Heatwave by Oliver Davies (read any book .txt) 📕

talking relatively little as we filled in outstanding paperwork, read and reread Sedgwick’s reports, and I did my best to track down who this friend of Alistair’s was, ‘Jules’. I made numerous phone calls, first to Alistair’s school to ask whether this Jules was a student of theirs and then to other schools in the area, but they were reluctant to share the information with me without a more convincing argument about why it was needed. Plus, it was difficult to get an initial reply from schools during the summer holidays, when most of the staff weren’t in.

Alistair’s school did agree to tell me about Alistair himself, reporting him to be a clever, sociable child with a good record for attendance, and had never been marked as a cause for concern.

“Well, Alistair’s parents haven’t filed for divorce, and there have never been any domestic violence reports from either of them,” Stephen told me, swivelling his chair around.

It was getting into the evening, now, and the office was finally beginning to cool down. All the windows that would open were pushed wide, and a pleasant draft occasionally swept past the back of my neck.

“So, it’s less likely that Alistair was running from problems at home,” I concluded. “Good to know.”

“Anything on the Jules kid?”

“Not really,” I sighed. “I might have to sic Keira on the case, ask her to look online for me. None of Alistair’s Facebook friends is called Jules, but with Instagram, their usernames can be anything, can’t they? So I don’t know.” I stretched my arms up, my shoulders clicking loudly. “If Mr Pumphrey was right and the two boys were four years apart, it might’ve been that they met online. He wasn’t wrong in saying that teenagers don’t usually interact that much outside of their year group at that age.”

A serious frown descended onto Stephen’s face. “Unless Jules was predatory.”

“There is that,” I gave a nod. “But we can’t jump to any conclusions. The only report of them being connected at all is Jules going to dinner at Alistair’s the once. It’s not very much.”

“Yeah, but we’ve built more on less, I think,” Stephen said. “If there’s something there, we’ll find out.”

I was about to respond when my phone started ringing in my pocket, buzzing noisily against my leg. I rubbed my clammy palm on my trouser leg and fished it out, surprised to see that it was Sam’s name and picture on the call screen. Stephen turned back to his computer to give me the illusion of privacy as I answered.

“Sam? You doing alright?” It wasn’t like her to call during my work hours, though it was getting near to five, I realised.

“I’m fine,” she said immediately. “I just, well, I wondered when I could expect you tonight? Shall I make dinner at mine?”

Recently, we’d started spending a little over half the week at Sam’s house, which was nicer than my flat, and the rest of the time at mine. So I’d been expecting to go back to hers at whatever time I managed to get off work, and I still wasn’t quite sure why she’d needed to call.

“Aye, that’d be great. I shouldn’t be too late this evening, it’s been pretty quiet,” I told her. “Is this about dinner timings?”

She hesitated for a moment, and something instinctual in my stomach made me feel uneasy.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not feeling ill?”

“No, no, Darren, I’m fine.” I heard her take a breath. “Look, don’t panic, okay, but I just wanted to have a chat this evening. I didn’t want it to happen too late, okay?”

A chat? I thought, my heart speeding up. Was Sam… breaking up with me? Was she pregnant? Was one of her family sick or dying?

I rubbed a hand over my mouth, feeling agitated, but forced my voice to stay neutral when I spoke.

“I’ll come straight there after five, alright?” I said. “I won’t be long. There’s nothing urgent here.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding relieved and nervous all in one short word. “I’ll see you then.”

She hung up, and I lowered the phone, staring at it for a long moment.

“You alright, mate?” Stephen looked over at me with a concerned frown.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Sam wants to ‘talk’ this evening.”

“Oh.” Stephen looked about as worried by that as I was feeling. “I mean, it’s been going well, hasn’t it? I thought you were happy.”

“I am. We are.”

“Alright, go on,” he said abruptly, waving his hands at me.

“What?”

“Go home, Mitch. Bite the bullet. You’re not gonna be able to work with that bothering you, and it’s ten to five already. You’ve done enough paid overtime in the past. Go talk to your girlfriend.”

He was right. I was glad that Sam had waited until this close to the end of the day to tell me because if she’d mentioned it this morning, I think I would have struggled to focus all day. Right now, all I could do was hope that she wasn’t going to present me with a problem that we couldn’t overcome together.

Four

“Kent,” I repeated. “Kent, near London? That Kent?”

“Yes.”

Sam looked at me steadily, her eyebrows pulled together with concern, and her lips pressed tightly together. She was never one to fidget usually, but right now, she couldn’t seem to keep her hands still.

We were sitting at the kitchen table in her house, the pleasant smell of the stirfry on the stove making my stomach growl even though I thought I’d choke if I tried to eat at this moment.

“Sam,” I started and couldn’t figure out how to go on. My shoulders sunk as I processed the reality of what she was saying, and I looked down at the table, my eyes stinging. “I mean, I support you. Of course, I do. It’s a great opportunity.”

“I don’t have to go,” she said softly.

“No, no.” I looked up and forced my mouth into an approximation of a smile, reaching forwards to take her restless hands and squeezing them. “It’s a huge step