Goodbye Girl Ch 02

Hello readers, long time no see!

A short chapter, but I'm hoping there won't be too much of a wait before the next one. If you're reading this for the series for the first time, I would recommend starting with the first instalment. This chapter will make no sense in isolation. Thanks for reading!

~

Orla leaned against the wall by the entrance to the gallery and smoked a cigarette. Some sort of incident was unfolding on the opposite side of the junction. A police van pulled up and the flashing blue lights made her think of Greg.

Everything made her think of Greg.

It had been three whole weeks since that fateful night and she couldn't stop thinking about him. Gazing out of the bus window on her way to work, during their weekly team meeting, over breakfast, lunch, dinner, when she was supposed to be working. More than once she had to apologise for drifting off during meetings and losing track of the conversation.

Vanessa had tried to broach the subject over the following days but Orla shut her down every time. She had too many mixed up feelings to voice: feelings about him being a police officer, about her own weird behaviour, about betraying Tim -even though it was none of Tim's business. But that hasn't prevented him ringing her non stop. It turned out he hadn't seen her leave with Greg, but he heard about it.

She suspected he'd been talking to her Ma too. She was convinced that Orla was partying too much, drinking too much and what she needed, was to return to the warm fold of her relationship with Tim, to get her back on track before she did something really stupid. He's always had her mum wrapped around his little finger. Her eyes stung with an unexpected pang of betrayal. She took a drag on her cigarette.

Manipulative wanker.

Maddie joined her, chatting, fumbling in her bag for fags.

"Are you okay? You seem a bit shaken."

"Yeah I'm fine." She offered Maddie one of hers.

"Thanks. Are you sure?"

"I've had a stressful few weeks."

"I heard about you and Tim breaking up."

There was a question in Maddie's statement, but Orla wasn't listening.

"Is that Winston?"

Maddie looked behind her, to where Orla pointed. "Yeah, I think it is."

The man, gesticulating manically on the other side of the junction while two cops tried to frisk him, did look suspiciously like Winston. How come she hadn't noticed him sooner? She dropped her fag, put it out with her foot and started across the road, and then she stopped. She took her body warmer off and handed it to Maddie, muzzed her hair, and undid the first few buttons of her shirt. She took a deep breath pushed her shoulders back and started walking again

As Orla got closer, she could see the change in his posture, and he was swaying. Winston was her cousins boyfriend. They'd been together for years. He didn't do things like this. Normally. By the time she'd made it across the busy junction they'd produced a pair of handcuffs. She quickened her step. This felt like a pivotal moment. She was certain if they got those cuffs on Winston, she wouldn't be able to talk them out of this.

She didn't even have to say anything, as soon as she stepped into Winston's line of sight he lurched towards her, catching the two cops off guard, flinging him arms around her.

"Winston whats going on here? Where's Marie"

"She left me Orla."

"But why are the police here?"

"I don't know." He looked around, suddenly unsure how he'd ended up there. "I think there was a fight."

"A fight?" Winston didn't fight. She looked up at the copper holding the pad.

He was half smiling at the scene unfolding before him.

"Was Winston involved in the fight?"

The copper doesn't speak for a while and then shook his head. "No he wasn't,

"Then you don't need to arrest him."

He's drunk and behaving in an antisocial manner and he's on his own."

"He isn't on his own any more."

"He was causing a breach of the peace."

I'm here now," she linked her arm with his, Winston was grinning and loudly agreeing.

"Shut up." Orla hissed. "I can get him home. my car is parked right across the road and I haven't been drinking" She looked them beseechingly, trying to get just the right mix of assertive and pleading.

Another copper joined them."Whats going on here?"

"I was booking him for D&D. Then she came along."

The stripes on his shoulders told her this was the more senior officer. She took a deep breath. "He's an old friend of mine, this doesn't normally happen, he's had a rough night. I'll take him home, he can crash on my sofa." The copper looked like he was about to disagree so she carried on talking. "Honestly he'll be fine, I promise, I'll take full responsibility."

Somehow it had worked. She'd managed to convince them to let her take Winston home to sleep it off. With her arm around his waist, they staggered towards her car. She could feel their eyes on her back. It was taking all her strength to keep upright under the weight of his arm, draped over her shoulder. She prayed Winston wouldn't say or do anything to tempt them to change their minds. What on earth was going on with him?

She looked behind her, while they waited at the crossing. It had transformed into a crime scene. Something serious must have happened. More police had arrived, there was tape everywhere and one of those evidence tents was being erected.

A frantic beeping told her the lights had changed.

"lets get you home Winston"

*

The first thing Greg did after he got out the car was ask for an update. Another stabbing, in the town centre. He left London to get away from this.

"Two caucasian males, and one male of Afro-Carribian origin, have been arrested. A fourth man has been taken to A&E for injuries to the face and abdomen. We've taken the details of two witnesses"

He glanced at a couple leaving the scene. It was her. It was the girl from the club. He was certain of it. He wanted to go and check she was okay, she looked like she was in trouble. The guys she was with could hardly walk as they struggled to cross the road. He took a step towards them. When they'd nearly reached the other side, another girl met them.

'What about those two?' he nodded at the car they've just reached.

"He wasn't involved, didn't see anything, but he's pissed as a fart. We were about to do him for drunk and disorderly, but she showed up, promised to look after him."

"What's her name?"

"We didn't get her details but he called her Orla I think."

"Is he her boyfriend?"

"I don't think so." The officer frowned and Greg knew he would illicit suspicion if he asked anymore.

*

An audience of onlookers had gathered the other side of the road. With some difficulty, Orla dug her keys out of her pocket and handed them to the other girl. When the back seat was open she pushed the guy in. He looked like he was already passing out.

She opened the drivers door and glanced back at the crossing. She noticed him watching her immediately. Time seemed to slow down as they both gazed at each other, separated only by the road and cars zooming by.

What was a vague memory of a drunken late-night fumble is now replaying in his head in full technicolour glory, and he was craving her touch, with a silent fervour that defied all rational thought. He needed to get his hormones in order. This wasn't the function room of The Duke. He was at work, investigating a serious crime. A lorry passed, cutting off his view and he snapped out of it. When he could see across the road again, she was in her car.

He didn't want to let her go, but he couldn't stop her. She hadn't broken any laws.

"Shall we breathalyse her Sarg?"

He nodded his head slowly. It was a good excuse to detain her for a little bit longer, get a better look, but he doubted she would appreciated it.

"Sarg?"

"Yeah go on then, do it quickly though." He knew he was abusing his position. But he wasn't quite stepping outside of the realms of propriety. It was perfectly reasonable to breathalyse someone getting into a car at quarter to eleven on a Saturday night. And statistically speaking if the passenger was visibly drunk, the driver was likely to be over the limit too.

Her tail lights went on. As his two officers started towards her car, the tail lights went off again. He smiled. Good girl, she'd seen them. Paul approached the driver door, Greg couldn't hear what was being said, but he could imagine the conversation, he's had it often enough himself. She got out of the car, and breathed into the proffered breathalyser. He didn't think it was possible for her look anymore furious, but when they made her do the test a second time she managed.

His radio crackled and burst into life. "She's had a drink Sarg but she's not over the limit." He hadn't thought this through. She was staring him with her hands on her hips, face like thunder. He wanted to go over there and chase away her scowl with his lips and he didn't like the idea of her anywhere, with any alcohol in her system.

"Okay, let them go." He said eventually. He managed to hold back from ordering them to tail her home.

*

Much later, back at the station, when he'd finished with the paper work, his thoughts wandered back to Orla. It was 2am and he was tired. He should've just gone home to get some kip. Instead he took out his pad and ran her reg number through the system. She didn't have a criminal record but she was part of a mass arrest at a protest a year ago. She was taken Kilburn station. He had been the desk sergeant on duty that night.

He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, as the events of that night came crashing back. He remembered her now. Her hair had been longer. Her arresting officer was that berk Neilson. He thought she was a bit of alright then but he was better able to ignore the attraction while he was on the job. And she didn't look as cute in the standard issue paper suit and black pumps. She was released without charge, they all were, after being held for almost 24 hours. He scowled at the memory. Fucking right fiasco the whole thing. A complete waste of police time and resources.

On the screen on front of him is her full name and age, her address, or at least where she lived a year ago. Quite near him, just round the corner in fact. It was amazing that he hadn't run into her in the corner shop or the chippy. Perhaps she'd moved. She worked in that community wildlife project behind the racecourse. He smiled. Of course she did.

He noticed her address had recently been linked to a domestic incident. He felt uneasy about snooping around in her business, but not enough to make him stop doing. He opened the file. A Tim Everston had been kicking up a fuss outside her house one evening a few weeks ago. The neighbours had rung the police. He had no previous. They'd booked him for breach of the peace, but they let him go without charge the next morning. He frowned, he didn't like the idea of her being involved with someone the neighbours had to call the police on. He checked the mugshot, it definitely wasn't the guy she was with earlier.

Shaking his head he switched the computer off.

* * *

Three weeks later. Greg was collecting something from the printer when he tuned into the conversation that was happening in the dispatch room.

"That woman from the nature reserve's been on the phone again."

The groan that followed seemed to come from everyone in the room.

"We need to send some one out." Sara continued.

"Not me, I have better things to do." Dave said.

She's reported a crime, We have to investigate."

What was that you said Sara? Greg asked

"Theres been a break sir, at the nature reserve. It's the second time it's happened this year."

"Third." Paul chipped in

"Is that the place behind the racecourse?"

"Yeah."

"I'll go."

Paul and Dave both stopped what they were doing to looked at Greg. Pauls jaw had fallen open.

"But what about...?"

He stood up and grabbed his keys off his desk.

"I'll go" he said again, in his best 'this is the end of this conversation' voice. It didn't work.

"It's just a break in, some criminal damage. I doubt anything was even nicked."

"Yeah, but I should do some grunt work sometimes, I don't want to loose touch with whats happening on the ground."

"Okay Sarg." Paul said, shooting a quizzical look at Dave.

He didn't sound convinced. It wasn't all that convincing. But it was none of their business if he wanted to respond to a call. He was up to date on paper work. There was nothing else outstanding. It had been a quiet week.

*

The lady that greeted them when they arrived was the manager of the project.

"Come in. Thank you for getting here so quickly. They'd tried to set fire to some logs in the lower woods. I find it all so terribly upsetting. The young people of today just don't seem understand how important deciduous woodland is as a habitat. You can't just set fire to it." Her voice was rising.

"Can you take me to the location?"

"You need to talk to Orla, it's her area really."

Greg heart leapt, and without thinking he said "She's here?"

"Yes." The manager narrowed her eyes at him for a moment before she continued. "She's in the resource centre right now, I'll take you over."

"You don't need to do that." he said quickly. "Paul, you take statements from these two. I'll go and find this Orla."

She was standing in front of an old display board, with her back to him, holding a staple gun. He recognised her immediately. It was the legs, he'd know them a mile off. He could still remember how they felt wrapped around him.

"I was thinking we could concentrate on moths and butterflies this spring, theres a particularly good mix of them in the lower woods this year."

"I was wondering if we could have a quick chat about the break in actually"

She spun round, "Greg! I― I thought you were Eleanor"

Her face was a picture but he felt gratified that she remembered his name.

"What are you doing here?" She continued, blushing furiously.

"I'm here to investigate the break in. We must stop meeting like this."

She nodded mutely, with no acknowledgement of his attempt at humour.

He walked forward and stopped in front of her. Closer than polite. Despite the frisson of attraction simmered between them, her lips formed a thin line. He clenches his fists, to stop himself from reaching for her. She wouldn't look at him. She looked anywhere else.

"How's your boyfriend?"

"Winston's not my boyfriend," She shot a glance at his face and then looked away again. "Not that it's any of your business." Her words scraped like sand paper.

He took another step towards her, she was positively squirming but she didn't back away. He knew he was being unprofessional, but he couldn't help himself. He was enjoying watching her discomfort more than he cared to admit

"He was all over you like a cheap suit."

"He was drunk." She replied, she met his eyes again and held his gaze this time, her lips forming a hard angry line. She was standing her ground. Desire flared up in Greg, he felt like it had been doused in petrol. God she was sexy

"So that makes it ok?"

"Like I said, none of your business." She folded her arms, they almost touched his chest.

"No, I suppose it's not."

"And you didn't have to breathalyse me."

"I didn't breathalyse you."

"It was on your orders. They were letting us go before you showed up."

It was quarter to eleven on a Saturday night, and you were getting into a car. We both know you can be reckless when you drink. Why shouldn't I have had you breathalysed? I didn't want you to wrap your car around a tree. Suddenly there was a flash of something in her eyes, something other than anger. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean...'

"I don't drive when I'm over the limit" she replied, through gritted teeth.

"I didn't know that."

They stared at each other, as the stony silence unfurled uncomfortably between them. He should apologise. Tell her the truth. Admit that he was desperate to keep her from leaving. But the scent of vanilla and nutmeg surrounded him, interfering with his ability to think. He lifted a hand and reached out his fingers to her jaw, but dropped it to his side again just before he made contact. He clenched his fists to stop himself from doing it again.

He broke the silence first. "Do you think you could tell me about the break in?"

She blinked. "Oh yeah, of course." Shaking her head she took a step back. "Ask away, what would you like to know?"

She showed him around. They'd tried to light a fire at the base of an ancient tree, trampled all the bluebells and fritillaria, vandalised a bird box. She was far more philosophical about it than her manager had been. And she was clearly passionate about the woodland and her job -which was lucky, it stopped being awkward pretty quickly.

"I think thats how they get in." They were back outside the resource centre, looking up at a high fence. "But if we use barbed wire they might try anyway, and injure themselves." Orla said.

"I have my suspicions about who's behind this, but we can't nick them, they're too young."

She spun round and faced him. "I don't want them arrested! They're just kids. They're probably just bored; they need something to do."

Greg was impressed. "Most people aren't so forgiving. They just want them banged up."

They'd wandered over to the small kitchenette at the back of the resource centre. As Orla made tea, Greg stood in the doorway and admired her legs again.

"Eleanor seems to forget they're kids," she continued. "But what can we do? They'll just keep doing it won't they?" She was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. He wanted to kiss her so badly.

He looked around. "Well there is something you could do."

"What?" She stopped filling the mugs and looked at him, hopeful suddenly. He was pleased, but also apprehensive -he didn't want his plan to backfire.

"This place, is some kind of classroom right?"

"Yeah, we do projects here, with the kids."

"What kids? Where do they come from"

"Their parents bring them."

"Well, do some outreach."

"D'you mean on the estate?"

"Get them to engage, invest in this place, it they felt some sense of ownership they'd be less likely to..."

"I don't think Eleanor would go for it."

"Oh, yeah." He could see how Eleanor might be tricky.

"But if we had a meeting about it, and you were there. Maybe she would listen to you!"

They watched each other, and the atmosphere in the room seemed to thicken ever so slightly. Again he felt desire bloom in his chest and spread slowly

"Well you've got my number." He said, quickly, before he did something stupid.

She looked away. "Actually I haven't."

"Here," He handed her his card for the second time.

She frowned as she read it. "Detective Chief Inspector Williams?"

*

"Alright sarge!" Paul and Eleanor were standing in the doorway. Greg heaved a sigh of relief; their arrival was a welcome distraction from the awkward question he could see forming on Orla's face.

Paul raised his eyebrows at Greg, "I hope we're not interrupting anything."

Greg stood up, "We're just finishing up here." He looked back at Orla "Call me."

Biting her lip again, she looked down at the card and back at him. She nodded.

"Has the kettle just boiled? Would you like a cup of tea before you go officer?" Eleanor was directing the question at Paul.

"We should be getting back," Greg told her, before Paul could reply.

*

Orla mentioned Greg's outreach idea after they'd finished clearing up. As predicted Eleanor wasn't keen. Maybe it was too soon, maybe she should have left it for a few days, but now she'd broached the subject she had to press on.

"But that's why we got the lottery funding, to help disadvantaged kids."