Against the Clock

always temptation put in the way. She hoped Lillian wasn’t going to be a temptation for Harry.
Everything was changing. Alex’s colleagues. Her life. Her body. She just hoped that change wouldn’t touch her husband. She wanted him just the same as he was. Life changed, she knew that, but it was changing at a pace she couldn’t keep up with.
She grabbed a jacket that was warm but wouldn’t look like a tent on her. She looked at the small table in the hall, expecting to see her car keys there, then remembered Harry had taken them.
He had gone to pick up Lillian. They were carpooling today. ‘It’s on the way,’ he had said after giving her a call. Not just on the way but round the fucking corner. What were the chances of the Irish cow living round the corner from them? She had been stationed at Gayfield station before transferring down here.
Alex had met her once. ‘I lucked out getting seconded to MIT at Fettes,’ Lillian had said.
That was an understatement. Fettes was Harry and Alex’s station, just round the corner from where they lived.
Alex could feel tears burning her eyes. It wasn’t fair. She was carrying Harry’s child, and now he was out fucking about with some Irish bint who was younger than her. Better looking. Better smile. Fitter. Bigger tits. But not a bigger belly. Oh no, Alex was well ahead in that one. Lillian wasn’t fucking pregnant. Yet.
Alex grabbed her house keys and opened the front door, just as their neighbour across the landing, Mia, was coming up the final flight of stairs with two bags of shopping.
‘Hello, Alex,’ Mia said, smiling. ‘Going out? Well, duh, of course you’re going out. What gave it away, eh? Stupid cow that I am.’
Alex looked at her friend and neighbour and didn’t know what to say. So she just started crying instead.
‘Oh, come on, love, come in for a cuppa,’ Mia said as she put her grocery bags down.
Alex nodded and pulled her own door closed behind her. Mia unlocked her front door and Sylvester, her cat, came running out and rubbed himself round Alex’s legs. Then he scooted back inside, sensing there might be a treat for him, but not if he stood here arsing about.
Mia picked up her bags and the two women went inside.

Three
DS Lillian O’Shea was waiting at the bottom of her street for Harry. Comely Bank Row was literally round the corner from Harry’s flat in Comely Bank Terrace. She was dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket. The red hair stuck out, if not quite like a fire engine then certainly in the region of a Lothian bus. Harry wondered if it was natural or out of a bottle. Surely somebody wouldn’t dye their hair that colour on purpose?
‘Morning, sir,’ Lillian said, getting into the passenger side.
‘Morning, Lillian,’ he said. ‘Nice day for a drive down to the beach.’ He full-named her, not wanting to call her by the shortened version she had told him to use if he wanted. Lil. He didn’t like that. It made her sound like she was trying to come up with her rapper name and could only think of half. Lil what? Lil Irish Girl? Lil Big Mouth? Lillian he was comfortable with; Lil was crossing the line. For him anyway. DI Ronnie Vallance seemed to have no problem with it.
‘It would be a nice trip to the beach if there wasn’t a dead girl on it,’ she said, her Irish lilt heavy and pronounced.
‘Aye. Doesn’t do much to promote the area right enough.’ He pulled away from the kerb.
‘Was she washed up on the shore?’ Lillian asked as he headed through Stockbridge’s Raeburn Place.
‘Not as far as they can tell. She was up from the shoreline.’ And then he started playing ‘Stranger on the Shore’ by Acker Bilk in his head again. Christ, it would be there all day now. Should he put the radio on, try to get another tune in his head, or just ride it out, hoping it would fade?
Where the hell had he heard Acker Bilk anyway? Maybe Alex had had the radio on or something, tuned into some obscure station. She’d been doing weird things recently and listening to Acker Bilk was probably one of them. Not that Acker Bilk was weird, but Alex listening to his music definitely was.
‘“Bird of Paradise” by Snowy White,’ he said.
‘What’s that, sir?’ Lillian asked.
He realised he’d spoken out loud. ‘You ever heard of it? The song, “Bird of Paradise”?’
‘Can’t say that I have.’
‘I’ve got it stuck in my head,’ he lied, wishing it was stuck there. The sax was still playing in his head. Damn you, Acker.
They headed through the New Town, along London Road, heading east.
‘How you liking MIT?’ Harry asked her, after they’d had a quick debate on Genesis: Peter Gabriel or Phil Collins? Lillian had earlier admitted to listening to 80s music and Genesis was up there on one of her Spotify playlists. Phil Collins, she’d said, and told him not to get her started on Marillion and Fish.
‘I love it. It’s what I’ve been heading for.’
MIT Harry realised, not Genesis.
‘Jeni Bridge highly recommended you,’ he said.
‘Did she? That’s fantastic. She’s a great leader.’
Harry noticed Lillian’s face had turned red. Not quite the same shade as her hair but not a dodgem car’s ride away from it either.
‘Second week in MIT and we get a shout for a body on the beach. This is your big chance to shine. It’s not always like this.’
‘I’ll grab it by the balls,’ she said, then slapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Christ, sorry, sir. I meant I’d grab the opportunity by…’ She was lost for a second. ‘By the armpit.’
She groaned and her face turned up the heat. Harry reckoned they could have started a campfire with it if they’d been camping.
‘Well, whatever part of its anatomy you’re going to grab, this opportunity has fallen into your lap. You’re an experienced