‘A bit niche.’
‘Recruitment consultant. How ironic,’ he said. ‘Assistant drainage engineer?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘What’s a production operative?’ she asked, touching the screen. They both read the details together. Picking, packing and labelling boxes. It wasn’t glamorous but it was probably the only one she didn’t need qualifications or experience for. He took a screenshotof the details, they swapped full names and phone numbers and he sent it to her. She typed his name in next to his number – Charlie McGee.
Chatting with Charlie was making her feel buoyed and ready for action. She’d had a great time with him but now it was time to leave. As they were exiting the coffee shop, a man the same size and shape as the doorway loomed over him. Regan feared there was about to be trouble.
‘Hey Debbie, what you up to?’ he asked.
Regan was confused. Had he mistaken her for someone else? But, before she could question him, Charlie spoke. ‘Hiya, Beanstalk,’ he said. ‘Beanstalk, this is my friend Reg.’
Regan didn’t argue; everything was already too strange. ‘Nice to meet you, Beanstalk.’
‘You too, Reg.’ He gave an unsubtle head tilt in her direction and winked at Charlie.
‘Bye, Beanstalk,’ said Charlie, slapping the large fellow on the back when they passed in the coffee shop doorway.
Beanstalk turned back for a second. ‘Hey, Debbie, I heard you got a bollocking from the station commander about Thursday’s shout. Tough call,’ he said with a wince, before disappearing inside.
‘You wanna tell me what went on there … Debbie?’ asked Regan, failing to hide her amusement.
Charlie screwed his face up. ‘It’s a work thing. Pretty much all of us have nicknames.’
Regan grinned. ‘And yours isDebbie?’ By comparison, Reg didn’t seem bad at all. ‘Oh, Debbie McGee.’ The penny dropped. ‘That’s genius.’ She laughed.
‘Isn’t it?’ said Charlie, not looking that impressed; but he’d likely witnessed this reaction before.
‘And what did you get a bollocking about?’ It wasreassuring to hear about others making a hash of things at work, although it was unlikely to be on the same scale as hers.
Charlie rubbed his stubbly chin. For a moment he appeared vulnerable, making her warm to him even more. ‘I didn’t exit a burning building when I was instructed to.’
Regan was surprised. ‘A burning building? Like one on fire?’How brave was this copper?
Charlie looked like he was chewing the inside of his mouth. ‘I may not have been entirely truthful with you when we first met.’ He looked suitably chastened. ‘I said I was a police officer so that you’d listen to me and stop pummelling that bloke’s head in. But I’m actually a firefighter.’
‘Right,’ said Regan. She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about this news, but her instant reaction was one of distrust. Clearly he wasn’t totally trustworthy or he would have owned up to this a lot sooner. ‘So you lied.’
‘I figured you wouldn’t take any notice unless you thought you were about to be arrested,’ said Charlie. ‘I’d forgotten about it, which was why I didn’t put you straight. I’m sorry.’
Regan didn’t need people she couldn’t trust. He no longer looked quite so appealing. ‘Yeah. Me too,’ she said, with a disappointed smile and she walked away.
Chapter Nine
Sunday in the studio was lonely. Its location was off the beaten track but in the week there was the sound of traffic to make her feel like she had some connection to the rest of the universe. On Sundays, not so much.
Yesterday, thanks to Charlie, she had gone to the library after she’d left him and got herself registered so she could use the computers. She’d managed to produce a reasonable-looking CV and fire it off for a couple of vacancies, as well as uploading it to some job websites. She’d also been able to check out some books, which at least meant she had something to do in the evenings other than stare at bare walls or nipples.
This morning she’d been to the gym, taking care to avoid Jarvis’s usual timeslot, and had really enjoyed her time on the bike and the treadmill because she’d been able to watch some telly, which now seemed like such a treat. She’d used the yoga area to have a go at practising her mindfulness technique and ended up having a little nap. She’d also had a shower so she was clean too – she had a lot to be thankful for.
The spring weather was notoriously changeable and it had turned a bit chilly. The drop in temperature wasnoticeable in the studio: its high ceilings whisked away any warmth and, whilst the boiler was doing its best, the two radiators didn’t provide much heat. She moved the chair so that she could lean against a radiator, got out one of the library books and started reading.
Three lines in, her phone rang. It was Charlie. She considered cancelling the call but she knew she’d probably acted a little hastily yesterday. ‘Yep,’ she said, her tone curt.
‘Delivery for Reg Corsetti. Where should I deliver to?’
‘Delivery of what?’ She was more than suspicious after his revelation.
‘Chinese takeaway and chocolate cake. It’s my way of apologising.’
