“Trying to choose something for my aunt. It’s not easy to buy for the person who has everything.”
“Tell me
about it. I have the same problem with my dad.” He took another sip of coffee, then stopped to observe the brew. “This coffee is good. It’s not something I usually drink. Anyway, you’re spending Christmas with your aunt. Bet you’re looking forward to it.”
Her expression changed. “There’s a lot to do before then.”
He wondered about her defensive answer. In order to break the tension, he glanced at a young couple emerging from the bookshop, holding hands, gazing intently at each other – unaware of everyone else around them.
“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” she asked him.
Gardener hesitated. “I’ve nothing planned, no, and I’m not on call.”
“How would you like to join me for a meal… at my place?”
The question took him unawares but he answered suddenly, without further thought. “I’d love to. What time?”
He noticed another pause from her before she answered. “Eight o’clock?”
“Fine. I’ll bring the wine,” said Gardener, slipping into the spirit. “You do drink wine, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Any preference?”
“I’ll leave it to you. Lidl have a pretty good range: reasonably priced.”
Sarah came into his mind and his insides turned at the thought of what he was doing. But it didn’t stop him.
“Okay. Eight o’clock it is.” He checked his watch again, then finished his coffee. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go. Cases don’t solve themselves. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”
“It’s a date,” replied Jacqueline.
Chapter Twenty-five
An elderly gentleman dressed in a Santa Claus suit staggered drunk through the centre of Leeds, blissfully unaware of the freezing cold wind.
He negotiated crossing The Headrow in a disorganized series of blunders, swaying as though at sea, narrowly missing traffic.
He was observed by a courting couple huddled in a doorway, hungrily devouring a Burger King takeaway after a night on the town.
On New Briggate, he sang to himself as he lurched across Mark Lane.
A vagrant observed him trip through an archway which led onto the grounds of St John’s Church.
No one saw him leave.
Chapter Twenty-six
Gardener opened the kitchen door and shouted down the garden path to his father. A persistent chill hung in the air, but the early morning mist was beginning to clear. Although it was only eight o’clock, the old man had been in his greenhouse since seven. Gardener was not surprised. His father was, by habit, an early riser. He heard the faint reply and shivered before closing the door.
Walking back through the kitchen, the mouth-watering aroma of grilled bacon set his taste buds on edge. Although Gardener preferred a healthier diet, he felt he needed to indulge every now and again. He walked through the living room into the hallway. At the foot of the stairs, he bellowed for Chris to hurry up.
Malcolm was standing by the sink as Gardener returned to serve. “You can’t beat a bacon sandwich.” The old man was drying his hands. “What a life. An hour in the greenhouse, and then back in for breakfast!”
“Rather you than me,” said Gardener. It wasn’t that he had a dislike of plants. It was more the overpowering odour he couldn’t stand. Quite apart from the fact that he saw the greenhouse as his father’s domain, his own private sanctuary.
He placed sandwiches and ketchup on the table as Chris entered the room, casually dressed in a Reebok tracksuit with trainers. Chris switched on the radio. Gardener cringed as the brash trap music bounced around the kitchen. “Oh, come on, Chris, give us a break!”