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Saturday morning/afternoon

Charlie was glad of the air conditioning in the car, though it was only just starting to get properly cool by the time he arrived at Llanfair Holiday Park. He left it running for a last minute before switching the engine off, even though the visitors’ parking area was still shaded by tall trees. A sparkle of blue water, and high-pitched children’s voices, indicated the park’s swimming pool was busy, and in the reception office Charlie could see an ice cream freezer and a fridge with cold drinks. He forced himself out of the car and across the few yards of too-bright sunshine to the door. Inside, a fan was blowing, and a middle-aged woman wearing a lightweight pink and purple floral frock looked up from behind a high desk.

“Detective Sergeant Charlie Rees,” he said, showing his identification. “I’m here to talk to the owners of the park.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, “because Alun Evans is on his way, and one of you had better have a bloody good explanation.”

She picked a tablet off the desk and showed it to him. The headline read: “ Welsh MP Alun Evans says Immigrant Plan For Llanfair Not Acceptable”

Charlie’s heart sank.

The heat continued to build, with hard blue skies and bright sun dividing the area outside the office into light and dark where there was any shade. Charlie spent the rest of the morning at the holiday park, trying to reassure park owner Jennifer Gladden (she of the pink and purple dress), and Alun Evans MP. After the first ten minutes, he concluded that the MP had the patience of a saint, and that you didn’t have to be very smart to run a holiday park.

“In the unlikely event of anyone threatening the park or any of its residents, Clwyd Police will take the necessary action,” Charlie said repeatedly, with no idea what the necessary action might be or how three of them could provide it. They were interrupted four or five times, by holidaymakers carrying phones and tablets with variations on the Migrants to get Luxury Accommodation story. Each time the combination of MP, park owner and policeman sent them away, even if they weren’t happy. Charlie heard comments about refugees that he could have managed without.

He tried to tell himself that the holiday park residents were being targeted and deliberately frightened, but by the time he left, he felt dirty from the invective and casual bigotry. His head ached, and the tree he had parked beneath no longer provided any shade for his car. The steering wheel was almost too hot to touch. A look at the weather app on his phone showed that it was only going to get hotter.

The MP had agreed to release a statement denying the rumours of holiday park housing for refugees anywhere in the area. Charlie had promised to ask for a similar statement from the police press office. Jennifer Gladden had already replied to dozens of social media posts saying the holiday park would be remaining as a holiday park and that no one would be evicted. The truth was no defence against deliberate misinformation, but what else could they do?

Pub gardens on the road back to Llanfair were jumbles of tables shaded by bright umbrellas, their customers in shorts and sundresses with long drinks. No doubt every beer garden in the town was doing a similar trade. Charlie sighed. Saturday night. People drinking all day. Hot weather. There would be trouble of the shouting, arguing, fighting, refusing-to-go-home variety. It was likely that a few windows would be broken, and some bottles smashed in the road. Most Saturday nights, a couple of special constables were enough to keep the peace, but in the circumstances, he, Eddy and Patsy, would have to join them. It would be a late night filled with tedious and predictable exchanges with drunks. He would not be sitting in his own garden watching the barbecue. Tom and the girls would have to manage without him, which they would probably be happy about. Charlie sighed again.

The afternoon got hotter. The police station, designed to retain heat in a cold climate, was like a sauna. Patsy and Eddy had produced a contingency plan for potential public disorder caused by the online haters, but they were all too hot and enervated to discuss it for more than five minutes. Charlie sent them both home, so they could rest before the night’s work. He considered going for a siesta himself but decided not to until he’d spoken to DI Ravensbourne. He called, and she answered on the first ring.

“Charlie. How’s the holiday park situation?”

He told her about meeting the MP, and the interruptions from residents. “Lots of anti-immigrant sentiment, boss, but these are people on holiday with their kids, not far-right extremists. To be honest, I’m more worried about trouble from Saturday night drunks. The pubs have been packed all day. I’ll join the patrols tonight and I’ve asked Eddy to help.”

There was a small silence.

“Ah. About that … the cyber traffic has shifted to the coast, and the powers-that-be want all hands on deck.“

“You’re pinching my specials.” The special constables were volunteer officers, well trained, and called on regularly.

“I’m pinching your specials. Sorry.” Ravensbourne didn’t sound particularly sorry. “I’d pinch Eddy and Patsy as well, except for the online rubbish about Llanfair. So, I insisted you kept them.”

Charlie thanked her, though he didn’t feel particularly thankful. Fair play, Ravensbourne probably had gone to bat for Llanfair to keep Patsy and Eddy, even though the little town was far less likely to attract trouble than the coastal resorts.

When the call ended, Charlie dialled again.

“Unwin,” he said. “Talk to me about this holiday park stuff.”

DC Josh Unwin, known as by his surname since school, thanks to there having been four Joshes in his class, was both Patsy’s boyfriend and one of Clwyd police’s computer nerds. He was based at HQ in Wrexham with Will Wayward, who had briefly worked from Llanfair whilst Charlie had been away.

“You only just caught me. I’m taking the afternoon off, starting five minutes ago. Anyway, you should be talking to Will,” Unwin said, “only you can’t right now. He’s done all the modelling, and he’s just explaining it all to the executive. According to him there’s no more than half a dozen home grown nutters, and they will most likely go to Liverpool or Manchester if they feel like a riot. But all the local politicians are behaving as if the barbarians are hammering on the gate with sharpened swords.”

Charlie laughed, probably for the first time that day. “It’s not funny really,” he said. “HQ has pinched my specials, and I’ve got a town full of people who’ve been drinking all day. Closing time is going to be a big pile of no fun. So much no fun that Eddy and I are going to be holding the thin blue line, along with your beloved.”

“Detectives doing public order work? Whatever is the world coming to?”

Unwin laughed, as Charlie growled and ended the call. He still didn’t go home, choosing instead to nap in the break room. It was neither comfortable nor cool. The row with Tom swirled around the inside of his head, keeping him awake. He thought about how much he had enjoyed Tom’s twin daughters coming to visit in the past, and how much he wasn’t enjoying them now. They were staying for the whole summer, and it seemed as though the summer would never end. And how even thinking about it made him cross, because what sort of a person doesn’t like his partner’s kids?

Tom’s twin daughters, Amelie and Ziggy, had been to stay before, but never for more than a day or two. They’d generally had fun together, the girls demanding Charlie tell them stories of police work.

“So much better than hearing about some dull meeting at the art college,” Amelie (or was it Ziggy?) said.

“Or about Mum’s telephone call with her publisher, because, hello, not exciting,” said Ziggy (or possibly Amelie).

Charlie never shared any of the potentially upsetting aspects of his job, so Amelie and Ziggy treated him as some kind of real-life Sherlock Holmes, or Poirot, solving mysterious cases with the power of his intellect. The reality of petty crime, repeat offenders battling addiction and abuse, pointless violence, and endless paperwork, did not have the excitement and romance they craved. This visit was different.

Firstly, it was for six weeks, because Orianna, one of the twins’ mothers, was teaching a prestigious summer school in London. Secondly, Tom hadn’t consulted him about them staying, and thirdly…well, thirdly, Charlie felt like he wasn’t needed in the exclusive dad-and-twins bubble. He’d bitten his tongue as Tom had excitedly arranged adventures, and again as he had cooked their favourite meals, refurbished the spare bedroom to their satisfaction, and generally focussed on his children to the exclusion of all else. Nor had Charlie said anything when he found that Tom had booked his entire years’ worth of vacation days to care for the girls in the school holidays, again without consultation. The detritus of two teenagers was engulfing their home in a tide of clothes, hair care products, make-up and charging cables. His own charging cables routinely disappeared, bathroom and washing machine were permanently unavailable and there was never any bread, milk or coffee. Sex had almost dried up. Kisses and cuddles with Tom were interrupted by gagging noises and calls to ‘get a room’. If only. Still, he had said nothing. Finding Billy the cat being fed smoked salmon and cream cheese by a giggling Ziggy changed that.

It was the smoked salmon and cream cheese for the sandwich he was planning to take to work. Admittedly, Ziggy had only given a small amount to the cat, but she had left the open packets on the untidy kitchen counter in the hot sun. Judging from the way the smoked salmon was curling at the edges, they had been there for some time.

“Ziggy,” Charlie said in exasperation.

She had turned to him, lost the giggles and said, “What?”

“The cat shouldn’t have dairy products, and you’re feeding him my lunch.”

“Oh, sorr-ee ,” Ziggy snapped and left the room. Charlie tried not to listen to what she was mumbling under her breath, but it sounded suspiciously like “ Dad wouldn’t make such a fuss.”

“ Yes, he would,” Charlie called after her, but she slammed the kitchen door without replying.

He contemplated making her come back and tidy up, but decided life was too short, sighed and cleaned the counter so he could make his lunch. He put the crumbs in the bin, only to find it full of burned toast, and once again, there was no bread for sandwiches. Which is when Tom came into the kitchen and asked what Charlie had done to upset Ziggy.

The resulting row was not pretty. It was the first time they had argued over anything important or lost their tempers with each other. Even though they managed not to say anything unforgivable, Charlie felt as though his world was ending.

“We’re married ,” Charlie said. “We are supposed to be a team. You didn’t ask me before the girls came, and you took all your holidays without talking to me first. No trip away for us. You’ve decided the whole summer and to hell with anything I might want to do.”

“You can come with us when we go out,” Tom said.

“I’m working, and when I get home you’ve already cooked and eaten. You spend all your time being a dad and there’s nothing left for being a husband. Which would be fine if you’d actually asked me about it.”

There was more of the same, until Charlie heard Taylor Swift at ear-splitting volume coming through the ceiling. The argument had festered ever since, with Charlie staying out of the way as much as he could.