Free Sorrow Bound by David Mark Page A

made up her mind whether she truly wants to know. Whether she wants to unpick the perfection of the image she carries of the McAvoys. She just knows his love for his family is a palpable, magical thing. When he talks of Roisin and his children, the air around him is thick enough to be scooped up with a ladle. She wants some of that. Some of that honesty. That perfect, powerful thing he carries inside him.
    You don’t need excuses. Message me whenever you want. I won’t ever be disappointed to hear from you. xx
    It’s the best she can do. She makes sure the number of kisses she types is no more or less than the number he placed on his. She runs a quick spell-check, just to make sure she hasn’t embarrassed herself, then sends it back, hoping she will not have to wait too long for a reply. She is using her personal email account on the work computer, which is strictly against the rules. She has heard of other forces where viruses have been uploaded simply by opening an unvetted file, but she is so eager to hear from the man that she is willing to take the risk.
    Sort yourself out, Helen
.
    He’s not her usual sort. She likes sporty, athletic types. She likes men bigger than her, who know their Grand Prix history and don’t shave on a weekend. Mark seems the complete opposite. He’s a lawyer with a local firm, dealing mainly in divorce cases and the occasional bit of blame-and-claim litigation. They got talking last month in the canteen at Hull Magistrates’ Court, where Helen was giving evidence in a youth offending case she had dealt with in her first plain-clothes job. It had taken an age to come to court and Helen had been sitting there struggling to remember which little bastard had punched which other little bastard. Her mood had been foul, as a man in tracksuit bottoms, shirt, tie and baseball cap had discovered when he told his toddler son to shut the fuck up and cuffed him around the head. Helen, pretending to fall as she passed him, had found a way to tread on the man’s instep and knee him in the groin at the same time, all the while apologising out loud – even as she nipped the skin beneath his armpit and whispered cold threats in his ear.
    If anyone saw what she’d done then they had the sense to keep quiet about it, but she was soon the only person sitting in the waiting area with an empty chair beside her. Despite the chaos of the court, nobody had wanted to sit next to her. Nobody except Mark. He sat down with a smile, whispered ‘Nice work’ and waited for her to meet his gaze. He smelled nice. Clean, but not soapy. No aftershave, but somehow fresh, like line-dried laundry. He was small and wiry, his physique putting her in mind of a cyclist’s. His sideburns were slightly too long for a man in his mid-thirties, but his designer, frameless glasses and blue pinstriped suit went well together, while the Maori-patterned leather strap around his wrist made him seem just intriguing enough to warrant further investigation.
    She’d noticed, even then, that he wore no wedding band. Had it been mercenary? Predatory? Had she been eyeing him up as a potential mate? She didn’t know. But he did not run a mile when she told him she was a police officer, which was a hell of a good start, and when he gave her his business card, she had waited less than an hour before sending him an email saying how much she had enjoyed their chat, even though not a word of it had stuck in her head. Since then their correspondence has grown more regular and passionate. She looks forward to his words and spends time thinking up her own. She wants to tell him about her day. Her life. She wants to look at him over the lip of a wine glass and smile as she offloads the dirt and sweat of the day. She wants to know whether his chest is hairy or smooth. Wants to look down on him as she moves …
    Ask him. Make a date, girl …
    Helen wishes she were brave enough to suggest a drink tonight. Hopes that in his next email he takes the