Diggers had hung around for half an hour after dismissing her, before disappearing to do whatever a nearly retired DCI did with an accumulation of rest days in lieu. He hadn’t spoken to Kelly again; only paused by Nick’s desk on his way out, for a muttered conversation Kelly had been certain was about her. ‘It wasn’t a suggestion,’ Nick said. ‘Get your coat, we’re going across the road.’ The Starbucks on Balfour Road was more of a takeaway than a café, but it boasted two high stools in the window, which Kelly commandeered, while Nick got the drinks. Kelly ordered a hot chocolate, suddenly craving its sweet comfort. It arrived topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with chocolate, looking embarrassingly gauche next to Nick’s flat white. ‘Thank you,’ Kelly said, when it became clear Nick wasn’t going to do the talking. ‘You can get the next ones,’ he said. ‘For bailing me out, I mean.’ ‘I know what you meant.’ He fixed her with an unsmiling gaze. ‘For future reference, if you fuck up, or you do something stupid, or for some other reason you’re likely to need bailing out, for God’s sake tell me.
