He sounded tired and fed up, ominous signs when there were so many things they needed to discuss. The fight, the wedding, their generally flagging harmony.

There had been no attempt at contact between them, in either direction, all day. Mike would have been flat out too, of course, but Hawkins had written and deleted the opening lines of several texts, unable to compose anything that didn’t sound incendiary if misconstrued. In the end she had given up, taking it as a sign that their next interaction should be face-to-face.

Although now, as the awkward silence stretched, even that felt like a mistake.

Such stark disunity was uncharted territory.

‘Your day OK?’ she asked, in the most neutral tone she could muster.

He studied her, the ghost of a frown indicating that whatever kind of reaction he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it.

Mike drew a long breath, let it out. ‘Actually, it sucked.’ He pushed away from the wall and picked up the kettle, moving across to the sink. ‘Don’t really feel like discussing it.’ A pause, then, ‘Yours?’

‘Mixed,’ she said, relieved that at least his frustration didn’t seem to lie solely with her. The words came out as she watched him fill the kettle. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you yesterday.’

He didn’t react straight away, waiting a few more seconds and turning off the tap before he spoke again. ‘Me neither.’

She relaxed slightly. ‘I think we’re both a bit frazzled at the moment. Can we put it down to experience?’

‘Works for me.’ A smile flickered, lightening his countenance, but more silence followed. Hawkins was just winding up for further bridge-building when he asked, ‘Any progress on the new case?’

She hesitated, unsure whether this change of tack was designed to avert potential hostilities or not. Mike’s expression suggested the former, so she went with it. ‘Not really. The weird thing is that Gerry still doesn’t have a cause of death for the three dead men we inherited yesterday.’

‘No shit.’

‘I know. When was the last time you remember that happening?’

Mike gave an astonished nod before turning to open the coffee cupboard. ‘That must be killing him.’

‘Absolutely.’ Hawkins watched his powerful shoulders flex under his shirt, feeling a twist of excitement, welcoming it.

‘I spoke to one of his staff today. He’s delegating everything else because he can’t stand being beaten. They think he’s sleeping at the mortuary.’

‘For real?’

Hawkins’ confidence grew as she went on to describe the previous morning’s events, watching his interest flourish in response to the conundrum of three bodies left to rot in a Brixton flat, without an obvious pre-death injury between them.

Mike offered a few ideas, clearly relishing the opportunity to help, but nothing that hadn’t already been said. Hawkins moved on, careful not to let their newfound solidarity falter.