Epilogue
Three months passed—three blissful months of Sloan piecing together Gloria's care team and Matty quietly beginning to job-hunt.
She still had Art, so she wasn’t desperate. But she wanted to start paying her way again.
Autumn was edging in—cooler days, biting air—and Matty skated through the centre of town towards a café. Outside tables sat mostly empty, everyone else choosing the warmth indoors, but Matty smiled when she spotted Gloria waiting on her scooter like she owned the whole square.
“You took ya time,” Gloria said, grinning. “I ordered a latte for you.”
“Thanks.” Matty rolled to a stop and dropped into the nearest chair. She bent, untied her skates, and slid her feet into her Vans with a little sigh of relief.
“Any luck?” Gloria asked.
“I put my CV in to a few places.”
“Something will come up.”
“I hope so.” Matty blew out a breath. “I don’t like living off Sloan. It’s not who I am.”
Gloria’s grin turned wicked. “It’s cheaper than when she had to pay you to check on me.”
“True.” Matty took a sip. “I need to up my rate for sexual favours.”
Gloria snorted so hard she nearly choked on her coffee.
They fell into an easy quiet, watching people drift past, carrying shopping bags, pushing prams, commuters cutting through the square—until Matty’s stomach dropped so fast it felt like she’d missed a step.
She turned sharply in her seat, coffee forgotten. “I think that’s her.”
“Who?” Gloria craned her neck. “What am I looking at?”
“Across the square. Outside the empty shop beside Come Again. Dark hair. Green top.”
Gloria scanned, then locked on. “Her, her?”
“Yes.” She fumbled her phone out of a pocket and hit the number she still hadn’t been able to delete. “DS Saint? It’s Matty… She’s here, in the square.”
She ended the call and shoved the phone back into her pocket just as Sloan appeared at the table, fresh from the office—hair tied back, suit perfect—the whole controlled package. She leaned in to kiss Matty, but Matty caught her by the wrist.
Sloan blinked. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“That woman,” Gloria said, nodding across the square, “from the flat. She’s over there.”
Sloan’s face changed in an instant. She turned, eyes narrowing. “Sarah?”
“Green top,” Gloria added.
As they watched, Sarah started walking away.
“Where’s she going?” Sloan said, half to herself. “We can’t let her get away.”
“And what do you suggest we do?” Matty asked, voice tight. “You’re on your lunch break. She’ll recognise me.”
“She won’t know me,” Gloria said brightly, and turned the key on her scooter.
“Oh, for fu—” Matty started, but Gloria was already moving.
“Mum!” Sloan called. “What are you doing?”
Gloria waved without looking back. “Call the police. I’m going after her.”
Sarah disappeared past the corner. Gloria was only a few yards behind her, and Sloan was almost jogging to catch up. In heels and a pencil skirt, it was genuinely ridiculous.
Matty stood, foot tapping hard against the pavement. Her phone rang and she snatched it up.
“I’m a few minutes out,” Saint said. “Is she still there?”
“No. She’s walked away. Gloria and Sloan are following her. I don’t know what to do.”
“Which direction?” another voice shouted in the background. Matty recognised it as DI Sophie Whitton.
“Towards the station.”
“Right. I’ll head that way. And Matty—do not engage with her,” Saint then warned.
Matty grabbed her skates off the ground. “It’s not me you have to worry about,” she said, already moving. “Gloria is heading her off.”
“Bloody hell. Granny on a scooter?” Saint said, and Whitton muttered a, “For fuck’s sake,” in the background.
Up ahead, Sloan stopped dead, kicked off her heels, scooping them up and taking off again.
By the time Matty reached the corner, she could see Sarah up the pavement, still walking, still unaware she was the main event.
Gloria was almost on her. She swung the scooter out, overtook Sarah with a triumphant little whirr, then cut back in front of her and turned—fast as a mobility scooter could manage.
Gloria planted herself there, chin up, eyes bright.
“Stop right there!”
Sarah halted, confused, looking around for whoever the batty old woman was shouting at. Then she saw Matty.
For a second, Sarah didn't move at all, just staring at her.
Matty stopped too—skates clutched in one hand, phone in the other, mouth gone dry.
"Think you'd get away with dumping poor Matty in the shit?" Gloria challenged, inching forward. "You're going down." It was straight out of a TV cop show and Matty almost giggled.
Sarah's gaze flicked to Gloria, then to the narrow gap beside the pavement. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her shoulders tightened, decision made.
"Oh no you don't," Gloria said, and revved the scooter like it was a motorbike.
Sarah darted sideways anyway, quickly trying to slip past the front wheel.
Sloan saw it and moved at the same time, taking one long step, then she launched, grabbing a fistful of Sarah’s green top.
“Not so fast,” Sloan said, and hauled her down.
It wasn’t graceful. Sloan went down with her, skirt and all, and they hit the pavement in a tangle of limbs and fury.
“Get off me!” Sarah snapped, twisting, trying to scramble up.
Sloan kept her grip. “Stop it.”
“Stop it?” Sarah barked a laugh, wild-eyed. “You’re attacking me!”
Matty broke into a jog, skates thumping against her leg, phone jammed to her ear. “Sloan!” she shouted, and her voice came out higher than she meant it to.
Ahead, Sloan had Sarah pinned, one hand twisted in the fabric of her top, the other braced on the pavement. Sarah was all elbows and panic, wriggling like she could simply unmake the situation through sheer refusal to participate.
“Thought you could pin everything on Matty and get away with it?” Sloan sneered. “Not on my watch, lady.”
Gloria circled them on the scooter like a deranged rodeo rider.
“She’s no lady!” Gloria yelled. “Don’t let her up! Hold her!”
“I am holding her,” Sloan snapped, breathless, hair in her face.
Sarah kicked out, desperate now. “Get off—get off me!”
“Stop fighting,” Sloan said through her teeth. “You’re making it worse.”
Matty got close enough to see the whites of Sarah’s eyes—wide, terrified. She swallowed hard and spoke into the phone. “Sloan’s got her on the floor.”
“I’m just round the corner,” Saint said. “Don’t let her go.”
Gloria swung the scooter in again, front wheel edging into Sarah’s line of sight. “Try it,” she told her, cheerful as anything. “I’ll clip your ankles.”
“Gloria,” Matty gasped, finally reaching them, “please—”
And then Whitton was there, Saint running behind her.
One second he was a voice in Matty’s ear, the next he was dropping beside Sloan, taking Sarah’s wrist and snapping a cuff around it with practised speed.
“Police,” he said, calm as Sunday.
“Nice one.” Whitton grinned at Sloan.
Sarah froze—properly froze—like her body had finally caught up to the fact she’d lost.
Sloan let out a sharp breath and sat back on her heels. “Thanks.”
“You good?” Whitton asked Saint.
He nodded. “I’ve got her.”
Sloan stood with a helping hand from the female detective, dusted herself down, and watched as Saint turned Sarah over, caught her other wrist, and cuffed that too, quickly and efficiently.
Gloria leaned in on the scooter, pleased. “Never any around and then two come along at once.”
Saint smiled up at her, then started reading Sarah her rights.
Matty slid in close to Sloan and murmured, “Totally hot, by the way.”
“I did what was necessary,” Sloan said, far too prim for someone who’d just body-tackled a suspect while in office wear.
“Uh-huh. Can you stop pretending you’re not a little bit badass?”
Sloan’s mouth twitched. “You know how good I am at waiting.”
“Oh, I’m well aware,” Matty said, leaning in. “And when we get home…”
Sloan murmured back, “I’ll be waiting.”
The end —