Page 24 of The Guilty Girl

‘Not enough hours in—’

‘I know, and I don’t want to hear it.’

As Kirby waddled off down the corridor, Lottie wished for the second time that morning for Boyd’s presence. He had a clear and level-headed approach to investigations that she often lacked. She thrived on chaos, while he operated in a linear fashion, helping him to see light at the end of the tunnel.

She felt she was staring into the bowels of a very narrow and dark tunnel.

14

The events of last night’s party played on Richie Harrison’s mind like one of his bad records. Being a DJ meant plenty of late nights, but he preferred parties to nightclubs. He swallowed a couple of paracetamol on top of the two he’d taken half an hour earlier, but still he twisted and turned, the sheets knotted around his body. He shot out his arm in frustration, knocking over a glass of water from the bedside cabinet.

‘Fuck’s sake!’ Leaning over the edge of the bed, he watched the liquid seep into the floorboards, then flopped back on the pillow.

‘Richie?’ his wife shouted up the stairs. ‘Was that you?’

‘Who else?’ he muttered. He heard the stairs creak. ‘It’s okay, Brontë, I just knocked over the glass.’

She was at the door then, her pregnancy bump entering the room before the rest of her. He closed his eyes to blot out her flaming red anger. He could do without another fight.

‘What time of the morning did you arrive home?’

‘Why are you asking when you seem to know the answer?’

She glared and clenched her hands into fists. He knew she’d wait until he told her.

‘Okay, babe. After three, maybe four. I don’t know. Damn kids can party like we used to.’ Once upon a time, he thought, but didn’t say aloud.

The expensive memory-foam mattress dipped as she sat on the bed. Everything about the house was too bloody expensive.

‘I know you were with one of them. You disgust me, Richie.’

He leaned up on one elbow, catching his long hair, which had come loose from the band, a trigger of fear flipping his stomach over. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You were with one of those leggy, fake-tanned teenagers.’ A flush of red screamed up her cheeks. ‘Don’t lie to me, Richie. I can smell her on you.’

No you can’t, he thought. The first thing he’d done when he eventually arrived home was take a hot shower in the downstairs shower room before he’d silently climbed the stairs. Not that he had to worry about waking her, because Brontë had recently taken to sleeping in the spare room. Said he snored too loudly. He couldn’t win. She didn’t want him near her when he was at home and gave out when he wasn’t there. Still, he needed to reassure her.

Reaching out, he rubbed her bare arm softly, squinting at the light streaming through the top of the blind. ‘What time is it anyhow?’

‘You can’t talk your way out of this.’ She stood quickly, her face twisted in fury. ‘Not this time, Richie Harrison. I’ve had enough. Either you leave or I do.’

Tugging at the sheet, frantically trying to unwrap it from around his body, he attempted to get out of bed, but fell face-first on the damp, highly glossed floorboards. He hoped she didn’t see the stain from the spilled water.

Brontë laughed then, and Richie exhaled. He might escape in one piece. This time.

Struggling to his feet, his boxer shorts low on his hips, he wrapped one arm around her and patted her bump.

‘The baby is playing with your hormones. Listen, Brontë, you know I would never go off with someone else. I love you. Get rid of those silly notions.’ He leaned down and kissed her brow.

She shook him off. ‘Why did you take a shower at five o’clock in the morning? You never do that no matter how drunk you are, and Richie Harrison, you were not drunk.’

‘What do you mean?’ He shrank away, bumping against the wall. So she had been awake.

‘I heard you come in. I went downstairs to make you a cup of hot chocolate to help you sleep. That was before I realised how late it was. I saw you. In the downstairs shower. Why? Why do you do this to me?’

‘Do what?’

‘Whoring around! With teenagers. And all I do for you. Do you think we would be living in this house if it wasn’t for me? You need to fucking grow up! I’m this close to kicking you out on your cheating arse.’