TOMMY

Tommy woke with a start when his door swung open. Winston looked sheepish as he entered. "Sorry to disturb you, Sir. How are you?"

"Seemingly better than when they had me forcibly imprisoned in a coma."

"Right. Good."

"Well? Have you found Barbara?" Winston winced, and Tommy knew. "She doesn't want to be found, does she? She never went to Mull."

"No, Sir, she told me she wanted to get away and not be found."

Tommy nodded. "Has she contacted you?"

"Not yet. She said she could be contacted by a message on her mobile. I have left a couple. They went straight to voicemail, so she has her phone switched off. I suppose she will only turn it on to check. I could put a trace on it so that when she turns it on..."

Tommy waved his hand to stop Winston. "No. Don't bother. If she doesn't want me to find her, she will have forwarded it to another number or will dial in to retrieve messages from any phone." Tommy ran his hand through his hair. It needed a wash. "Did you find my mobile?"

Winston handed Tommy the phone. "Yes, Sir. It was in an evidence bag, but it's not technically evidence."

"Especially as there will never be a court case. Thank you, Winston. I don't suppose you have a charger?"

The younger policeman looked pleased with himself. "I took the one from your office." He placed it on the bedside chest.

"Good thinking, Winston. How are you going with your exam preparation?"

Nkata looked down. "I haven't done much the last few days."

"Who is in charge while I'm in here?"

"DI Green."

"I'll ring him and ask him to give you time to study."

"But, Sir, he'll think I have been complaining. I'm not. I will be fine. I still have three weeks. Sergeant Havers will help when she gets back."

"Barbara has a lot on her mind. I can help too. Bring your book in when you visit, and I will quiz you." Tommy saw Winston trying to hide his reaction. It made him laugh. "Don't look so horrified. It's important to me that you do your best. You have a bright future."

Winston focussed on a flaw in the cotton on Tommy's bedcover and picked at it with his fingernail. "Thanks, Sir."

Tommy decided to have mercy and change the subject. "Thank you for bringing my phone. I will think about what to say then leave Barbara a message."

Winston looked up. "I'm sorry, Sir."

Tommy frowned. "For what?"

"Not stopping her. Not getting to you two fast enough before you were... attacked."

"Nonsense. Barbara and I will both be fine."

"But she... seems so distressed."

"It's my fault she left, not yours. When we were lying there, I said something she misunderstood. Only I can fix this."

Winston nodded. "I guess I should let you sleep."

Tommy smiled. Poor Winston. "Thank you. If Barbara does ring, ask her to call me."

"I will. Take care."

BARBARA

The room was pleasantly quirky. At the end of the building, the room was shaped like a wedge instead of the ubiquitous rectangles. The point, a dead area that held only a floor lamp, drew her eyes to the window on the hypotenuse wall. Barbara walked across and gasped. The view was stunning. The low rays of afternoon light caught the colours of the town. The tide was low, and for well over 50 metres, wet golden sand reflected the streaks of reds, and blues, and yellows.

She looked around the room. The bed ran along the wall next to the door. Above the timber bed head affixed to the wall, was a print of a painting of Scarborough in a storm. Lightning flashed out to sea, and a green light cast over the town. Barbara wondered at the choice. Surely a bright sunny scene would be more appealing.

On the other wall was a wardrobe decorated with Art Deco golds and timber which, on closer inspection, was just patterned laminate. Beside the closet was a door to the ensuite. Floor-to-ceiling white envelope-shaped tiles were broken by a single line of blue tiles that ran around at shoulder height. It reminded her of the public lavatories in the Old Bailey, except that those tiles were cream and green. The tiny shower was over a narrow hip bath, separated from the toilet by a thick white shower curtain that smelt of Lysol.

Barbara unpacked her shopping bags and grabbed a biscuit. Choc Mint Creams were one of her favourite indulgences when she felt low, and right now, low did not even begin to describe it. The inevitable loomed. She switched on her new mobile and waited for a signal. Four new messages, the screen flashed at her. She took a deep breath then dialled voicemail. The first was from Winston telling her people were looking for her. The next, also from Winston, told her Lynley was awake and fine, and asking for her. He then began a story about being summoned to Hillier. It cut off just as he was saying how awkward he felt. As she suspected, the third message finished the story and warned her he expected a big payback in the form of help with his upcoming exams.

She hesitated. Tommy would undoubtedly try to call. There was one more message. She wanted to hear his voice, but she dreaded it too. What would he say? What could he say? Her heart raced, and her head pounded. She pressed the button.

"Me again..." Winston! Barbara felt as if she had fallen. Despite all her fear, she had hoped to hear Tommy's voice. She listened to Winston explaining that he on his way to see a Lynley, and would report back later. She checked the time of the call. It was only twenty minutes ago. She lay on the bed, closed her eyes and waited for the voicemail beep.

WINSTON

Once outside the hospital, Winston found a quiet corner. He sat on a bench in front of a bed of petunias. It was the sort of spot visitors went to find respite from watching loved ones suffer. He took a deep breath then dialled Barbara's number. As expected, it went straight to her voicemail.

"Hi. I just visited the DI. He seems tired but okay. I forgot to ask whether his wound was healing well. Anyway, he has his phone now and said he would call you. He guessed straight away that you're not in Mull and that you are avoiding everyone. He said it was his fault. Something about you misconstruing something he said. I guess he will clear it up when he calls you. Talk to him. I could tell he feels bad about whatever's happened between you. Lynley never copes well when you're not around. Take care, and I hope you are getting plenty of rest."

Winston sat and watched the flowers for a little longer. In this patch of the world, so divorced from reality, there was only beauty and colour.

BARBARA

The buzz bolted her out of her dream. She had been holding Tommy the same way as she had in Withcompton, but this time they were in bed, naked, and there was no knife.

"Bloody hell! I just get to the good bit..."

With her phone diverted to voicemail, the warning sound alerted her to a message. She hoped it would be Tommy. She also feared that. If he begged her to go back, she knew she would, even if it would rip her in two.

She heard Winston's voice and sighed. "...you misconstruing something he said." And in one sentence Winston destroyed any hope that Tommy loved her. Or at least loved her in the many ways she loved him.

She hung up before Winston's message ended. What more did she need to hear?

TOMMY

Emotions came easily to Tommy, but the words to express them did not. He knew Helen had been correct. His emotional growth had been halted by what he witnessed as a teenager. Every relationship he had after that was framed in four key dimensions, lust, loyalty, duty and trust. For years, those words had framed his understanding of love. Love only existed when he possessed each of these. With Deborah, lust had never been an issue between them, nor initially had trust. Loyalty, however, had vanished when Deborah had turned more and more to Simon. Trust had soon followed, and yet Tommy had remained a dutiful friend to Simon. With Helen, they had been loyal friends. Lust had never really taken root. They had managed to fulfil conjugal duties, but sex had never been the intense connection that it should have been. Over time, neither of them had been completely loyal, and Tommy knew that from the moment she had left him, he had never entirely trusted her again.

Barbara was different. Time and again she had proved her loyalty, and he hoped he had repaid her, not that it was an obligation. He trusted her more than he had ever trusted anyone. They shared an unspoken duty to care for the other. They were each other's reason for living when the world had stripped all others away. He had successfully ignored his love for her by believing that lust played no part in their friendship. Barbara was not beautiful. In fact, she did her utmost to minimise her appeal. But his universe increasingly centred on her. An accidental brush of fingers at work, a playful push, or draping his arm around her shoulder; every touch made him feel alive and connected. His body wanted more. He wanted to explore the tranquillity he had when they had been pressed together by the wall. Just holding each other would bring that. Making love would be beyond any sensation he had had. He wanted to experience it. Lust was just not a strong enough word.

Knowing he would inevitably say the wrong thing, he grabbed the notepad by his bed and began to scribble his message.

Barbara, please don't hang up. I think you misunderstood what I said. No, she would hang up thinking he had not meant his proposal.

Barbara, please listen to my message. I need to see you. We have to talk. I meant what I said. Call me. No, that sounded like an order.

Barbara, we need to talk. Please come back so we... No.

Barbara...

Tommy closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. What did he really need to say? He took up his pen.

Barbara, I love you. I meant every word of my proposal. I want us to live together forever, but I can understand that it came out of the blue and shocked you. No. Better, but still no.

Barbara, I love you. When I thought I might die, I had to tell you. I wanted you to know that you are my life. I'm only sorry that I lacked the confidence to say anything before. I know we need to talk through so many things, but I heard you tell me you feel the same. Not by the wall, when you thought I was talking to Helen, but here as you held my hand and gave me a reason to live. Ring me. Or better still, come back to me.

BARBARA

Unable to face anything at all after Winston's message, Barbara decided to go for a walk along the beachfront. When she exited the hotel and crossed over to the concrete broadwalk that ran along the edge of the sand, she looked both ways. To the left were people. The waterfront was bright and busy, a stark contrast to the sombre ruins of Scarborough Castle that sat on the cliff above the town, separated only by a band of green trees. Crowded with amusement arcades, pubs and casinos, the road curved around towards the harbour. Lovers ambled arm-in-arm, savouring every moment together. Youths sat on the steel railings and pointed and laughed at those they considered pathetic. When a pretty girl passed, they sat straighter and made comments that usually earned them scowls with the occasional shy smile. Older couples strolled hand-in-hand enjoying companionable conversation. Young children ran and screamed as they fell or picked up handfuls of sand to throw at their siblings. It was too much.

Barbara turned right. Here the beach was pockmarked with rocks covered in slippery green algae. Only a few isolated buildings sat beneath scrub covered sand dunes. Dogs ran along the beach kicking up sand and braving the water to retrieve sticks. Older men jogged on the concrete path in an attempt to shed unwanted kilos. The truly committed, or foolhardy, ran along the wide strip of wet sand. Lonely women walked with hands in pockets and an air of sadness of what might have been. Yes, this was the direction Barbara needed to go.