It was getting close to 7:30 am when his phone finally pinged.
Sorry. Lost track of time recently. I’ll see you at the station.
Johnny’s heart leapt as he looked at the message, but then anger set in again. He started to type:Lost track of time? It’s been three fucking days you idiot. I’ve been worried sick and now you?—
He took a breath, deleted the message and re-typed:
How have you been getting to work the last three days? I have the car.
The message was followed by Taylor sending a photograph of him and Wendy sitting on the bench at the back of the police station.
Johnny scoffed.
Wendy’s been taking you?
No. I’ve been running in
No you haven’t
I have
I don’t believe you
Fuck you :-( It’s true. Ask Wendy. I met her on the tracks this morning. Already rescued a wanderer.
Where?
Back of the supermarket. Found an old boy near the brook, another beta. He slipped in.
If Johnny had learned anything in the last sixteen years, it was that living with Taylor was like suffering whiplash every damned day. Sometimes he just had to go with it, and it seemed like today was one of those days.
Johnny rolled his eyes.
Wow. Nice one hero.
He followed it with a thumbs up emoji that came across as sarcastically as was intended. He knew he was being a dick, and even though he’d vowed to always try and give Taylor the benefit of the doubt, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be just a little pissed off.
Johnny arrived at the police station four minutes before the start of his shift, finding Isla in reception, grumbling as she picked up a fire extinguisher that was propping open the front door.
“Needless hazard,” she said, shoving it into Johnny’s arms. “And with a bloody fire extinguisher, no less!” Flyaway hairs stuck up from her head at every angle making her look well and truly frazzled. “Please find a home for that, PC Ateba, before I have a mental breakdown one minute into the shift.”
Johnny nodded, gripping the fire extinguisher to his chest. “Morning, Sarge. All in order?”
“All in order?” she replied, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “I’ve got adult social care referrals coming out of my arse because these bloody old people keep going missing. The photocopier is jammed because some idiot tried to print off a hundred pages of fake sodding money. I came across a fistfight inside the pharmacy on my way in—something about half-priced talcum powder—and to top it all off, Mr Pricklepants has gone missing.”
“Found him!” Amil called from within the report-writing room. “He squeezed through the kick-boards again. Someone left a kipper in the bottom of the bin. I blame Wendy.”
Isla let out a long breath and ran her fingers through her hair. “Well, that’s something I suppose.” She planted her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry. Not a good look for a sergeant, I know. I just…” She threw her hands up, shaking her head. “Actually, I don’t know.”
Amil appeared in the doorway with a mug in his hand. “Here,” he said, giving it to her with a small smile. His eyes lingered on her face for a fraction longer than necessary, andJohnny wondered if there was something to Taylor’s theory after all.
“Thank you.” She narrowed her eyes, studying Johnny over the rim of her cup. “What’s happened between you and Taylor?”
Johnny swallowed. “Um… nothing?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Nothing? Well, it doesn’t seem likenothing, and it’s creating an atmosphere in the office.”
Johnny gripped the fire extinguisher tighter. “Sorry. I’ll sort it out with him. We just… It’s complicated.”
