Solo’s version?”
Fuck. He scratched at his forehead. “Yeah. Yeah, same story here. Thanks, Finch. Later.”
He put the phone down. Nodded at Brad.
“Stay away from kids, Andy,” Brian said, as he stepped to the exit of the shower room where Andrew stood all on his own, water dripping from his ruffled hair.
Then, he stopped. “Anyway, what’s with the sudden change in tastes?”
Andy towel-dried his hair, kept looking nervously at Brian and Brad. “What?”
“Well, sixteen-year-old boys to women in their thirties. Escorts in their thirties. Quite a swing to have in the space of a few years.”
Andy lowered the towel. His lips quivered. “Look at me. I’m a shamed ex-teacher with a lot of money. Nobody comes near me because they just have to do a Google search and they find the lies. I need… I need some way. Some way to feel good about myself. Some way to release. Don’t we all?”
Brian pondered Andy’s words in his head. In an annoying kind of way, they made sense.
“Keep your snake in your trousers from now on,” Brian said, as he walked out of the showers and back towards the exit door. “Men like you don’t get lucky a third time.”
Brian and Brad made their way out of the Marriot, past snarling Janet through the cold wintry weather to the car.
They sat down. Sat back in the seats, both of them silent for a few minutes.
“It’s about time we clocked off for the day,” Brad said.
Brian checked his silver Rotary watch that Hannah had bought him for his last birthday. He’d had to get another hole pierced in it as he started putting on weight again. But hell—Hannah knew he was susceptible to a belly. He’d warned her of that in the past. And he was getting on a bit. Nearly twenty years on her, so it just made sense that he was the first to get fat with age.
Good job, too. He wasn’t fond of fat women.
The little hand on the watch pointed to five. His stomach sank. Home time.
“Nothing’s going to change overnight, Brian.”
Brian looked away from his watch. Started up the car and tried to brush off Brad’s remark. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”
“That look,” Brad said. “That look of ‘oh shit’ on your face.”
Brian reversed out and almost clipped the back of the car. “Dunno what you’re—”
“Just go home. Relax. Then we come back in with fresh eyes tomorrow. There’s still tracks to be searched. The coat we found—that might have something. Still things we don’t know. It’ll be a lot clearer tomorrow, I’m sure.”
Brian indicated and turned out of the Marriot, the rain blasting out again and the sky going dark. He thought about Sam Betts. Thought about his body, his mum, of Andy Wilkinson and the pictures of him on that CCTV.
He thought back to the dirt track. The farm track. Farmer Jack Selter.
As he went through the traffic lights and headed towards Brad’s place in Fulwood, he knew for a fact that his mind wasn’t letting this case drop for the night.
When Brian got home, he couldn’t shake the feeling of discontent lingering at the bottom of his stomach.
He walked up the pathway towards his semi-detached house on Conway Drive and looked around. The Wisdom’s plant pots had tumbled over again, spilled soil all down Brian’s driveway. Outside the grey-bricked semi of Brian and Hannah’s, a hanging basket filled with dead flowers swung from side to side in the breeze. Waste of cash, hanging baskets. Flowers in general for that matter. Sure, they looked colourful for a short while, but five quid worth of colourful just to go and die a few days later? Hardly worth it.
But hey. Relationships required compromises.
Brian unlocked the door to his house and stepped inside. He scrubbed his feet on the welcome mat, which always seemed to do a shitty job of cleaning his shoes. Another wasted expense.
He could smell something from the kitchen. Hotpot.
His stomach turned.
The kitchen door opened and Hannah stepped out. She smiled at
Fuck. He scratched at his forehead. “Yeah. Yeah, same story here. Thanks, Finch. Later.”
He put the phone down. Nodded at Brad.
“Stay away from kids, Andy,” Brian said, as he stepped to the exit of the shower room where Andrew stood all on his own, water dripping from his ruffled hair.
Then, he stopped. “Anyway, what’s with the sudden change in tastes?”
Andy towel-dried his hair, kept looking nervously at Brian and Brad. “What?”
“Well, sixteen-year-old boys to women in their thirties. Escorts in their thirties. Quite a swing to have in the space of a few years.”
Andy lowered the towel. His lips quivered. “Look at me. I’m a shamed ex-teacher with a lot of money. Nobody comes near me because they just have to do a Google search and they find the lies. I need… I need some way. Some way to feel good about myself. Some way to release. Don’t we all?”
Brian pondered Andy’s words in his head. In an annoying kind of way, they made sense.
“Keep your snake in your trousers from now on,” Brian said, as he walked out of the showers and back towards the exit door. “Men like you don’t get lucky a third time.”
Brian and Brad made their way out of the Marriot, past snarling Janet through the cold wintry weather to the car.
They sat down. Sat back in the seats, both of them silent for a few minutes.
“It’s about time we clocked off for the day,” Brad said.
Brian checked his silver Rotary watch that Hannah had bought him for his last birthday. He’d had to get another hole pierced in it as he started putting on weight again. But hell—Hannah knew he was susceptible to a belly. He’d warned her of that in the past. And he was getting on a bit. Nearly twenty years on her, so it just made sense that he was the first to get fat with age.
Good job, too. He wasn’t fond of fat women.
The little hand on the watch pointed to five. His stomach sank. Home time.
“Nothing’s going to change overnight, Brian.”
Brian looked away from his watch. Started up the car and tried to brush off Brad’s remark. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”
“That look,” Brad said. “That look of ‘oh shit’ on your face.”
Brian reversed out and almost clipped the back of the car. “Dunno what you’re—”
“Just go home. Relax. Then we come back in with fresh eyes tomorrow. There’s still tracks to be searched. The coat we found—that might have something. Still things we don’t know. It’ll be a lot clearer tomorrow, I’m sure.”
Brian indicated and turned out of the Marriot, the rain blasting out again and the sky going dark. He thought about Sam Betts. Thought about his body, his mum, of Andy Wilkinson and the pictures of him on that CCTV.
He thought back to the dirt track. The farm track. Farmer Jack Selter.
As he went through the traffic lights and headed towards Brad’s place in Fulwood, he knew for a fact that his mind wasn’t letting this case drop for the night.
When Brian got home, he couldn’t shake the feeling of discontent lingering at the bottom of his stomach.
He walked up the pathway towards his semi-detached house on Conway Drive and looked around. The Wisdom’s plant pots had tumbled over again, spilled soil all down Brian’s driveway. Outside the grey-bricked semi of Brian and Hannah’s, a hanging basket filled with dead flowers swung from side to side in the breeze. Waste of cash, hanging baskets. Flowers in general for that matter. Sure, they looked colourful for a short while, but five quid worth of colourful just to go and die a few days later? Hardly worth it.
But hey. Relationships required compromises.
Brian unlocked the door to his house and stepped inside. He scrubbed his feet on the welcome mat, which always seemed to do a shitty job of cleaning his shoes. Another wasted expense.
He could smell something from the kitchen. Hotpot.
His stomach turned.
The kitchen door opened and Hannah stepped out. She smiled at
Similar Books
