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Buoyed by this albeit slightly manufactured enthusiasm, I skip over a puddle in the street and leap onto the curb. The leather soles of my Mary Janes slip on an icy patch, and I crash to my hands and knees, smashing the sausages beneath one hand while other smacks the curb so hard I fear I’ve broken it.

“Hey ho!” Footsteps race towards me. “Are you alright there?”

I shift myself from all fours and topple to sit on the wet curb. It takes me a tick to see past my embarrassment and pain to realize PC Charles stands right above me. Of course it’s him.

“Miss Brown? Are you okay? That was a real tumble.”

“I’m fine.” I concentrate on my hands and knees. My palms are scraped up, and my left is bleeding from a hundred little gravel cuts. I’ve clearly ruined the wool on my left knee. Nothing can patch that tear. But my right knee stings like the dickens. “I’ll just sit here a minute or two, then be on my way, PC Charles. You don’t have to stay.”

Rather than leave, as I’m hoping and actively praying he will, he drops next to me. “What happened to Charlie?” he asks softly, as if it’s a private question and he fears someone might overhear. No one is outdoors, however, for at least three blocks in either direction.

“Don’t remind me.” I moan and drop my head into my hands, despite the blood and gravel. “After you left that night a couple of weeks ago, Mrs. Derwet tore a strip in me, right in front of everyone at the pub. She yelled that I was showing you great disrespect.”

“She didn’t.” PC Charles sits back. “I had no idea. Why didn’t you say something? That wasn’t about me, not really. Her uncle was the chief years back, and she feels it’s her duty to uphold our exaggerated dignity.” He glances at me. “She gets like that sometimes but then forgets soon after.”

I can’t bring myself to speak, and he’s right. Mrs. Derwet has been nothing but gracious and kind since that evening. Almost as if she instantly forgot the moment I can’t seem to let go.

“I’m awfully sorry about that.” He continues with a short, almost jovial laugh. “She gets pretty riled up. I can just imagine her red face.”

That brings a laugh from me as well—my first of the whole affair. Because he’s right about that too. Her face was a shocking red.

“Before the war my best mates used to call me Charlie. I’d almost forgotten about him. But once upon a time, I liked being Charlie. He was rather a carefree and fun fellow.”

“Was he?” I ask with a touch of surprise. For in the few weeks before I started avoiding PC Charles, I found him to be a very by-the-book, literal sort of fellow.

He doesn’t reply. I get the impression he’s remembering his younger self and those happier times. “So Mrs. Derwet is why you’ve been avoiding me? It wasn’t something I did?”

“Not at all.” I straighten and gasp. Finding myself much too close to him, I drop my attention back to my knees.

He leans closer. “Then can you stop now?”

“I’ll try.” My voice comes out muffled. I can’t bring myself to lift my head again.

We sit quietly for a moment, and just as I’m about to sit straight, push off, and say goodbye with whatever smidge of dignity I can muster, he nudges his shoulder into mine.

“I’ve heard a few stories about you lately. Seems you’re aiming for my job.”

“What’s this?” That brings me upright.

“The tattle claims you discovered it was little Dorothy Davis who took the puppy from Farmer Hallam’s new litter a couple of weeks back.”

“There really are no secrets around here, are there?” I laugh because while Farmer Hallam decided to quietly give the puppy to Dorothy, everyone was talking about the “appalling crime” nonetheless.

“It was hardly capital detective work. She used her Friday penny to buy dog treats rather than gumdrops. Highly suspicious when her family doesn’t own a dog and the girl adores lemon gumdrops.”

I hazard another look at him and, again, need to shift my focus away. He’s much too close. So close I can see how the lamplight ignites the paler blue flecks in his eyes. So close I can see a small scar on the side of his chin. So close I can smell the mint and citrus of his shaving tonic. I rock forward to hoist myself up. “You’re getting cold and wet because of me. I should get going.”

PC Charles pops up and reaches a hand down to help me. He takes care to touch only my fingers. He turns my hand over, still holding them. “You smacked your palm hard. You’ve got some bleeding here.”

“It stings horribly.” I step back, which naturally pulls my hand from his, and, for the first time, I look him fully in the face. I briefly wonder how he got that scar on his chin. Then I realize my focus is hovering near his lips, inches south of his eyes, and I shoot it northwards.

Focus, Gemma!

“Thank you.” I blurt to cover my embarrassment. “You made the humiliation of toppling in front of you a little more bearable. That is, after the humiliation of nicknaming you and getting a lashing at the pub.”

I swipe at my stiff knees, both because I don’t want to read in his eyes what he thinks about that awkward moment and because I’m hoping they’ll bend properly and I won’t walk away like Frankenstein’s monster.

PC Charles picks up my flattened sausages and gestures across the street to a rubbish bin. “May I?”