‘It’s in his lungs, if you can believe it. The man’s never smoked a cigarette in his life. He runs the London Marathon every year, not to mention all those hours he puts in on the squash court.’ Fleet glanced at Holly. ‘Sorry. I realise it’s not the most cheerful news to bring you on a Sunday morning.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Holly replied. ‘I don’t suppose there’s ever really a good time for news like that.’

Fleet bobbed his head. ‘Anyway. With Roger stepping down, people are being shuffled up the ladder. And, well … They offered me DCI.’

‘Detective chief inspector? That’s great!’ Holly hesitated, as again she seemed to register something in Fleet’s expression. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘It would mean more money, obviously.’

‘But you don’t want to take it?’

‘I’m not saying that. I just … They want a stooge, Sprig. Another yes-man among the brass to replace Roger. They weren’t very happy with him in the end, you know, which was mainly my fault. To be honest, I’m not sure the cancer by itself would have been enough to convince Roger to hang up his uniform.’

‘You mean they forced him out?’

‘Suggestions were made, from what I can gather,’ Fleet replied. ‘But while they weren’t best pleased with Roger, they were delighted by how things turned out with Callum Richardson. So they swung by Nicky’s hospital room to offer me a pat on the head.’

‘And what did you tell them?’

Fleet’s first instinct had been to follow Nicky’s advice. Her very words had been right there on the tip of his tongue. But he’d managed to hold himself back.

Fleet put down his cup of coffee and looked Holly in the eye. ‘I told them I needed to discuss it with my ex-wife,’ he said.

Holly frowned. ‘With me? But … why?’

Fleet took a deep breath. He’d messed this up once already, and he was determined not to do so again.

‘Sprig, I …’ Fleet’s eyes went to Holly’s belly. ‘I want to help. If you’ll let me. With the baby. With everything. And I wondered … That is, I thought … I wondered if the extra money might come in useful.’

Something changed in Holly’s expression, and Fleet pressed on before she could misinterpret what he was saying.

‘It’s not because I think you need my help,’ he insisted. ‘Or because I think you can’t manage on your own. I’ve never thought that, Sprig. Not once.’ He cast his gaze around the rejuvenated garden. ‘I mean, Jesus. You’d cope with twins if you had to. With triplets.’

Holly gave something like a laugh. ‘Dear God,’ she said. ‘Don’t even go there.’

Fleet tested a smile. Holly didn’t quite show one back.