park. Not a great way to start my weekend, but it was my own fault.
I dragged myself in slow motion to the bathroom, trying not to move my head. As soon as I staggered into the shower, I remembered there was something worse. I’d made an out-and-out fool of myself. And I’d violated Terry’s privacy. He would never trust me again. All in all, I’d made a complete hash of things.
For a fleeting moment I considered contacting Terry to apologise, but my head was so woolly I had no idea what I’d say. I’d probably only make things worse. I could either go back to bed and feel even more of a loser or bury my shame by getting straight on with the cold case job. With time, caffeine and painkillers, the physical symptoms might shift at least. I might even find myself absorbed in it.
There was no way I was climbing onto a bicycle in my wobbly state – my new intentions to get fit already out of the window – so I caught the next train.
Camden was already bustling with shoppers and tourists by the time I arrived. As I weaved along the side streets, a text buzzed in my pocket. My heart rate shot up a notch. My first thought was that DCS Claussen was ordering me off the cold case investigation after hearing I’d accessed data without consent. Then I realised Terry would need to admit he’d left his laptop open in my presence. I glanced down at the screen and let the breath I was holding go – it was my sister.
Thought we’d pencilled in Friday night at my place. Did you get a better offer?
Shit! She was right. We’d agreed I’d go over to chat about her new venture. It wasn’t like me to forget. Another reason to feel guilty.
I called Miranda straight away.
‘I’m so sorry. I got landed with some extra work yesterday and I was… following it up.’ I cringed at my half-truth.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she snapped. ‘At least everyone else turned up.’ Her best friends came from the Camden Community Art Project, where she spent most of her time. It was her safe haven, run and used by those with similar mental health issues.
‘I can come over later, if you like?’
I’d been meaning to have a chat with her for a while. She’d been avoiding me and that was usually a sign that there was something I needed to be worried about. She hated asking me for help and her response when there was a difficulty in her life was to retreat from me instead. I needed to get to the bottom of it, whatever it was.
‘Where are you?’ she asked, undoubtedly hearing background traffic and the judder in my voice from my footsteps.
‘Camden, actually. Only a stone’s throw from your flat. I’m on my way to the police station. I’m doing some work for them for a couple of weeks.’
‘Dragging information from another reluctant murder witness?’ I could picture her wagging her finger at me. A familiar gesture.
‘No, it’s nothing specific.’ She was referring to the canal case where the sole witness had been rendered mute. ‘I’m just in their office. And Aiden wasn’t reluctant – he was traumatised.’ I took a breath. ‘You okay?’
Since childhood, I’d always had an antenna tuned in her direction, trying to look like I hadn’t. I’ve always had to be more than just her sister, even though she’s two years older than me. My parents didn’t handle her schizophrenia well at all: my mother gave up on her years ago and my father handled Miranda like a broken doll, making everything worse. So it had been down to me for as long as I could remember.
She didn’t answer my question. ‘Text me when you’re finished,’ she said stiffly. ‘Can’t say I’ll be around for definite, mind you. Anyway, can’t talk now, got things to do.’ With that, the call was over.
Miranda’s abrupt approach wasn’t new; she regularly blew hot and cold with me. Largely because our relationship was so complex. I’d spent my entire upbringing watching her every move, waiting for the next thing to get broken. It had taken years to establish her condition and she’d reached twenty before she was finally diagnosed.
In the meantime, she’d left a trail of destruction with every manic outburst. Climbing naked onto our roof, smashing tiles, for instance. Riding her bike into a group of morris dancers on May Day. Tipping a sherry trifle over Mum’s birthday cake