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Chapter 139
Ninemonths later
The song penetrated Poe’s dreams. It was all drums and bass and a woman singing about milkshakes. Nothing like the stuff he usually listened to. Where were the guitars, the screeching riffs, the mad lyrics?
A nudge to the ribs jerked him awake. Doyle was watching him in amusement.
‘That’s a wildly cheerful ringtone.’
‘What?’ he said, sitting up. He reached behind and pummelled the pillow. Leaned back against it.
‘Your phone; it was ringing.’
‘Oh, that’s what that was. I thought I’d woken up in South Central LA.’
‘Harlem.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Kelis is from Harlem, I think, not Los Angeles.’
‘Who?’
‘The singer.’
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Tilly installed it for me. She said she was sick of hearing the default ringtone.’
‘And that’s what you chose?’
‘No, I said she could put on whatever she wanted as long as it wasn’t annoying.’
Doyle raised her eyebrows.
‘I don’t know how to change it,’ he admitted. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘Not long.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Just after eleven.’
‘Who the hell’s ringing at this hour?’
They looked at each other.
‘Tilly,’ they said together.
‘Are you going to call her back?’ Doyle asked.
‘I’m comfy,’ he replied, snuggling down into the bed. It was huge, far bigger than the bed at Herdwick Croft. Everything in Highwood was huge. Like it had been built to a slightly different scale. All old stuff, but made to last. The rich stayed rich as they never had to buy anything, it seemed. He had voiced this to Doyle once and she’d reminded him that his father owned a property portfolio worth well over a million pounds.
They split their time between Highwood and Herdwick Croft. When he wasn’t on a case, Poe could work anywhere, so they tended to go by Doyle’s diary. If she was performing post-mortems or was working at her lab, they stayed at Highwood. If she was teaching, they preferred Herdwick Croft. They had fallen into an easy routine. When they were at Poe’s they explored Cumbria and enjoyed Shap Fell. When they were in Northumberland they usually stayed in or went for a drink in Corbridge. The relationship was new and they were still feeling their way, but so far it had been everything Poe had hoped it might be.
‘Call Tilly back, Poe,’ Doyle said. ‘You know she’ll worry if you don’t.’
Sure enough, his phone began ringing again. Edgar barked. Poe had no idea where he was. The spaniel, who’d grown up with only two rooms, now had a massive house to explore. He slept in a different room each night, but always slunk back into their bedroom during the early hours. He liked nestling in between them. Poe had taken to calling him a contraceptive.
He reached for his phone and pressed the accept call button.
