Three Lives, Five people

"I'll get off, you two need a bit of time alone, thanks for the scotch, see you both very soon."

Harry stood and as the other two rose up, he kissed Laura's cheeks and shook Peter's hand. Grabbing his coat off the chair he almost ran out of the apartment, and waving without looking back, he bounded down the stairs.

Laura leaned against Peter and her head rested on his chest. His arm came round her and he held her close. She shook and tears flowed silently, Peter held her and closed the door. Walking slowly he took her to the bed and picking her up lowered her down onto it, he slipped her cardigan off, unzipped her skirt and slid it down her legs. Pulling the cover over her, he tucked it under her chin. A soft kiss on her lips, a hand gently moving some strands of hair off her face, then he left. She felt loved, warm and safe, sleep came swiftly.

Peter found her mobile phone and flicked through her contacts, he found the number he wanted and dialed. Seconds later a familiar voice purred in his ear.

"We need to talk, come to the apartment, enough is enough." He clicked the call off and put the phone back in her handbag.

An hour later the doorbell rang and he walked over to the door and opened it. She walked in and grinned,

"Hallo Peter, how's life treating you?"

"Hallo Shelagh, do come in, I would say it's nice to see you, but it isn't, and this is strictly business."

"Hmmm, a masterful Peter, how quaint, almost tantalisingly sexual. How is my little whore daughter by the way?"

"Laura is sleeping in the bedroom, after your little theatrics this morning."

"Oh were you not on the Telly, on the local news, ex con and slutty daughter killed in a tragic accident."

"No thankfully, someone up there is protecting us. However, I need to make sure you don't harm Laura anymore, so what is it you want?"

They sat down, she handbag on the arm of the chair rifling through the contents,

"I don't want to go to jail,"

"I can't do anything about that, the Police are running this, it's a criminal investigation."

"You could put in a good word for me, you could ask the Police to tone down the charges, or you could just die."

Suddenly she pulled her hand out of her handbag and raised a nine inch steel knife from within. Peter tried to rise, but was too astounded to react quickly, his legs hampered by the low coffee table. Her hand slashed at him as his feet tried to propel him backwards. He felt the blade tear through his shirt and skin, feeling a hot stinging sensation. The wound was superficial, but drew blood, her arm swung back and round again, he pushed off from the sofa, just as her arm again swept across the line of his chest, this time she went deeper and he gasped as the tip raked across a rib and his sternum.

He saw the world greying out and he pushed upwards, dragging the knife across the other side of his rib cage. The act of catching the rib, juddered the knife from her hands and Peter saw it fall away to the floor. He fell forward and grabbed the scotch glass on the coffee table swinging his arm back he caught her across the cheek, sending her backwards into the chair.

Screaming she stood and lifted the coffee table, throwing it end over end, out of her way. Stooping for the knife she screamed in excitement, saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth. Standing triumphantly, breasts heaving, chest clawing in air, she stepped towards him as he began to lose consciousness.

Shaking his head, trying to clear the fuzziness, he lunged toward her, seeing her lift the knife to drive down into his back. He faltered and dropped, her lunge missing him by millimeters, the sweep of her arm causing her to topple forwards, she shuffled her feet to remain upright and Peter kicked out at her leg. She shouted and spun backwards, still clutching the knife, but hobbling as the pain in her shin hit her brain. She screamed again and began a wild slashing motion with the knife, Peter crawling backwards across the floor.

The crashes and screams had awakened Laura and she appeared in the lounge doorway, seeing Peter and her mother, she raced for her mothers knife arm and kicked expertly at her wrist. The pain of the kick caused Shelagh to fall back, but she still clutched the knife,

"Fucking interfering bitch, get out of my way, that bastards going to die, back off you whore-bitch!"

Shelagh slashed at Laura who danced away and taunted her by stepping forward and backward into and out of range. Peter meanwhile was on his hands and knees, blood dripping from his wounds onto the floor. He still couldn't clear the fuzziness and he was of no help at all. Finally he fell forward and lay unconscious on the floor. Laura glanced at him and then returned her full concentration on her Mother.

"OK Mum, last chance, put the knife down."

"No! You're going with that bastard straight to hell, now die!"

Laura feinted left and stepped back, as Shelagh thrust forward, Laura kicked out and caught her in the solar plexus. Shelagh fought for air, gasping, her hands dropping as she desperately tried to breath. Laura stepped in and hit her with a closed fist to the chin, a straight right, as Shelagh's head whipped up Laura's left hand landed a haymaker on her jaw. Shelagh crumpled and hit the floor with an almighty thud, her lips kissing the wooden floor and knocking several teeth out.

Lauara picked up the knife with a handkerchief and placed it on a chair away from her mother. Turning to Peter, she checked his pulse and breathing, dialed the emergency services and asked for the Police and an Ambulance.

Harry arrived a half an hour later as the medics finished strapping Peter onto a Stretcher, a second team were working on Shelagh. Laura was sitting with a WPC on the sofa. The WPC had an arm around Laura's shoulder, which was covered by the police officers jacket, as a colleague questioned her about the attack. Harry went and knelt by Laura, his hand on her knee, she covered it with hers. He looked anxiously at her, she smiled, thin lipped, her jaw trembling. Harry nodded and rose to go to the paramedics lifting Peter up on the stretcher, he glanced at the medic who shook his head.

Harry glanced back at Peter, he was white, eyes closed, breathing raggedly. A pool of blood lay where he had been found. A drip had been set up and was attached to a thin bar fixed to the stretcher, a monitor lay by Peter's feet, wires disappearing under the blanket placed over him. A slightly irregular beep announced his heart rate.

The stretcher was carried out and the second stretcher was readied. This time straps looped over the inert body, and a policemen stood ready to follow the paramedics out. Harry sighed and returned to the sofa.

The questions had finished, but Laura's hadn't,

"Harry is he alright? he'll be okay won't he?"

Harry nodded sympathetically and sat beside her, she put her arms round him and cried.

Two weeks later and Harry stood again with his arm round Laura, although today she was black clad. The wind swept through the cemetery and the clouds lowered as it prepared to rain again. The service had been short, free of any religious content and sparsely attended. There would be no wake following the interment. Laura held Harry as her world died too. Shelagh was currently in a secure psychiatric unit and the case against her had been suspended pending a full psychiatric assessment. The CPS regarded it unlikely that she would be in any position to stand trial. The likely outcome was that an order for her to be detained under the Mental Health Act would be obtained and for her to be held for as long as it was judged she was a danger to herself and others.

Harry and Laura left in the large Daimler in which they and the coffin arrived. Laura returned to her own flat, unable to face the apartment where her father/ lover had died. Harry had formally requested Letters of Administration from the Public Guardian's Office and would arrange for the place to be deep cleaned and sold. He was applying to make Laura Peter's sole beneficiary and would handle the day to day detail. It would take several months to process, so Laura found a full time job to earn her keep.

A few weeks later Laura called at the apartment and hesitatingly entered, The place had been cleaned and was now spotless, if sterile. She wandered from room to room, noting the neatly stacked furniture and the empty beds. On and off this had been her home for nearly sixteen years, but it was just a set of rooms now. All traces of the family had been removed. She felt a tear in her eye as she waltzed through her memories, until that final scene, her mother, having attacked her father and was now in the process of trying to kill her. She remembered the anxious hours, days in ICU, Harry Fowles's calmness and rocklike faith in her fathers ability to recover.

She remembered the shock and soul destroying dread as the crash teams had worked their miracles trying to resuscitate and stabilise her father seven times but finally after five days failing that final time. Too much blood lost, too much shock in too little time, all had conspired against him. Meanwhile her mother was in a secure unit, recovering, having dental work to replace the teeth she had lost when Laura had sent her crashing to the floor. She would receive excellent medical care, whilst her husband would be laid in the cold wet earth.

Laura gulped and let it go as the bitterness, anger and frustration all surged through her. She had berated herself time and again for the lapses she had made, but it was all to no avail, he was gone, her father, her best friend, her lover. Leaving she posted the key in the mail locker, leaving behind her innocence, her youth and her happiness.

Work had been a godsend, she had ploughed into it and in a way it had compensated for her loneliness. She made herself work exceptionally long hours, to avoid going home to her tiny flat, with no friends or neighbours to talk to. Offering to take on tasks for others, she became a workaholic. Living to work, she found she had a capacity to see through the clutter and her section had received considerable plaudits, as she ensured their commitment to timescales and deadlines were strictly observed. Her fastidiousness didn't go unnoticed and she found herself promoted. The new position meant familiarising herself with a different side of the organisation, but her will to work ensured she soon had the measure of the job.

Returning home one evening she was surprised to see Dave Roberts (the DC who had been the sidekick of the Inspector leading the investigation against her father and subsequent investigation into his death) sitting on the wall outside her block. She raised a quizzical eyebrow,

"DC Roberts, you here to harass me now?"

"No, no, just to update you on the case," he exclaimed, reddening rapidly.

"What's to update, my mother's a nutter and she killed my father."

"Yeah, I know that but I came to see if you were okay and to let you know..." he faltered.

"Come on, spit it out, I can probably guess, the CPS have finally decided she's too ill to plead or stand trial. So they're now going to section her under the Mental Health Act!"

"Yeah, got it in one, sorry, we tried, but the head honcho said no, there is no realistic chance of a conviction."

He shrugged his shoulders and rose as if to go.

"Oh for God's sake, you've got a face like a smacked arse, do you want to come in for a coffee or a tea, and just that! I'm a million miles from wanting any kind of relationship, or even a quick shag but a friendly face would be welcome."

She smiled and punched his arm.

"I... I... never considered you would be, I knew you were different."

He said, the redness now enveloping the whole of his face. She found it oddly lovable.

"DC Roberts, I do believe you're embarrassed, I think you may have a thing for me."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek, then dragged him through the doors into the vestibule. She opened her box and noted the mail.

"Oh one here from your office, don't suppose your Boss has written to me to tell me the same thing you have do you?" She grinned as she watched him wish the ground would open up beneath him.

They walked to the lift,

"Tell me Dave, it is Dave isn't it?"

He nodded and waited for her to enter the car before stepping in behind her. She pressed three and the doors closed.

"Dave why are you really here?"

"I can't get you out of my mind, you're just so beautiful."

He stopped and looked down, she touched his shoulder briefly.

"Dave, you're awfully sweet, but you must know that I have recently lost the only man I ever loved, now is not the right time to hit on me."

Smiling she lifted his chin with her finger tips.

"However, I do need a friend, someone to take me out of myself. At the moment all I have is work, work, work. I am becoming a very dull girl."

"I could do that, what do you like doing?"

"Okay that's a start, well I like... going to the theatre, films, concerts, I hate Opera but love Ballet, I read and I like to sing."

"Okay, well I like football, films, the theatre, reading and I've never been to an Opera or the Ballet, plus I have a voice that even my mother hates."

"So we have a good overlap on some things. How about we go see a show or a concert and take it from there?"

"Great, when, what do you fancy?"

"Next week, the West End, a show, dazzle me," she laughed and they left the lift as she found her keys.

She opened the door ushered him in and switched the lights on.

"Here we are home sweet hovel." She threw her keys into a bowl on a side table in the hall.

Dave Roberts opened the first door on the left and walked into her lounge. Switching the lights on he saw a medium sized room, sparsely furnished, but very tidy, almost as if it were untouched. He couldn't see any signs that the room had been personlised, it was almost like a show home, but with older used furniture.

"Yeah I know, devoid of human habitation. I rarely use this room, usually either bed, bath or kitchen. Speaking of which, tea or coffee?"

"Neither thanks, I don't, but a squash drink or water would be fine."

"Are you non -alcoholic too? Never tried it? Sorry that was rude and uncalled for, I apologise."

"No, no need, but yes I am tea total but I enjoy a coffee now and then. I don't drink not for any other reason than I hate the taste and I don't like not being in control. Well not in an OCD manner, but I like to.. I don't know really, I don't want to make a fool of myself."

"Dave, we all do that sunshine. Me more than many. But I think you're an OK guy, so squash it will be. Splash of vodka."

"Really?"

"No only kidding."

"See I can make a fool of myself without alcohol, imagine what a prat I'd be with it."

"You're okay Davey boy. Sit, I'll be back."

Dave Roberts sat in the lounge, seeing a book on the coffee table he grabbed it and read the frontispiece, then the blurb on the rear. Historical faction, events known to have happened, actual people known to have been around at the time, the author had conjured up a story weaving their lives into the tale. He knew the authors name and that there were ongoing negotiations to bring the book to the stage or film, or at least that's what the arts pages suggested. Laura reappeared with a mug and a glass in her hands.

"Hope you don't want a biccy, my tins are empty."

"No this is fine, how's the book?" He nodded at the coffee table.

"Ohh! err, okay'ish, not finding it as readable as I imagined it would be. Quite a complex tale and although it's well told, not sure I'll last the course."

"OK, well can I have a read when you finish, or give up, whichever is first." he smiled and his face lit up. She smiled at him and lifted the cup to her lips, blowing gently.

"Take it now, see if you get any further than me. I read her other books, but somehow this is beyond me. So go on, take it, please it will be a relief not to have to plough on through it."

"You're certainly giving it a big build up, can't wait to start now."

They sat grinning, he finished his drink and stood,

"I should go, I've squandered enough of your time tonight. Thanks for talking with me, I've enjoyed it, even if you haven't. Can I have a contact number so I can arrange next week?"

She stood and held out her mobile,

"Top of the contacts page, it tells you the number, and don't go looking down the list."

He grinned and copied the number into his phone, taking his time. Finally he handed her phone back.

"I'll ring you in a day or so, is that okay?"

"Sure, I'm looking forward to it, g'night."

They were by her front door, he stepped in hugged her and kissed her cheek, she grinned and patted his back. He moved away and opened the door, looked back he half waved and pulled the door shut behind him. She stood grinning for several minutes before retreating to the lounge. Picking up his glass and her cup, she left turning the light off. Soon she locked up and went to bed.

Tuesday at work and her PA buzzed her,

"Dave on line four," she could hear the smile in her voice.

"Friend, acquaintance, no funny stuff OK?"

"Sure, your life, sounds nice though."

"He is and you're prying, line four got it."

Laughing she punched four and said hello.

"Hi Laura it's Dave. Do you fancy Kevin Spacey and Jeff Goldblum in Speed the Plow at the Old Vic, I know it's not West End but... Shall we say meet at six and eat, then see the show?"

"Bloody hell! Roberts that is damn impressive!

Tickets for that are like snow in summer. That's a theatrical date, I like exotic food, as a teaser for you."

"Noted, and I know where to take you, it's just round the corner from the Theatre. Six o'clock outside the Old Vic then, wear a glam frock, see you."

And he was gone, no chat, just a mate confirming a meeting, she liked that, like her Dad, she thought. No that's not right don't compare or contrast, they were two different men. She frowned just as Polly her PA walked in.

"Problems with Mr Right?"

"He's not Mr Right, he's Mr Just-a-Friend-right-now, nosey. We're going to the theatre on Thursday, Kevin Spacey, Jeff Goldblum, Speed the Plow, can you believe it?"

"No way Jose! how did he manage that? He really fancy's you to do that. What does he do?"

"He's a policeman if you must know."

"Evenin' all, right let's be 'avin' you."

Polly pretended to be a policeman swinging a truncheon.

"They don't talk like that now, he's a good friend, and yes he fancy's me rotten I think, but not pushy, I like him."

"Like him or 'Like him'?"

"Polly I lost the love of my life about six months ago, Dave Roberts is a mate, endof, that's all, now out I have work to do, and so do you, out, out, out."

Laughing Polly left and Laura began to retrace her thoughts to before the call. She buried her nose in the screen and began to dissect the report in front of her. She had a niggle, something was wrong but she couldn't tease it out. She started again and after about five minutes she felt a tingle, there it was. She printed the page and walked out to her colleague. Explaining her feeling he looked at the report then turned to his screen.

After a few keystrokes his screen changed, glancing at the report he typed again, frowned and nodded, she was right, he said, as usual. Pass it in front of Laura she'd spot the error, even if everyone else didn't. Laura grinned and returned to her desk. She responded to the reports author, explaining his error and asking him to recompile it and get it back to her asap. She began to tackle the pile in front of her and soon had the work flowing.

At six thirty she felt unusually tired and left work. As she did her phone rang, Dave Roberts.

"Hi Laura, no panic, but I thought you might want to go for a drink?"