Adrian groaned to himself. Why did he volunteer for this?

‘Who’s this charmer then?’ he asked.

‘Name’s Finn Blackwell,’ the constable said, ‘student up at the uni, caught him driving the wrong way around a roundabout. We had to breathalyse him and he’s well over the limit. We’ve brought him in to sober up.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘Marsh Barton. No one around, but you know.’

‘Well that was silly, wasn’t it, Finn?’ Adrian said as Denise scribbled down the information. The glass had become almost clear as the pale brown gelatinous liquid pooled at the bottom of the counter and over the edge onto the floor.

‘I do apologise,’ the boy said with a sarcastic wobble of his head.

‘How old are you?’

‘I’m nineteen. Twenty in August. You interested, darling?’ He winked at Denise, who just rolled her eyes and continued writing.

‘Chuck him in number four while we get this cleaned up,’ Adrian said.

The constable took Finn Blackwell through to the holding cells.

‘I don’t know what’s going on up at that university,’ Denise said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, last week I had a couple of other incidents up there. A kid was arrested for possession. A couple of disturbances – nothing major, just a little unusual. Then, of course, there was that idiot Toby Hoare, who climbed up the cathedral and fell off.’ She still wouldn’t look Adrian in the eye.

‘Look, Denise, about earlier.’

‘Please, don’t mention it,’ she said. He could tell from her tone that she meant it.

‘I’m going to get this cleaned up,’ Adrian said. He did regret their previous fling a little; he had used her, and he wasn’t proud of it. Just because she’d let him didn’t make it any better. He knew he couldn’t be that person any more. Adrian needed to be better, he wanted to be better and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Chapter Three

Imogen felt comfortable in black; it suited her. It seemed strange to have picked out her dress the day before; she could only imagine what her mother would have said about it. An insult disguised as a compliment: how it would look nicer if it was longer, or shorter, or a different colour. But not the way it was, never the way it was. It was the same with everything; Imogen always thought that one day she would be good enough, would do something right. Not today though, never today.

She tried not to be resentful of her mother on the day of her funeral, but the anger she felt towards her was not something she ever thought would go away. She didn’t know why either, not really. Her mother had made a lot of questionable life decisions, but Imogen wasn’t unhappy with the person she had grown up to be. It seemed unfair that she should feel this way about the one member of her family who had always been there for her, but there was no changing it, there was always just this low level of anger. She couldn’t pinpoint when it had started, either. The mother who raised her probably did the best she could.