would meet with an equanimity that would be worse than anger. Maybe it was time for her to acknowledge that she missed him more than she blamed him.
The custody sergeant put the phone down and glanced across at her. ‘Carol Jordan? There’s someone in reception to pick you up.’ He looked around. ‘PC Sharman, take her through to reception, there’s a good lad. You’ll get confirmation of your court date in a day or two. Don’t forget to turn up. Come round sober tomorrow and you can have your car keys back.’
She followed the young officer through a door, down a corridor and through another door into an identikit reception area. It could have been any police station in any town. There he was, sitting on a plastic chair under a poster about home security, intent on some stupid game on his phone. He didn’t even look up when she walked into the room.
The PC left her to it and she crossed to where he sat, thumbs busy on the screen. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said.
Startled, he jumped up, almost dropping his phone. ‘Carol,’ he said, a smile lighting up his tired face. ‘How are you?’
‘I feel stone-cold sober, though the breathalyser doesn’t agree with me. Can we get out of here?’
He gestured towards the street doors and followed her in silence out into the bitter cold of the night. ‘I’m parked round the corner,’ he said, taking the lead when she stopped and gave him a questioning look.
Carol sat hunched in the passenger seat while Tony scraped ice from the windscreen with the edge of a credit card. She wasn’t looking forward to the conversation that lay ahead but there was no way out of it. It was the price of rescue and it couldn’t be worse than spending the night in a cell.
Eventually they set off, locked in silence. As they reached the outskirts of the town, Tony said, ‘You’ll have to direct me. I don’t know the way to yours from this side.’
‘Stay on this road through Hebden Bridge, then I’ll tell you where to turn.’ It was a novelty, being driven by Tony. By unspoken agreement, she’d always driven them, whether they’d been on police business or not. He was, in her eyes, the very definition of a bad driver. Easily distracted by other road users, not to mention whatever was going on in his own head, then twitchy on the brakes, vague on priorities at junctions and always four miles an hour under the speed limit except when he forgot about it altogether. Fortunately, Tony’s clapped-out Volvo was almost the only vehicle on the road, so she’d be spared any indecisive attempts at overtaking on the minor roads they’d be driving down.
‘Did they say when you’ll be up in court?’
‘Wednesday. They don’t hang about.’
He was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘That’s fine. There’s nothing I can’t rearrange.’
‘You don’t have to be there. I just needed a lift home, that’s all.’ She knew she seemed ungrateful but she was struggling so hard not to give way to tears that she didn’t dare invite sympathy or kindness.
‘Of course I have to be there. Somebody’s got to get you there and home again. Plus, you shouldn’t drive between now and the hearing.’ The streetlights ran out and he leaned forward, peering into the darkness.
‘It’s perfectly legal for me to drive between now and then,’ she said, not caring that she sounded peevish.
‘The magistrates would like you better if you stayed off the road.’
Carol snorted in derision. ‘It makes no odds whether they like me or not. It’s a twelve-month driving ban and a fine and my insurance fucked up and a criminal record, and no amount of grovelling will make any difference.’
‘It might make the difference between twelve months and fifteen months,’ he said.
‘What? Suddenly you’re the expert on drink-driving sentencing?’
He said nothing.
Carol threw her hands in the air, exasperated with herself. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bitch. I appreciate you doing
The custody sergeant put the phone down and glanced across at her. ‘Carol Jordan? There’s someone in reception to pick you up.’ He looked around. ‘PC Sharman, take her through to reception, there’s a good lad. You’ll get confirmation of your court date in a day or two. Don’t forget to turn up. Come round sober tomorrow and you can have your car keys back.’
She followed the young officer through a door, down a corridor and through another door into an identikit reception area. It could have been any police station in any town. There he was, sitting on a plastic chair under a poster about home security, intent on some stupid game on his phone. He didn’t even look up when she walked into the room.
The PC left her to it and she crossed to where he sat, thumbs busy on the screen. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said.
Startled, he jumped up, almost dropping his phone. ‘Carol,’ he said, a smile lighting up his tired face. ‘How are you?’
‘I feel stone-cold sober, though the breathalyser doesn’t agree with me. Can we get out of here?’
He gestured towards the street doors and followed her in silence out into the bitter cold of the night. ‘I’m parked round the corner,’ he said, taking the lead when she stopped and gave him a questioning look.
Carol sat hunched in the passenger seat while Tony scraped ice from the windscreen with the edge of a credit card. She wasn’t looking forward to the conversation that lay ahead but there was no way out of it. It was the price of rescue and it couldn’t be worse than spending the night in a cell.
Eventually they set off, locked in silence. As they reached the outskirts of the town, Tony said, ‘You’ll have to direct me. I don’t know the way to yours from this side.’
‘Stay on this road through Hebden Bridge, then I’ll tell you where to turn.’ It was a novelty, being driven by Tony. By unspoken agreement, she’d always driven them, whether they’d been on police business or not. He was, in her eyes, the very definition of a bad driver. Easily distracted by other road users, not to mention whatever was going on in his own head, then twitchy on the brakes, vague on priorities at junctions and always four miles an hour under the speed limit except when he forgot about it altogether. Fortunately, Tony’s clapped-out Volvo was almost the only vehicle on the road, so she’d be spared any indecisive attempts at overtaking on the minor roads they’d be driving down.
‘Did they say when you’ll be up in court?’
‘Wednesday. They don’t hang about.’
He was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘That’s fine. There’s nothing I can’t rearrange.’
‘You don’t have to be there. I just needed a lift home, that’s all.’ She knew she seemed ungrateful but she was struggling so hard not to give way to tears that she didn’t dare invite sympathy or kindness.
‘Of course I have to be there. Somebody’s got to get you there and home again. Plus, you shouldn’t drive between now and the hearing.’ The streetlights ran out and he leaned forward, peering into the darkness.
‘It’s perfectly legal for me to drive between now and then,’ she said, not caring that she sounded peevish.
‘The magistrates would like you better if you stayed off the road.’
Carol snorted in derision. ‘It makes no odds whether they like me or not. It’s a twelve-month driving ban and a fine and my insurance fucked up and a criminal record, and no amount of grovelling will make any difference.’
‘It might make the difference between twelve months and fifteen months,’ he said.
‘What? Suddenly you’re the expert on drink-driving sentencing?’
He said nothing.
Carol threw her hands in the air, exasperated with herself. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be a bitch. I appreciate you doing
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