Jaq felt ill just imagining the trauma of a child living through everything that he’d seen. She’d thought she’d grown used to depravity in all its forms. She’d rescued children from abusive homes, but this felt like it was on a different level.

She’d seen enough of that thought and flicked through to the trial transcripts. Here she learned exactly how Gregory Black had used his son. She’d heard on the news at the time that Simon had been used as bait, but they had never explained how that was done. This was because Simon was a minor and the court didn’t allow reporting on his part in the crimes.

It turned out that Gregory Black had pushed his son out in front of the women’s moving cars. When they came to a halt to check on the injured child, Black would abduct them. While Black had done this awful thing when the women were just setting off and their cars hadn’t reached full speed, it nevertheless resulted in numerous fractures to Simon’s right arm and ribs, which had all been treated at home. It appeared the only time Simon got to leave the house was at night when his father intended to use him. The boy had also been malnourished, covered in bruises and cigarette burns and vitamin D deficient when he’d been found.

Jaq realised she was gripping the screen so tightly she was in danger of pressing her thumbs right through the monitor, so she forced herself to calm down with some deep breathing and let go of the computer. She was shaking, though. Poor Simon, it was way worse than she’s feared. The fact that he’d turned out relatively normal and could hold down a job was a blooming miracle.

There was one more file she wanted to look at, and that was the psychological evaluation. A Doctor Helen Nobel had carried this out. She was quite a good explainer, Jaq discovered, reading through the doctor’s notes. Some psychologists were terrible at filling out paperwork about their patients.

From Dr Nobel’s notes, Jaq discovered that Simon had tried to kill himself by slitting his wrists, not once but at least twice, while still living with his father. Gregory Black had so cowed his son that he did pretty much everything he was ordered without resistance. He’d also been thoroughly indoctrinated to never trust officialdom and to fear the police. A necessary precaution, Dr Nobel had noted, to protect Black from being betrayed by his son.

The boy had been traumatised and stressed, suffered from insomnia and disassociation. He’d also only ever interacted with his father, so he lacked social skills.

He’d not been taught to read or write either. According to Simon, his father had tried but failed, and forever afterwards referred to Simon as an idiot child. Tests at the institution Simon had been sent to revealed that he had a high IQ but was dyslexic. He learned how to read and write there but it had been a struggle.

Jaq was impressed by the work the young offenders’ put into Simon. It was a special unit, reserved for the most troubled kids. Unlike the places where they locked up the less dangerous youths, there had been a lot more therapy and education. Simon had continued to draw, and slowly his work and moved from the images of his trauma to pictures that soothed and calmed.

So that explained the cloud paintings, Jaq thought, and she reached for her wine. Really, the poor kid had suffered more than most. Nothing was his fault, for which Jaq was deeply grateful.

Simon was a survivor. A tenacious one at that. He’d overcome his terrible childhood and become a decent, almost normal adult. Jaq wanted now, more than ever, to get to know the real Simon better. She hoped he’d let her.

***

Simon was clicking rapidly through the photos of a returning client’s latest furniture release when he came to a picture that grabbed his attention. It was a completely flat daybed with nearly invisible spindly legs and a green velvet base that would blend in well with his current decor.

It would be perfect for Jaq was his first thought, which gave him such a surprise he jerked backwards.

‘Is something wrong, boss?’ Brian asked, looking up from his job of entering all the client’s previous furniture into a picture database.

Aisha also looked up from her task. She was hardworking, but never lost the opportunity to join in any conversation.

‘I just found a piece I might buy,’ Simon said.

‘From these guys?’ Aisha said, actually open mouthed in surprise. ‘I mean, their cheapest piece is a footstool that costs over a thousand pounds. They aren’t good value. I have an uncle who could give you the same thing for a third of the price.’

‘You have an uncle for everything,’ Brian said, and poked Aisha playfully.

‘The price isn’t only for the cost of materials.’ Since the two apparently wanted to learn from him, Simon was trying his best to explain his world view. Most of the time, the interns seemed to appreciate it. ‘Look at this piece and tell me what you see,’ Simon said, enlarging the image so that it filled his biggest monitor.

‘It’s very plain,’ Aisha said, ‘which I know you like. Elegant design that can tell a story with a single line.’

‘It has a perfect balance and will blend in well in my living room.’

‘Context is everything,’ Brian said, repeating a line Simon had taught him.

‘All the same, I didn’t realise you earned enough for this kind of furniture,’ Aisha said. ‘Or have you got a trust fund or lottery winnings or something?’

‘Something,’ Simon said. ‘Now I have my one to one with Sarah. You get on with your work.’

‘He’s got a flat near the docklands,’ Simon heard Brian whisper to Aisha as he left.

‘I wonder how much that cost him,’ Aisha said, giving Simon a speculative look.

He didn’t mind this kind of gossip. His money was honestly earned and he paid his taxes, so he had nothing to worry about. Not on that side, anyway.

He wondered what Sarah would have to tell him, though. She’d finally returned to the office after two weeks, looking paler and thinner.

‘Simon,’ she said, smiling as he walked into the glass walled meeting room.

‘Water,’ Simon said, putting down the tray with two glasses and a jug between them.

‘Not coffee?’

Her question was valid. Usually, Simon arrived with two mugs of coffee.

‘I noticed you were avoiding coffee this morning and looked nauseated when Liz offered you a cup.’

Sarah laughed and said, ‘Jaq’s observation skills seem to be rubbing off on you.’

‘I wouldn’t say that, but are you okay?’ Simon asked as he settled and got out his iPad. He recorded their meetings instead of taking notes.

‘I’m fine. I’m just…’ Sarah hesitated, giving Simon a thoughtful once over. ‘You won’t like hearing this, and for the moment I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell everyone, but I’m pregnant.’

Simon blinked at Sarah, trying to understand why she was giving him this information, till realisation dawned.

‘Maternity leave?’

‘I’ve talked it over with Aaron. We’re going to share the leave, but overall, I’m going to take a year off.’

‘A whole year!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sarah said, but her voice held a touch of amusement even while she glanced past Simon to the open plan office beyond.

She was probably looking for anyone listening in. The meeting rooms weren’t well soundproofed and Simon realised he’d spoken a bit too loudly.

‘Will you come back?’

Simon was well aware that many maternity leaves turned into resignations at the end of the year.

‘That is my current plan, but who knows how I’ll feel after the baby is born?’

‘I see.’ It dawned on Simon that his behaviour wasn’t entirely appropriate, so he said, ‘congratulations,’ although he feared it sounded insincere.

Sarah just laughed, flushing happily.

‘I’ve discussed this with Louise and agreed that we’d let you decide whether you want to step up into my role while I’m away. If you don’t, then the company will hire a temp.’

Louise was Sarah’s line manager. She was an older woman who was easily irritated and Simon was grateful that Sarah had to deal with her. The thought of regular one to ones with Louise was a definite con to stepping up, but he didn’t like the idea of an unknown temp as his new line manager either.

‘Can I have some time to think about it?’

‘Sure, but don’t take too long. We need to advertise the position if you aren’t interested and that can also take a while.’

***

Jaq stood outside Simon’s house and wondered whether she was being too pushy, especially now that she knew about his life. Then again, if she didn’t reach out a hand of friendship, she might never see Simon again. She’d debated the pros and cons till she felt sick of the thoughts that didn’t progress past a certain point.

Usually, it was best to avoid damaged people, and yet she still wanted to see Simon. She liked the too thin bastard with the horrifying past. He was everything she should have steered clear of. Everything she’d sworn were massive turn offs. Yet here she was again.

Today she’d gone with Thai. There was no answer to the doorbell, though. Was he ghosting her? Should she take the hint and buzz off?

‘Jaq?’

There he was, end of the corridor, only just getting home and not even looking surprised.

‘Hello, work do?’

‘Schmoozing clients,’ he said as he got his key out of his coat pocket. ‘What’s your excuse?’

‘Mainly, I just thought you could use some extra calories.’

Jaq held up a paper bag emblazoned with Siam Dragon in green letters on the front and caressed it lovingly with her right hand like someone showing off a prize on a game show.

‘Uh huh.’ Simon left the door open behind him as tacit permission for her to enter. ‘And the other reasons?’

‘Best discussed indoors,’ Jaq said, following him in. ‘I really should get your mobile number. That way, I can let you know if I’m coming round.’ Jaq felt cheeky, but also like if she didn’t do this, he wouldn’t either. ‘And you should give me yours, just… in case.’

‘Police harassment,’ Simon murmured, but fetched a post it, wrote his number down and pasted it to the dining room table before fetching the plates for their dinner.

It reassured Jaq. He might say one thing, but he was doing another. Maybe he felt the same push pull that she felt.

‘Here.’ Jaq tore the post-it in two. ‘The top number is my personal phone, the bottom’s work. I don’t expect you to ever need my work number, but just in case.’

Simon nodded and pasted his half of the note on the writing table. Jaq entered his into her phone before she started unpacking the food. The waft of jasmin rice and coconut was nearly intoxicating and her mouth watered.

‘Are you on another case?’ Simon asked as he handed her a plate, knife and fork.

Jaq decided against telling Simon that they should eat Thai with a fork and spoon, and just scraped half the rice onto her plate.

‘I’m afraid so. That’s also part of the reason I’m here. Do you want to know about it?’

‘No.’

The answer was definite and expected. At least she’d got to know Simon to this extent and with her background check, she understood why he’d be even more reluctant to hear about cases. Especially this one that also involved kids.

‘I thought you had to worry about confidentiality,’ Simon said, taking a couple of spoonfuls of rice for himself and covering it with the creamy green curry.

‘If I call you a consultant, and pay you for your words of wisdom, then I can share certain aspects of the case.’