Chapter Seven

"Why is Mr Gently in the hospital?" Leigh-Anne asked. I glanced in the rear-view mirror. Her gaze was open, curious. She still had a daisy chain in her hair. "Is he ill?"

"Uh…" How to explain this to a young child? "Did your Mam tell you what happened?"

Leigh-Anne shook her head. "No. She said I should ask Daddy why he didn't answer my telephone call."

I winced. Most of the time now, Lisa and I were pretty good about being civil to each other. Two days ago though, I had practically barked down the 'phone at her. I'd made an effort to apologise at the doorway this morning, but her cold demeanour had stifled it.

"Don't take out your fears on me, John Bacchus," she'd said sharply.

"Daddy?"

"Sorry, Leigh-Anne. Daddy has had a lot on his mind lately." I sighed and said, "Mr Gently was… taken by a bad man a few days ago."

"Why?" she frowned.

"The bad man wanted protection and he told us that he'd hurt Mr Gently unless we gave him what he wanted."

Leigh-Anne stared at me. Absently, she took one of the flowers out of her hair and began to shred the petals. "Did he?"

"Did he what?" I asked as I pulled out of the side road.

"Hurt Mr Gently?" she asked.

I took a breath. "Yes, he did, Leigh-Anne. But he's better now and that's why we're picking him up from the hospital." Biting my lip, I indicated right to enter the hospital parking bays. I hoped what I was saying was true.

We pulled into a bay miraculously near the front door and I turned around in my seat to face Leigh-Anne. "Pet, can I ask you a favour? An important favour?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"When we get Mr Gently, will you not ask him about what happened? If you have any questions then you can ask me tonight, OK? I just don't want to… uh… worry him, OK?"

Leigh-Anne mimed zipping her lips shut and then smiled at me. "I'm a big girl," she informed me solemnly.

A fond smile tugged at my mouth, "That's my girl. Come on." We got out of the car. Leigh-Anne grabbed my hand obediently as we crossed the road and then skipped ahead into the grey building. I had to help her tug open the door.

As soon as we were inside, Leigh-Anne went bounding ahead towards the row of seats. A burst of fear suddenly clutched my stomach and I had to smother a cry. I forced my voice to remain level, "Not too far, Leigh-Anne, please!"

She stopped, a little sulkily, and then asked, "Where's Mr Gently?"

"He'll be coming soon," I said, reassuring myself more than her. "Let's just sit down and wait for him, shall we?" I shot a glance towards the white corridor and supressed a shudder. "How 'bout, you tell me about school last week?"

It was Leigh-Anne who spotted him first. She was halfway through a spirited rendition of what Mattie Turner had said to Lucy Lacks (it was nasty) when her gaze suddenly focused on something over my right shoulder. She grinned and then hurled herself out of the chair.

Guv looked confused, but also slightly pleased as she barrelled into his side and threw her arms about his waist to give him a hug. "Hello, Mr Gently, are you feeling better?" she asked.

He looked down at her, smiled faintly and ruffled her hair. "Hello, Leigh-Anne, where's your dad?" He spotted me. I gave him a half-wave as I moved to remove Leigh-Anne before she managed to topple him over. Guv didn't look too steady on his feet yet.

"You ready to go?" I asked brightly. A tinge of guilt struck me. "Sorry, I should have brought you some clean clothes."

Gently waved one hand dismissively, the other caught in Leigh-Anne's grip. He was dressed in a hideous yellow shirt that was far too big for him, obviously dug out of Lost Property or from the donated clothing. It made him look oddly small and diminished. My smile faded a little and Guv noticed, a small frown deepening the lines between his eyebrows. "It's alright, John," he said quickly, "Just sign me out of here and let's go."

Leigh-Anne brightened twice as much. She knew this meant ice-cream. Beaming up at Gently, she began to run through which were the best flavours while I signed the book at the desk. "I like chocolate," she told him entirely seriously, "But I also like strawberry. Which one's your favourite?"

"Hmm, to be honest, Leigh-Anne, I haven't really eaten ice-cream for a long time."

Leigh-Anne's squawk of shock was feigned, but I expected that only her father would know that. I smiled. Leigh-Anne was sharper than I'd realised. She instinctively had reached out to distract Gently with harmless chatter. I wondered if this was why she had so many friends at school; she could cheer up anyone. The thought warmed me greatly and I couldn't say why. It wasn't like I could take any credit for raising her after all.

"All done," I announced. Leigh-Anne cheered and began to drag Gently towards the door.

He froze. His expression stiffened, eyes widening. Leigh-Anne didn't notice, but I did.

For a heartbeat, Guv looked utterly terrified.

Then the moment was over. He gave Leigh-Anne a wan smile and let her pull him along.

A heaviness settled in my stomach as I followed them out.

"Does Mr Gently get carsick?" Leigh-Anne asked me, both elbows on the table. I turned momentarily, confused, and brushed my hair out of my eyes.

"What do you mean, pet?" I asked. The sausages were brown, fat jumping like frogs.

"Because he didn't look well when we were driving to his house." Leigh-Anne picked up her pencil and scribbled an answer in her maths book. "And he didn't even have any ice-cream." She looked up at me and asked, "Why couldn't he have any?"

"Well…" I managed on the second try to spear a sausage and ferry it over to the two waiting plates. I was pretty pleased with myself for managing to only burn the food a little. "Well… Leigh-Anne, Mr Gently's on a restricted diet right now."

"Why? He's not fat. Mummy says you shouldn't diet if you're not fat."

I slid her plate in front of her. "Grub's up, Leigh-Anne, put the homework away for now." I sat down opposite her and picked up my knife and fork.

"Why?"

I licked my lips, wondering how much to tell her. It's a weird feeling, that desire to protect your bairns from things like this. I never really spoke to Leigh-Anne about work. Keep it separate, that's what I always did.

But this… I had promised that I'd answer any of her questions…

"When the bad man had him," I began slowly, "Mr Gently didn't get any food. So it means that, uh, his body won't respond very well to eating again."

"Why?"

"I don't know, pet," I said, "I'm a policeman, not a doctor."

"Oh." Leigh-Anne shoved a chip in her mouth. "Was that why he looked like he was going to throw up?"

"I don't know," I mumbled around a mouthful of peas.

Leigh-Anne giggled and pointed at me, "You shouldn't eat with your mouth open!"

"Oh, I shouldn't should I? I'm a bad influence," I grinned at her and, making sure I held her gaze, I shovelled in another forkful of peas. She laughed and did the same.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?" I swallowed a bit of sausage.

"Is he going to be OK?" Leigh-Anne stared at me. Her head was tilted to the side and she chewed the sausage industriously.

I placed my knife and fork down on my plate and leant over the table towards her. "Of course he is," I said brightly, "He's an old soldier."

But in the back of my mind, I wasn't sure I was convinced.