Free Broken Places by Wendy Perriam

flavour of the man by visiting the places connected with his life and work, including his favourite pub, St Olave’s Church, the Navy Office, Trinity House and—
    ‘But what about Christmas dinner?’
    ‘Oh … that’s all organized.’ A cheese roll and a can of beer would do him very nicely – although he was touched by her concern about his welfare.
    ‘Isn’t it a bit cold for cycling?’
    He peered up through the bars of the windows. Dawn was breaking; pale, milky light now banishing the gloom. ‘No. The forecast’s pretty good. A risk of showers later on, but mostly bright and sunny.’
    ‘It’s been snowing here.’
    ‘I know.’ He always checked the Seattle forecast, although if the conditions were too different from those in the UK, it only underlined the aching distance between them.
    ‘Dwight helped me make a snowman.’
    Eric committed a second murder. Infuriating, the cocky way the bloke kept resurrecting, despite the fact he’d been done to death so often. ‘Darling,’ he asked, as he disposed of the corpse, ‘I wondered if you’ve changed your mind about Skype? I know you’re not keen, but it’s just that I’d like to see you. I mean, phone-calls are great, but a bit disembodied, don’t you think?’
    ‘Thank goodness! I’ve got these hideous zits, so—’
    ‘Zits?’
    ‘Spots.’
    ‘You’ve never had spots.’
    ‘Well, I have now.’
    Puberty, most likely. Or was her diet to blame? Perhaps Christine was so besotted with Dwight she had stopped bothering to cook and they all existed now on burgers, fries and Coke. He had actually set up Skype on the suggestion of the lawyers, as another means of contact, but, after thefirst few months, Erica objected that it made her feel embarrassed. Embarrassed by her own dad, for heaven’s sake!
    ‘Did you have spots, Dad, when you were my age?’
    ‘Not that I remember.’
    ‘Lucky thing!’
    Not so lucky, actually, but no need to mention that. ‘So how’s your new friend?’
    ‘Kelly, you mean? She’s great! And she has her own horse, you know.’
    ‘Yes, you said.’ He had contemplated robbing a bank, so he could buy a horse for Erica – before Dwight did, of course. But he was bound to get it wrong; go for some hulking cob, instead of a pure-bred Arab.
    ‘Sorry, Dad, I’ve got to go. Mum says it’s past my bedtime. D’you want to speak to her?’
    ‘Er, later, maybe.’
    Silence. Had he sounded hostile? It was imperative, for Erica’s sake, to appear on good terms with his ex. ‘I’ll give you another ring when I’m back,’ he added, ‘and talk to her then, OK?’
    ‘OK. Goodnight, then – I mean, good morning. And happy Christmas, Dad – again!’
    It was happy now, with this unexpected gift. The divorce settlement had stipulated one long summer visit only, mainly in her interests – not that she shared his fear of flying, just disliked the idea of jetting back and forth during every school vacation. Yet here was a bonus out of the blue: an unscheduled springtime visit.
    As he went into the bathroom to shave, he began planning it already: a day-trip to Brighton, tickets for Billy Elliot , London Zoo, Madame Tussauds , – everywhere and anywhere. To hell with the cost. He would find the money somehow. He’d also paint the whole flat in her honour; choose her favourite colours, however wild and wacky; make it worthy of a soon-to-be thirteen-year-old.
    Once washed and dressed, he stood at the kitchen worktop, eating a bowlful of cornflakes and savouring the thought that, in just three months, he would be laying breakfast properly – for two – he and Erica sitting chatting over scrambled eggs and bacon. Maybe he’d invite her former friends for tea; even arrange a birthday party; change his solitary existence – if only for a short spell – to one of chatter, clutter, company: all the things he missed. He had always relished his role at her parties: organizing games, lighting the candles on the cake, taking