Kane

'Ready?'

'Yes. What the hell! If they pull us in for questioning, we'll just have to tell 'em what really happened. It'll be one hell of a drag but ... whatev'!'

It was 9h30 and we were sitting in the RangeRover. I'd failed, miserably, Kane's interrogation as to the RangeRover's specifications. He'd tested, exhaustively, the sunroof; the wing-mirror; the stereo and the automatic boot where we'd stuck the two small holdalls. Other than a change of clothes, there was no need for more clothes as the house in Cornwall had most of my and Michael's wardrobe anyway, so l could travel as light as he had to. His tin, which I had named his Treasure Tin, was safe in a rucksack at his feet, keeping company with some snacks for the journey. He'd not said much directly about the two photos I'd printed for him but they had become residents of the Treasure Tin immediately after breakfast. But had also been fished out a half-dozen times since!

I'd done a good job at fitting him out with clothes from my and, more painfully, from Michael's wardrobe here. Clothes did make the man. And l'd managed somehow to resist the temptation of watching the man as he got dressed in the same black designer jeans as before, forcing myself to leave the bedroom. They suited him and besides, it was either that or sweatpants! One of my cream polo-necks and a black jacket of Michael's on top and the Kane sitting next to me and investigating every damn button and switch in the vehicle was unrecognisable as the Kane in the park. Or, so l hoped. I'd raided my accessory drawers for a belt and a thin gold neck-chain and he was wearing one of my watches too. But l knew damn well he'd raise eyebrows regardless. He himself had been quite taken aback at the transformation staring back at him silently when he looked at himself in the mirror.

I pressed the remote and the garage door warning light started flashing red threateningly.

I looked at Kane as he started to open his mouth.

'No! You can't see the remote or we'll still be here in an hour!'

His mouth closed but into a grin and instead he started opening and closing the electric window on his side!!

'Aaaaaaaghhhh! I swear it'll be a miracle if we make it to the M25, let alone past it!'

'Sunglasses on!'

I flicked the indicator stalk and edged out straight into the turning area end of the cul de sac, one of many that fanned out from the road that ran around the square itself. Then it was hard right, past the cars parked illegally on the pavement that first ran along the walls of our garden and the extension, then of our end-of-terrace house itself. I'd seen from inside that the police car was on the road surrounding the square but it had been parked a little further down, before you got to the cul de sac in front the house next door to us. I was hoping that, if its officers had stationed themselves on its other side, away from us, the one-way system meant we could reach the western exit from the square without being stopped. That was by far the best option. I indicated left and started to turn.

'Shit! PC Plod again! Bang goes that idea!'

He was standing in the middle of the road, taking admiring glances at his own reflection in the side windows of the cars parked on the road.

'Oh, not him!', groaned Kane 'He's a complete knob! Maybe you should get your moobs out again! Scare him!'

'Ha ha! Very funny!'

I stole a quick glance at Kane who fortunately had also put on the pair of sunglasses I'd given him from my drawer.

'You know him?'

'Yup! A knob. Only a tiny knob probably but defo a knob!'

In the middle of the road, PC Jones looked at the white driver and the black passenger of the car in front of him and tried to decide which to question in priority. Kane was closer to him but ... . I pressed the button to open my window and, the decision taken for him, he moved slowly around the bonnet to my side, rehearsing his opening line as he did so. Kane pressed his right foot hard down on an imaginary accelerator, muttering: 

'You'd be doing the world a favour!'

'Morning Sir!'

'Morning Sergeant'

He smiled, happy at the promotion.

'Er, not yet, Sir. PC Jones still, maybe next year, eh? We are presently conducting enquiries into an incident on the square in which a homeless man's tent ...'

'Yes, yes, l know ... you yourself questioned me about it yesterday. You knocked on the front door of my house behind here.'

I gestured at it. He looked at me, then the front door, blankly. 'You do remember, don't you?'

He clearly didn't. Lights being on in his eyes didn't equate to anyone being home behind them.

'I told you that I'd been at my husband's funeral ...'

His relief at this successful jog of his shaky memories was palpable.

'Ah, yes! Sir had only seen the fire engine!' 

He grinned in triumph at this prodigious feat of memory. His eyes shifted from me over to the passenger: 

'And the gentleman?'

'He came to pay his respects as he hadn't been able to pop across in time for Michael's funeral. It's time for him to leave now!'

The Met's least likely candidate for promotion started to process whether further questioning was in fact required but fate rescued him in the form of an ambulance pulling up behind us. He took one look at its flashing lights, breathed a sigh of relief and waved us on.

Kane looked at me. 

'Sergeant? Do me a favour!' 

He sniggered into his hand, shaking his head at the memory.

'Clever, though! Very clever!'