Free Fever of the Bone by Val McDermid

flat in the Barbican, holding the world at bay. A couple of years before, when John Brandon had persuaded her to return to front-line police work, she’d been reluctant to sell her London flat and commit to buying a place in Bradfield. Perching in Tony’s basement was supposed to be temporary. But it had turned out to be an arrangement that suited them strangely well. They were careful enough of each other not to impose. But knowing the other was at hand was comforting. At least, he thought it was.
    He decided against clearing up. It would only revert to type within days anyway. And he had better things to do. Theoretically, working only part-time at Bradfield Moor Secure Hospital was supposed to provide Tony with enough free time to work with the police and to read and write the articles and books that helped him stay connected with the community of his colleagues. In practice, there were never enough hours in the day, especially when he factored in the time he spent playing computer games, an indulgence he genuinely believed freed up his subconscious creativity. It was amazing how many apparently intractable problems could be solved after an hour adventuring with Lara Croft or building a medieval Chinese kingdom.
    Things had grown worse lately, thanks to Carol. She’d had the brilliant idea that a Wii would help him eliminate the limp he still carried after an attack from a patient had left him with a shattered knee. ‘You spend too long hunched over a computer, ‘ she’d said. ‘You need to get fit. And I know there’s no point in trying to persuade you to go to the gym. At least a Wii will get you off your backside.’
    She’d been right. Too right, unfortunately. His surgeon might have given the thumbs-up to the amount of time Tony now spent lumbering round his living room playing tennis, bowling and golf or indulging in surreal games against weirdly dressed rabbits. But Tony had a feeling her approval wouldn’t be matched by the editors whose deadlines he was in serious danger of missing.
    He was about to destroy the chief rabbit in a shoot-out on the streets of Paris when he was interrupted by the intercom that Carol had installed between her basement flat and his house above.
    ‘I know you’re there, I can hear you jumping,’ her voice crackled. ‘Can I come up or are you too busy pretending to be Bradfield’s answer to Rafa Nadal?’
    Tony stepped away from the screen with barely a pang of regret and pressed the door-release button. By the time Carol joined him, he’d replaced the game controllers on their charger and poured a couple of glasses of sparkling water. Carol took hers, looking sceptical. ‘Is this the best you can do?’
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I need to maintain my fluid balance.’ He walked past her, back towards the living room, his move calculated to make resistance easier.
    ‘I don’t. And I’ve had the kind of day that deserves a treat.’ Carol stood her ground.
    Tony kept on walking. ‘And yet you came here, knowing I’m trying to help you move away from drinking so much. Your actions are saying the opposite of your words.’ He looked over his shoulder and grinned at her, trying to take the sting out of thwarting her. ‘Come on, sit down and talk to me.’
    ‘You’re wrong.’ Clearly grumpy now, Carol followed him and plonked herself down on the sofa opposite his chair. ‘I’m here because I have something important to talk to you about. Not because deep down I want to not have a drink.’
    ‘You could have asked me to come down to your flat. Or to meet you somewhere that serves alcohol,’ Tony pointed out. Finding the arguments was tedious, but helping her back to a point where she genuinely didn’t need a drink was the best way he knew of demonstrating how much he cared for her.
    Carol threw her hands in the air. ‘Give me a break, Tony. I really do have something important to discuss.’ It sounded like she meant it.
    Another good reason why he wanted her to