Lights and Sirens Page 18

  Matt had no idea what his expression did at that point, but suddenly Maggie was standing in front of him, hands on his shoulders, pushing him back and forcing distance between him and Harry.

  “Whoa,” she said, keeping her voice low. “Outside. Now.”

  Right.

  Matt glared over her shoulder at Harry.

  Right, because starting a fight in the middle of Child Protection—directly in front of the OIC’s office as well—would not bode well for Matt’s future career prospects.

  Maggie steered him out of the office and down the hallway. “You want to tell me what that was about?”

  “I’ll give him fucking flipped out,” Matt muttered.

  “Save your dick measuring for someone else.” Maggie was five feet four, but fierce as hell. She glared up at him. “Now get out of here, before you get yourself in the shit.”

  Matt dragged a hand through his hair, swallowed down a hundred things he was better off not saying, and headed downstairs. He wondered if Harry would take it further. He didn’t know the guy well enough to guess whether he’d just brush off their run in, or if he’d make a big deal out of it.

  He sat down beside Sean, and looked at his watch again.

  It wasn’t even eleven.

  This day was never going to end. Matt sighed, and began to check through his emails.

  “Deakin.”

  Matt jerked his head up, and found Gordy staring at him.

  “My office,” Gordy said. “Now.”

  Well, shit. That hadn’t taken long at all.

  Gordy didn’t have an office. He led Matt down the back stairs into the car park instead. He already had a cigarette lit by the time they reached the shadecloth sails that covered the parking bays. The day was hot and hazy. The air was heavy. Clouds were slowly rolling in again.

  Gordy exhaled, sending smoke into the air. “Want to tell me why I’ve had the OIC of CPIU asking me what’s up your arse today?”

  So Harry had gone straight to his boss after all.

  “It’s nothing, boss.”

  “It’s something,” Gordy said, eyes narrowing, “or we wouldn’t be having this bloody conversation now, would we, Constable?”

  Matt hadn’t worked in Townsville long enough to really get a handle on Senior Sergeant Gordon. He was brusque, sharp, scared the hell out of the newbies, but he also inspired incredible loyalty in the coppers who worked under him. He was hard to read—Matt suspected he liked it that way—and at least ninety percent bluster and bullshit, but if his teammates trusted him, then Matt trusted that.

  “No, boss.” Gordy hated being called ‘sir’. Matt had learned that his first day in Townsville.

  Gordy leaned against one of the cars and folded his arms over his barrel chest. “Well?”

  “Sorry, boss.” Matt felt the same low burn of frustration he had with Harry. “I was out of line.”

  Except fuck it, he hadn’t been. It just seemed like agreeing with Gordy would be the quickest way to end this conversation.

  Gordy held his gaze. “Were you now?”

  “I was.”

  Gordy flicked his cigarette onto the bitumen, and scraped the toe of his boot over it. Then he pulled a crumpled pack out of his pocket and flipped it open. He clamped a new cigarette between his lips and lit it. “If there’s gonna be an issue, Constable,” he said through a fug of smoke, “I’d like to know about it now.”

  “No issue, boss.” Matt fought the urge to fidget under Gordy’s unwavering stare.

  “Good,” Gordy said. “Because I’d hate to have to explain to a sworn officer how the chain of command works, and how a detective senior constable from CPIU outranks a constable from general duties.”

  Matt grit his teeth.

  Gordy’s hard stare didn’t falter. “And I really hate giving that talk, Constable Deakin. You know why?”

  “No, boss.”

  “Because we’re all supposed to be on the same fucking team,” Gordy said. He gave Matt a moment longer to squirm under his scrutiny, and then his expression shifted. “If there’s some reason Hayden can’t come in and give a statement, how about you use your bloody words and explain that to Harry instead of getting your back up about it?”

  “Yes, boss.” Matt’s face burned, because Gordy had a point.

  Gordy exhaled heavily, smoke-wreathed, and then nodded sharply. “Alright then. Pull your head in and don’t let it happen again.”

  Matt straightened up.

  “Go on,” Gordy said. “Get back inside and get some work done.”

  “Yes, boss,” Matt said, and retreated to the back door of the station. He held his security swipe up to the reader, and was met by a cold blast of air-conditioning that chilled his sweat-damp skin. He trudged back up the stairs to the dayroom, and found Sean sitting where he’d left him.

  Sean glanced at him worriedly. “All good?”

  Matt sank down into a chair and rubbed his forehead. There was a stress headache doing its best to form right behind his eyes. “Yeah.”

  He figured they both knew he was lying.

  The shift might have felt interminable, but at least there was no last-minute job necessitating overtime and Matt left the station at two. It was a five-minute drive home, and Matt couldn’t help thinking Grandad’s place was almost exactly halfway between the police station and the ambulance station. Maybe, at some point, Hayden would want to move in, and give up those million-dollar balcony views of Ross Creek and the park for Charlie, and Grandad, and chickens underfoot.

  Or maybe Matt was getting way ahead of himself.

  Still, it was nice to walk into the house and know he was coming home to Hayden.

  Matt’s bedroom door was closed when he got home, and he could hear the hum of the air-conditioner from behind it. He opened it a crack. Hayden was sleeping, lying on his side on Matt’s bed, hugging a pillow. A rush of protectiveness washed over Matt. He closed the door softly, and headed for the kitchen.

  Grandad was reading the Sunday paper at the table. “Good shift?”

  “Nothing too exciting.” Matt wasn’t going to share the fact he’d been given a dressing down by the boss. “Do you want to get fish and chips tonight?”

  “Sound good.” Grandad nudged Charlie with his foot. “Want some chips Charlie?”

  Charlie’s tongue lolled out of his mouth when he grinned.

  Matt snorted, and went back to his bedroom. He slipped inside, and began to strip his uniform off. He could get a few hours work in on the house before he went out and picked up fish and chips. He really needed to clean the leaves out of the guttering before they got any more rain.

  He pulled on a pair of cargo shorts that were too worn out to be good for anything except working around the house.

  “Hey.”

  Matt turned, smiling as Hayden blinked awake. “Hey.”

  “How was work?” Hayden asked through a yawn. He sat up, rolling his shoulders.

  “Not too bad.” Matt sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re probably going to get a call at some point, about giving a statement. For Isaiah.”

  Hayden nodded, and then caught Matt’s look and shrugged. “Okay.”

  “I mean, if you don’t want to then—”

  “I know how it works.” Hayden’s expression sharpened, and there was a sudden flare of anger in his eyes and in the rising pitch of his voice. “I know I have to give a statement. I’ve done it hundreds of times before, and I didn’t need anyone to hold my hand then.”

  What?

  Hayden scrambled off the other side of the bed. Matt reached out too late to touch him, to draw him back, and then Hayden was on his feet, moving to the dresser, and Matt had totally lost control of the conversation.

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Whatever,” Hayden said. He grabbed his phone, his wallet, his keys. Shoved them into his pockets. Stepped towards the door. Then back towards Matt, jabbing a finger at him. “I don’t need you to protect me, Matt. This is part of my job,
and I was doing fine before you came along.” A muscle in his cheek jumped. “And I’ll be doing fine when you leave!”

  Matt rose to his feet. “Hayden.”

  But Hayden was already gone, his footsteps retreating down the hallway. The front door slammed, and then the gate squeaked. Moments later, Hayden’s car started with a roar, and the tyres crunched on the gritty surface of the road as he drove away.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Matt heard the tap-tap-tap of Grandad’s cane, and then Grandad leaned in his doorway. “You remember when you were in kindy, and you got in trouble for hitting the kid who kept knocking the building blocks over?”

  Matt shook his head, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were always like that.” Grandad’s eyes shone with a thousand different memories. “If you saw an injustice, it burned you up. Funniest thing I’d ever seen, this tiny little kid who was so sure of himself. If something was unfair, you stood up to it. If something was wrong, you looked for a way to make it right. And that’s not a bad trait for someone who ends up being a copper, but you can’t fix everything.”

  “I know that.”

  “And sometimes,” Grandad continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “you have to take a step back. That one’s as stubborn as you are, Matty. Push him, and you won’t see him again.”

  Matt grimaced. “I was only trying to help.”

  Grandad curled his gnarled fingers around the doorjamb. “You’re a smart kid, except when you’ve got your head up your arse.” He snorted. “You boys will figure it out.”

  And then he tap-tap-tapped his way back toward the kitchen.

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  City Lane.

  Hayden didn’t know why he’d come here, except that he didn’t want to go back to the apartment he shared with Monique. That would be one of the first places Matt would look, if he was looking, and Hayden didn’t want to deal with him and his bullshit right now. He didn’t want to deal with his own bullshit either.

  City Lane was busy, but it was a family crowd—mums and dads and kids. The Sunday markets in Flinders Street were winding down, and a lot of people who’d been there must have been having a late lunch now. Hayden got a seat at the bar of the hipster place with the garden gnomes, and ordered a beer. He drank it slowly. He wasn’t here to get drunk. Not at these prices.

  He watched the people going back and forth, and found his gaze drawn to the entrance to the public toilets where he’d blown Matt the night of Heather’s birthday. Everything had been much fucking simpler that night. He’d still been in control of his life then. Now…now everything was a mess.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Hayden ignored it.

  Not now, Matt.

  Not yet.

  Not until Hayden could face him again. Not until Matt stopped looking at him like he was fragile, breakable. And not until Hayden could stop seeing the exact same thing when he stared in a mirror.

  Hayden left half his beer sitting on the bar, and went to Woolworths. He bought a bottle of water and a pack of gum to get the smell of beer off his breath. Then he took the exit out onto Sturt Street, and turned left. He was only a few buildings away from the intersection. When he reached it, he waited for the walk signal, and then crossed the road and climbed the steps to the front doors of the police station. The doors rolled open, and welcomed him inside with a burst of cold air.

  Hayden didn’t recognise the woman on the front counter. She was dealing with someone else at the moment.

  He stood back and read the posters on the noticeboard. Looked at the faces of people who had been missing for decades, and people who had been missing for weeks. He wondered how many of them were dead, and how many of them had just decided one day to walk away from the lives they’d made. The only difference between what some of those people smiling out from the poster had done and what Hayden had done back in Victoria was that they’d left people behind who’d reported them. When Hayden had decided to leave everything behind, there had been nobody to notice he was gone.

  He’d come to Queensland because he’d been sick of the winters in Melbourne. It had been easy enough to pick up a few different jobs while he figured out what he wanted to do, and then he’d stumbled into the idea of becoming a paramedic. He’d worked hard for it—too hard to turn his back on it.

  In his pocket, his phone buzzed with another text message notification.

  He’d worked hard for Matt too, hadn’t he? Or maybe he hadn’t, up until now. Maybe that’s what this was.

  Hayden wasn’t sure he could tell.

  The woman at the counter was finally free. “Can I help you?” she asked Hayden.

  Hayden had been in the police station plenty of times for things like this. He knew most of the coppers in town, and they knew him. There probably wasn’t a copper in the place who hadn’t heard how Hayden had lost it and walked off the job on Thursday. He wasn’t sure what would be worse: scorn or sympathy, or something weird that came somewhere in between.

  And now, standing here, he knew he couldn’t go through with it. Not today.

  “No, sorry,” he said to the woman, and then turned around and walked outside again into the heat.

  So much for that.

  So much for thinking that some weird rush of momentum could carry him through, and then what? Then he’d get his statement done, and be back to normal, just like that? Then he could head to Matt’s place and not be that broken guy again? Jesus, he wanted that. It had been less than a week, and Hayden was already so fucking tired of being that guy.

  He headed towards the car park off Sturt Street, squeezing his water bottle and making the plastic crack.

  It was a process. That’s what the woman from Priority One had said. And Hayden knew that. He knew there was no easy fix, no magical break-through moment right before the music swelled and the credits rolled on some clichéd happy ending. Real life didn’t work like that, and Hayden didn’t expect it to.

  He was just tired.

  Hayden walked up the incline of the car park. He dug his keys out of his pocket, and his phone too, then leaned against the bonnet of his car. The heat soaked through his jeans, and he tilted his phone until he could read the screen in the bright sunlight. A missed call from Matt, and two text messages. Hayden tapped the screen.

  MATT: I’m a dick. I’m sorry. Call me?

  And the second one, sent about twenty minutes after the first:

  MATT: Are you ok? I’m worried about you. Please call me.

  Hayden closed his eyes briefly and drew a deep breath. He dialled Matt, who answered on the third ring.

  “Hayden?”

  “Yeah.” Hayden pressed his spare hand against the bonnet of his car. It burned. He held his hand there. “You haven’t called out a search party or anything, have you?”

  He kept his voice light. Made it a joke, when he wasn’t sure it was one.

  “No,” Matt said. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” It wasn’t true, and Hayden figured they both knew it, but what Matt was really asking was whether or not Hayden was standing at the edge of the lookout on Castle Hill ready to throw himself over the railing. “I needed some space.”

  “Okay.” Matt’s voice was soft. “Are you going to come home?”

  Hayden didn’t even know if Matt realised how laden that word was, and just how much weight it carried. He threw it around like it was nothing. Hayden envied him that.

  His throat ached when he answered.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m coming home.”

  “I’m sorry,” Matt said when Hayden got back to the house. “I was a dick.”

  “Me too,” Hayden said, and that was it.

  He liked that it was that simple, that both of them had made an unspoken agreement to draw a line in the sand and let it be. Just those brief words, an exchange of glances that said so much more, and a quick brush of their lips and they were on solid ground again. And maybe they were o
nly pretending there was nothing wrong, or maybe it really was this simple if they wanted it to be. Maybe Hayden needed to let it go, just like he’d asked Matt to do for him those long weeks ago at their breakfast at the Coffee Club. What the hell did Hayden know about relationships? All of his previous ones had lasted exactly as long as it had taken to throw the used condom in the bin.

  “I’m gonna head out to Bunnings,” Matt said. “I have to get some wire to fix the chook pen and a few other things. Want to come?”

  Hayden drew a breath. Imagined that line in the sand, and forced himself to step over it. “Okay.”

  Bunnings on a Sunday afternoon wasn’t quite as crazy as Bunnings on a Sunday morning, but it came close. They bought a sausage in bread each at the sausage sizzle, and then headed inside, still eating them. Matt grabbed a trolley, and pulled a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his pants.

  “Oh, Jesus, you have a whole list.”

  “It’s like eight things,” Matt said, and showed it to him. “I just didn’t want to forget anything.”

  Hayden snatched the list and scanned it. “I don’t even know what half this stuff is.”

  The smile that Matt showed him was part fond, part amused.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Matt knocked him with his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “At Bunnings?”

  “Yeah,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “At Bunnings.”

  “I’m glad I’m here at Bunnings too,” Hayden said. He tried for a smile, but found the joke had slipped away somehow. The aisle they’d turned down was full of coils of colourful rope, and grips in different sizes. Hayden thought immediately of Isaiah, which was stupid, because Isaiah hadn’t even used a rope, but his brain made the association anyway.

  Twenty metres of bright green polypropelyne rope for two dollars. Cheap and innocuous.

  Hayden stared at it.

  “We’re in the wrong aisle,” Matt said abruptly, swinging the trolley around and steering both it and Hayden in the other direction.

  There was a pallet full of boxed-up pedestal fans at the end of the aisle, for twelve dollars each. Matt bundled one into the trolley.