‘Could you make one for this?’ I asked.
Grace’s grin grew wider and slightly feral.
‘What’s it worth?’ she signed.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘What do you want?’
Less work-related, ironically, was a visit from Stephanopoulos and her wife Pam. They’d come for what Stephanopoulos jokingly called an ‘infant assessment session’. They’d been thinking of either having their own kids or adopting, and the twins did their best to persuade them that they might prefer to adopt older children.
‘Once they’re past the screaming and pooing stage,’ said Pam.
I did put them in touch with Stacy Carter and Tyrel Johnson, who fostered older ‘difficult’ kids and might be able to advise.
‘You’re a compulsive networker,’ said Beverley when I told her.
‘It seems to work,’ I said, although my therapist constantly tried to convince me that the networking was a displacement activity to help me avoid dealing with my own emotional issues. She was having to work quite hard at the moment, because I’ve found I can happily talk about how much I love the twins for a whole hour, no problem. And unlike my other acquaintances, my therapist can’t make excuses and run away.
Spring arrived, and by May, Maksim had remodelled the water feature into something a bit less like a slipway and a bit more like a swimming pool. To celebrate that, and some surprisingly good weather, we held Beverley’s birthday party outside in the garden. Just to be on the safe side, we rigged an awning that extended over the patio in case it rained. Which, of course, it did. Fortunately, Fleet and Effra took it in turns to sit in the water and keep it warm enough for all the kids – river goddesses or not – to splash about in without contracting hypothermia. Since we weren’t having a christening, the party also served to introduce the twins to a wider circle of friends and family. And Seawoll demanded that he be made a godparent.
‘I’ve always wanted to be a disreputable uncle,’ he said.
He’d brought presents, just in case – two pairs of onesies with a picture of the Tardis on the front with SO MUCH BIGGER ON THE INSIDE printed beside it.
Because new parents crave sleep above all things, we wrapped up the party by the early evening, but Nightingale lingered. While Mum and Beverley settled the twins, Nightingale beckoned me out onto the patio and, sensing a lecture coming, I reluctantly joined him sitting at the white enamel garden table. Judging by the bottle of Kloud beer in front of him, this wasn’t going to be an official lecture. I suspected something much worse. Friendly advice.
Before we got down to it, though, Nightingale turned and addressed the shadowed length of the garden.
‘This is a top secret confidential discussion,’ he said loudly. ‘So you lot can all pop off back to your duty stations.’
The pool lights were still on, illuminating the water and the drizzle falling on it. Traffic rumbled on the main road and Mum was singing ‘Stormy Weather’ in the kitchen.
Nightingale lifted his hand in a vaguely threatening gesture and there was a sudden rustling amongst the bushes, as if half a dozen medium-sized quadrupeds were departing at some speed.
‘Alone at last,’ I said.
‘I doubt it,’ said Nightingale. ‘Those were decoys. They’ll have left at least one fox on station. Their hearing is really quite magnificent, as is their sense of smell, although Abigail thinks they may have traded some of that for greater intelligence.’
Nightingale seemed about as eager to give the friendly advice as I was to receive it, and I didn’t see any reason to spur him on.
‘What do you know about them that you haven’t told me?’ I asked.
‘It’s what Abigail knows that she hasn’t told either of us that interests me,’ he said. ‘But we can deal with that issue at a more appropriate time.’
Oh well, I thought. It was worth a try.
‘Had you died, Peter,’ said Nightingale without preamble, ‘or vanished into some ghastly allokosmos, it would have been my duty to come here to notify Beverley of your death.’ He tilted his head towards the house. ‘I was spared that, thankfully. Not least because the consequences in terms of flood damage to south-west London could have been dire.’
We both managed weak smiles at the joke.
‘I had hoped that incipient fatherhood would temper your recklessness,’ he said. ‘But we are what we are, aren’t we? But being the people we are, we take our responsibilities very seriously. So, in an effort to curb your enthusiasm somewhat, I plan to retire.’
I nearly dropped my beer, and six metres down the garden a squeaky fox voice went ‘What?’
‘But—’ I said.
Nightingale smiled and raised his hand to stop me.
‘Not just now, of course,’ he said. ‘But certainly within the next five years. You, in turn, will be required to take a more managerial role in the Folly. This way, you will be forced to put a higher value on your own life.’
Because, of course, I thought, administrative duties have been such a feature of your tenure.
I opened my mouth to … what? Object? Plead? Scream?
‘When I first contemplated recruiting you,’ said Nightingale, ‘I spoke to your Team Inspector Francis Neblett.’
‘He must have loved you,’ I said.
Neblett had been so old-school uniform that I’d had to fight the urge to salute every time he walked past.
‘I believe he would have preferred not to have recommended you,’ said Nightingale. ‘But he was far too upright a man to dissemble. He said you were prone to “overthinking” things and that you were easily distracted. But if I could engage your attention, you were capable of anything.’
‘That is not the impression he gave me,’ I said.
‘Indeed,’ said Nightingale, with a disturbing grin, ‘he also warned me about you.’
‘Warned you about what?’
‘He said that you were surprisingly reckless and that I would age significantly with you under my command,’ he said.
‘And have you?’ I asked.
‘I’ve had moments of worry,’ he said. ‘And this is my solution.’
‘But what are you going to do with yourself,’ I said, ‘if you retire?’
‘Peter,’ said Nightingale, ‘there are so many things I would like to do. For one thing, I would like to see the mountains of Kashmir again.’
Oh, good, I thought, a war zone. Now who’s going to get white hair?
‘It would be nice to visit Germany and not be shot at,’ he said. ‘Or China, or Sierra Leone – places I’ve never been.’
The panic I was feeling must have shown on my face.
‘Not all in a rush,’ he said. ‘Obviously. When I was younger even than you, the headmaster of Casterbrook suggested that I consider becoming a teacher. I was horrified at the time, of course, but now I think we should consider reopening the old place.’
‘As a school?’
‘More as a college and a training centre,’ said Nightingale. ‘After all, there’s no point in my leaving you in charge if you have no underlings to order about.’
‘A police training college?’ I asked – the College of Policing would probably love that.
‘We can start modestly right away,’ said Nightingale. ‘That much is in your operational plan already.’
‘PIP level 1 Crime Scene Vestigia Awareness,’ I said.
‘Quite,’ said Nightingale. ‘Although I think in the long term we should pursue a wider curriculum.’
‘Is that wise?’ I asked.
‘The wider the base, the greater the stability of the building,’ said Nightingale. ‘You taught me that.’
I thought of the future – which now had my daughters in it, and foxes, and mad Northern smiths, and whatever mischief Abigail was going to get herself into.