“And what is it you do now?”
“Still with the Met. Promoted to sergeant last September. Working out of Bromley Police Station.”
“Wow. Well done, Dan.”
“Me? What about you, Master Chef? Been watching you rise through the ranks with great interest. Me and a few of the boys from the station went to your place on Edgware Road. Asked if you were there that night. The girl on duty said you were working at the other restaurant. But everyone loved the food. Maybe one day you’ll cook breakfast for me.”
Yes, thought Marcus, still the same old Daniel.
“Maybe. If you play your cards right.”
“Seriously, though, Marcus, you want to grab a drink sometime?”
Marcus had forgotten the incredible blue of Daniel’s eyes. Had they not been to school together, he might have thought the man wore colored contacts. But no, Daniel had been blessed with amazing looks. And he was a copper now, so no doubt his wild days were behind him.
“Absolutely. Let me go get my mobile phone and get your number.”
“Where are you sitting? I’ll come over to you.”
When Marcus pointed to Tom and the girls, Daniel turned to him, a confused expression on his face. “Sorry, mate. I thought you were still single.”
“I am. That’s Raine Fowler’s husband and kids,” said Marcus, and the instant pained expression that crossed Daniel’s face told him that he need not say any more.
“Bloody terrible tragedy. The poor sods. My colleague was the first on the scene the day it happened. Absolute carnage,” said Daniel, looking over at them briefly before bringing his attention back to Marcus. “And you’ve stayed connected?”
“I’m the girls’ godfather. What else am I going to do?”
At that, Daniel folded his large arms and appraised Marcus afresh. “You know, I always knew you were one of the good guys. You and Raine didn’t have time for me in school, but I remember being jealous of you both, like you were joined at the hip. Everyone but me thought you were dating. Let’s definitely grab a drink soon.”
“Stay here a minute. I’ll grab my phone.”
Marcus headed back to his rucksack and yanked out his phone.
“Who’s that?” asked Tom.
“An old friend.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” asked Katie.
“Katie!” said her father.
“His legs are too skinny. He looks like a rooster,” said Charlotte.
“Charlotte!” said Tom.
“He’s just a friend,” said Marcus, laughing and then winking at Tom. “For now, anyway.”
WITHthem all fastened into Tom’s Ford Edge, they began the hour-long drive back to Tom’s house. Marcus had parked his SUV there so that they could all drive to the park together. Ten minutes into the journey and both girls slept soundly in the back seat, Charlotte secured in her booster seat, Katie next to her. Tom handled the car with quiet competence, ever conscious of driving smoothly so as not to disturb his cherubs.
At first Tom and Marcus listened to a radio channel playing popular music—purposely kept at a low volume—until the news came on. Tom, clearly not a lover of political news, instantly changed channels. On the new channel, once the announcer had finished speaking, Marcus realized they had tuned into a chat show. Instantly Tom snapped the radio off.
“What was wrong with the agony aunt show?” asked Marcus. “Are there any channels you actually like?”
“I don’t mind nonstop music channels. At least I can still think while I’m driving. Not a fan of news channels. And I can’t stand those dial-in chat shows. What on earth possesses people to call in and share their private lives, their innermost secrets, with the rest of the world?”
“Maybe they find it cathartic. Maybe they have nobody else to talk to.”
“Come on, Marcus. Listen to them. That last woman, for example, who was moaning that her husband doesn’t listen to her, doesn’t communicate or understand her. Has she actually spoken to him to tell him the problem as she sees it, instead of phoning in and publicly whinging across the airwaves? These people are way beyond pathetic.”
