The Third Shadow

Sixteen

It hadn't been through a lack of effort, I assured him. The problem was it just isn't enough sometimes. Trying your hardest. Doing all you can possibly do, leaving no stone unturned.

Luck. Plain old-fashioned good fortune.

As a chief investigating officer, often what's required is that most elusive factor of all.

*

A few minutes later the three of us sat in a reflective, wine-woozy silenve for several moments, empty plates smeared with vegan gravy beneath us.

"Adam," piped up Ellie finally, "why don't you clear away the dishes?"

It was a tone I was familiar with, one passed down from mother to daughter. Not so much a suggestion, more a military-style command carrying the threat of dark consequences should it not immediately and uncomplainingly be obeyed.

"Course El."

"And while you're in the kitchen you could plate up dessert if you like."

Another mandate sent down from high command.

With Adam thus engaged, Ellie and I finally had the chance to talk. I decided to set the ball rolling myself.

"Lover boy still not found a job then."

Her eyes rolled theatrically to the ceiling, a remnant from the stroppier excesses of her teenage years. "How many times do I have to tell you dad? Adam's a tree surgeon."

That was gardening, not a job. "Might help if he cut his hair," I commented.

This provoked a second upward roll of the eyes. The truth was I might have been able to forgive him for the veganism, the late-sixties fashion look. I might too have been able to forgive him for the faux Essex boy accent - he was in fact the son of two Berkshire-based barristers, Ellie had once told me. His lack of a perceivable income was also pardonable. No, what I had a problem with was his seemingly total lack of concern over this latter fact. How many call-outs did he get for this tree surgery malarkey he insisted on pursuing? Once in a blue moon, if he was lucky. A man of thirty living off the generosity of his gainfully employed girlfriend, hand-outs from mummy and daddy. Hardly very dignified. As he himself might have put it, not exactly earthy.

"I just think maybe he'd be better off trying-"

"Don't ruin it eh dad."

There was a brief, sweet smile, the sort which reminded me of the happy little girl who used to beg me for pony rides on my back.

"Haven't seen you for a year and a half. Been looking to this evening for ages."

Something different, I'd been going to say. Adam might be better off exploring other avenues. An office job, retrain himself as an electrician or a plumber or some such thing. But Ellie was right: now wasn't the time. Now was for us; the Lord knew it wasn't often we sat down at the same dinner table together.

"The wine really is good," she continued, taking a sip. "You should be proud."

"I am," I assured her.

She clinked her glass to mine. "And me of you."

There. That moment. The sweat and toil, the huge financial risk. My daughter's glow of filial pride made it all worthwhile.

Outside, another bus had pulled up for the lights; on the back seat, a teenage couple were indulged in what used to be known in my day as 'heavy petting'. Over in the armchair, meanwhile, a single feline eye continued to bore into me.

I yawned long and wide, tried smothering it with a fist. My day had started at half past six that morning at a service station somewhere on the French side of the Alps. Twelve more hours on the road to follow the same from the previous day. I was fading now. Fading fast, fading deep.