Chapter 36
Donna can’t believe she is already in bed at nine forty-five. She had gone on the date because, frankly, it was about time. A man called Gregor had taken her to Zizzi’s, where he had nibbled at a salad and talked her through his protein shake regimen for ninety minutes.
At one point Donna had asked him who his favorite author was.
For her an acceptable answer would be Harlan Coben, Kurt Vonnegut, or any woman.
Gregor had sagely replied that he “didn’t believe in books,” and that “you only learn in this life through having experiences, and keeping your mind open.” When she then raised the thorny philosophical dilemma of whether you could both keep your mind open and not believe in books he had replied, “Well, I think you rather prove my point there, Diana,” and sipped his water in a manner that suggested great wisdom.
Close to tears through boredom, Donna had wondered where Carl was this evening.
She has recently taken to scrolling through the Instagram feed of her ex-boyfriend, and the Instagram feed of his new girlfriend, who appeared to be called Toyota.
It has become such a habit now, she will sort of miss it when Carl and Toyota split up.
Which they will, because Carl is an idiot, and he’s not going to keep hold of a girlfriend with eyebrows that great.
Does Donna still love Carl? No. Did she ever, if she’s being honest?
Probably not, now that she’s had time to think about it.
Does she still feel belittled by his rejection?
Yes, that’s showing no signs of going away.
It’s sitting like a stone just under her heart.
She had arrested a shoplifter in Fairhaven last week, and when he had struggled, she had brought him down with a baton behind the knees.
She was aware she had hit him much harder than she should. Sometimes you just had to hit things.
Was it a mistake to get as far away from Carl as she could?
To transfer to Fairhaven in a frightened huff?
Of course it was a mistake. It was stupid.
Donna has always been headstrong, always acted quickly and decisively.
Which is a fine quality when you are right, but a liability when you are wrong.
It’s great to be the fastest runner, but not when you’re running in the wrong direction.
Meeting the Thursday Murder Club was the first good thing that had happened to Donna in a long time. That, and Tony Curran being murdered.
Donna had taken a photo of herself and Gregor just after he’d finished his superfood salad.
She posted it to Instagram with the caption “This is what you get when you date a personal trainer!” and added not one but two wink emojis.
The only thing men were ever jealous of was good looks, and Carl wouldn’t know that Donna had spent much of the evening surveying the dinner table, idly wondering how she would murder Gregor if she absolutely had to.
She had settled on injecting a dough ball with cyanide.
Although she later realized that there was no way she could have got Gregor to eat a carb.
Talking of Gregor, she hears the toilet flush.
She slips her clothes back on, and, as he comes out of the bathroom, she gives him a peck on the cheek.
There is no way she’s staying overnight in the room of a twenty-eight-year-old man who has two posters on his bedroom wall, one of the Dalai Lama and one of a Ferrari.
It is still not ten p.m., and she wonders if she is allowed to text Chris Hudson and see if he fancies a quick drink.
Have a little chat about Elizabeth’s file, the bits of it that she had understood.
Also, she has finally just watched Narcos on Netflix and wants to discuss it with someone.
Gregor had not seen it. Gregor didn’t watch television, due to a long reason that Donna had quickly lost interest in.
Maybe she should just head home and ring Elizabeth instead, talk through what she read in the folder. Would ten o’clock be too late? Who knew with that lot? They had lunch at eleven thirty.
So, it’s either Chris, her boss, or Elizabeth, her . . . well, what exactly is Elizabeth? The word that comes to Donna’s mind first is friend, but surely that isn’t right.