PC Simon Quick was standing in an awkward manner that suggested he was not sure of his welcome. Well, he wasn’t welcome. Wildeve did not want this. She did not have the strength to cope with it. But it seemed she had no choice.

* * *

PC Quick made tea and carried it through to the sitting room. Wildeve could not think of anyone less suited to their name. He moved through life as if his batteries were running down, was often late and needed a decent haircut. But in the twelve months he’d been paired with his dog, Theo, they’d made a formidable team, their results earning the attention of the chief constable.

Simon perched on the edge of the armchair, his backpack by his feet. Wildeve’s eyes stung with the salt of unshed tears. So much to say. She had tried to keep it together at work, but here, memories in every corner, she could feel the tiny threads of herself unravel.

“Do you think you should see a doctor?”

“I’m fine.”

She wasn’t. What a ludicrous thing to say. Wildeve imagined her words growing smaller, like a fading echo. Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine. She imagined herself growing smaller, too, until she no longer existed. Simon glanced across the room at the wedding photograph on the mantelpiece.

“Bloody brilliant day.” A rueful smile. “Had to iron his shirt for him, didn’t I? Right mess he’d made of it.” He tried to chuckle, but the sound died in his throat. “Didn’t realize my best man duties would extend to that. Bloody hate ironing.” His eyes filled with tears. “I’m going to miss him.”

She willed him not to fall apart. She could not deal with the onslaught of his pain as well as her own. All she had to offer him was a tight nod.

“I’m worried about you. Emily, too. She sends you her love. Told me to invite you for dinner.”

“I’m fine, Simon,” she said again, the lie falling from her lips as naturally as rain. Her husband had been murdered. She would never be fine again. But she did not want to open up her pain in front of him because she understood the wound would never close. He had loved Adam as much as she had. It would swallow him, too.

“You can come to us anytime you need to,” he said. “I mean it, Wild.”

This time, her tone was softer, genuine. “I know that. And thank you.”

Simon leaned back into the cushions, took a sip of his drink, stretched out his long legs. “I heard you went in to work today.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to the briefing this afternoon?”

She shrugged, even though she knew the answer. She just couldn’t face a lecture.

“I don’t think you should. It’s not right. I’ll stay with you if you like.”