Chapter Text
Generally, Caroline enjoyed the half hour trip from Huddersfield to Hebden. The time alone allowed her to ruminate without the constant questioning of either a bright seven-year-old or a forensically inquisitive pensioner. For much of the route the road ran parallel with the canal, offering glimpses of a slower pace of travel. The Calder Valley looked glorious in fine weather and today was bright, the verdant scenery unfolding before her underlining why Gillian fought so hard to hold onto the farm. Caroline mused that solace could be found walking on high moors on such a day. Particularly with a deaf, aged sheep dog as your only companion. A far cry from the noisy clatter of students in corridors and the usual bustle of the school day.
About two miles past Sowerby Bridge, Caroline’s car karaoke with Robert Smith and the Cure was rudely interrupted. “Pictures of You” was silenced and the shrill tone of her phone cut in, Raff’s profile filled the screen and she hit receive on her handsfree.
“Caz, thank God!”
“Raff, what’s happened?” Immediately Caroline’s mind raced to Flora, who was supposed to be at Celia and Alan’s with Calamity.
“Me mam—she’s been arrested.”
Caroline’s stomach clenched further, pictures of Eddie bleeding out in the barn flashed before her.
“Wha—what happened, where is she?”
“Norland Road nick. It were Cheryl, t’sheep got out again and her and me mam got into it, it got heated, words were ‘ad and me mam swung fer ‘er.”
“Christ on a bike!” Caroline only slightly less anxious replied “Ok, I’m not far out of Sowerby. I’ll head down to Norland and see what’s what.”
Hanging up, Caroline then dialled Celia’s number. She knew that less said would be better, Celia and Gillian had been circling like junkyard dogs since the row at the birthday tea. She could only imagine what her mother would have to say about this latest development in the continuing drama that was Gillian.
“Mum, it’s me. Listen, I’m running a bit behind, can you feed the girls? Yes, Yes, I know, I’m sorry, I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
Caroline turned the Jag around and headed back to Sowerby Bridge. Careful to remember the locations of the fiendishly positioned speed cameras, she put her pedal to the metal as hard as she dared.
Finally, she pulled up outside Norland Road Police station. Thankfully, there was a free spot at the curbside negating the need for protracted maneuvering of the Jag into small spaces. Grabbing her coat and purse from the backseat, she made for the entrance with a purposeful stride. When dealing with figures of authority, Caroline had learned to look the part; going full-on head teacher in her demeanour was merited in such occasions, either disarming or engaging those who would challenge her.
With a whoosh, the automatic doors parted and she was relieved to note that the reception was almost empty. In one corner a bored youth sat picking his spots, jiggling a knee up and down nervously as he stared at the floor. On the far side of the room, decidedly distanced from said youth a bobble-hatted pensioner sat shoulders hunched over herself defensively, replete with the accouterments befitting her station: walking stick, medical stockings, and a tartan-wheeled shopping trolley (were they even still a thing?).
The desk clerk, a middle aged, chunky dark-haired woman looked up. “Thank Christ! What took you so long?”
Caroline was taken aback at the overfamiliarity. Wrong-footed, she stammered, “I was just outside town when I got the call, I came straight here.”
“Yeah well, yer here now, c’mon through.” The clerk pressed a button and the steel-reinforced door to the side of the desk window buzzed and swung open. The clerk hovered just inside the threshold.
Nonplussed but eager to see Gillian, Caroline entered.
The clerk set off at a pace down the corridor marked “Custody,” with Caroline scurrying to keep up as well as her Jimmy Choos would allow. “You scrub up well, must say. What’s with the duds? Is that coat cashmere? Finally decided to get yerself out there and swipe right?”
Before Caroline could answer, the clerk carried on: “Anyway, right old to-do with PC Elsewhere and Robbie Greenwood’s ex missus up at Far Slack. Rampaging sheep loose around Hebden, causing mayhem and our Cheryl of course in her element dashing up there like Wyatt Friggin’ Earp. Apparently, Greenwood laid her out, I mean Lord knows she probably deserved it and we’ve all wanted to at one time or another but assault of a police officer and all that. Yon Cheryl never did take kindly to being passed over by Robbie—not that he were catch of the year, but hey. Anyway, right gobby his ex-missus, yelling about abuse of power, police harassment. Perhaps you can talk reason to her.” With that, they stopped outside a cell door marked F3.
The clerk brandished a large bunch of keys before unlocking the door and shoving Caroline inside. Beating a hasty retreat back up the corridor, the clerk was gone in an instant. Dazed, Caroline took in the dark cell and the figure lain on the bed.
“Hiya, Caz.” Gillian’s scowl transformed into a shy smirk as she greeted her stepsister.
Before Caroline could respond, she became aware of a thundering of footsteps as someone ran down the corridor outside. Suddenly the doorframe was filled with an imposing figure in bright yellow, baton deployed, no-nonsense stance, the now ashen-faced clerk hovering behind them.
“Who the hell are you?" the figure demanded
Rooted to the spot despite the question yelled by the officer before her, Caroline was immediately stuck dumb: For she was looking at her uniformed twin.