A sigh. ‘I had the black lacy ones on yesterday and spent the whole time hauling half of it out the crack of my—’
‘And what about the bra?’ Teeth bared, working herself up. ‘Because you weren’t wearing it at the wedding, were you? No, you were wearing that horrible ancient grey thing!’
‘It made my boobs all—’
‘Is that why we don’t have sex any more? You don’t eventry, Robbie. I’m just some sort of shapeless sexless blob to you!’
Roberta just stared at her.
It was only underwear, for Christ’s sake. Underwear apparently designed for flat-chested stick insects who didn’t mind six inches of lacy netting jammed up their bumhole. Why the hell did it—
Susan’s voice turned brittle and sharp. ‘You’re having an affair, aren’t you.’
What?
‘No!’
She grabbed a tartan cushion from the armchair and hurledit at Roberta. ‘That’s why you won’t wear nice things forme, you’re too busy wearing them for someone else!’
Roberta hauled on her huge grey pants with the hairy elastic. ‘I’m no’ having an affair! How could I? Look at me!’
‘So, what, you just don’t find me sexy any more?’
The woman was insane. Certifiably, clinically, insane.
‘Sexy? Find yousexy? Susan, the sun risesin you. The moon setsin you. The oceans rise and fall because ofyou. You’re everything!’ The room got a bit swimmy at that – don’t you dare cry! – and Roberta’s throat tightened, making her voice creak. ‘It’s...’ Sagging a bit. ‘It’smeI don’t find sexy.’ She pulled her T-shirt up, showing off those ugly pants and her ugly stomach with its rash of midge bites. Took a double handful of pale flabby belly and squeezed it. Like lardy Play-doh. ‘I’m fat and I’m old and I’m horrible.’ She let go of the horrorbelly and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her palms. ‘OK?’
Susan stood, nodded, then swept her up into a hug, squeezing the breath out of her, holding her. ‘Then let’s grow old and fat and sexy together.’ She reached down and gave Roberta’s bum a grope, voice a dirty whisper: ‘No time like the present.’
Sir Reginald Bradbury-Scott’s body dangled above them, willy out.
Roberta grinned at Sergeant Moore and PC McKinnon, fingers wrapped around a mug of hotel-room-packet-hot-chocolate. All warm and sweet and melty inside. Just like her. She’d changed into her last dry pair of jeans, second-last dry pair of socks, and the Converse trainers she’d turned up in yesterday. Sort of an investigative-casual outfit for the pretend detective chief inspector about town.
McKinnon and Moore watched her from a safe distance, as if she was about to do something horrible to them. Possibly with a six-foot fencepost.
It was Sergeant Moore who plucked up the courage first. ‘OK, I’ll bite: what?’
She cranked the grin up a bit. ‘Nothing.’
McKinnon backed off a pace. He’d changed out of his soggy police-issue itchy trousers and black boots, and into a pair of old jeans and grey Crocs. They didn’t really go with the stabproof vest, high-vis and peaked cap. ‘Aye, but you’re positivelyglowing.’
‘Just love being a police officer.’ A sip of scalding hot brown. To be honest, it smelled a lot better than it tasted, but Susan made it and it was the thought that counted. ‘Right: so the bridge is out, all communication’s down, we’ve got a killer on the loose, and fifty-one suspects. I miss anything?’
‘Forty-six, remember?’
The wee loon was right. Fifty-one, less the three of them and their respective bonk buddies. All except for poor oldunshaggableSergeant Moore...
She tilted her head on one side and frowned at him, standing there in his country-club polo shirt and chinos. No wonder his willy was surplus to requirements. Got to put a bit of effort in if you wanted sexytimes. ‘What happened to Mrs Moore, then?’
His cheeks flushed. ‘We’re divorced.’
‘I know that, you daft spud. I mean: how come she’s not here to see her son getting married? Thought that was every mother’s dream?’
The blush darkened. ‘Anyway, won’t be long till it’s hoaching with flies in here. Already getting hotter.’
McKinnon rolled his eyes. ‘The crime-scene manual clearly states—’
‘And you remember how long it took them to rebuild the bridge after last time? Never mind days, we could be here for weeks.’
