girls.
Home for Tara was a top floor apartment on the South Quay of Wapping Dock, in the re-developed Mersey docklands. A fashionable, historic block of brown bricks, it at least provided a view across the river. The apartment had cost her, but it was her one indulgence since leaving Oxford, her one treat paid for by her life as a Detective Inspector. With a recent decline in property values, however, she found herself in negative equity. Just as well she wasn’t planning to move out in the near future. Each of the river-facing apartments had a small balcony, designed optimistically to enjoy pleasant summer days spent watching the ships sliding to and from the docks in Birkenhead and the crowds milling to and from The Echo Arena. In three years of living there, Tara reckoned she’d spent no more than half a dozen balmy days gazing from her open window, sipping a Zinfandel and reading Sophie Kinsella. Apart from the noise of city traffic it was peaceful here. She couldn’t argue with that, although, relaxing on her sofa in front of her forty-two inch flat screen, she could be anywhere in the world. Across the river from where she was raised and yet she remained within touching distance of her mother, father and two older brothers. Whenever she decided to come back to Merseyside after Oxford she’d told herself that it would be different. Nothing wrong with Liverpool, and she would defend it to the hilt, but her life had moved on when she made it to Oxford. Coming home didn’t have to be a backward step. Becoming a police woman, and her in possession of a law degree from one of the most prestigious institutions in the world, was not a backward step. She couldn’t face a life of corporate law. Contracts, business and finance agreements in the city were not for her, no matter what it paid. Sometimes though, she did wonder how things would have turned out if she had taken that route.
She threw open the double doors onto the balcony in hope, if nothing else, that the rain would stay away, and maybe the sky would clear and the three of them could watch the sun going down. Ditching the black suit on her bed, she made a quick change into a royal blue vest, denim shorts and a pair of flip flops. May as well get into a holiday frame of mind. She placed four bottles of wine into the fridge: two sparkling rosé and two Chardonnay. Several cans of lager remained from their last girl’s night four months ago. She didn’t drink much beer. Half a dozen cheeses, bought from M&S, she placed on a chopping board and set them aside to come to room temperature. She opened a packet of mixed crackers and laid them on a plate. From two carrier bags, she removed a selection of spicy finger-food: onion bhajees, samosas, butterfly prawns with sweet chilli sauce, chicken goujons, mini pizzas, salami, pepperoni, tortilla chips, sour cream, salsa and breadsticks. She always bought too much for them to eat. The food that required heating she placed on baking trays, ready to pop in the oven when the girls arrived. She realised that Kate would probably double up on the food she’d just bought and top it off with ice cream and Pavlova. Aisling, of course, would add considerably to the wine in the fridge. The three of them always went overboard. Always had. Finally, before going for a shower, she did a quick browse on her iPod, set it to shuffle songs and placed it in the dock. Take That and Shine killed the silence, purging her living room of its emptiness as she headed to the bathroom.
Tara was surprised, when she opened her door to Kate, to see the orange hair still present. Usually, Kate wouldn’t let something quite so loud continue for more than a couple of days. It was all the more striking against the blue nurses’ uniform.
‘I came straight from work,’ she said, a Bag for Life in each hand. ‘Thought I could change here before Aisling sees me. You know what she’s like about depressing clothes.’
‘I wouldn’t worry. Look at the
Home for Tara was a top floor apartment on the South Quay of Wapping Dock, in the re-developed Mersey docklands. A fashionable, historic block of brown bricks, it at least provided a view across the river. The apartment had cost her, but it was her one indulgence since leaving Oxford, her one treat paid for by her life as a Detective Inspector. With a recent decline in property values, however, she found herself in negative equity. Just as well she wasn’t planning to move out in the near future. Each of the river-facing apartments had a small balcony, designed optimistically to enjoy pleasant summer days spent watching the ships sliding to and from the docks in Birkenhead and the crowds milling to and from The Echo Arena. In three years of living there, Tara reckoned she’d spent no more than half a dozen balmy days gazing from her open window, sipping a Zinfandel and reading Sophie Kinsella. Apart from the noise of city traffic it was peaceful here. She couldn’t argue with that, although, relaxing on her sofa in front of her forty-two inch flat screen, she could be anywhere in the world. Across the river from where she was raised and yet she remained within touching distance of her mother, father and two older brothers. Whenever she decided to come back to Merseyside after Oxford she’d told herself that it would be different. Nothing wrong with Liverpool, and she would defend it to the hilt, but her life had moved on when she made it to Oxford. Coming home didn’t have to be a backward step. Becoming a police woman, and her in possession of a law degree from one of the most prestigious institutions in the world, was not a backward step. She couldn’t face a life of corporate law. Contracts, business and finance agreements in the city were not for her, no matter what it paid. Sometimes though, she did wonder how things would have turned out if she had taken that route.
She threw open the double doors onto the balcony in hope, if nothing else, that the rain would stay away, and maybe the sky would clear and the three of them could watch the sun going down. Ditching the black suit on her bed, she made a quick change into a royal blue vest, denim shorts and a pair of flip flops. May as well get into a holiday frame of mind. She placed four bottles of wine into the fridge: two sparkling rosé and two Chardonnay. Several cans of lager remained from their last girl’s night four months ago. She didn’t drink much beer. Half a dozen cheeses, bought from M&S, she placed on a chopping board and set them aside to come to room temperature. She opened a packet of mixed crackers and laid them on a plate. From two carrier bags, she removed a selection of spicy finger-food: onion bhajees, samosas, butterfly prawns with sweet chilli sauce, chicken goujons, mini pizzas, salami, pepperoni, tortilla chips, sour cream, salsa and breadsticks. She always bought too much for them to eat. The food that required heating she placed on baking trays, ready to pop in the oven when the girls arrived. She realised that Kate would probably double up on the food she’d just bought and top it off with ice cream and Pavlova. Aisling, of course, would add considerably to the wine in the fridge. The three of them always went overboard. Always had. Finally, before going for a shower, she did a quick browse on her iPod, set it to shuffle songs and placed it in the dock. Take That and Shine killed the silence, purging her living room of its emptiness as she headed to the bathroom.
Tara was surprised, when she opened her door to Kate, to see the orange hair still present. Usually, Kate wouldn’t let something quite so loud continue for more than a couple of days. It was all the more striking against the blue nurses’ uniform.
‘I came straight from work,’ she said, a Bag for Life in each hand. ‘Thought I could change here before Aisling sees me. You know what she’s like about depressing clothes.’
‘I wouldn’t worry. Look at the
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