instruments.
“Over!”
She moved behind him and commenced. Each stroke of the six was delivered with her customary firmness, but not too hard; that was for later.
“Stand. Go to your desk. Detention will now begin.”…….
He sat down. The pain had been excruciating but he was used to it; indeed he longed for it. He sat there, arms crossed and looked at her.
“You will copy out the first sentence of Chapter One. You will write it out three times. You will do it with the utmost neatness. I shall inspect the lines that you sent me last week. If I discover any errors or any sloppy handwriting, you know what to expect. She placed the book on his desk and returned to her desk and began to carefully scan his “lines”. Her red pen was soon in action. This could only mean one thing.
Meanwhile, he started writing.
“EmmaWoodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.”…..
Mid-November: The next morning
Spence was in his element. The odour of fried eggs and bacon had taken over his kitchen and the coffee was brewing. Radio Four’s ‘The Today Program’ was blaring out and Spence was smiling. Every time James Naughtie was introduced, he simply cracked up.
“Why couldn’t I have had a name like that?” he often thought.
And then memories of the previous night came drifting back and Spence became whimsical. He was managing to place his daughter’s vomiting and Roger Davidson’s demise in the dark recesses. He was remembering Susannah Pearson as he stared out the window at the frost.
“Dad, what the fuck? You’ll set the house on fire!.” She threw her phone on to the table and quickly grabbed the smoking frying pan.
Laura Hargreaves was in remarkably good condition considering what she had gone through only a few hours earlier.
“Where’s the coffee? And what’s that bloody row?”
Laura’s demeanour was the exact opposite of how she was feeling. She loved these mornings with her father, the English fry-up, the strong coffee and Radio 4. Spence knew she loved it.
“Eggs, bacon, mushrooms and fried bread – and the French think they can cook.”
Laura laughed at her father. It was not what he said but the fact that he said the same thing every time they shared a cleansing English breakfast.
“So what was the problem last night? He left you waiting in the cold, he’s started voting conservative or he’s run off with your friend Millicent? Ah yes, Millicent.”
“Dad, stop it! I really can’t handle it when you start fantasising about my friends!”
There were a few moments silence as each of them got stuck into their food.
“Anyway, it was worse than any of that. If he was shagging Millie, I could handle that, after all she’s cuter than me. No, the bastard forgot he was meeting me in town for a feed, and do you know what he was doing instead?”
Spence knew it was best not to answer.
“He was at the football watching Swindon play!”
“They were playing Portsmouth. They got beat. One nil.”
Laura’s expression turned colder than anything outside.
“Sorry Laura, yes he should not have done that. Especially as it was so cold last night.”
“Well that’s it dad, we’re through. He’s treated me wrong for the last time. I’ve made a decision, I’m going to find myself a decent guy, go on one of those computer dating sites. Someone considerate, someone who puts me first.”
They continued eating, Spence poured some more coffee. The Today program continued.
“The Prime Minister has said that he has no intention of seeking the resignation of the Trade Minister, Christopher Morgan. Mr Morgan had been photographed at a Soho gay club two nights earlier, wearing a blonde wig, full make-up and school girl’s uniform. And now the weather.”
Laura and Spence exploded into laughter.
“Of course he’s not going to resign, he’s a Tory for god’s sake. I’d be doubting his allegiance to the party if he wasn’t doing something like that.”
They were laughing when Laura’s phone started vibrating. The few seconds that passed seemed like an eternity.
“Are you going to answer that?” Spence asked. “It might be important.”
“It’ll be Joel. If he thinks he can soft talk me, give me some pathetic story about why he let me down last night, he’s got another thing coming. He can drop dead for all I care.”
Laura continued eating as if she had not eaten for days. Her phone continued to bounce around the table and she did not take her eyes off it for one second. Suddenly, she stood up and grabbed it.
“Yes?!!”
Laura stood stock still, staring at the floor. Spence watched as his daughter’s rage gradually subsided. She grabbed her coffee and wandered back into her room.
“They’ll be in the cot by lunchtime,” he mused.
“The Prime Minister has dismissed calls to raise VAT, despite the deteriorating budget situation. In the studio this morning to discuss the government’s economic policy we have….-“
Spence had had his fill of news.
“Right Frederick, your turn.”
Another morning routine that never failed to get rid of the cobwebs as on went the CD player. Loud.
“I’ve paid my dues, time after time…”
“Dad!” Laura slammed her door shut.
“You used to like Queen.”
At that, it was Spence’s phone that came to life.
“Sorry Freddie, I’ve got a murder to solve.” Silence.
“Spence.”
It was Ferguson. Spence knew that his DS would have been up for a couple of hours putting things in place. The preliminary medical report would be ready by 2.00. Forensics would be able to give him something soon after, and WPC Grant had something she wanted to tell him.
“Can’t you tell me Ferguson? Okay, tell her to catch me when I get in. Did you fix up my appointment at the school? All right Ferguson, the Academy. Who’s the Headmaster? Who? Well I’ll be buggered. No, no problem. I’ll be in about 2.00.”
