Silas Nash Book 1 Hush Hush Honeysuckle Chapter 5 (b)

Nash walked a long way to find a bar where he was unlikely to run into another police officer or anybody else he knew. He was torn between being alone and being with somebody special. He walked past the hotel where Sandy worked and almost went in for a drink, but they had an agreement that workplaces were strictly out of bounds. He enjoyed the stiff breeze and tang of the sea on Walney Island, where he lived. Until his thirst and the chill got the better of him, he didn’t realise he’d walked as far as the Round House at Biggar Bank. The streets were quiet tonight, and he called into the Castle House pub for a drink. There was nothing waiting for him at home apart from the cat, and he knew he’d be too wired to sleep.

He wasn’t a big drinker, but he sought company in his isolation. Nobody would bother him, and he could sit on his own, thinking about the case, and yet still feel part of something. He asked for a Guinness and told the bartender not to draw a shamrock on it. The thought of somebody putting their finger in his beer appalled him.

He’d stayed behind at the station to go over the files again, hoping that some fact they’d missed would jump out at him. He liked it there at night. The incident room was far enough away from the drunk tank that the roaring and banging of the guests was a dull background accompaniment to his thoughts. Shift changeover had come and gone, and the hum from the lower floors settled down. It was slow through the week, and nothing disturbed him.

They rang the bell, and a lanky bartender shouted the last orders. Sandy’s shift would be finishing. They’d been dating for eight months, and this Plenty of Fish scene was a foreign field to him with very little no man’s land in the middle. He knew in his heart that Sandy was slipping away, and he didn’t know how to hang on to their relationship before it crumbled. He was a very different man in his private life from the person he was when he wore his badge. The roses at home had a different smell from the ones that gave him hay fever in the office. He took roses home every Thursday night, but recently he’d been the one to arrange them in a vase when Sandy left them unwrapped on the kitchen counter. He felt like a drowning man, and his partner held the life vest. Nash was terrified of losing the only relationship he’d had in years and overcompensated for his ineptitude with an unaccustomed clinginess that the guys at work would never recognise in him. He needed to call.

‘Hey, Sandy.’

‘Silas, hi. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight.’

‘I’m in a bar, on my own.’

‘Boo for you, babe.’

‘I’ll be home soon. Do you want to come over?’

‘What? Now?’

‘No, in three weeks’ time on a Monday. Yes, now. I miss you, Sandy.’

‘Oh, honey. You know what it’s like. I’ve just finished my shift, and my feet are killing me.’

‘It was just a thought. See you on Friday.’

‘I’ll have to let you know about that, honey. It’s Becky’s birthday, and the girls are going to Blackpool. I could always miss it, though, if you want me to?’

‘No, you go with the girls and have fun. Just let me know when you’re free.’

They made kissy noises down the phone, and Nash heard somebody in the background behind Sandy as he hung up. The cocktails were there, apparently. Somebody always needed attention, and there were always cocktails, or drama or Blackpool. Sandy was younger than him at fifty-three but acted like a twenty-year-old. The vitality was one of the things Nash loved. He hoped they might settle down together. He didn’t expect marriage and all the hoo-ha—but his house was big enough for two. A double-fronted sandstone with a wrap-around balcony on Marine Drive. It was big enough for ten people, and he rattled around in it on his own. Sandy said they had a long time ahead of them to grow old, and no way it was coming any time soon. Most of the hotel staff were kids in their twenties. Nash didn’t get it.

He wished he hadn’t called Sandy. It just depressed him more. A woman at the bar smiled at him and tipped her glass. She was drunk and no doubt saw him as the gateway to another drink or two. It was time to leave.

He contemplated walking along the beach to the headland. It was invigorating, and the path walkway was only about a mile long from here. A picnic table at the end was put there as a reward for weary walkers who had come much further than Nash. He did his best thinking when he walked. But he had a seven am start. It was already close to midnight, and he wouldn’t get in until the sun was up. On a clear morning, the sunrise painted the Isle of Man glinting on the horizon, and if he turned to the right, he’d see the town of Millom waking for the day. It was tempting to take his aloneness to the headland, where it stopped being lonely and turned into quiet solitude. His house was the emptiest place on earth.

He got in, and Lola wrapped around his legs. At least somebody loved him. Her dish was empty, so he fed her. That explained her greeting then—cupboard love. Nash took a tot of Glenfiddich to help him sleep and got into bed.

‘Alexa, play Enya.’

‘Finding Enya.’