Free Death and Deception by B. A. Steadman Page B

high next month, not creep out with his tail between his legs. So you will work together. Got it?’
    ‘Got it, Ma’am.’
    ‘Right, let’s prepare the statement for the Press and then we can all go home.’       
    He finished presenting the TV broadcast for the late evening news with Oliver and was on his way home by 7.30 pm. He hoped that would keep the press off his back for a day or two.
    It was a mild and clear evening, so he parked the Audi in his reserved space and wandered round to the quayside. He bought a bottle of lager from the Italian restaurant, which ran the length of the bottom floor of his apartment building and took it outside.
    Dan sat on a bench watching the rowing practice on the river. He wondered if that would be a good way to make friends as they seemed to be young and having fun. He wanted to get in touch with some of his old school and University friends, but it felt like too much time had gone by. People change so much. And, if he was being honest, he felt like a failure because his relationship with Sarah had fallen apart and he wasn’t ready to talk about it to anybody yet. He wasn’t ready to talk about Sarah or his sister. They were two scabs he would pick at that were probably best left alone to mend.
    He felt so alone. Funny, how quickly you become used to waking up with a familiar warm body next to you. How quickly you fall into routines over breakfast or last thing at night. How you develop shared jokes and sayings picked up from people encountered and places visited. A relationship was a whole private language and landscape, the result of thousands of hours of commitment and compromise and love that he had thrown away when he had walked. And, at the moment, he still wasn’t sure it had been worth it.
    Watching the light change to purple dusk, he wondered if he should just get on the phone anyway and call a couple of old friends. What had he got to lose except a bit of face? He let his eyes wander to the river basin to his left. The swans that haunt the river harassing visitors for food were quiet, having settled onto their nests further up river. Sounds of laughter reached across the water from the pub.
    On the bench under the soft lamplight, Dan understood that he had been living in a bubble of grief for the last two months, pretending to be a human being but not connecting with anyone, not making a commitment to anything. Here on the side of the river, in the kindly evening gloom, he could hear the sounds of birds settling, and bats swooping. He could also smell the tantalising garlic from The Veneziana’s kitchen behind him. It was like watching his first 3D movie – everything seemed heightened. Maybe, after all, he was ready to move on and just needed to give himself permission do it.
    He drank his beer feeling an edginess. He was full of a nervous energy that had nowhere to go except out through the bottom of his tapping foot. He felt the urgency of the case and was frustrated at having so little information yet to go on. How could the others go home to their families and forget all about it until the next day?
    He sighed and swallowed the last of his beer. No point fretting about things you can’t change, as his mum would say. Food would settle him down. His mum would say that, too.
    Dan realised he was hungry. Really hungry. The smell of the food was overwhelming his taste buds, and he could feel saliva awakening his mouth. He needed a plate of pasta Puttanesca. Now.
    As he turned to enter the restaurant he noticed someone trying to attract his attention from the water, waving at him with an oar. It took him a few moments to realise that it was Chas Lloyd, balancing in the front of a canoe and looking fetching in Lycra shorts and a performance tee shirt. Dan smiled and walked towards the water’s edge. The team was getting out of the boat on the other side of the river.
    ‘Wait there,’ she shouted, ‘I’ll come over for a beer!’ The evening might not be