Chapter 12: Acceleration

The director's call came earlier than Cully expected. In spite of the scheduled opening—just over a month away—she had thought she would hear nothing until the following week, not late Friday morning. But, he had called and he had said that name—Eliza—and all the worry had been swept away. Of course she would remain in Causton, there was no reason to leave— She drew a quick breath, trying to ignore the end of that sentence. Causton meant nothing at all, did it?

The thoughts were more and more troubling: not because they were ridiculous or impractical—though they were—but because of how frequent they had become, and how quickly. When she had spoken to him so briefly last night, his words had enveloped her, warm and almost comforting. The world outside had ceased to exist, returning only when he vanished, and then it had been empty. "I missed you, Gavin." And it was true now, too, even in those moments when she knew there was no other choice.

Hardly recognizing the motions—opening her mobile phone and navigating to the contacts list—Cully paused, her thumb on the send button. There was nothing wrong with it, after all, she had promised to tell him as soon as she knew. But this was more than merely keeping a promise, calling him now...Not wanting to think any more, she pressed send; the struggle to think was too much.

Once it began, the ringing never ended—one, two, three, four, five times—until the voice mail answered at last. Not surprising, only disappointing. "Detective Sergeant Troy, and I cannot take your phone call. Leave your name, number, and a message, and I'll return your call as soon as possible." The harsh electronic beep was shrill in her ear.

"Hi, Gavin," she said, "it's Cully. Sorry I couldn't get you when you're free." She stopped for a moment. There was no point in saying everything now, not if she wanted him to call her back. "When you get a minute, just give me a ring." Pressing the end button on the phone, Cully sighed. If she was honest, that was what she wanted, for Gavin to call her back. Telling him was almost secondary.

She had called him Tuesday evening after her father arrived home, feeling certain Gavin would be home as well, or at least able to answer. She was half correct—he did answer after only two rings—but he still sat behind his desk at CID, signing and dating statements. "Typical," he had muttered. Though she had only wanted, almost needed, to tell him about the audition, the conversation had swiftly turned away from that, to nothing in particular. Anything and everything. The murder in Midsomer Market had been foremost on his mind: pity for Lord Chetwood, disbelief about that woman's delusions, and—at first—a touch of pride.

"Your dad doesn't tell me 'good work' too much, Cully," he said.

"Then I'm sure you deserved it," she answered. He jumped to conclusions often—her father complained Gavin would make a career of it—but he usually found the right one, now more than ever. She wondered if he was smiling, still enjoying the praise. "He does give credit where it's due."

"He spends most of his time telling me why I'm wrong."

"About everything?"

Gavin laughed, though the sound was not entirely cheerful. "Almost."

His voice had become familiar again so quickly, almost an indulgence she eagerly anticipated each day. She had not seen him since Saturday—with revising, investigations, volunteering, and overtime, there was no time—but even a few words softened the frustration. And when he did not answer his phone, the disappointment was painfully deep. Not that it was his fault. Wednesday, her father had not returned until gone ten, too tired to do much more than sip a large whiskey and gaze blankly across the room, already lost in thought. She had called twice that night, and Gavin never answered. When she reached him on Thursday, he had sounded so exhausted she couldn't ask him to stay on the line. It wasn't loneliness that had overcome her a few moments later, just the confusion.

Footsteps broke into her thoughts, a pair of older women climbing the steps into the library unit. Setting the phone on her seat, Cully stood. "Hello," she said, walking forward to take the small stacks of books each held. At least for the moment, she could think about something else.

More people came and went: some returning books, others borrowing, some ready to chat, others simply wanting to browse. Whenever she had a moment alone, Cully sat beside her phone, once or twice staring at it, demanding it to ring.

It never did.

"You're being silly," she said quietly, forcing her eyes out the front window, the village green and grey road meeting just to her right. Bright and beautiful...and for a moment Cully loathed it and its cheerfulness. "He'll call you when he gets a chance." She was sure of it—but, god, what was taking so long? "What is the matter with you?"

Do something. Her leg was twitching impatiently, her fingers tapping, all waiting for—nothing. Picking up her phone again, she paused for a final moment, wanting and hoping, and receiving only silence as her reward. Sighing, she dialed the home number and this time, the phone only rang twice before it was answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mum?"

"Oh, Cully, how are you?" her mother asked.

"Fine," she said. "Great, actually. I have good news."

"Already?"

Cully heard the excitement, and her own rose again. "They're running a tight schedule this time," she said.

"And?"

"I got the female lead—Eliza."

"That's wonderful, darling!" her mother said.

Cully still wondered how it happened. Just after leaving the stage, everything that had gone wrong had replayed in her mind: one missed word, stress where she did not want it, a gesture she hated. Gavin had almost laughed all them off as he took a few moments away from his paperwork Tuesday evening. "You're worrying too much," he had said as she recited the list that had grown longer throughout the day, and nothing she could say was able to silence him. And what would he have done if she had told him face to face?

"Cully?"

"Oh, sorry." She shook her head, trying to listen. What was the point of calling if she didn't? "I've worked with the director before: The Importance of Being Earnest, Noises Off..."

"When do you begin rehearsing?"

"The start of next week," Cully said, hearing the director's words again. The schedule was certain to be mad, trying to finish so much so soon.

"Have you told your father yet?"

"No, I rang Gavin about an hour ago, but his mobile was off." First. Neither her mother nor her father, but Gavin. It was not driven by thought or choice, merely action, like it was...right.

"Oh?" Was she going to ask something else, Cully wondered, new nerves growing in her chest. Please don't. "I'm certain he'll be happy to hear it."

"I know." What else would he be, after Saturday. If she closed her eyes, held her breath, pushed aside all her thoughts, she still felt the gentle warmth that had vanished too quickly. She could hear his quiet words again—"I'll—just hope it goes well, then."—when his own worry had disappeared entirely.

A pair of voices broke through the silence, then footsteps—and she was in the library unit again, her phone still pressed to her ear, just wishing. "Sorry, Mum—"

Her mother laughed quietly. "Work to do?"

"Finally. I'll tell you more about it when I get home."

"I'll see you this evening, then."

"Bye," Cully said, closing her phone as she stood, finding a smile as she reached out for the books being returned. The question did not retreat: how long?

Cully had almost stopped thinking about him when her phone rang again; the hours had moved slightly quicker when she had work to focus on. Well, it was hardly work, but it was something. The last library patrons had vanished several minutes before, the last books had been checked and shelved, and, sitting in the driver's seat staring out the window, Cully answered without looking at the number. "Hello?"

"Cully?"

"Gavin." The heat returned, seeping through her chest and her arms, to the tips of her fingers. Her mouth was suddenly dry. "How are you?"

"All right," he said, the words as heavy as they had been the night before.

She frowned, crossing her free arm over her stomach. "You don't sound like you are."

"No, just spent most of the day in the car, I think." Now, Cully only heard the tangled noise of CID—mumbled words, shrill phones, footsteps—and she wondered if he was looking for her father, to be certain he wasn't there, before saying anything else. "But—what about you?"

"I—I'm good," she said, her voice shaking for a moment. Even through the hours of waiting, she had not expected to be so happy to hear him speak; it overwhelmed everything else.

"I'd've called earlier, but we only got a break just now."

Cully's eyes narrowed as a woman clutching a toddler's hand wandered across the green. A handbag dangled from her elbow, nearly brushing the ground, and she carried nothing else. "The first all day?"

"Of course," Gavin said lowly. "But it's a nice change of pace, burglaries instead of murder."

Shaking the child's arm, the woman turned back, ignoring the beginnings of a tantrum, and Cully released a deep breath. "The victims probably don't think so."

"They ought to see what we usually investigate." The cacophony rose again before he continued. "What did you want to talk about?"

The pair had vanished, and Cully shook her head. A few more minutes to talk. "Oh—I had a call from the director at the Playhouse this morning."

"And?"

"Rehearsal starts next week."

Gavin laughed briefly. "What part were you cast in? His housekeeper?"

"No—" She sat straighter. How do you know? she thought. "Whose housekeeper?"

Gavin didn't speak for a moment, but he cleared his throat; Cully winced at the sound. "Dr.— Professor—you know...his housekeeper."

"I thought you didn't know anything about drama."

"I still don't," he said. "I just thought I'd take a little time, you know, to read it again."

Thoughts raced around her mind, devouring one another before she could comprehend them. "Really?"

"If it's all you're going to be working on for a while—" He stopped, nearly sounding embarrassed. Or perhaps just uncertain.

Don't, Gavin. "It will be," she said. "The schedule's mad."

"It's a strange thing to write a play about," he said, "accents and all that."

Cully relaxed, leaning against the seat back. "That's not what it's about, Gavin."

"Then what is it about?"

"People."

He groaned, and she could see the frown of frustration, the unasked question: why bother? "There's a reason I didn't study drama."

"Or literature, apparently." Cully looked over her shoulder—but there was no one. The chatter on Gavin's end of the line was so close, she thought it was someone behind her. Good.

"I never had to," he said.

"What did you think about it this time?"

"I'm—only halfway through, Cully."

"Then you've already run into me." She had almost asked the director to repeat himself. A lead role—and she needn't leave to take it. Even the role of Clara would be worth that: she wanted to stay in Causton more than— Cully shuddered. How had this happened so quickly?

"That big a part?" Just like her mother, she heard the anticipation in his voice.

"Eliza." Cully tapped her fingers on the edge of her phone. Should I? It was only a question, for god's sake. What harm was there in that? Only the risk of hearing no—and that was hardly a worry. "I can tell you all about it later tonight."

"Tonight—" There was the noise again, briefly clear and then muffled, like he had pulled the phone from his ear or pressed his hand over the microphone. A policeman's job never stops, she thought. "Sorry," he said after a few seconds, the chaos fading away.

"Well? Tonight?"

Gavin was silent, and when he did speak, he was quieter than before. "Is that an invitation?"

Whatever was behind those words...it was a mystery. Happiness? Wariness? "It could be."

"Even if I haven't finished it?"

Really, Gavin? Cully thought as she stood. Her legs were beginning to twitch, and even a few steps from the front to the back of the library unit began to release the nerves. You are useless, sometimes. "I'll wait, if you'd like."

"No, no," he said, almost stumbling over the simple words, "I wouldn't complain."

Cully wondered if he heard her smile, if he saw the pink flush spreading across her cheeks. "Good, you can pick me up at the library."

"Should I worry about bringing my copy of it?"

"If you want to ruin dinner," she said, sitting in the driver's seat again, her legs finally still.

"Tonight?"

"And I'm not asking you to sit at the same table as Dad," she added quickly.

"Did I sound worried?" he asked.

Cully smiled to herself, seeing his face tense, his skin blanch further—somehow, it was possible—and his gaze transform from pleased to worried. "You didn't have to."

She saw the scowl and watched it fade just as quickly. "Well, when should I be at the library?" he asked.

"I'm supposed to be finished around five."

"We might be done by then," Gavin said, the exhaustion returning to his voice.

"I didn't think burglary investigations took so much time," she said, looking at the clock on the dashboard, the glowing numbers declaring it was only mid-afternoon.

"They do when there are four in two days."

"Four!" She wasn't sure she had heard him correctly. "Is that even possible?"

"Didn't your dad tell you?"

"No, he's been too tired to do much of anything."

"Two Tuesday night, two more yesterday evening," he said. "The same marks on the windows at all of them, and they match some from a spree a few months back. The beginning of another—"

He was silent, and the bedlam rang in her ears again: the telephones, the footsteps, the shouting of names. Now frowning herself, Cully turned to the back of the library unit—it was still empty, the shelves of books sitting patiently, waiting for a moment's attention.

"Sorry," he said after a moment. And it was not mere politeness; she heard the annoyance. But it couldn't be helped.

"No, it's fine," she said, standing once more for a better look across the village green. No one approached. "Just—call me when you do finish."

"Sure. I'll see you later, Cully."

"Yeah."

As she hung up, the world was already reappearing, flat and faded, almost dreary in spite of the clear sky and brilliant sun. Grey, uninteresting, and empty. The morning's excitement and happiness were not gone but dulled, hidden beneath the quiet. It's only a few hours, she thought. That's hardly anything. And why does it matter—

But that was a lie, wasn't it? Cully had known his half of the answer for months, and the past few days revealed one thing: it had not changed. And now her own half was clear—she had seen it, heard it, felt it. She had no name for that solution, no certainty of the components, almost no understanding of how one yielded the other. Two answers to the same confusion, each incomplete without the other, forming only one conclusion. Whatever it meant in the end.

What end? Cully thought. It's too much worrying about now. You don't even know what Gavin wants— Well, that was hardly the truth. His eyes, his touch, his voice, his kiss, everything she had returned...She would be a fool to claim she didn't know, for the only unknown was herself.

The remaining afternoon hours blurred together, sometimes rushing, sometimes crawling. More men and women—even the occasional child—entered and exited, their words and footsteps breaking into the thoughts already consuming her. Each half answered with no end in sight. Each time a question was asked or a book had to be shelved, the new world spinning in her head dissipated...and rose again almost stronger than before, cleaner, more vibrant.

And, as fervently as she anticipated the day's end, Cully was loath to think about what had to be done, not after what she had already said. "I'll tell you more about it when I get home." But, really, were those words any more than pleasantries, the thoughtless words that began and ended the simplest of conversations?

Sighing, Cully opened her phone again, dialed the home number again, heard the sharp rings again—and too soon, heard her mother again.

"Hello?"

She drew a deep breath. "Hi, Mum?"

"Cully?" her mother asked, sounding almost curious.

"I just wanted to tell you..." God, you're not a child, even if you are staying with your parents for a spell. "I actually don't know when I'll be home tonight."

"Is anything wrong?" It was a different voice now, concerned rather than inquisitive.

"No," Cully said, shaking her head as though her mother could see her, "something's come up, that's all."

"Oh?"

Cully's eyes narrowed. At times, she was certain her parents were cut from the same cloth, never willing to reveal everything they either knew or suspected until the time was perfect. "I won't be too late."

"Have you gotten a hold of your father?"

"Not yet," Cully said, nervously twisting her fingers in the hem of her jumper. After being unable to reach Gavin, she hadn't bothered. After finally speaking with Gavin, the thoughts about questions and answers had driven everything else aside.

"I can tell him when he gets home." Her mother was quiet—almost gentle—and Cully again wondered what she was thinking.

"Thanks, Mum."

"What did Gavin say?" her mother asked after a moment.

She knew, and Cully had expected nothing else. "He was happy to hear it. He's started rereading it." Cully heard his laughter and his tentative admission about reading Pygmalion again, saw his skin redden before it quickly became pale once more.

"Really?"

That single word drew Cully back to the phone, Gavin's face and voice disappearing. "I might ask him to help me read my lines," she said.

"Not tonight, surely."

"No—" Tonight. Yes, she knew. "Early next week, I suppose. If he and Dad aren't still too busy."

"Those burglaries are all your father has been thinking about."

"I know," Cully said. Her father never stopped working, except for the occasional holiday—and sometimes not even then! "But that's Dad."

"That's his job, dear."

How many hours had she spent with Gavin in the past week and a half, and for how long had they talked over the phone? Cully didn't know, but not even a minute felt stolen from any investigation. Like that time was set aside for her—only her. "I think Gavin will make some time."