited cells. There were a few familiar names as he scanned the list carefully memorising who was in each cell and as he leant down to pick up his mug of tea, he sent his pen skittering down on the tile floor catching his hand on a splinter protruding from the desk as he tried to grab the pen as it fell. He rolled his eyes as his own clumsiness, seeing the pink scratch across his skin and bent down to pick the pen up only to breath in a waft of a perfume he had not smelt in years as it assaulted him from above. Peter prayed he was wrong as he stood up swiftly.
"Excuse me" he started. "How can I…?" the words tailed off. So his mother was right after all. Peter hesitated before clearing his throat.
"Long time no see" his former fiancee piped up, Peter hoping his face was now expressionless at the sight before him.
"It is" he replied, seeing Jean shift slightly. He could still tell after all these years that she was clearly feeling awkward and quite frankly so she should be.
He coughed again. "Can I help you with anything?" It was a cold question; he knew it was, but this was not the time or the place to be having the kind of conversation that they clearly needed to have, but certainly on Peter's part he did not relish beginning.
Jean was actually quite shocked at how icy he was being. She knew that her presence might not necessarily be welcomed with open arms, and she had needed to top up on courage to even get herself over the steps of the Police Station, but she could feel the frozen tentacles emanating from him and this person seemed so far removed from the Peter she had once known.
"I" she began, tucking her blonde hair behind one ear. "I came down to visit Grandma and she mentioned she had seen you a few times out on the beat and I just thought.." she hesitated. "I just thought that we needed to speak to each other as its been so long".
"It has been a long time" he said. "But we needed to speak to each other over fifteen years ago" he concluded tersely. "Now if you really don't mind unless you are on official business and have a crime to report I have work to do". He did not see the offended frown and should have known better. One thing he had perhaps forgotten was that her mood could alter like a click of the fingers.
"You've changed" she mused, watching his hand as he wrote neatly on the custody register.
"No I haven't" he replied, not raising his eyes, knowing he was being rude. "If you don't mind?"
"You have changed, Pete. You've gained a temper". Whether she was deliberately trying to provoke him was anyone's guess . He didn't bother replying and nobody had called him 'Pete' since he left the Army however many years ago it was.
"Your wife must have done that you to" Jean offered, wanting to get the rise of him all of a sudden; just to get some kind of reaction to her presence - an emotion, an argument, anything. Peter finally raised his head at the mention of his precious wife.
"Camilla has done nothing whatsoever to me". The worst she had done was make him fall in love with her.
"Camilla?" she questioned.
"Yes". His face remained blank.
"I heard her name was Chummy. Thought it might be foreign or something" she replied.
"It's her nickname" he clarified, turning over a piece of paper. "I don't call her by it". Never had, never would in fact.
"Oh, so when do I get to meet her then?" she asked, not quite yet being prepared to tell him that she nearly already had or at least had intended to. He could see her fingers intertwined on the desk just at the top of his field of vision, garishly painted pink nails glinting away at him.
"Never?" He still kept his head down; the drunk and disorder-lies still sleeping it off in the cells were suddenly more of an occupation.
"Never?". It actually sounded as though her voice was purring. "I am one of your oldest friends and I can never meet your wife? Do you know who I found out you were married from? Rose Robinson. She said her grand-daughter was delivered by a Midwife Noakes and I asked few questions, particularly as I seem to remember that most of your family was down in Kent even in the old days so there weren't many Noakes around". She paused. "I have to say I didn't expect you to take up with some one like that".
Peter decided that silence was the best policy even though he wanted to ask her what she meant but that would mean getting embroiled in a discussion about Camilla and that door, to Jean, was closed. He didn't have much of a temper and the odd time that he and Camilla had a spat over the years it was short, sharp and forgotten in seconds but Jean was a sulker; he remembered that. Hours on end she would be silently seething at him even back when they were just friends as tiny kids if they argued about silly things.
"I popped up to Nonnatus, if that's what its called" she carried on. "I nearly went in last night except there was a mad Nun blocking my path".
"Sister Monica Joan" Peter replied.
"What?"
"Sister Monica Joan and she isn't mad. Just unwell". Even though she was actually as mad as a March hare, they were all too fond of her to hear anything remotely disparaging from someone who was in fact, a stranger. He was also trying not to rise about the comments about Camilla as someone being insulting about her was a sure fire way to upset him.
It's not like she never knew he had been engaged though. That was alright. He had even told her the former fiancee's name. That was alright too. But, them coming face to face? That was anything but alright. They were so different; looks, personality, demeanour, even down to the fact that one never wore make up and the other wouldn't be seen dead without it.
"Peter" she started, laying her hand on his to stop him writing. Her voice was quiet and sincere. "I know that I did some despicable things to you and I never apologised". She saw him open his mouth to reply.
"No, let me carry on" she said. "I did some despicable things and I was far too young to realise the hurt I caused. I should have been there for you as your fiancee and I wasn't. I do often wonder what we would have been up to now if we got married". The comment was genuine.
Peter shook his head, he could see the mood change again, yet now years on it rang like a bell. "Oh no you don't". She was the reason that he had, over the years, shut himself off from marriage and finding a wife for fear of repetition. Camilla Browne though was having none of it. "And leave Camilla out of it".
She huffed. "Well if you are not prepared to accept what I believed to be a heartfelt apology then I am afraid you have lost out".
With that, and without another word from him, she flounced out of the station. Peter sighed. Just a few more hours and he would be walking home and he could tell Camilla and she would understand and everything would be alright again.