Micky Williams' day had been a long one. He had been on his last 12 hour shift at the hospital and spent most of it cleaning up cuts on drunk revellers. It was Saturday night and Sunday morning in town. He despaired of the so called "youth of today". He was only 40, but didn't remember his nights out on the town as a medical student to be so over the top. Most of his patients were full of alcohol, coke and God knew what else and with an average age of 22. As a doctor on the accident and emergency ward at New Hill Hospital, he saw the dark underbelly of the city and there were times he often thought he should take a cushy GP's job in the country. There was part of him though that refused to be so jaded.
It was seven thirty in the morning when he put his key in the front door of his house. He shucked off his coat and flopped down on the living room sofa. Kirsty, his wife, padded down the stairs bleary eyed with tousled red hair fresh out of bed.
"Did I wake you love? Sorry."
"No, I've been looking at the clock for an hour or so." She yawned. "I got you a lamb biriyani, I'll warm it up for you." As Micky slowly emptied his head of drunk, sobbing girls and coked-up, angry boys, he heard his wife in the kitchen warming up his dinner. Presently, on a tray, a steaming hot biriyani and an ice cold bottle of lager arrived on his lap. Yes, It was seven thirty on a Sunday morning, but he was hungry and about to go to bed after 12 hours at work.
"Kids up?" he asked.
"Dom's over at a friends and if you seriously think the twins are up now, you need to consult a physician yourself. Both girls still out cold and will be till at least ten." She winked at him, a sparkle in her green eyes and a grin on her lips. "Feeling energetic sweetheart?"
He chuckled. "Darling, I'm so tired I don't think I could even raise a smile. Besides, you don't want a middle aged bloke smelling of beer and curry drooling all over you, do you?"
"It's been a while, I'll take what I can get." That grin and those eyes again. Since he was 14 years old he hadn't even glanced at another woman and didn't plan to. Kirsty was, as far as he was concerned, where it was at.
"Love you," She said, kissing his forehead "get to bed then. Dom is staying at his mate's again tonight and your mother has offered to take Rose and Lily overnight. Night to ourselves. Up the apples and pears sunshine, you are going to need your energy." Kirsty was a woman used to getting what she wanted and Micky wasn't about to buck the trend.
As he went upstairs, she called from the living room. "There's going to be a Newey Reunion for our year, want to go?"
"Yes, sounds great, are Harry and Jane going?" Micky, Kirsty, Harry and Jane had all been friends since school and had that kind of relationship that sometimes felt like they were all married to each other. Harry and Jane had married not long after they had. Harry and Jane were career police officers, Harry on the Drugs Squad and Jane on Forensics. As a result, no kids, but they doted on Micky and Kirtsy's three. Dom had threatened to move in with them in fits of teenage pique several times over the years. He even managed to end up on their doorstep once. Twelve years old with a rucksack full of badly thought out odds and ends packed in a temper. After a brief heart to heart with Harry (the content of which Micky and Kirsty still didn't know) he was brought home teary eyed and sheepish and was bundled off to bed. That was four years ago and Dom still idolised Harry, often saying he was going to be a police officer when he left school.
"Jane is all over it. She can't wait. Who wouldn't want to go out, dance to 80's tunes and gossip like hell with all your old school friends? It'll be hilarious." Kirsty and Jane were popular girls in school.
Micky thought so too, but also knew that Harry would start on his conspiracy theories about the fire again. It was one of the main reasons he went into the force in the first place. It had become a bit of an obsession of his for a time. Even after the case was closed, he dug out the files and pored over them, desperate for a better explanation than "tragic accident". That didn't sit well with him and the opportunity of having the whole year in the same room for an evening would be too good to miss.
As Micky got into bed, still warm and smelling of Kirsty's hair, he wished it would just be water under the bridge. He knew though, it never would be.