A Game of Proof by Tim Vicary

looked disapproving, the girl in the pink fluffy pullover vacant, the man in the leather jacket sympathetic, as though he would like to get up and wrap Sharon in his arms. No joy there, then. But a grey haired man in tweeds, whom Sarah had not noticed before, shook his head sadly as Sharon went out, and a younger man was scribbling intently on his note pad.
    That must have put some doubt in their minds, Sarah thought, her hands trembling with suppressed excitement. I did the best I could; I couldn’t have done better.
    She looked over her shoulder at Lucy, who smiled encouragement. Then she looked up, to see what Simon had made of her performance. At least he must see she wasn’t a complete dud at this job she had spent so long training for. Perhaps they could talk about it afterwards.
    But to her surprise and intense disappointment, Simon was no longer there.

Chapter Eight
    S ARAH AWOKE at six as usual, and lay for a while thinking. In these first moments after waking her mind was always clear, and she could often solve problems that had been obscure the day before. It was as though a team of civil servants in her subconscious had been working all night, to present her with the main issues of the day neatly typed and sorted for her consideration.
    Bob, still dozing beside her, was the exact opposite. He wouldn’t surface for half an hour, and then only with groans and sighs. She had often tried to discuss things with him at this time, but it was hopeless - he was scarcely human until she was already showered, dressed, and ready for work. It was a daily irritation in their marriage.
    But family matters were not uppermost in her mind this morning; they seldom were. Today she might have to cross-examine Sharon Gilbert’s little boy by video link. It would not be easy. Then there were the forensic scientist and DI Terry Bateson, both tough nuts too. She replayed the questions she had planned in her mind as the dawn light filled the room.
    She sat at her dressing table by the window, looking out. This was the time of day she liked this house best. There were dew-covered spider’s webs on the long grass in the meadow. She saw a heron float on its wide, creaky wings down to the river bank, where it folded its wings and stood, silent and intent, among the reeds on the further shore. There had been nothing like this in Leeds - it belonged in a nature film on the telly, not in real life where you could actually walk about in it if you wanted. Occasionally Sarah did that - put on a coat and wellington boots and trudged along the river bank; but she felt out of place in it then. It was too cold or damp or muddy; there were insects that bit her; it was eerily quiet and hostile.
    It was better looking at it through the window. After all the fact of having a detached house with a view like this proved she and Bob had made it; they were a success at last. So she sat for a while longer, as other people did Tai Chi or meditation, and told herself she enjoyed it. Then she crossed the room to have a shower, tickling Bob’s toes wickedly under the end of the duvet just before the alarm went off.
    She was putting on her face before the mirror when Bob came back with a cup of tea, his hair still tousled from sleep. He slumped down on the bed and, to her astonishment, spoke.
    ‘Can you talk to Emily before you go?’
    She turned to stare at him. ‘What about?’
    ‘Her exams. I was up with her for an hour last night. She thinks she’s going to fail.’
    ‘Of course she’s not going to fail.’ Sarah turned back to the mirror to finish her eye-shadow. ‘She’s a clever girl, she’s done the work. She’ll be fine.’
    ‘ She doesn’t think so. The poor kid’s in a dreadful state.’
    ‘So what do you want me to do?’
    ‘Talk to her, that’s all. Show some sympathy. You’ve passed enough exams, you know what it’s like.’
    ‘All right.’ Sarah glanced at her watch. ‘But I’ve got to go in twenty minutes. Is she