The Face (Harry Tyler Book 1) by Garry Bushell Read Free Book Online Page B

work,
as
usual. Kara got upset and stormed into the garden. If her husband had seen her crying he hadn’t let it disturb his conversation. Sometimes she felt the phone was some sort of evolutionary growth from his ear. Once, soon after they had married, Harry had actually stopped halfway through making love to her to take a call from work and then sauntered back to bed five minutes later expecting to carry on. “A case of ‘coppers interruptus’,” he’d called it, as if a cheap joke made it all OK.
    After a couple of minutes, Kara came back in and said, “I’m off to Cambridge to do some shopping, do you want to come?” Harry shook his head and carried on talking. He blew her a kiss but it hit the wallpaper. Kara had already gone.
     
     
    It was 6.30 pm when she finally got home to find Harry watching an episode of
The Sopranos
(the third in a row) on video. Kara had collected Courtney Rose from her parents, which pleased him no end. He’d hardly seen his daughter since her third birthday three months before. She was the image of her mum. Courtney’s golden curls and cherubic face made her look like a refugee from a Pears soap advert. Kara loved to dress her in real girlie clothes. She wouldn’t grow up a tomboy. No football boots would ever grace these dainty feet. Harry disapproved of women playing football. And boxing, smoking, wearing trousers, driving and drinking from pint glasses. He wasn’t too convinced about them voting, come to that. According to him the only reason a woman put on a soccer strip was to get their old man’s attention when the football season was on.
    Harry played with Courtney until her 8 pm bedtime. He even feigned interest in
The Tweenies
. Kara slipped out for a take-away curry. He’d asked for a vindaloo, but she bought him a rogan josh, saying, “I’m not having you stinking the house out tomorrow”. It had pissed him off but he’d bitten his tongue and spiced it up with HP Chilli sauce when she wasn’t looking. Two cans of supermarket lager and a large brandy later and Harry was ready for his bed. He slept well that night.
    Unusually for Harry, he’d taken two days out of work. Kara was delighted. What she didn’t know was his DO had ordered him to clear some of the time-off he had built up. He hadn’t actually wanted to take any leave whatsoever, but he played the situation to his advantage of course. Harry even left his mobile at home to keep Kara sweet and ensure another bunk-up later on. She had rustled up a picnic for them that he pronounced “pukka!” The sun had even come through for them, blazing away as if it were auditioning for a Cornflakes packet.
    They headed for Mildenhall and found a spot on the heath. Harry took a bite on a turkey leg and watched a US transporter climb up into the picturebook sky. This he could suffer. After lunch – he called it dinner – they cuddled up on the grass, dad, mum and daughter. It was idyllic. And then Kara made her move.
    “Harry, will you ever give up undercover work?”
    “Not for a while, darling. Why?”
    “We never see you any more.”
    Harry stiffened. “Don’t spoil it!” he snapped. “Why do you have to fucking spoil things?”
    “Because it’s true. You’re always away working. I never know where you are, what you’re doing, when you’re coming home. You’ve got a lovely daughter here. She needs her dad. I need her dad.”
    Harry’s mental drawbridge shot up. Oblivious to the growing drama, little Courtney was playing feed the dolly a chicken wing. Kara, with right on her side, took Harry’s silence as tacit agreement. “When are we going to get away like other families do?” she asked.
    Here it comes, he thought, bang on cue.
    “When are we going to have a decent holiday?” Harry had spent much of his undercover work tripping around the nightspots of Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Madrid, Malaga, Geneva and Munich. Europe was his playground. Kara wasn’t envious of it, but she hated them being