felt there was no harm in getting a little Christmas shopping
done before she spent the rest of the day typing up reports and filling in
forms. Unless Sobers came up with a major breakthrough they weren’t going to
find the killer.
Walking into the pedestrian
precinct which formed the newly built Magnolia Centre, she noted the brass
plaque commemorating its opening by Angela Rippon. That woman at least had made
something of her career thought Jane. Rippon had broken through the old boys’
network at the Beeb to become Britain’s first female news presenter – a
position previously only thought serious enough to be entrusted to fusty old
men who might have sufficient gravitas to announce a Soviet invasion of Western
Europe. Although to be fair, her mum had always had a soft spot for Kenneth
Kendall and she had to admit there was something about a man who took care of
his appearance and knew how to enunciate. Sobers certainly had that style.
She glanced in the display
windows of Waltons. One of the mannequins had been togged out in an unseasonal
blazer and Panama hat. She tried to imagine it on Tim and failed. It would only
make him look like one of those old farts reliving the War over pink gins in
every bungalow from here to Honiton. Tim would always be a jeans and T-shirt
man and she loved him for that, even if she wished he owned a dozen fewer ones
emblazoned with his heavy metal heroes.
She wondered if Detective
Sergeant would be the pinnacle of her career in the police. Would the glass
ceiling mean she was always the sidekick, Watson to Sobers’ Sherlock? Captain
Hastings to his Hercule Poirot? At least those guys would have been able to
solve their case…
Was it worth spending so long
trying to work twice as hard as the boys in order to impress upon anyone who
might notice that she was D.I. material? The children had Tim to look after
them, yet didn’t they need to see more of their mum too? She knew she couldn’t
have done it without Tim. One of her friends from Hendon must be in the running
for Superwoman as she had managed to juggle: a career husband, three kids and
the rank of Detective Inspector; however that had never been an option they’d
seriously considered. In fact Tim had been all too eager to quit his job in
Sales once she had spoken to him about wanting kids. The loss of a company car
and their annual holiday in Brittany had been sacrifices they hadn’t found too
arduous and as he’d never been that ruthless at pursuing commissions, the added
family benefits they’d qualified for had eased their financial worries.
Maybe she was just suffering from
the Monday Morning Blues? She tried to put her dark mood aside as she briskly
crossed the wide pedestrianized area separating the twin flanks of ground floor
retail shops and first floor office buildings channelling her journey. With the
arrival of chains like Boots and W.H.Smiths she was pleased to note that
Exmouth was beginning to catch up with shopping centres across the South-West.
Only the older building of Walton’s department store at one end of the precinct
predated the 80s and apart from a bookseller and coffee shop, most of the
businesses were the ones you could find anywhere from Land’s End to Liverpool.
At least there weren’t too many
places to search for the video which Leo wanted for Christmas. And if Tim’s
stockbroker brother hadn’t given them a video cassette recorder for their
anniversary, this certainly wouldn’t have been on any of their wants lists. At
least given Leo’s current obsession, there would be quite a wide choice of
presents to buy for him.
Throughout the spring Leo had
been pestering them to take him to the Doctor Who 20th Anniversary Exhibition
at Longleat. They’d eventually relented and taken him there as a birthday
treat, although given Tim’s addiction to all things Sci-Fi, she sometimes
wondered which of the men in her family had actually engineered the whole
thing. The queues had staggered
done before she spent the rest of the day typing up reports and filling in
forms. Unless Sobers came up with a major breakthrough they weren’t going to
find the killer.
Walking into the pedestrian
precinct which formed the newly built Magnolia Centre, she noted the brass
plaque commemorating its opening by Angela Rippon. That woman at least had made
something of her career thought Jane. Rippon had broken through the old boys’
network at the Beeb to become Britain’s first female news presenter – a
position previously only thought serious enough to be entrusted to fusty old
men who might have sufficient gravitas to announce a Soviet invasion of Western
Europe. Although to be fair, her mum had always had a soft spot for Kenneth
Kendall and she had to admit there was something about a man who took care of
his appearance and knew how to enunciate. Sobers certainly had that style.
She glanced in the display
windows of Waltons. One of the mannequins had been togged out in an unseasonal
blazer and Panama hat. She tried to imagine it on Tim and failed. It would only
make him look like one of those old farts reliving the War over pink gins in
every bungalow from here to Honiton. Tim would always be a jeans and T-shirt
man and she loved him for that, even if she wished he owned a dozen fewer ones
emblazoned with his heavy metal heroes.
She wondered if Detective
Sergeant would be the pinnacle of her career in the police. Would the glass
ceiling mean she was always the sidekick, Watson to Sobers’ Sherlock? Captain
Hastings to his Hercule Poirot? At least those guys would have been able to
solve their case…
Was it worth spending so long
trying to work twice as hard as the boys in order to impress upon anyone who
might notice that she was D.I. material? The children had Tim to look after
them, yet didn’t they need to see more of their mum too? She knew she couldn’t
have done it without Tim. One of her friends from Hendon must be in the running
for Superwoman as she had managed to juggle: a career husband, three kids and
the rank of Detective Inspector; however that had never been an option they’d
seriously considered. In fact Tim had been all too eager to quit his job in
Sales once she had spoken to him about wanting kids. The loss of a company car
and their annual holiday in Brittany had been sacrifices they hadn’t found too
arduous and as he’d never been that ruthless at pursuing commissions, the added
family benefits they’d qualified for had eased their financial worries.
Maybe she was just suffering from
the Monday Morning Blues? She tried to put her dark mood aside as she briskly
crossed the wide pedestrianized area separating the twin flanks of ground floor
retail shops and first floor office buildings channelling her journey. With the
arrival of chains like Boots and W.H.Smiths she was pleased to note that
Exmouth was beginning to catch up with shopping centres across the South-West.
Only the older building of Walton’s department store at one end of the precinct
predated the 80s and apart from a bookseller and coffee shop, most of the
businesses were the ones you could find anywhere from Land’s End to Liverpool.
At least there weren’t too many
places to search for the video which Leo wanted for Christmas. And if Tim’s
stockbroker brother hadn’t given them a video cassette recorder for their
anniversary, this certainly wouldn’t have been on any of their wants lists. At
least given Leo’s current obsession, there would be quite a wide choice of
presents to buy for him.
Throughout the spring Leo had
been pestering them to take him to the Doctor Who 20th Anniversary Exhibition
at Longleat. They’d eventually relented and taken him there as a birthday
treat, although given Tim’s addiction to all things Sci-Fi, she sometimes
wondered which of the men in her family had actually engineered the whole
thing. The queues had staggered
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