Bethan Roberts

A Novel

My Policeman

Pia 

So I wasn’t relishing the thought of coming face-to-face with a policeman.

Oh, yes." I settled on the corner of the desk again. "Yes. Look, if you're really interested, I'll show you some fascinating examples."

 Within two months of that first letter, Michael had killed himself. So I do wonder, sometimes, about Mrs. Esme Owens and her discretion. At Michael's funeral she was wearing a very expensivelooking fur stole. And acting rather more distraught than was necessary for a landlady.

That sounds like it’s not going to happen but would make sense be side of Marion

 "You wait. This time next year he'll be living with me." And at that moment, I really believed what I said.

Meaning my life. Meaning the lives of others. Meaning the morally dissolute. The sexually criminal. Meaning those whom society has condemned to isolation, fear, and self-loathing.

I thought it even then, holding his poor, beautiful body in my arms. They'd won. He'd let them win. I'm still furious with him for that.

I laughed. "For a policeman, youre very romantic." "For an artist, youre very afraid" he said. My answer to that was to kiss him hard on the mouth.

"Can you share?" "Share?" "Can you share me?" I felt him harden, and I nodded. "If that's what it takes. Yes. I can share." And then I was on my knees before him.

Sylvie seemed to exhale. “So he must have changed, or maybe we were wrong, or something, but either way I want you to forget it, Marion. I feel awful about it."

I have a feeling Marion didn’t let you be there for him back then 

Tom stopped at the door and looked back at me, his eyes glowing with anger. "He needed me years ago, Marion," he said. And he let himself out of the room.

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