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I never get used to it, no matter how much I fly. That rush of speed, lift then the sickening, stalling drop as the engines quieten mid-ascent and it takes everything I have to calm my fears. To stay in control. I must be in control. I grip the arm rests, blood turned to ice.
I'm on the plane back from Alicante. First time in four years. The best counterfeit passport money can buy nestled in my pocket, as much cash as I dare carry, no traceable phone, no cards, no hold luggage; quick, easy, simple, inconspicuous. The less time the better, hanging around the airport gathering attention, suspicion like cloying Manchester drizzle clinging to every surface it touches.
I'd forgotten how much I detested the weather here, how do people stand it? There are only two weathers in Manchester, raining or about to rain. In Spain the storms are short and spectacular. Over with. Here the damp never ceases. It seeps into your bones like a mithering wife, never relenting, never letting anything go.
Returning to the city of my birth, it all rushes back to me. I was 7 the first time my world imploded. I never knew my dad so it was only ever me and mum. Our own tiny world, we had love but barely enough money for us both to eat. I seemed always to be wanting, looking at what my friends had with envious eyes. Mum's constant refrain, 'I want doesn't get'. She did her best but with spending her time looking after me, she only had so many hours in a day so she went out cleaning offices at night, leaving me with a neighbour. It was a Thursday when everything changed, never to be the same. It started much as usual, she picked me up from school, we had our tea, she made sure I'd had a bath and kissed me on the top of my head as I fell into bed at Ann's house next door then out she headed for her shift. By the time I woke, the police were at the door talking in hushed tones to Ann.
'Do know Celia Falconer?', the tall one said.
'When did she last see her?', his partner chipped in.
'Can you sit down, we have something to tell you?', her lip started trembling.
They never did fathom what happened that night. All I ever knew for sure was I never saw my mum again. All softness left my life that day. My Gran came to collect me but she was barely holding it together. And we just kept going, none of your child centred parenting, grief counselling stuff and nonsense. This was the 80s, 'Younger than you, I went through the Blitz', 'What's one life compared to a world at war?' Yet her grief seemed to leave no room for anything else, so I was left feeling unlovable and unloved.
I watched many folk my age slip to the bad in our area, once respectable, now littered with HMOs, young struggling families and the elderly too late to move. I could so easily have fallen then, drink, drugs, gangs; but I had one plan, to leave. I worked hard securing GCSEs, on to college, A Levels then a suggestion of my social studies teacher, Police College. Structure, discipline, a way to be useful, help protect the innocent, to have power.
The first day of Police College there she was. One glance into those green eyes and it was like getting struck by lightening. Tiny, barely 5' tall and somewhere in a distant memory, I thought of Boticelli. The Birth of Venus, if Venus stole from the waves in shiny, black, steel-toed boots instead of a scallop shell. She always was more earth than water though. So calm, grounded, permeated with a protective strength and kindness. I knew I wanted her. Knew I would do anything it took to get her, and keep her.
I wooed her with all of the fierce intensity i could muster. Those first weeks were like an enchantment she and I wove with our voices, our lips, our bodies. A spell that finally, finally left me feeling sated. No longer a hungry ghost searching for scraps of love. Loved. Beloved. Her love filled every corner of me.
My grant flowed through my fingers like sand. Whatever I had, I spent then tried to sort out the consequences later. Why tarnish todays happiness with dour thoughts of tomorrow? Not having enough money to me means you have a choice; either become a tired, old-before-your-time, coupon-clipping, budget-writing, penny-pinching miser or learn awful fast how to blag, borrow, paper convincingly over the cracks and make damn sure no one ever finds out.
We'd been dating seriously for 3 years when we finally graduated and found out our first postings, Greater Manchester Police, Weatherfield Division. Both of our first choice. I'd been slowly sinking under the weight of overdrafts and high interest loans so the prospect of a regular income left me feeling almost giddy with relief.
I don't know when it started, slowly, incrementally, the tide turned and ebbed and the love she gave, the love we made was no longer able to make up for my self doubt and that gaping chasm of want at my core. No longer could I rely on my love keeping her close; years together, working the beat together and she goes and betrays me, takes her detective exams. I wish to God I could be the kind of partner who took joy in her promotion but all I could feel was her slipping away, leaving me behind.
So it began, if I didn't feel worthy of her love, if she couldnt build me up, I could sure bring her down. Like a thousand cuts, I let her know her outfits weren't as flattering as they used to be, I questioned what state she'd be in if she let her guard down and had too many, I sewed doubt in her friendships, picked fights then shut her out, stormed off; collapsed her world and built it anew with only me at the centre, walls high and fortified.
Then to truly weave the ties that bind, our daughter, Betsy. A piece of Lisa, born from my body, my blood. An everlasting bond between us, my ally, me and my girl against the world. Lisa wasn't a natural parent, took months to convince but once Bets was here, there was nothing she wouldn't do to protect our tiny, blonde bundle of chaos. How many times was i told how lucky I was to have a whole year to bond with our girl? But after the heart-swelling delight of the first few months, the tedium of endless feeds, changes, one-sided conversation became overwhelming. Lisa took her turns of nighttime feeds and walks in the park but her main focus was passing her Sergeants exams, providing her own brand of grounded, loyal, down-to-earth, boring security. I felt like I was drowning, falling further and further behind.
Trapped as a PC, I bided my time. I watched and waited. When the opportunity finally arose it came quietly and unexpectedly. We'd been called in by CID to bring in several small fry members of the Curtis gang, one of their boys strenuously objected getting arrested and came off a little the worse for wear and I was given the inenviable task of babysitting him at A&E. During the wait he began chatting, I dont know what about me suggested I may be open to offers, the way my Sergeant had talked to me? His casual misogyny? Whatever it was, Curtis' man let me know.a desl.was on the cards. Information. Nothing more. Letting them know when raids were planned, where attention was focused- after all uncertainty affected business and information was power, and valuable. It was so simple, a text on a burner phone here, a brown envelope there, and suddenly I could breathe again, indulge, treat.
As a copper, once you're compromised, that's you. There's no going back. You have to keep moving, one step ahead and I did the only thing I could, I waded deeper and deeper until I found I had no stable ground left on any side.
I knew it was getting too hot, I didn't know that this was the last operation I was ever going to be involved with. Word had come to CID that Curtis' OCG were moving a mighty stash of drugs and cash, estimated value of £20 million. Information had been fed to them that a rival gang was onto them and planning a raid of their own. Flush them and their ill-gottrn gains out into the open. Lisa's plan. Last minute. No time to communicate. Dangerous. High risk on both sides. We fought that night, I told her she'd bitten off more than any of us could chew, her ego had got the better of her, that she was risking more than her credibility. She'd have none of it.
By that time my plan had formed, I needed out and this was my perfect opportunity. A new life, security, wealth. The goods were getting moved by car, she knew the route, she knew the vulnerabilities. One chance and she took it. I didn't like to think too closely about the lives of those caught in the crossfire, collateral damage. Criminals. Less than. All I needed was one colleague, someone to help me disappear. Once and for all. Dead.
The thought of leaving Bets and Lisa was crushing. The thought of spending my days at His Majesty's pleasure, a copper in jail despised by all, was worse. So I recruited DI Costello, he's the only one cold blooded enough that I'd trust him to do what needed to be done. And so it was that 4 years ago I left Manchester for warmer climes.
After all these years of commendations, extra shifts, and rising through the ranks, it was Lisa's turn to feel left behind, abandoned. And so it was that I found myself driving to Southern Spain, with a freedom I hadn't felt in years. I kept up with Lisa and Bets, checking their socials almost daily. I came to rely on the sadness I saw in Lisa's eyes, sometimes surface-raw, sometimes deeper and more profound. It felt like a strange sort of victory. Confirmation that I was loved, missed, needed. Never forgotten, never replaced.
Then, about a year ago, everything changed, Lisa's socials stopped updating then a riot of new places, people, and one standing out from them all. A stunning brunette. The photos made her intentions it so blatantly clear but Lisa, being Lisa, seemed blissfully oblivious - until she wasn't. Until smiles widened, surruptitious touches, fingers interlaced, arms wrapped around shoulders, and lips gently touched. My anger became all consuming, I could no longer rely on Lisa's grief or Betsy's anger to keep them locked away, suspended in time. I could no longer pretend they were waiting for me, held in amber. When I saw a new house, rings exchanged while Lisa wore the dress uniform she'd had on at my funeral, I knew I had to act.
I knew it was time to come home and claim what was rightfully mine.