‘Hey, Josh. How’s it going?’
The boy brushed a hank of black hair from his forehead and looked up from the television, which was blaring away from the corner of the room next to the window.
‘Hi, Uncle Trevor,’ he said with a broad grin. ‘Cool thanks.’
‘Rovers or City?’ said Trevor, nodding towards Josh’s red and white football shirt.
His nephew glanced down as if to verify what he was actually wearing, and his smile widened. ‘City of course.’
‘Expensive, aren’t they?’
Josh briefly eyed the shirt once again. ‘Dunno. Mum gave it me for my birthday.’
‘Oh, right. Yeah, I’m sorry I missed the party.’ Trevor remembered that the lad had turned ten back in February, but despite being very fond of him, he’d been at quite a low ebb at the time and decided he couldn’t face a houseful of shrieking kids.
‘’Sokay,’ said Josh and then suddenly sat upright from his slouching position at the end of the settee. ‘Hello.’
Trevor turned to see that Sandra had entered the room and was staring at the trail of paw prints across the carpet.
‘Hi,’ she said and then switched her attention back to the splodges of paint. ‘I think you’d better get a cloth or something before your sister sees this.’
‘Too bloody late,’ said Janice as she appeared in the doorway. ‘And get the damn dog off the sofa, Josh. – Now.’
With obvious reluctance, the boy half pushed and half slid Milly onto the floor, which was no easy task as she seemed equally reluctant to relinquish her state of perfect bliss on the settee.
‘She your girlfriend?’
It took Trevor a moment to register that his nephew was talking to him, and he felt the heat blast into his cheeks.
‘What?’ he said and instantly regretted the nervous laugh which probably sounded more like a coquettish giggle. ‘Oh no, no. Just a er… friend. That’s all. We er—’
He decided to shut up before he made more of a blushing idiot of himself than he had already and stole a look at Sandra. She was gazing down at her feet, and from the angle of her face it was impossible to tell whether she was smiling or frowning. His mind raced to find something to say which would divert attention from the unwelcome topic in hand, but his mental floundering was mercifully interrupted by a loud knock at the front door.
‘Oh great. Why don’t we all have a bloody party?’ said Janice and thrust the paint sodden rag at her brother. ‘Here. Make yourself useful for once.’
He took the rag and surveyed the lime green marks on the carpet. ‘I think this’ll make it worse if anything.’
Janice clasped a hand to her forehead. ‘Jesus, Trevor, I know all men are useless, but you—’
‘Have you got a clean one we could use?’ said Sandra.
Janice was momentarily fazed by the interruption to her tirade. ‘Er… should be one under the sink in the kitchen.’
Trevor was out of the lounge before his sister had even finished the sentence, and he reached the kitchen at the far end of the hallway just as she was opening the front door. He made straight for the cupboard under the sink but froze as he crouched down to open it.
‘Sorry to bother you, madam, but we’re looking for a Mr Trevor Hawkins.’
It was a man’s voice and one which was instantly familiar.
‘And you are?’ Janice’s tone sounded polite but curt.
There was the briefest of pauses before the man spoke again. ‘Detective Sergeant Logan, Metropolitan Police.’
Trevor shot upright like a popped champagne cork. Shit, he thought. How the hell did he get here?
‘Police?’ said Janice. ‘What’s it about?’
That’s it, sis. Keep him talking while I make my escape.
Escape? Escape? What in God’s name was he thinking of? But even as the absurdity of the notion occurred to him, he scanned the small, neatly kept back garden through the window above the sink. It was surrounded by a tall wooden fence with a door set into the furthest corner.
‘I suppose you’d better come in then,’ he heard Janice say.
Trevor realised it was now or never and hesitated only long enough to consider the predicament that Sandra might be in. It’s not her they’re after though, is it? It’s me they want.
And thus having satisfied his conscience, he was out of the back door and across the garden in a matter of seconds. He reached for the black metal handle on the gate but froze once again when he saw the latch rise slowly of its own accord. He stepped back as the gate opened inwards, and straight away he recognised the smartly dressed young woman who stood before him.