20
Caroline woke the next morning feeling like she’d been hit by a freight train. The dream came occasionally, but never as vividly as it had last night.
‘You okay?’ Mark asked when she got downstairs.
‘Yeah, you?’
‘I’m alright. You were thrashing around in your sleep again.’
‘Sorry. Curry and alcohol. Never a good combination for me.’
‘Made you an extra-strong coffee. You’ll be thrashing about again in no time.’
Caroline kissed her husband on the cheek and devoured the hot black liquid, not caring whether she burnt her mouth. In many ways, it would be welcome. Deserved, perhaps.
The fog had started to lift a little by the time she got to work, and she could almost have predicted that this sense of growing ease would be punctured by the arrival of Chief Superintendent Derek Arnold.
