CHAPTER 22 -Something's invigorating

Part 1

A Sunday in Oxford meant a rare day of leisure for Morse and often a lie-in as an added bonus. This was especially so if he had slept poorly the night before and that morning was just such an occasion. He had slept fitfully despite feeling exhausted when he had finally taken to his bed, tossing and turning constantly throughout the night, besieged in turns with images of Joan and Veronica. Kissing featured heavily in the bizarre dreams he had been plagued with off and on during this stop-start nocturnal charade. Sometimes he was kissing Veronica, other times Joan was kissing another man and once or twice he even dreamt he was kissing Joan on the rooftop of her flat while Veronica was observed in a warm embrace with this unidentified other man. Several times he had woken up bolt upright in his bed, wondering if he had been crying out in his sleep and had woken up Strange in the next room. But there had been no Strange knocking at his door calling out to him and asking if he was alright, so he assumed he had not, mercifully.

On waking up for the umpteenth time, Morse stretched out a hand to pick up his alarm clock and with bleary eyes check out the time. It was nine o'clock and he let out a small groan and took a few sips of water from the glass on his bedside table. He could stay in bed a while longer and try to get some more sleep or he could get up, wash the fuzziness and thickness out of his head, have a shave, get dressed and have some breakfast which might make him feel a bit more human. He decided on the latter course of action even though the former required considerably less effort. Fifteen minutes later he walked into the kitchen to be confronted with the customary sight of Jim Strange cooking breakfast, the unmistakeable smell of fried bacon filling his nostrils and causing his nose to twitch a little in protest.

'Morning, matey!' cried Strange with a cheerful smile. 'How are you feeling? Wow, you look a bit rough.' He could see bags under Morse's still somewhat bleary eyes and guessed he had suffered another bad night's sleep.

'I've felt better,' admitted Morse as he sat down gingerly at the table and contemplated what he could face for breakfast.

'What you need is a nice, strong cup of tea to start with,' said Strange and Morse nodded in reply. Strange went to put the kettle on and continued with his words of wisdom for recovering from a hangover from the night before. 'What about a bacon sandwich? I can easily do you one if you want.'

'No thanks,' replied Morse with a brief shake of his head. 'I'll just have some toast, I think…if there's any bread left.'

'There's plenty in the bread bin,' said Strange. 'Another bad night, was it?'

Again Morse nodded but this time he followed that up with a reluctant question. 'You didn't hear me calling out in my sleep, did you?'

Strange shook his head as he speared the rashers of fried bacon with a fork and placed them on his slices of bread. 'Didn't hear a dicky bird, matey. I slept like a baby all night. More nightmares, then?'

'I don't know what they were,' said Morse truthfully. 'Just a lot of very weird images and bizarre situations.'

'Perhaps you ought to pay a visit to the doc. Might be more to these dreams than meets the eye.'

'Oh, I shouldn't think so,' mumbled Morse as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle a huge yawn. 'It's probably just work playing on my mind.'

Or trying to keep up with all your women, thought Strange mischievously. 'You need some fresh air,' he suggested helpfully. 'Lots of it, I shouldn't wonder. Why not go for a stroll around town today?'

'I'm planning to do just that,' Morse replied. 'How about you? Anything special planned?'

Strange was so taken aback by Morse actually enquiring about what his social plans were for once that it took him a while to answer. 'Oh, nothing much,' he said even though he was planning to pop out as soon as he had finished his breakfast with a very particular task in mind. 'I might pop into town this morning and perhaps get a pub lunch somewhere. Do you want to join me?'

Morse had other plans which didn't include his housemate, he decided, so he politely declined Strange's kind offer. The two men ate their breakfast in almost complete silence after which each disappeared to their rooms to prepare to leave the house. Each had their own mission in mind which they were keen to keep hidden from the other and so were deliberately vague about what those plans entailed. Each knew the other would have been intrigued by what they were setting out to do that morning and were equally determined to shroud their intentions in complete mystery.

Part 2

At the first opportunity that presented itself to him, Morse popped into a public telephone box and made the call he had been intending to make ever since he had got up. He didn't want to make the call from home as he didn't want to run the risk of Jim overhearing him and then plying him with all manner of questions, so he had resolved to make the call once he had left the house. He slid the coins into the slot, dialled the number and waited patiently to be connected.

'Hello?' enquired a voice at the other end of the line and Morse began to speak, confident he had dialled the correct number.

'Veronica? It's Morse.'

'Hi Morse!' cried Veronica, sounding extremely happy to hear from him. 'How are you?'

'A bit worse for wear, if I'm honest,' he replied. 'But I'll live.'

'Oh, poor you. What it a good party, then, or is that a silly question?'

Morse let out a small chuckle. 'It was good,' he said. 'But I probably drank a bit too much and I'm paying for it a little now. I was thinking of getting lots of fresh air today to try to clear my head. Do you fancy a punt on the river?'

'That would be wonderful,' replied Veronica, her voice betraying her excitement at the idea. 'What about if I bring along a picnic basket? We could have a picnic lunch on the river bank.'

'Sounds a splendid idea. Shall we meet up at midday at Magdalen Bridge Boathouse?

'It's a deal,' said Veronica. 'I was wondering what on earth to do today before you called. Now I know I'm going to have an absolutely fabulous day out in the fresh air with a very nice man. What could be better?'

Morse smiled to himself and wished Veronica could see him smiling right now. He hung up and there was a spring in his step as he moved down the street. He hoped the weather would stay fine for the whole day although there were a number of places under cover where they could eat their picnic if it did start to rain. He made off in the direction of town, intent on buying a nice bottle of wine as his contribution to the picnic that Veronica had promised to bring along. He was already feeling a lot better and thoughts of Joan and strange young men had flown clean out of his mind.

At around the same time as Morse was on the phone to Veronica, Jim Strange was ringing the bell at a town house in Parktown and waiting patiently on the doorstep for the door to be opened. After a short delay the door was opened and Joan Thursday appeared on the doorstep, in dressing gown and slippers, looking up at Strange through heavy, sleep-deprived eyes, in utter astonishment.

'Jim?!' said Joan, rubbing her eyes furiously as if she couldn't have been seeing clearly and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes would change the sight she saw before her to something rather less unexpected. 'What are you doing here? Did you leave something behind yesterday?'

'Hi Joanie,' said Strange with a warm smile. 'Gosh, you look a bit rough,' he said instinctively, without thinking first. 'Are you OK?'

'Thanks, Jim. You say the sweetest things first thing in the morning.'

Strange realised what he had just said and hastened to apologise profusely for his ill-chosen words. 'I'm sorry, Joan. That came out all wrong. I didn't mean it to sound like that. I just meant…'

'I know, Jim. It's alright. No offence taken. I probably do look a right state. I've only just woken up and my head's pounding and my mouth feels as dry as a bone. Why are you here, Jim?'

Strange hesitated a little before answering. Having already been clumsy with his first few words to Joan, he didn't want to choose badly again and compound his initial error. 'Well, I thought you might appreciate a bit of help clearing up after the party. I know it can often be the last thing you feel like doing the morning after, especially if you're feeling…a little worse for wear, so I thought I'd pop over and …. well, offer to help.'

Joan smiled weakly and looked at Strange with a kindly, appreciative expression breaking out on her tired, drawn face. 'That's really sweet of you, Jim. Thank you. Yes, I probably could do with some help. Come in.'

She stepped aside to allow Jim to pass by her and followed him up the stairs and into the flat. When Jim went through the half open door and into the flat he was greeted by a still overpowering and nauseating stench of cigarette smoke, alcohol and human sweat left over from the day before. The party had clearly gone on quite late and no attempt had been made by anyone to make a start on clearing things up before they left. There were cans, bottles and glasses everywhere, not just on tables but on bookcases, sideboards, window sills, indeed on every surface visible to the human eye. Plates had been left lying around, many of them on the carpet, some with food on them, some without. Plastic knives, forks and spoons were liberally scattered around the living room as were paper napkins, many of which had been scrunched up into a ball and been blindly tossed away. Of course this was just the living room that Strange could see as he walked into the flat. For all he knew the kitchen was just as bad, perhaps even worse.

'Blimey!' cried Jim, as he surveyed the chaotic landscape laid out before him. This was going to take some time to clear up, he thought. This was a jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled up, shoulders to the wheel and noses to the grindstone sort of job that the pair of them were faced with.

'I know,' said Joan, visibly embarrassed by the state of the place. 'It's a bit of a disaster, isn't it? Even more of a state than I am.'

'Well, the quicker we make a start, the quicker it'll be finished,' said Strange with the air of a man who had been set a challenge and who intended to meet it head on without hesitating, without flinching and without fear of failure. 'First things first, I expect you could do with a cup of tea.'

Joan nodded gratefully at him. 'I could kill for one right now,' she said as she collapsed onto a sofa and looked around her with despair at the bombsite that had once been her pride and joy, her lovely, tidy, neat little flat.

'Right. I'll go and put the kettle on. You go and get yourself washed and dressed and then we'll both have a nice, strong cup of tea and decide on a plan of action to sort out this place. Agreed?'

Joan dragged herself up from the sofa, stood to attention with a huge smile, saluted Strange and said, 'Aye aye, Captain!'

Strange let out a huge belly laugh and blushed ever so slightly. Joan grinned back at him but wasted no more time in following Jim's instructions, heading back to her bedroom, leaving Jim to start coordinating the campaign to restore order and normality to Joan's shipwreck of a town flat.

Part 3

Mrs Fancy, George's mother, plonked a pile of local newspapers on the dining room table in front of her son who looked up at her in bewilderment. 'What do you want me to do with them, Mum?'

'You could go through the Situations Vacant sections with a fine tooth comb and find yourself a nice, safe, new job, that's what you can do, George.'

Fancy let out a strangled cry of despair and irritation. 'Mum! I've already told you, I'm not going to look for another job! I like what I'm doing. I like being a policeman.'

'It's too dangerous, George. I mean, look at the state of you! You're covered in cuts and bruises. What's it going to be like next time?'

'There isn't going to be a next time, Mum. I won't make the same mistake again. He caught me off guard, that's all. I won't let that happen again.'

'Oh, yes?' said Mrs Fancy, her brow furrowed with anxiety and concern for her beloved George's future well-being. 'And what if the next time you're attacked, he has a knife or, even worse, a gun. What will you have to defend yourself against that? A wry sense of humour? A diploma in negotiation and arbitration?'

Fancy shook his head in frustration and wished, not for the first time since he arrived back home, that he was still living with Strange and Morse. At least they understood all about the job and knew the risks a policeman faced every day went with the territory. You didn't apply to become a copper without knowing the dangers involved. In fact, in a funny sort of way, it was part of the attraction of the job, never quite knowing what you would be up against from one day to the next, never entirely confident if you would get back home at the end of the day in one piece or sporting the scars and wounds of the battle on the streets with the criminal fraternity.

'Mum, change the record, please. I'm not going to stop being a detective just so you can sleep easier at night. It's what I've always wanted to be and now I finally am one, I'm damned if I'm going to walk away from it at the first sign of trouble.'

'Quite right,' said his Dad who suddenly appeared in the room and had obviously overheard his son's last few words. 'What he needs is to toughen himself up, not run away from a fight.'

'I didn't run away, Dad!' Fancy raged at his father. 'I was caught off guard. I won't let that happen again.'

'A good boxer never drops his guard, son. How often have I told you that?'

'Every bloody day,' Fancy muttered under his breath.

'Why don't I take you down the club and go a few rounds with you. Teach you a few things, toughen you up a bit?'

'No thanks, Dad. I'm fine as I am. Besides, I doubt they'll be wearing boxing gloves next time, just to give me a sporting chance.'

'I don't want there to be a next time, George!' sighed his mother who looked daggers at her husband who, as usual, wasn't helping the situation to her mind. 'Why can't you find yourself a nice, quiet office job like all your friends from school? Keep safe and out of trouble. Do you want to get yourself killed?!'

His mother sounded like she was on the verge of tears and George let out another heavy sigh, got up from the table and left the room, slamming the door behind him. He had had quite enough of life back at home already and it had been barely more than twenty-four hours since he had stepped through the front door to be welcomed home like the prodigal son. He couldn't bear the idea of stopping in for the rest of the day to be bombarded by more sob stories, hysterical exhortations from his mother or demeaning put downs from his father. He decided he had to get out of the house for the day and go somewhere, anywhere, whether alone or with someone, just to escape the grasping clutches of his well-meaning yet utterly useless parents.

He put on his coat and cried out to his parents that he was going out as he opened the front door and stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. He resolved to find a phone box and call Shirley to see if she would meet up with him somewhere in town. He would rather have her company, even if she was still mad at him and continued to give him hell for his recent exploits, than spend another minute at home with his Mum and Dad.

He jumped into the first public phone box he came across and called Shirley at home. When he got through, he presumed it was her father who took the call. He asked to speak to Shirley, claiming it was a work call as he knew her father was suspicious of any man who rang up to speak to his precious daughter. When Trewlove answered the phone she didn't sound in the best of moods which made Fancy's heart sink. He really didn't want to spend the day alone and he was badly in need of female company to cheer him up.

'Shirley? It's George.'

'Oh, it is you,' she replied without any great enthusiasm. 'I thought it might be. What do you want?'

'Look, I know I'm not exactly your favourite person at the moment, but could we meet up somewhere? Please! I've just had a flaming bust up with my parents and I need to get away from them for the day.'

'What were you rowing about? Not me, I hope?' She let out an audible sigh of irritation and George moved swiftly to dispel that theory from her mind.

'Oh God, no, it wasn't about you. It was the usual stuff, Shirl. Mum begging me to leave the force and get a nice, dull, boring, safe office job while my Dad was threatening to take me down the gym and go ten rounds with me to toughen me up. You know the drill.'

Trewlove felt a few pangs of sympathy for Fancy despite still being very angry and disappointed with him for his breaking and entering into Morse's room. She understood what it was like to have parents who didn't see the merits of the police force as a worthy career and thought their offspring could do so much better. She considered Fancy's heartfelt plea for a few seconds and decided she would take pity on the poor sod and agree to meet up with him. She had nothing special planned for the day and, like George, was not exactly overwhelmed with the idea of having a quiet day at home with her parents either.

'OK,' she said, much to Fancy's relief. 'Where and when?'

'How about we meet up at midday outside the Bodleian? We can decide what to do then.'

'Fine,' said Trewlove. I'll see you there,' and she quickly put the phone before she could change her mind and leave him to wallow in his self-pity and misery on his own. She still intended to give him some more stick when they met up but provided he showed genuine remorse and not a little humility, then she would close the book on the incident and not bring the subject up ever again. Not that she planned to tell him that, of course. She would leave him wondering for some time if she would ever forgive him and forget the whole sorry affair or would have that knowledge tucked up her sleeve as a spare card to bring into play whenever she felt like it.

Part 4

It was promising to be a beautiful day with a bright sun beating down from on high and yet a gentle cooling breeze offering more than a hint of relief for the locals and tourists enjoying a punt along the river Cherwell. Morse had taken charge of the punt right from the start as befitting a man with some previous experience while Veronica stretched out in the punt with her head turned upwards, her sunglasses shielding her eyes from the sun while she casually allowed a trailing hand to skim the surface of the water. She had put on a pale, flowery, summer dress for the occasion and her long, slim, pale legs were a perfect match for her outfit. She had applied a small amount of sun cream to her face and arms to avoid getting sunburnt as she was often at risk of doing on account of the paleness of her complexion. Morse, by contrast, had no protection from the sun which he lapped up willingly with complete confidence that he would come to no harm from its strong rays.

'This is so peaceful and relaxing, Morse,' said Veronica as she looked up at him from her recumbent position. 'I could probably fall asleep for hours if you were to let me.'

Morse smiled down at her as he smoothly and expertly guided the punt down the river, keeping a safe distance from the occasional other punters that came into view. I wouldn't do that,' he said. 'You might catch sunstroke and then you'd know all about it.'

'With my pale skin I only have to look at the sun and I start turning pink,' Veronica confessed. 'I wasn't built for hot climates. Give me a nice breezy day out on the moors any time. You know where you are with that.'

Morse nodded in sympathy. He liked the warmth of a summer's day, but he too felt strangely more at ease when the weather was a little more inclement and unpredictable.

'Are you feeling hungry?' he asked. 'Shall we think about pulling over to the riverbank and finding a nice spot to have our picnic?'

'Good idea,' replied Veronica, sitting up suddenly so she could survey their surroundings and help Morse pick out the perfect spot for them to pull over and tuck into their lunch. 'I'm famished.'

Over the next five minutes or so Morse skilfully guided the punt across the width of the river and headed towards the river bank. The two of them pointed out and discussed a variety of landing places and eventually settled on pulling in at a picturesque spot lined with trees and brightly coloured wild flowers where they disembarked and carried the picnic hamper that Veronica had brought between them onto dry land. After a few minutes combing the area they settled on a nicely shaded spot on the edge of a small wood where the grass was dry and flat and where they were afforded a certain amount of protection from the strong heat of the sun. Morse laid out the red and black chequered blanket on the grass while Veronica meticulously unloaded the picnic hamper, placing the wide variety of food items one by one on the blanket. She had cobbled together a veritable feast for the two of them to enjoy – slices of crumbed ham, chicken legs, a large pork pie, coleslaw, pickled onions, fresh tomatoes and hard boiled eggs not to mention a wide variety of rolls, various fruit and even some raw vegetables. Morse opened the bottle of white wine he had brought as his contribution while Veronica got out paper plates and knives and forks and unpacked the food and laid it out on the plates.

'This looks fabulous,' Morse said with approval at the effort Veronica had made to provide such an impressive banquet for their lunch. 'You really shouldn't have gone to so much trouble. We'll never get through all this, surely.'

'Well, we can have a damn good go, can't we?' replied Veronica with a smile, ever the optimist. 'I didn't have any breakfast apart from a cup of coffee so I'm absolutely starving. How about you?'

Morse shook his head with a wry grin. 'No, not much,' he admitted, thinking back to the morning. 'I'm not much of a breakfast person, anyway. Unlike my housemate who can put away a fried breakfast of some description any day of the week with consummate ease.'

Veronica roared with laughter as she put the finishing touches to the picnic spread preparations before inviting Morse to start tucking in which he did with relish. What's he like, this housemate of yours? Is he a copper too?'

Morse nodded as he gnawed greedily at a chicken leg. 'Yes. He's a Detective Sergeant also, based at the same station as me. We often work on the same case together. We've known each other quite a few years now.'

'Go on, said Veronica as she made herself a ham roll and liberally smeared it with some hot English mustard to give it a bit of extra oomph. 'Is he like you, Morse?'

'What does 'like me' mean?' Morse looked at her with a quizzical expression and with raised eyebrows, inviting her to expand on her somewhat cryptic remark.

'Oh, you know, an intellectual, an Oxford scholar, clever, serious, shy and reserved and yet despite all that, great fun to be with.'

'Wow!' Morse was rather taken aback by Veronica's detailed yet glowing description of him. 'You haven't exactly known me very long. Have you really picked up all of that in such a short space of time?'

'I would say so, yes. You don't strike me as an easy man to get to know but I reckon I'm quite good at reading people and seeing between the lines.'

Morse considered Veronica in silence for a while, trying to get the measure of this highly intelligent and perceptive young woman lying in front of him, incongruously eating a hardboiled egg with an enigmatic look on her pinkish face which was already showing signs of being affected by the sun.

'Well, to answer your question, no, my housemate isn't like me at all. I mean, he's not an Oxford man, though he's no fool. He's quite street-wise, if you know what I mean. A copper's copper, I suppose most people would say.'

'Whereas you aren't like most coppers?'

'I… suppose not,' replied Morse hesitantly. 'I think others see me as a bit of a maverick, a loner who prefers to do things his own way rather than follow strict procedure.'

'And does that get results, this maverick way of working?' Veronica was getting more and more interested in this unusual young detective who clearly wasn't comfortable talking about himself but who nonetheless had quite a shrewd appreciation of his own value.

'Up to now, I suppose so,' said Morse in typically vague fashion. 'It has got me into trouble a few times, though,' he added honestly with a shy grin.

'All mavericks get into trouble from time to time, Morse,' Veronica comforted him with a confident expression borne of years of experience dealing with controversial public figures. 'It's partly what makes them so interesting to work with. You shouldn't apologise for being different, you know.'

'I don't, 'said Morse. 'At least, not often.'

He rolled over on to his back while he bit into a fresh tomato and just stopped the tomato juice from dribbling onto his chin in time with a well-judged hand manoeuvre. Veronica giggled and leaned over towards him, pulling him closer to her as she kissed him sweetly on the lips. 'I like people who are different from all the rest. They make me feel more normal.'

'Why don't you feel normal, then?' asked Morse, intrigued by yet another cryptic remark of Veronica's as she lay her head on his chest and demanded he gave her a bite of his tomato which he did.

'Ooh, that's a very long story,' said Veronica, licking her lips to get rid of the tomato juice around her mouth. 'Let's leave that for another day, shall we? We've got to get through all this food first!'

Author's Notes

Thank you to the unidentified 'Guest' who has left a couple of reviews recently – they are much appreciated! I hope those of you who have been following the story continue to enjoy it as much as I am enjoying writing it. If you do have any comments to make on the story so far or even a suggestion or two on how you would like to see it develop, please do let me know. I would love to hear from you!