Just a short angsty one following on from the end of Chapter 9 (as it would, I suppose...)
Next one gets the plot cracking along again!
Chapter 10
The staff car-park on a sunny afternoon was not an environment guaranteed to raise the spirits or soothe the nerves; it was hot enough to fry the promised eggs on the tarmac and smelt strongly of the bins. As they reached Sheila's car, Reid wrenched his arm from her grasp and began to stalk off in the direction of his Mondeo, rummaging in his pocket for his Rothmans as he went.
"Oh no you bloody don't!" She jumped in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. "You're not going walkabout this time. You've got to be back here to give Brocklehurst your report, cos if you don't he's going to let Pyle assign the whole lot to somebody else, and you'll end up filing papers for the next six months. We've put too much work into this case for that to happen."
He made as if to step round her and she blocked his path again. "No way, Sarge," she said firmly. "No career suicide today." He stared at her sullenly and her own bad humour began to rise. "Look, I'm not standing here making a prat of myself in the car-park for the entertainment of the office grapevine. And you're not getting behind the wheel in that state. I'm driving. We're going to go to a pub where no-one knows who we are, so that you can talk while I listen, or you can sit and say nothing while I eat my lunch." Reaching into her pocket she pulled out her key-fob and unlocked the doors. "Get in the bloody car."
They glowered at each other. Reid's chest was heaving and she could see the angry pulse jumping at his throat where his tie had been pulled askew in the struggle. She knew that if he decided he was leaving there was essentially damn all she could do about it, but she was counting on him being enough of a gentleman that even in this mood he wouldn't actually try to barge her out of the way. He still didn't shift, and she risked leaning round him to pull the passenger door open. In a sudden flurry of movement he slung himself into the seat and slammed the door shut, leaving her to stamp bad-temperedly round to the driver's side.
As she yanked her door open she heard the click of a lighter being sparked and her irritation levels cranked up another few notches. "Wind the window down, for God's sake!" she snapped and Reid did so, looking as though he'd rather have put his fist through it. A simmering silence prevailed.
"Go on, then," he said suddenly after several minutes. "Get it off your chest."
"What???" Caught unawares negotiating a tricky junction, Boydeau spoke more sharply than she'd intended and earned herself a sulky blue glare. "What are you talking about?"
"The whole "I-told-you-so" business. Let's get it over and done with."
"Oh, for God's sake!" she barked, seriously considering the idea of stopping and heaving him out into the passing traffic. "Is that really what you think I'm going to say? You absolute…" words failed her for a moment as she groped for the terms in which to fully express her exasperation and eventually settled on: "You total, utter… bloke!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.
"Everything's a bloody competition with you lot, isn't it? We've just managed a major cock-up – what shall we do? We could talk about how we go about damage limitation and setting things right, or – no! I've got a better idea! Let's sit here and work out which of us is the most to blame so that we know who's the biggest martyr." Turning into the pub car-park she clamped the brakes on with venomous force and twisted round to face him. "If you think I brought us out here to play that game, think again pal…" she broke off abruptly. "Are you laughing at me?"
"No," he lied, concealing his amusement with the back of his hand.
"Yes you are, you rotten bastard." But her annoyance was draining away and she returned the smile. "Oh, come on, for crying out loud. Let's get something to eat."
They climbed out of the Vectra and she locked the doors. Reid leaned against the bonnet and rubbed his hands across his face. His anger had died down as suddenly as it had flared up and he looked weary and shaken. Boydeau walked round the car to put a hand on his shoulder and he looked up. "Sorry," he said.
"For what?"
He shrugged. "You're not supposed to have to do this any more."
"What – have rows with you in the car on the way to the pub?"
"Spend half your working life sorting my head out."
"Well…" she stepped back and regarded him thoughtfully. "It's a hell of a lot easier than it used to be." He made a sceptical sound. "No, seriously, Sarge. Let's be frank here. This time last year you'd have been two-thirds pissed by now and I'd have been cleaning puke off your jacket and feeding you Polos before I sent you in to see the Chief with my fingers crossed."
He winced a little. "That only happened once, didn't it?"
"Yup. Just before you were sent away on the temporary placement to Denton."
"Yeah, that would be it." Wearily, he heaved himself upright. "Okay. I owe you a very belated lunch."