Sitting in the lounge, small lamp burning dimly, coffee all round, the Christmas tree unlit and pathetic in the corner, one man's weak concession to seasonal spirit. On the settee Evelyn Bathurst sits, sleepy eyed, Nescafe Gold Blend, black, three sugars, in her hot little hand. Decided she needed to speak to me tonight, thought she'd come and wait for me, so let herself into the flat. Polis make the best criminals. I've hit the wall. Need sleep. I'm close on forty-five and massively unfit, not eighteen. I can't handle staying up all night shagging anymore. If she doesn't get to the point soon I'm going to fall asleep on her.
'I shouldn't be here. I'm sorry.' For the seventh time.
'Look, it's not a problem, Evelyn.' Another large draft of coffee, another cigarette; hope that they start kicking in. 'I don't mind. Just take your time, I'm not going anywhere. When you're ready.' Mr. Compassion, that's me. Course, I want to give her a shake and tell her to get on with it, but I can see when a young woman is troubled.
Glance at the watch. Almost six o'clock. Shit.
I look at her, the worry lines on her young face. At least this'll make it easier to get out of the thing tonight, assuming she actually talks to me in the next two hours. She looks like a wee lassie sitting there. About to tell her father that's she pregnant; or she's dropping out of university, to go and build water pumps for villagers in West Africa. Can't believe I tried to get her into bed.
She drains her coffee. Looks at me. I recognise it. This is it. If she's about to tell me she's pregnant or that she's going to drop out of the police to go and build water pumps for villagers in West Africa, I'll be disappointed.
'You have to promise me that you won't tell anyone about this,' she starts.
Looks on the point of tears. Better sharpen up, take her seriously.
'Don't worry, Evelyn, I'm not about to tell anyone.'
'If this gets out at the station…,' and she doesn't finish the sentence. Lifts the mug to her mouth, finds it empty.
'I'll get you another cup. You get yourself together and tell me about it when I get back in.'
She nods, wipes her eyes. I take the mug and head for the kitchen. Sounds serious.
Stare out of the kitchen window at the cold and empty streets while the kettle boils. Wonder what she's going to say. Start to get a bad feeling, and for the first time think that maybe I don't want to know what she's just about to tell me. Sometimes ignorance is best.
Make the coffee, take it back in, hand it over and sit down. This time there's no delay. Engages my eyes for a second, takes a deep breath, then she starts talking immediately. Words tumble out in a great rush, sentences tripping over each other.
And immediately I know I was right. I don't want to hear it.