Kids
...
Tuesday 11th December
The chaos is unbelievable. Grace can't quite see how three small children can possibly be inflicting so much mess and noise on her formerly clean and organised home, but inflicting it they are. Exceedingly enthusiastically, too.
"They're very lively," Grace observes, trying for a considered level of civility, but quite sure she is failing miserably. Edith, her much-hated cousin and grandmother to the three small monsters, is oblivious. Naturally.
"Hmm…" she intones, delicately sipping her tea as cushions fly through the air and the older two of the three descend into a fierce tussle, rolling out of sight behind the sofa as they clash over ownership of a small toy car. Grace doesn't dare look and see what the smallest one is up to.
"I had hoped they'd be quite worn out by now," sighs Edith, "We've been to the history museum, and then they wanted ice-cream. In this weather! Can you imagine? Honestly!"
Grace can imagine quite easily. Edith takes another sip, still ignoring the devastation occurring around her, and then simply redirects the conversation. "Anyway, so tell me, Grace dear, how are you doing?"
She's fishing, just like she always does and with a flash of clarity Grace knows exactly why Edith has suddenly turned up after over a year without any contact. Always the one relied upon to get to the heart of any and all gossip, someone in their large, extended family has commissioned her to come here today and dig deeper.
Incensed at the audacity of the move – she hasn't heard from any of them in the long, hard months that have passed slowly, exhaustingly and painfully by, not even so much as a single phone call or email – she is momentarily speechless.
Recovering herself, she smiles meaninglessly and shrugs, rather disinterested. "I'm fine," she nods, and gets to her feet. "Excuse me for a moment, please."
Teeth clenched, Grace retreats to the kitchen and shuts the door, reaching for her mobile phone.
"Is she gone yet?" is the impatient and irked greeting she receives when the call connects.
"No," she whispers, still furious, but desperate now, too. "I need rescuing, Peter. Please."
…
The doorbell rings, closely followed by a loud, authoritarian and impatient knock. Extricating herself from the unrelenting melee, Grace makes her way to answer it and can't help grinning when she finds herself face to face with a very irritable and incredibly official looking Detective Superintendent. Tall and broad shouldered, he fills the doorway easily. His expression is serious, stern and she immediately sobers, absolutely prepared to follow his lead.
From somewhere he's appropriated a chunky black winter coat with the tell-tale white detailing and the big, bold lettering brashly proclaiming POLICE in no uncertain terms. She can't help noticing that it fits him like a glove, and coupled with the frowning, forbidding look on his face, it gives him a slight air of danger, a hint of exciting power.
"Can I help you?" she asks, stepping back and allowing him to walk into the house. Boyd moves until he is clearly visible through the living room door.
"We've had reports of a disturbance," he intones, voice deep and sombre, carrying easily above the cacophony. "The neighbour's called it in, Doctor Foley, said something suspicious was going on and they thought you might be in danger." He turns, and his gaze sweeps over the chaotic tangle of cushions and children, who miraculously freeze mid-whack, pillows abruptly completely stationary in mid-air as they gawp at the sudden appearance of a rather large and imposing policeman.
There's a moment – just a moment – of frozen silence, and then very suddenly Edith is on her feet, mortified, blustering and trying very hard to justify the exuberance of the children.
"I'm so sorry Officer! They've had too much sugar, I'm afraid."
Grace glances at Boyd, can see him bite back the automatic correction concerning his rank – a Detective Superintendent is hardly likely to be summoned to a simple house call, after all – and she hides her own smile as Edith somehow wrestles the older two apart and propels them forcefully in the direction of the front door.
Her gaze flickers to Grace, desperately hoping for some help. Finding none, she offers a quick, "I'm so sorry Grace, but it's time we were going." Holding onto the two boys by the scruff of their necks as they swipe at each other, each trying to get the last punch in, she looks around for the third child.
"Lily?"
"Yes?" asks a sweet voice from above their heads. Lily, four years old and quite possibly part monkey, is clinging to the curtain rail, swinging back and forth with a ridiculously angelic grin on her face.
"Get down at once," gasps Edith. "What would your mother say?"
"That Granny lets us get away with far too much," supplies the older boy, grinning helpfully.
…
The door shuts behind them all and Grace stands still, surveying the damage. It's superficial really, nothing a few minutes of tidying won't fix.
"Are all your family like that?" asks Boyd as she bends to pick up a cushion.
"A fair few," she admits, straightening up and turning to look at him. "Thank you," she adds. Now that peace has once again descended, she finds herself able to fully consider the uniform situation. It may only be one item of uniform, but it does fit him very well.
Grace smirks at him.
"What?" he demands.
"Nice jacket," she tells him, pausing for a moment and taking in his apparel with clearly blatant glee, before adding wickedly, slyly, "Officer!"