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“D’you fancy going out for a drink after work?” Ann asks, and it’s weird, and probably inappropriate, especially because she’s leaning on the desk that used to belong to John “last person to ask her out” Wadsworth, but she still really does want to become a detective someday and she’s never spoken to any of the others.
Plus they’ve sort of bonded, her and Jodie, since what Ann internally refers to as the John Incident with a capital ‘I’. Only over the occasional cigarette outside, admittedly, while H-MIT are still around, but from what others have said about Jodie Shackleton, that practically makes them best mates.
She’s glad she asked, though, because Jodie looks at her with a sort of pleasant surprise that suggests people don’t tend to ask her out. It switches to a smirk, though, which is what Ann’s more familiar with.
“Careful, kid. People are gonna talk,” She says, which makes Ann roll her eyes, because whatshisface at the desk behind is obviously listening in.
“Is that a yes?”
Jodie thinks about it for a second and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Don’t go spreading it around, mind, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
Ann doesn’t tell anyone, so of course most people know - and for some reason care - by the time she gets to have a break for lunch. Shaf won’t stop asking her about it, about why she’s going out with DI Shackleton instead of them, Joyce gives her a funny look every time she sees her, and she’s almost positive that Catherine is sulking.
She’s practically proven right when they’re in the car later and Catherine questions her choice in drinking companions.
“I’m just saying, first John Wadsworth, now Jodie flamin’ Shackleton. You don’t half know how to pick them.”
“At least she’s not a murderer.” Catherine gives a sharp laugh, and Ann frowns. “What?”
“Well it wouldn’t surprise me, that’s all.”
“Catherine!”
“What? You’ve met her.”
“Yeah, and I happen to quite like her, actually.” Ann folds her arms across her chest and slumps down in her seat. “She’s really nice to talk to, and she thinks I’d make a brilliant detective, and anyway - you only don’t like her because she questioned you about Lynn Dewhurst.”
Catherine grunts, turns her attention back to the road. After a moment she glances at Ann out of the corner of her eye. “Just a drink, is it?”
“Thought it’d be a good chance to properly get into her head as such. Why?”
“ I happen to quite like her, actually, you said, all defensive,” Catherine says in what is, quite frankly, a horrendous imitation of Ann’s voice. “Might start to think you want to get into more than her head.”
“Oh my god , Catherine,” Ann groans, and covers her face with her hat.
“That’s Sarge to you; we’re working.” Catherine looks altogether too pleased with herself as they finally pull up outside the station, and a hand on Ann’s arm is all that stops her from jumping out of the car as soon as it stops. “Anyway. You know I’m not interested in people’s personal lives,” Ann snorts, because she seems awfully interested in hers today. “I’m not! But I’m just saying, if you were interested in her, well, like that . She might be up for it, is all.”
Ann’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really? She’s-?”
“Well, don’t quote me on it. But you know how much that lot like to talk.”
“Right.” Ann nods, sits for a moment, then jumps when Catherine clears her throat. “Right! Not that it matters. It’s just a drink.”
As it turns out, it’s a few drinks. And a lot of talking, about work, about some of the more ridiculous things they’ve seen; Jodie wins, of course, she’s been there longer, and Ann’s had just enough to drink that she starts giggling when Jodie tells her about the time some clever twat decided to shut a piglet in a postbox before evening collection because “there were nothing on telly”.
“Was it alright? The pig?” She asks as they head outside the pub, accepting a cigarette from the older woman and ducking around the side of the building.
“Completely fine, considering. Well.” Jodie pauses in her attempt to find her lighter. “Covered in its own shit, the poor bugger, which meant some fun with the postman a bit later. No one could work out where he came from so he turned into a bit of a police mascot.”
Ann blinks, and she can’t quite work out if Jodie’s having her on, so asks her as much.
“Ever been up Leeds nick?” When Ann shakes her head, Jodie smirks. “You should. Loves a fuss, that pig.”
“You’re definitely having me on.”
“I’m not! Hang on.” Jodie gives up on actually lighting her cigarette for a minute, instead pops it between her lips and digs her phone out of her pocket to scroll through photos, presumably to look for proof of this pig that Ann still isn’t a hundred percent certain even exists. She busies herself with lighting her own cigarette while she waits, then takes pity on the other woman and lights hers while she’s at it.
“Cheers,” she mutters, then, a moment later, “ah!” and holds up her phone.
It’s a screenshot from a local news site. “PC Pat Bacon Joins Leeds Police?” Ann reads aloud, snatching the phone to get a proper look. “Reportedly found by Detective Inspector Jodie Shackleton - you’re having a laugh.”
“Told you.”
“Hang on,” Ann says after a while, breaking the silence that fell while she finished reading. “You’re H-MIT, why were you called for a pig stuck in a post box?”
“I wasn’t. It was near where I used to live, I was just trying to post my dad’s birthday card.”