‘What did the police say? Has there been a spate of these around the area?’
‘Police? What you chatting about police? What exactly are they going to do?’
‘You were assaulted and robbed. The police will need to investigate that.’
‘Last year when our flat was robbed, they barely had enough resources to send someone over to investigate, how are they going to investigate a simple street mugging?’
‘But don’t you need a crime number for the insurance?’
‘Yes, I would . . . if I had phone insurance.’
‘You don’t have phone insurance?’
‘Vee!’ he said, exasperated. ‘You’re actually making me feel worse than I did just after I was punched in the face.’
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘Are we doing this, then?’
I nodded half-heartedly. I wasn’t so keen on this now. About half an hour ago I was all for it; right now, all the waiting around had actually put paid to my enthusiasm.
‘Come on, then,’ he said and stood up, wincing as he did so. He immediately straightened his face, tried to pretend he was fine.
‘Are you in pain?’ I asked.
Howie gave me a once-over, scrutinising me as though considering if he should admit what he felt or not. Eventually he seemed to give up as he said, ‘Once I was on the ground I got a bit of a kicking. My ribs are a bit tender.’
‘Howie! That’s awful. I really wish you’d gone to the police. These people sound dangerous. What if they’d had a weapon?’ Not helpful I realised too late and jammed my stupid lips into my stupid mouth in an attempt to eat my stupid words. ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled.
We stood in an uncomfortable silence for several seconds that stretched and stretched themselves into feeling like minutes. ‘Tell me you went to the doctor at least.’
‘Yes, I went to the doctor. I wasn’t going to, but Beccie made me. Drove me there and everything. Even though you know how much she hates driving. And just so you know, she was all for me going to the police, as well.’
‘Are you sure you still want to do this?’ I replied with a note of hope in my voice that he might actually say no.
‘Verity Gillmare, you asked me to help you train and I am going to help you train. Now get your kit off.’
I grinned at him as we moved onto the shingle. It was bobbly and uncomfortable underfoot even in shoes, so I knew the cold was going to make them feel like shards of glass when I went barefoot. We slowly stripped off our top clothes, revealing the wetsuits we were wearing underneath.
I’d decided to do a sea swim to raise money for charity and super-fit Howie was my coach. When we started college he had been the width of a pencil. He was gangly and goofy with it, and no one took him seriously. I liked him because he just exuded ‘nice’ and he always seemed to be the butt of his mates’ jokes.
We didn’t manage to meet up during our first Christmas holidays home in Brighton, but when we returned to Leeds I could see why – Howard had been transformed. I was never sure how he’d done it, whether he’d really just done it through diet and exercise or if he’d had ‘supplemental’ help, but Howard had filled out in all the right places; he’d become solid, strong. And he dropped Howard for Howie. To maintain his recently acquired looks, Howie would work out every day. Every day he would be out on the college track running and running, only skipping days when ice slicked up the gravel too much to run on. Every day he would be at the local council gym to lift weights or to row and swim.
With his new body came a lot of female attention, a lot of male admiration and streaks of vanity that were quite adorable because he’d always be the sweet lad I knew when he was skinny. His determination was what was going to get me fit enough and confident enough to swim in the sea.
I cringed as my bare feet hit the pebbles, some of them smooth, slick and freezing cold; others were small, spiky and seemed to puncture the soles of my feet like tiny shards of ice.
‘Whose idea was this anyway?’ I said, my voice as bitter as the wind that was picking up around us.
‘Yours,’ he replied simply.
‘Maybe we should postpone this until you’re feeling a bit better,’ I offered.
‘No can do. The second we start to make excuses is the second we give in to not doing it. Do you remember how I got this body? There were days when I just did not want to get out of bed, when the last place I wanted to be was at that gym lifting those weights, but I did it. I kept on going through all of that so I could get the body I wanted. You cannot give up at the first moment you don’t want to do something. You have to do this. You’re in it for the long haul, so don’t let the short haul stop you from achieving greatness.’
‘Oh my God, that was cheesy!’ I shrieked. ‘Are you going to be releasing motivational tea towels or something? Bloody hell!’
‘Mock away, lady, mock away. But when you’re out in that water, freezing your danglies off, you’ll remember those words.’
‘I don’t have danglies, pie face.’
‘Not yet you don’t,’ he said with a nod to my chest. ‘Not yet.’
I stuffed my joggers and my T-shirt and hoodie into my little pink rucksack that Con had bought me before I went to college. Rubbing my palms over my arms and walking like the icicles were spiking me, I moved over the shingle. I was going to do this. Despite mocking him, he was right; I had to do this. As unappealing as it was, if I gave up now, today, I would never get around to it.
The water seemed to dash forward to greet me, desperate to drag me in. The pebbles were smaller, sharper at this point of the beach and in my head I yowled. On the outside I gritted my teeth and took another step forward, plunging my ankles further into the water. Cold. Cold. COLD! But I couldn’t stop. I had to push forward.
‘That’s it, you can do it,’ encouraged Howard, who did not seem at all bothered by the temperature or the spiky pebbles.
I made it to my wetsuit-covered thighs before I had to curse and screech and run back out as fast as my feet would carry me over the shards.
Howard stood with his feet apart, his large arms folded across his chest, laughing at me running for my towel and my shoes and the warmth of not being out in the early chill.
‘Next time, you’ll get your whole body in. That’s my mission.’
‘Mine, too, Howie,’ I replied, knowing I wasn’t going near the damn beach ever again if it was to do that!
Now
‘Since you’re not talking due to “advice” from your solicitor, shall I tell you what we found out about Howard Scarber? Well, shall I tell everyone around us what I found out about him since you probably already know?’ DI Brosnin says.
She makes a big drama of opening the beige-coloured file in front of her, allowing me to see the mugshot of Howie, the typed pages that make up his file, before she pulls it towards her out of my sight. She just wanted me to know that she knows about Howie, and she is going to go through everything he’s ever done in great detail.
She hums slightly to herself as she shuffles through the pages. ‘Now, where shall I start? Hmm . . .’ She pauses. ‘That’s right, Howard Scarber. No one has a word to say against him. He literally is everyone’s best friend. All-round good guy. And he’s been arrested, what is it . . . that’s right, six times for beating up his partner.’