If I do this I could ruin all of that for Mum. But then what? Never take a job in the spotlight for fear that our secret comes out, our dirty secret? Agree to stay quiet, stay hidden until when? I feel the burn of injustice in my chest.
“Wait, Em. Does whoever offered you the post know who you are?”
Who I am? I take a breath before answering. “Yeah.”
“Em, why would they choose you for this job if they knew what happened in Norfolk? I thought they didn’t want a media circus—”
I cut him off. “They don’t, Joe. And for the record, they chose me because I’m bloody good at my job. Okay? And they were concerned it might be a problem for me.”
“I know you’re good at your job. But who are these people?” He holds my gaze, questioningly, insistently. He’s not going to let this go. “You don’t know their motives on this. They must have chosen you for a reason—plenty of other people are good at their jobs.”
I take a breath. “I was recommended. Look, Joe, are you asking me not to do this?” I say it with a calm I don’t feel. My heart hammering. “Because it’s not just this job that you’re asking me not to do, is it, Joe? I’d have to turn down any job that puts me in the spotlight. I’d have to turn down anything high profile, wouldn’t I, because if I wander out into the light then the spotlight shines onto all of us, doesn’t it?” I hear myself saying it. Oh God, I didn’t mean to turn this conversation into that conversation. I feel a rush of remorse. “Sorry, Joe, I don’t know why I’m taking this out on you. It’s ridiculous, sorry. I just—I want this. I can’t know that I’m good enough and then just walk away. What happened was not our fault. Why should we have to spend the rest of our lives paying for it?”
He takes a moment before replying. “Look, Em. You shouldn’t ever hold yourself back because of it. But—” He stops himself and shakes his head.
“But what, Joe? Say it.”
“But”—he continues very carefully—“and I say this because I love you, Em, and you know I do—you need to ask yourself why you need this so much. Why you need the spotlight. Just ask yourself what you’re so desperately looking for. If it’s even out there. If you go back to Norfolk, I’ll deal with Mum, don’t worry about that. I’ll explain it to her and she’ll be okay with it, I promise. But you really need to try to understand why you’re going back at all. What you’re looking for there.”
“None of this is about Norfolk, Joe, I’d go wherever the job was. I wish it wasn’t there, obviously, but I’m not going to let that stop me. And it’s not like I have a lot of reasons to stay here in London. I want more than all this. For myself. For my career. I’m really good at what I do, Joe, and I’m going to help this man. That’s why I’m going.”
He studies me, concern in his warm eyes. “First be very sure you know who exactly it is you’re helping, Em.”
9
THE MAN
DAY 1—THE SEARCH BEGINS
Back at the beach a silence falls between police officers Poole and Graceford.
It’s Graceford who speaks first. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to them.” She nods back toward Mike and Zara, who have now made their way from the dunes to meet them. Graceford gives Poole a rallying clap on the arm as she passes. She’ll take over.
Poole hears their voices behind him but thankfully their words are just out of his earshot. He turns to see how Zara’s taking it. Her usually beautiful face is pulled into a tight pinch as Graceford speaks. Poole turns away. Zara has always had a problem with Graceford.
A car door slams; he turns to look and Mike is in the car now, Zara still leaning on her car door, half in, half out, nodding reasonably. She smiles sweetly at Graceford before swiveling into the driver’s seat and slamming the door closed.
Zara’s car rolls with pointed slowness out of the car park past them.
Gone. No goodbye then, Poole thinks.
“So?” he asks as Graceford rejoins him.
“So,” she answers flatly, and changes the subject. “What do you think about the man on the beach?” She avoids Poole’s gaze, casting her own back toward the sea path.
At best she’s trying to keep things professional, at worst sparing his feelings.
He tries again. “What did she say?” He gestures out in the direction of the long-gone car.
Graceford clears her throat, looks away again. If she’s honest with herself, the nuances of other people’s relationships have never really been her strong suit. But she understands that she is expected, in this type of situation, to give some kind of response to Chris’s question. She’s supposed to have some kind of opinion. Reluctantly, she obliges.
“She said, ‘Sure, no problem, Officer.’ I mean, what else is she going to say to me? I’m a police officer. And she’s breaking the law.”
Officer Poole looks down at the loose gravel of the car park and sees his pale feet blueing in the January air. Shit.
“They’ve been warned, Chris,” Graceford continues. “No one at the station cares if she’s your wife, and I don’t either. She can’t keep doing it, Chris, she’s wasting police time.” Graceford shifts uncomfortably. She can’t tell if she’s said too much; Poole’s still staring down at the ground. “They’re breaking the law and they keep doing it.”
Poole raises his head. “I know, Beth! I know. Believe me, I know that. But I’ve said to her, you’ve heard me say to her! Haven’t you?”
Beth Graceford nods and looks away.
Poole knows that means the conversation is over.
He clears his throat and pulls himself together.
“Okay. Okay! Right,” he says, changing his tone, “let’s get going, shall we? That beach isn’t going to search itself. Is that spare uniform still in the boot of the patrol car?”
Graceford nods. “Neil’s spare uniform? Yeah, course it is.”
A mischievous smile plays across Chris’s face. “Remind me why he kept it there?” he asks as, barefoot, he follows Graceford gingerly across the gravel.
“You know this, Chris. In case someone vomited on him.” She intones knowing full well where this line of inquiry is heading. She pops open the hatchback.
Graceford had previously been partnered with Sergeant Neil Jarvis for the first five months of her posting on the Norfolk coast.
Chris’s grin broadens. “In case someone vomited on him! That happen a lot, did it? Enough to warrant the extra uniform?”