An
even
lengthier
silence.
‘You’re in a relationship with Pylyp?’ asked Beverley eventually.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re in love with him?’
‘Well, I mean it’s only been twenty-four hours, but I feel it might be the real thing. We’re like a couple of Lego pieces that just click. Perhaps it has something to do with our shared heritage.’
‘And your big speech about a woman not needing a man but finding fulfilment through her work and so on?’
The ghost laughed. ‘Well, yes, I believe that in general. And it’s important to write about such characters. But, come on. You’ve seen him. He’s gorgeous. He’s opened me up in ways I never thought possible. His skills as a lover are—’
Beverley stood up and slammed her hands on the table, making the cups rattle. She gathered up her pages and threw them in the ghost’s face. The ghost sat there, looking utterly bewildered.
‘I have only one thing to say to you,’ she hissed. ‘And it isn’t even for you. It’s for Pylyp. You can tell him from me that he will never see Ustym Karmaliuk again.’
And with that, she collected up her belongings, charged through the doors, out on to Dean Street, and hailed the first black cab that passed by, leaving the ghost with the bill.
THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING IN UNIFORM
Nelson and Shane were still in the first flush of excitement about their new romance when Shane remarked on how flexible the Metropolitan Police were with their working hours.
‘How do you mean?’ asked Nelson.
‘Well, the fact that we get to spend so much time together,’ replied Shane, who was alphabetizing Nelson’s bookcases at the time. It was his first visit to the Cleverley household and Nelson had snuck him upstairs without running into any members of his family. ‘We’re lucky in that, aren’t we?’
‘Very lucky,’ agreed Nelson.
‘So how do they organize it, then? The hours, I mean?’
‘Well, when you finish at the … you know … the police academy, you fill in a form saying the hours you’re available and basically … well, they just work around you.’
‘Really?’ asked Shane, turning around with an incredulous expression on his face. ‘That seems very accommodating of them.’
‘They need all the police they can get, you see.’
‘That makes having a social life easy. Anyone would think there’s no crime after 5 p.m.’
‘There isn’t, really,’ said Nelson. ‘Most criminals go home to their families at the end of the day, just like everyone else. Or down the local pub to catch up with friends. Maybe out to a show in the West End.’
‘Right,’ said Shane. ‘Back in Ireland, there’s rotas, I think. My cousin is a garda in Newbridge and he’s run ragged half the time.’
‘Perhaps the Irish have more criminal tendencies?’ suggested Nelson.
‘Hmm,’ said Shane, returning to the books and deciding not to pull at this particular thread. ‘Anyway, my point is that we’d find it a lot more difficult to get to know each other if you were working twelve-hour days at unsociable times.’
‘I definitely chose the right uniform,’ agreed Nelson, checking the emails on his phone to see whether he’d received any more information from the Met. He’d got confirmation of his application and was now just waiting for a date for the interview. It might be a tricky year ahead, he reasoned, keeping his training secret from Shane. He was glad that he hadn’t shown up to the speed-dating night in his scrubs or he’d now have seven years of medical school ahead of him.
‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ said Shane, turning around and bouncing over to the bed. ‘My sister messaged earlier. She’s in London for the day and suggested meeting for lunch.’
‘That’s nice,’ said Nelson. ‘You should go.’
‘I meant we could go together. I could introduce you to her.’
‘Ah,’ said Nelson, who wasn’t quite ready to meet his boyfriend’s family yet. ‘I can’t today. It’s one of those rare Fridays when I have to go in.’
‘Oh no!’ said Shane. ‘Can’t you get out of it?’
‘No, sorry. We’re going after some …’ He racked his brain. ‘Some bad drugs people. Supplying half the schools in the city. We’re going in hard. It’s a 747.’
‘What’s a 747?’ asked Shane.
‘I can’t tell you. It’s top-secret police talk.’
Shane grinned. ‘That’s such a turn-on,’ he said. ‘Tell me another one.’
‘Um …’ Nelson thought about it. ‘An A-380.’
‘Jesus, that’s hot.’
‘A 777-300.’
‘Okay, stop it, sexy, or I’ll never be able to finish these books. What time do you have to be in at?’
‘Two o’clock,’ said Nelson.
‘Oh, that’s fine, then,’ said Shane. ‘I told Susan I’d meet her at one. Why don’t you just stop by and say hello first? You’d probably have time for a quick sandwich.’
‘I don’t know if I should,’ said Nelson. ‘I need my brain to be in the zone. For the drug cartel. I really want to take them down, you know? They’re poisoning our kids with their filthy crack heroin.’
‘Isn’t it crack cocaine?’
‘It’s a new blend. A sort of shandy.’
‘Please. It would mean a lot to me.’ Shane put his arms around Nelson. ‘I’ve told her all about you and she’s excited to meet you. And she’ll be really impressed if you wear your uniform. In fact, I suppose you’ll have to if you’re going into work immediately afterwards.’
Nelson thought about it. The uniform did give him confidence, after all, and it meant that he’d probably be able to talk to her without completely falling apart.
‘Well, all right, then,’ he said, giving in. ‘But I won’t be able to stay long.’
‘Brilliant! She’ll be delighted.’ Shane leaned in for a kiss. ‘I feel so lucky that I met you, Nelson.’
‘And I you,’ he replied, a warm sensation filling his entire body. ‘I was honestly convinced that I was going to spend my life alone, that no one would ever be interested in me.’
‘How could you have thought such a thing?’ asked Shane. ‘You’re handsome, you’re clever, you’re funny. You have a great job and you look so sexy when you’re all dressed up for it.’
Nelson smiled. He had to admit this was true.
NEGATIVE TWITTER RATIO
@TruthIsASword’s followers count was climbing due to the endless stream of vitriol Elizabeth was pushing into the world but, to her disappointment, @ElizCleverley seemed to have plateaued and had even lost followers in the wake of George’s imbroglios. In fact, she’d received quite a few abusive messages from strangers on Twitter, condemning her for even being related to the disgraced chat-show host. She hadn’t dared to respond to any of them, fearing a greater backlash, but had to admit that she was beginning to dread tapping on the little blue app on her iPhone. It wasn’t easy being on the receiving end of such nastiness. Why did people do it, she wondered?