Page 78 of No Safe Place

Sunday | Early hours

Field

Field paced up and down her small concrete patio, ears straining for the sound of Toby’s key in the lock. She desperately wanted a cigarette, but she hadn’t passed anyone to bum one off on the way home, and she refused to buy a packet.

She wasn’t just angry. She was hurt.

Four days into a double murder investigation, and Toby had decided she was cracking up. Toby knew Young was working the case and he went to her.

Young was probably her closest friend, but that had never impacted their working relationship. Field didn’t bring her private life to work. Even if it was fucking with her head, all the stories about those teenagers, the case hadn’t suffered. No one on her team could tell.

But Toby had gone behind her back. After everything they’d been through, everything she’d done for him – they were supposed to be close. He could have come to her first.

A small voice in her head, one she was ashamed of, couldn’t let go of the fact that it was Toby’s fault. If he hadn’t got ill when he was fifteen, she wouldn’t be finding it all so fucking much.

Field let out a long breath. She needed to calm down before he got here.

She went back into the kitchen, locking the back door behind her. Poured herself a glass of tap water in the half-darkness and drank it over the sink, hoping it would soothe her headache.

‘Mum?’ Toby called – and it made her jump. She dropped the glass, and it bounced off the edge of the counter, smashing on the floor.

For fuck’s sake.

‘Don’t come in here without shoes,’ she called, bending down to pick up fragments of glass.

Apart from a few shards, it had broken cleanly in two.

‘Mum?’ he said again, putting his head round the corner.

It was hard to see the glass in the dim light, but she thought she’d got it all. As she stood up, she put her free hand on the counter to steady herself – and felt a stray chip bed itself deep into her palm.

‘Shit—’

‘For God’s sake, Mum,’ Toby muttered, flicking the light on.

They stared at each other for a second, Field with one hand full of glass, the other bleeding. Toby was still in his uniform, hair rumpled, dark circles under his eyes.

‘It’s fine.’ Field moved to the bin and dropped the glass into it, hiding how red her cheeks had gone.

Toby sighed and retreated to the living room.

She ran her palm under the tap, picking the shard out with her nail. The running water swept it down the plughole, and she ripped off a sheet of kitchen roll, clenching it in her fist to stem the bleeding.

When she went into the living room, Toby had put the big light on. He was sitting at the dining table, chin in his palm, eyes down. Like he was resigned to his fate.

‘You know, I don’t have time for this,’ she said, voice icy. ‘I’m investigating a double murder. I don’t have time for your – theatrics.’

His eyes flicked to her. ‘Theatrics?’

‘All this—’ She waved a hand. ‘Letting yourself in to my house and leaving plates of food out, like I can’t feed myself. Calling Young to tell her I’m off my head – what was that all about?’

‘That’s not what happened.’ Toby’s voice was monotone. His face had lost all its softness. ‘I’m allowed to worry about you.’

Field scoffed.

He rubbed his temples, one of her mannerisms. ‘I’m not a fucking kid anymore, Mum. I can see when you’re struggling.’

‘I’m not struggling,’ she snapped.

‘You are.’

Her cut hand was stinging. ‘You can’t walk into my house and tell me how I’m feeling. It’s a double murder; it’s going to be stressful—’

‘You’re allowed to be stressed.’ His voice was thin and high. ‘Be stressed, but let me help. I can cook dinner or just, fucking, be here.’

‘Why are you acting like the injured party?’ she demanded. ‘You’re the one contacting my colleagues and asking them to what? Check up on me? Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is?

‘I have to look Young in the eye next week. What if it had got back to the super, eh? “DCI Field’s son is getting in touch with people working on an active investigation because he’s concerned for her welfare.” I am already on the receiving end of so much shit from him—’

She paused for breath, unsure who she was even angry with.

‘Whatever,’ Toby said. ‘I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.’

Toby had always sulked. As a toddler, chubby arms crossed, facing the wall. When he got his first boyfriend and they had their first fight, Toby sulked for a week, mooning about the house, pointedly refusing his calls.

It infuriated her. He could never just have the argument. Sort his shit out. He had to brood on it, let it stew and poison everything.

Toby picked up his phone, and turned in a half-circle looking for his keys. ‘I’m going home. Get some sleep, okay?’

That was it. He was dismissing her. The fist not clutching the kitchen roll clenched too.

Field waited until he was unlocking the front door, before she spoke.

‘I’m not like you , you know? I’m not fragile.’

The words hung in the air.

Her voice had sounded normal. Unbothered, like they were having a typical conversation.

Somehow that made it worse.

A trickle of shame extinguished her anger. She wanted Toby to turn round and hurl abuse at her. She wanted to have the fight she knew she deserved.

Toby didn’t say anything else before he left, but he slammed the front door so hard his school photos rattled on the wall.