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Back A Change of Circumstance Save as PDF
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. One
  3. Two
  4. Three
  5. Four
  6. Five
  7. Six
  8. Seven
  9. Eight
  10. Nine
  11. Ten
  12. Eleven
  13. Twelve
  14. Thirteen
  15. Fourteen
  16. Fifteen
  17. Sixteen
  18. Seventeen
  19. Eighteen
  20. Nineteen
  21. Twenty
  22. Twenty-One
  23. Twenty-Two
  24. Twenty-Three
  25. Twenty-Four
  26. Twenty-Five
  27. Twenty-Six
  28. Twenty-Seven
  29. Twenty-Eight
  30. Twenty-Nine
  31. Thirty
  32. Thirty-One
  33. Thirty-Two
  34. Thirty-Three
  35. Thirty-Four
  36. Thirty-Five
  37. Thirty-Six
  38. Thirty-Seven
  39. Thirty-Eight
  40. Thirty-Nine
  41. Forty
  42. Forty-One
  43. Forty-Two
  44. Forty-Three
  45. Forty-Four
  46. Forty-Five
  47. Forty-Six
  48. Forty-Seven
  49. Forty-Eight
  50. Forty-Nine
  51. Fifty
  52. Fifty-One
  53. Fifty-Two
  54. Fifty-Three
  55. Fifty-Four
  56. Fifty-Five
  57. Fifty-Six
  58. Fifty-Seven
  59. Fifty-Eight
  60. Fifty-Nine
  61. Sixty
  62. Sixty-One
  63. Sixty-Two
  64. Sixty-Three
  65. Sixty-Four
  66. Sixty-Five
  67. Sixty-Six

Simon cupped his hands and looked in through the windows, and though he could see little, it was familiar, and he could picture it as it would be, with his elm table, the white sofa and chairs, wooden floor polished, his pictures, his books. His space.

Yet when he walked back to the car, he felt uncertain again, his mind still not made up, not because of what might be to come but of what he would lose. He sat for a long time letting everything have its voice. Too isolated? Too big? Too much work? Too much garden? Too expensive? Yes. No. Perhaps. In the day job, he was decisive and confident, in his private life, he was another man. He knew it, and knew he could not, would not, did not want even, to change.

The sun came out but purple-tinged clouds were bubbling up on the horizon and a wind ruffled the bushes. He drove away, leaving his thoughts about the house to settle themselves.

*

Two doors away, a man was polishing his car, a toddler riding a red plastic car slowly to and fro on the footpath beside him. The post van was turning out of the close as Serrailler turned in but otherwise, it was quiet. He parked fifty yards away and walked to the house, because there was less chance of his arrival being noted and, as he might have been recognised from his cluster of previous visits, accorded unwelcome attention. He had been in similar situations often enough to understand that however long ago a distressing event might be people remained raw, vulnerable, and so easily upset. Instinctively he wanted to protect her, save her the well-meaning but intrusive questions, if only for a time.

The man washing with the bucket and sponge ignored him. The toddler stared, then shuffled the red car closer to his parent.

She answered his knock in a few seconds, and several expressions flickered over face, enquiring, searching, recognising, recollecting, before her features crumpled in distress.

‘Hello, Mrs Tonks. Superintendent Simon –’

‘I know.’ She stood back from the door to let him in, closed it behind her.

‘I was just finishing my breakfast. The tea is still fresh if I can offer you some.’

‘I would like a cup, thank you.’