Ashes by Now Read Free

that was more or less that for the rest of the night.

3
    So that’s the way it was that morning. Just another morning as far as I was concerned. Until the telephone rang and everything changed, just like it always seems to.
    I leant over and picked up the receiver. ‘Yeah?’ I said.
    â€˜Mr Sharman?’ I didn’t recognise the voice.
    â€˜Yeah,’ I said again.
    â€˜It’s Frank Grant here.’
    I didn’t recognise the name either. ‘Yeah,’ I said for the third time.
    There was a long pause as if the name alone should have meant something to me. ‘Frank Grant. You remember.’
    â€˜No.’ I didn’t even bother to think about it.
    â€˜Frank Grant,’ he repeated, almost like a mantra. Or as if maybe it was the last thing in the world that he was sure of.
    I was getting tired of guessing games. ‘Listen, Frank Grant,’ I said, ‘I’ve got a lousy hangover and I’m tired. I’m sure I should know you, but I don’t. So give me a clue, or get lost.’
    â€˜You used to call me “Sailor” Grant.’
    And that’s when I dropped the phone. It bounced off my chest, and I grabbed for it, catching it before it hit the carpet.
    â€˜ Sailor Grant ,’ I said.
    â€˜That’s right. Do you remember now?’
    I would have thought it was bloody obvious that I did.
    â€˜Yes,’ I replied. ‘How did you get this number?’
    â€˜I asked around. You haven’t moved far.’
    I had, but I came back.
    â€˜Where are you?’ I asked.
    â€˜Close.’
    That was what I was afraid of.
    â€˜It’s been a long time,’ I said.
    â€˜Twelve years I’ve been inside. I’m out now on licence.’
    Twelve years, I thought. Could it really be that long? Longer really, what with the trial and all. But of course it could. Where did it all go?
    â€˜What do you want?’ I asked.
    â€˜I want to see you.’
    Dream on, I thought.
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ I said.
    â€˜You know I didn’t do it, Mr Sharman. You were the only one who believed me.’
    I didn’t want to remember.
    Another pause lengthened down the telephone line as he waited for a reply.
    When I didn’t make one, he spoke again. Pleading this time.
    â€˜Please, Mr Sharman. It isn’t too late to put it right. I need to see you.’
    â€˜No, Sailor,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you do, but I really don’t want to see you . It was all too long ago.’
    â€˜ Please , Mr Sharman.’ He was sounding desperate by then.
    â€˜Not in this life, son,’ I said, put down the phone, and reached over and pulled the plug out of the wall. I took another mouthful of beer, laid my head back on a cushion, and let my mind float back twelve years.

4
    Detective Constable Sharman. First day attached to CID at Brixton nick with the new rank, on transfer from Kennington. Mid-twenties with his whole life in front of him. The sky was the limit. Who knew where he might end up? Commissioner maybe.
    It was not to be, of course. DC was the highest rank I ever attained.
    But then. Oh, then.
    Young. Fit. Newly married. First mortgage on a flat in Streatham, and a baby soon. My wife just had that feeling. In love forever, with no one else but her. But forever is a very long time.
    I was driving a second-hand Cortina then. One careful lady owner who only used it on Sunday to drive to church. You know the deal. ‘You’re a police officer, sir?’ said the salesman. ‘Our favourite kind of customer. Of course we’ll come down a couple of hundred quid on the asking price. A free service and a tankful of petrol? No problem. And listen. If you hear of any nice motors coming up for auction through the Met, let us know. We’ll make sure you don’t lose by it.’
    That’s how it starts. And you end up taking backhanders for looking the other way, and eventually commit grand larceny.
    But