Trust Me - T.M. Logan Page 0,115

I would have wanted. The idea that it might end up being a fellow officer. My own partner . . .’ He runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving tufts of his fringe standing up. ‘I just can’t see it. I can’t believe it would be.’

I look at him, sitting in the armchair by the window in his crumpled suit jacket, one leg crossed casually over the other. Pale blue eyes – thoughtful eyes – that crinkle at the edges, square jaw shadowed with stubble. A strong hand cupping his wine, veins standing out against tanned skin. In some ways he reminds me of my husband, in others he’s as different from Richard as it’s possible to be.

‘What will you do,’ I say quietly, ‘when you leave the police?’

‘Honestly?’ He fills his cheeks, blows the breath out. ‘I have no idea, being a police officer is all I ever wanted to do. Joined at eighteen, right out of South Bucks Grammar. I only ever imagined myself doing this, I’ve tried to visualise it but I can’t see myself doing anything else.’

‘I always imagined myself being a mother,’ I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. ‘I thought that at some point, sooner or later, it would be inevitable. When I came out of the navy I built everything around that idea, tied everything to it. So when it didn’t happen it was like there was a big hole in the middle of my life. Some days I didn’t really know what the point was anymore. I felt like such a failure. I started thinking it was payback, karma, for what happened in Libya, for not saving that little boy.’

Gilbourne gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘Maybe it will still happen.’

I shake my head. ‘I’m forty-one years old, Stuart. I’ve been through two rounds of IVF, my marriage is over, and I don’t think I have time to start all over again.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, holding my gaze. ‘How long have you been divorced?’

‘Separated for three months,’ I say. ‘Divorce will be finalised next month.’

‘Snap,’ he says. ‘But I’m a little bit ahead of you.’

‘How long?’

‘About a year ago.’ He adds, ‘Join the Force, get divorced.’

‘Do you see your children much?’

‘Every other weekend.’

‘That must be hard.’

He shrugs, finishing the last of his wine. ‘It is what it is. My own fault, mostly. Never gave my wife enough time, or my girls, I was always too busy with the job. Always gave that priority. Didn’t realise what a failure I was as a father until it was too late.’

I sit forward on the chair again, leaning closer to him. Catch a hint of his aftershave, fresh like the ocean. ‘You’re not a failure, Stuart.’

He colours a little, then lifts his eyes to mine. ‘Neither are you,’ he says. ‘Neither are you. In fact, you’re the most—’

And then I’m kissing him, my lips meeting his, not even really knowing what I’m doing, only that I am doing it and it feels good. It feels right, and it’s been so long since I kissed someone properly that I can’t believe how much I’ve missed it, the intimacy of it. The surrender of two lonely people to each other, each of us looking for a glimmer of light in the darkness.

He pulls away, the whisper of his stubble against my cheek.

‘Ellen, I—’

I kiss him again, longer this time, a deep slow kiss as he leans into me and I’m surrounded by the smell of him, the taste of him, mint and red wine and the faintest hint of cigarettes that makes me think of stolen teenage kisses from a lifetime ago. My skin feels alive with him, electricity flashing up and down my spine and as I pull away this time I’m breathless.

His forehead rests gently against mine, his palms cupping my cheeks. When he speaks again, his voice is breathy and low, barely above a whisper. ‘Do you want me to stay?’

In answer, I kiss him again.

SUNDAY

61

He’s gone when I wake up, and in the first delicious moments after I open my eyes I wonder if I’ve dreamed the whole thing. Lying there in tangled sheets, enjoying the half-awake warmth of the duvet, I close my eyes again and remember. Not a dream. Flesh and blood reality. The edge of a hangover lingers but it doesn’t matter: this morning is the first time in a long, long time that I have woken without a feeling of dread for what the day