Waiting for Wednesday

traffic? Or maybe he had decided not to come. He
might have drawn a blank and headed home. Or he might have picked up on her scepticism.
She phoned his number again. Nothing. He wasn’t coming.
    At last she gave up on Fearby. She put food
in the cat’s bowl and then she walked to Number 9 for coffee. As she was
returning, she saw a figure walking towards her. Something about the heavy-footed
purposeful stride was familiar.
    ‘Yvette?’ she said, as they drew
close to each other. ‘What is it? Why are you here?’
    ‘I’ve got to talk to
you.’
    ‘What’s happened?’
    ‘Can we go inside?’
    She led Yvette into the house. Yvette took
off her jacket and sat down. She was wearing black jeans with a hole in the knee and a
button-down man’s shirt that had seen better days. Clearly, she wasn’t on
duty.
    ‘So what is it? Is it something about
the Lennoxes?’
    ‘No, I’m taking a well-earned
break from that bloody circus. You wouldn’t believe – but anyway. That’s not
why I’m here.’
    ‘So why are you?’
    ‘I had to tell you: I’m on your
side.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I’m on your side,’ Yvette
repeated. She seemed close to tears.
    ‘Thank you. But on my side against
who?’
    ‘All of them. The commissioner. That
wanker Hal Bradshaw.’
    ‘Oh, that.’
    ‘I needed you to know. I know you had
nothing to do with it, but if you had – well, I’d still be on your side.’
She gave a crooked, emotional smile. ‘Off the record, of course.’
    Frieda stared at her. ‘You think I
might have done it,’ she said at last.
    Yvete flushed. ‘No! That’s not
what I was saying at all. But it’s not a secret that you and Dr McGill were angry
with him. You had every reason. He shafted you. He was just jealous.’
    ‘I promise you,’ Frieda said
softly, ‘that I haven’t been near Hal Bradshaw’s house.’
    ‘Of course you
haven’t.’
    ‘It was a monstrous thing to do. And I
know that Reuben wouldn’t do that, however angry he was.’
    ‘Bradshaw said something else as
well.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘You know what he’s like,
Frieda. Insinuating.’
    ‘Just tell me.’
    ‘He said that he had some dangerous
enemies, even if they didn’t do their own dirty work.’
    ‘Meaning me?’
    ‘Yes. But also that he has some powerful
friends.’
    ‘Good for him,’ said Frieda.
    ‘Don’t you care?’
    ‘Not so much,’ said Frieda.
‘But what I want to know is why you do.’
    ‘You mean why should I
care?’
    She looked steadily at Yvette. ‘You
haven’t always looked after my best interests.’
    Yvette didn’t look away. ‘I have
dreams about you,’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Not the kind of dreams
you’d expect, not dreams where you’re nearly killed or stuff like that.
These are odder. Once I dreamed we were at school together – though we were our real age
– and sitting next to each other in class, and I was trying to write neatly to impress
you but I just kept smearing the ink and couldn’t form the letters correctly. They
were crooked and childish and kept sliding off the page, and yours were perfect and
neat. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to interpret my dreams. I’m not
so stupid I can’t do that myself. In another dream, we were on holiday and were by
a lake surrounded by mountains that looked like chimneys, and I was really nervous
because we were about to dive in the water but I didn’t know how to swim.
Actually, I can’t really swim – I don’t like getting my head under water.
But I couldn’t tell you because I thought you’d laugh at me. I was going to
drown so I didn’t look like a fool in front of you.’
    Frieda was about to speak, but Yvette held
up a hand. Her cheeks were crimson. ‘You make me feel completely
inadequate,’ she said, ‘and as if you can look into me and see through me
and know all the things I don’t want people to see. You know I’m lonely and
you know I’m jealous of you and you know I’m crap at relationships. And you
know …’ Her cheeks burned. ‘You know I’ve got a schoolgirl crush
onthe boss. The other night I got a bit drunk, and I kept imagining
what you’d think of me if you could see me lurching around.’
    ‘But, Yvette –’
    ‘The fact is that I nearly let you get
killed, and when I’m not having dreams I’ve been lying awake and wondering
if I did it out of some pathetic anger. And how do you think that makes me feel about
myself?’
    ‘So you’re making amends?’
Frieda asked softly.
    ‘I