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“I may as well give up and get a cat.”
“A cat?”
“Multiple cats. I will be the cat lady of Shetland. When I die, they'll find me half consumed by them—”
Tosh laughed. “Well, that'll make for an interesting crime scene.”
“No crime involved. I'll just wither away. A sad old cat lady.” Ruth paused, for dramatic effect and a gulp of wine. “That's all I'm good for. I'll never have sex again. I'll wither and die. Surrounded by cats.”
“Sex isn't everything,” Tosh countered.
“Easy to say when you are getting some!”
“Hmmm.”
They both picked up their glasses.
Tosh was right, of course. There were lots of good reasons to be in Shetland. Her job. Her brother. Even her house, which was already a damn sight better than her flat in London, and if she actually got around to decorating could be really special. She intended, when she had time, to start with the living room. It'd be planned around her extensive collection of LPs of course; the only thing she'd properly unpacked and organised since moving. Otherwise, she'd keep it simple. On a night like tonight that big window would frame the big sky, the endless darkness studded with infinite stars. She'd have music playing. The fire lit. A glass of red. The blanket she and Alan had found in a box in the attic of the rectory, that had been in her childhood bedroom and was possibly made by their mother, tucked around her. A cat curled up in her lap.
Oh. No. No cats.
A man, maybe. A big, solid, viking type to keep her warm through the long Shetland winter. She felt a smile pull at her lips. No-one could blame her for dreaming!
She drained the last of her glass, then followed Tosh’s gaze out of the window.
The view was spectacular, which was why they'd taken to coming here after closing a case, or on the odd Friday night. Now, with the winter moon, just past full, glinting off the swell, it was especially magical. Maybe this was the biggest reason to be in Shetland; these views. Big skies and ever-moving seas that made her feel small; comfort that there was something bigger. Not necessarily the God her brother believed in, but something. Something that helped her when terrible things happened, when the death and despair she dealt with at work threatened to take over and her mask started to slip. Even now, a bottle and a half deep, this view made her feel better.
Well, a bit better, at least. It didn't change the fact she hadn't had sex for so long she was worried she might have forgotten what to do. The idea made her snort with laughter, drawing Tosh’s attention.
“Easy there, missy. We're going to need another bottle at the rate you’re drinking!” Tosh teased, but she picked up the bottle and clumsily topped up Ruth's glass anyway.
“I'll drink myself to death and then be eaten by my cats!”
“Not tonight you won't. And anyway, you don't have any cats!”
It was enough to set Ruth off laughing, enough that Tosh joined her. That deep, cathartic laughter that came with friends and wine. They could be anyone, at moments like this. Just two normal women having a drink on a Friday night, putting the world to rights. No one would know that they were two kickass detectives!
Except that everyone did know. There was a guy in the corner who’d been interviewed a few months back about a vehicle theft, two women in the group by the bar who she'd taken statements from after a spate of sexual assaults, and one of the barmen had lost his brother in suspicious circumstances.
“This is the problem here,” Ruth blurted out, with the drunken surety that Tosh knew exactly what she was talking about.
“What’s the problem?”
Ruth waved a hand expansively. “Everyone knows. They know what I do. No anon— anomim— anni—”
“Anonymity.”
“Yeah, that. Easy in London. Random bloke in a bar. Tinder. Whatever.”
Tosh raised an eyebrow.
“Not that I’m some kind of nymph— nym— oh, for fucks sake. But relationships are not my forte, obviously, so sometimes you just do what you have to do!”
“Pretty sure Tinder works here. And there are plenty of random blokes in this bar.”
They both looked around.
“Well, some random blokes in this bar,” Tosh conceded. “If you aren't too picky. But you look hot tonight—”
“I do look hot,” Ruth giggled, shimmying a little in her seat. “But I'm not an-ony-mous.” She sounded out the word carefully, and looked pleased with herself when she got it right.
“True.”
They both took another drink.
“So, has Donnie stayed home with Louise tonight, or is his mum babysitting again?”
“His mum,” Tosh answered, her tone not entirely positive.
“How’s that going?”
“Well, it's great for Louise. And Donnie.”
“And you?”
“Yeah, back to your problems. Are you telling me you haven't had sex since you came back to Shetland? Coz it's been—”
“Far too fucking long. You are deflecting; how is your relationship with your mother-in-law?”
“Probably better than your sex life.”
“Fair. Shall we get another bottle?”