Chapter Text
Morse remembered, late in the morning, that he had made plans to have a drink (or two) with D in the afternoon. It had been a while. He got into the shower and let the hot water stream over him while he thought about the conversation he had had with Trew, and she with him. It had been over a decade since he had proclaimed his undying love for Susan and thrown his young life into chaos. He had never said it to a woman again, not even to Violetta. Certainly not to Claudine and although asking Joan to marry him seemed to him to be a statement of love, she didn’t regard it as such, at least at the time.
Trew’s declaration surprised him, but he was not inclined to parse it or probe it too deeply. George Fancy had not haunted their relationship, despite Morse’s belief that he might. Perhaps, like his own, her young love had been painful and obstructive and broke her heart, with good reason; but without consciously knowing it, she had moved on, as had he. They had begun as friends, and the potential for more had, he supposed, always been there, as she claimed. The entire journey had been a surprise to him and continued to be. The memory of her lithe body, of being in her, of giving her pleasure, was immediate and physical, and he quickly turned the water to a colder setting.
An hour later, he entered into the Rose and Crown and found D at their usual table, away from the crowds, although people were sparse on this wet, cold afternoon. D looked up from the paper she was reading and smiled when she saw him approaching. She felt a thread of surprise to see him clad not in a suit or even a sports jacket, but in an Aran jumper and tan chinos. This was new and she was surprised to see how much it suited him.
“Morse,” she greeted him with a smile and he responded by pecking her on the cheek before going to the bar and returning with a scotch for each of them.
“You look well,” she pronounced with a smile. She tugged gently at the cuff of his jumper and added “Is this Morse casual? If so, I approve.” He blushed slightly and shrugged. “Trew isn’t dressing me, if that’s what you’re asking. Although she approves, as well.”
“Change is good, they say,” D said. “Unless it’s not,” he countered with a laugh and asked “And yourself? We haven’t talked in awhile.”
“Oh, life is busy,” she said. “But much the same, in terms of running a paper. More competition from the tabloids, I find. A rabbit hole I refuse to enter. There are enough real things happening in the world without rummaging through someone’s sewage for the express purposes of humiliation and titillation. It’s only too bad that the general public seems to find it so entertaining.”
Morse nodded in agreement. There was enough salaciousness involved in the pursuit of solving crime, without inventing same for the crowd who liked reading about that sort of thing. He regarded it as a form of pornography for the masses. “And yourself, D? All work and no play…”
“Jesus, Morse. Look who’s talking. Didn’t I used to say that to you?” she laughed. “And trust me, there are few, if any, other people I would tolerate asking me about my personal life.”
“Max,” he responded and she conceded that point.
“Well, as the years go by, I’m less inclined to shop around,” she admitted. “And the field, alas, grows smaller as well. But I have met a photographer whom I quite like, and who doesn’t seem inclined to run off to capture the world on film.” He shot her a look – she knew full well what had happened with Claudine. He had never bothered to track her down, figuring that there was little point in doing so. And there would always be some hot spot in the world that she could be hopping to. “He’s a good chap, likes to converse about more than just photography, reads voraciously, good sense of humour, and appears to be able to keep his dick in his pants in an appropriate manner.” Morse knew to whom she was referring and nodded.
“So he might be more a fixture in your life? I’d like to meet him.”
“So you can vet him?” D asked. “Seriously, Morse. I really can take care of myself, by now.”
“No, no. Just to widen the social circle a tiny bit, you know. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve never been a complete hermit – at least not for long.”
She sat back, sipped her whiskey and took stock of him. He had changed, wardrobe notwithstanding. There were some things about him that were apparently immutable, but he seemed less spiky, more relaxed – at one time, she would never have believed that she would be able to describe him as looking happy, but, in fact, he did – at least relative to his past. He was very far, indeed, from the shattered, sobbing and deeply depressed soul she had made a fairly desperate intervention with three years ago.
“She’s been good for you, Morse,” D said, quietly. “She’s taking good care of you.”
He looked thoughtful for a long moment. “I think,” he responded, “that Trew would say that we look after each other. Which is a different equation.” He paused and added, “But she is also indescribably important to me.”
“I think,” D said, “that you both are very fortunate to have each other in your lives. And to be honest, I don’t think that I ever would have predicted that I’d see you as you are now. Which makes me happy, my friend.”
He seemed slightly embarrassed by this and said, “Oh, don’t think I can’t still be a colossal prick at times. Ask any of my colleagues. But never to her.”
“Ah, Morse,” D laughed. “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t a prick – or at least stubbornly opinionated and obstinate. But, you know, there are those of us who wouldn’t have you any other way.”
“I’ll never be a politician. I’ll leave that to Strange. I never would have believed that, at one time.”
“Speaking of Strange,” D said, “I saw Joanie yesterday, with a pram. I guess things must be going well for her?”
He looked slightly stricken for a moment. “I’d normally be the least likely to know, but..” He stopped. “Look, I imagine you’d find out at some point,” he sighed now. “This is off the record, D. For a whole lot of reasons.” She raised her eyebrows, and said, “Of course. This is between friends. I *can* keep confidences, you know.”
His response was a small, half-smile. “She showed up at mine a couple of nights ago. In some distress. Fred has died – heart attack. I don’t know where they’ve been, but I do know that Sam is on the other side of the world. I really still don’t want to get into the details about all of this. Let me just say that Fred was a good man who went astray and fell foul. I so much wish that hadn’t been the case, but I can’t change it or anything else that happened. At this point, I just, more than ever, want that past to stay in the past.”
“As for Joan, I wish I could say otherwise, but I don’t think she’s all that happy. I can’t know for sure why, although I have to wonder if it’s because after everything, she’s ended up being what she least wanted – a wife to a copper, at home alone with a baby. I think it was hard for her to not have Win even know that she was pregnant or have her with her when the baby was born. Now that Fred has died, I wouldn’t be surprised if Win returned to Oxford.”
He was quiet for a moment and then added, “Win lost so much, you know. Fred loved her, I have no doubt. But she lost more in the long run. He just expected her to tolerate whatever shit came along with being a copper’s wife.”
“And you?” D asked. “What was it like for you seeing her again? Stir anything up?”
“There are few things more dead than my love for Joan Thursday,” replied Morse. “I was pretty sure of that for quite some time. But seeing her this week just confirmed it.” He exhaled sharply, “I could have saved myself a lot of grief and time had I been smarter and figured it out sooner. But it’s stupid to regret the past – what’s done is done. And my life is so much different now.”
He looked down at his watch. “I do hate to cut things short, D. But I have a dinner date with Trew and I need to fetch her in this nasty weather. We all should get together, though. Max, too.”
She stood up with him and kissed him on the cheek. “That shocks me more than anything, Morse. You, the social organizer. What is the world coming to?” He touched her on the arm and smiled fondly at her as he left.
***
As Morse had predicted, Win Thursday did return to Oxford. He wasn’t entirely surprised, then, to have a call from her directed to him at his desk in the station. He figured Strange wouldn’t mind, given the circumstances.
Morse still didn’t know how much Strange knew about the entire situation but figured that Joan might have at least told him more about what had transpired on their wedding day. He knew that Strange had been aware that he had been hospitalized after the reception but didn’t really know if his superior had understood what had happened to him. He still felt a bit of sting, recalling Strange telling him that he couldn’t rely on him for anything. At a point when he was struggling just to stay on his feet.
He picked up the receiver, answering with the usual “DI Morse, CID Thames Valley Police”. There was a pause, then he heard her voice, almost not recognizable. “Morse? It’s Win Thursday.”
“Oh, Mrs. Thursday – Win – I’m pleased to hear from you, but so sorry to hear about Fred,” he said, by way of greeting her. “You’re in Oxford, now?”
“Yes,” she responded. “I’ve moved in with Joan and Jim for the time being. Help around the house, and with baby Jennifer.” She paused, “I would like to see you, though. It seems like it’s been a long time.”
“It has been, in many ways,” he agreed. “I’d like to see you, too.” He felt both apprehensive and awkward. He bid her farewell just on the cusp of the painful conversation that ended his relationship with Fred. He had no idea whether the meeting would be to make amends or for her to rip him to shreds. Either seemed plausible.
“Would you like to come to mine?” he asked “Or meet in a pub closer to you? If transportation is an issue, I can fetch you.” He seemed to recall that she had never learned to drive – not uncommon for women of her generation, he knew.
“To yours would be lovely, “she replied. “Although I’ve been given to understand that you have someone in your life right now – will that be a problem?” Morse considered the question, considered Trew and knew that she could as present or absent as required by the situation and not offended if absence was best. “No,” he answered, “of course not.”
They set a date for the following evening. Trew, working from the bullpen, could see that he seemed agitated and debated whether she should ignore it, or go and talk to him. It was nearly time for lunch and she thought perhaps they could reasonably slip out together. They had done so many times before. She went to his door.
“Morse?”
He looked up at her and grimaced. “Not much slips by you.”
“Not anymore,” she conceded. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
He considered the pile on his desk and decided that it could wait. He wasn’t going to be all that productive anyway in his current state of mind. He hoped that a call didn’t come in this afternoon, One of the sergeants could deal, but he preferred quiet.
“So…?” Trew prodded, as they found a table and sat down. “What gives?”
It was a long pause, and he sat, frowning into his mug. Trew reached for a samosa and nibbled on it. She could wait. He sighed, took a gulp of ale and said, “That was Win Thursday on the phone. She wants to see me. I told her tomorrow evening – I hope you don’t mind too much.” He looked up at her, and she saw the anxiety and weariness in his blue eyes. “I don’t know for sure what she wants, if anything. If this will be friendly, or angry, or…” He waved a hand aimlessly. “You can disappear if you want – no need for you to get dragged into it.”
She took his hand and smiled a little. “I can stay in the background or go out. Or not. I only knew Win a little, but I think if she were truly angry with you, she wouldn’t bother contacting you. Nor would she agree to come to the house.”
He nodded. “Wise counsel, as usual. Do you ever get tired of having to talk me down out of the tree?”
She laughed, “You are you, Morse. Some things won’t change, even though a lot has. I expect your turn will come, though. Even we closeted bluebloods have emotional crises.”
***
At the appointed time, Morse’s doorbell rang. Win had arranged a cab to bring her to his place, understanding, Morse thought, the awkwardness involved in having Joan or Strange drop her off. He opened the door to a Win who had changed markedly in the past few years – she had lost weight and her hair was much more grey now, her face lined with the stresses of the past few years and looking sadder than he remembered.
“Mrs. Thursday – Win,” he corrected himself. “Welcome. Come in.” He took her coat and offered her to settle on the couch, in front of a newly set, crackling fire. “Drink?” he asked. “I do have a nice sherry, if that is what you’d prefer.” She nodded assent to this, and he got them each a drink from the cart. Once done, he settled in the over-stuffed chair across from her, waiting for her to take the lead.
“This is a nice place, Morse. You bought it a few years ago, I believe?”
“Yes, at the end of 1969. It was, um, a drug squat prior to that – a lot of sweat equity has gone into getting it to its present state. But I like it.”
“You're looking well. Jim tells me that you’re an Inspector now, taking on a lot of responsibility in the station. And that you have, um, a woman in your life?”
“He’s got you caught up, then,” Morse responded. “But what about you, Win? I’m thinking that you’ve perhaps had a rough few years since you left. And I am so, so sorry to hear about Fred. My condolences.”
“Well,” she said. “It was not how I imagined we would spend our retirement years. And I don’t suppose that he thought he would die so soon or so suddenly. It was pretty shocking, altogether. I know that you didn’t part on the best of terms, but I do want you to know that I don’t in any way blame you for how we ended up, Morse, nor did he. Fred did tell me pretty much everything over the past while. He made some bad decisions, and he knew he had, letting Charlie drag him into the muck the way he did. We’d had some rough patches long before then over this – I don’t imagine that you’d know that I was preparing to file for a divorce at one point.”
Morse raised his eyebrows in surprise. Although he had gathered that there were stresses in the marriage, Thursday had not been forthcoming about it. He had a concept about how the family should work, that he stood by even as it was unravelling. Even in the face of his violations of their vows, including his passionate affair with Luisa during the war. He had a good heart, good intentions, but he sometimes just couldn’t see the path ahead or understand that it was leading to hell.
“I loved him, as well as I could. But I realize now that I gave up more and tolerated more than I ever should have. Probably lots of women in my generation did – we worked and did our part during the war, but then returned, we thought happily, to our kitchens and our babies, as if that should have been enough.”
“But it wasn’t,” he responded. She sighed and was quiet for awhile. Then said, “No, and now I think it will not be enough for Joan, either.” They looked at each other for a long moment. Then she inhaled deeply and said, “She was happy to see me and I was thrilled to meet my grandchild. But I don’t think she’s happy with her life right now. Jim is very good to her, adores her and cares for her, but..”
Morse sighed. “Joan came here late last year to tell me about Fred. She was sad and upset, of course. But also wanting to revisit old history between us. It’s really water long under the bridge, Win. I’m not sure what we had, exactly. I thought I loved her, but as time went on, it got complicated. I don’t suppose that she ever told you I asked her to marry me.”
Win looked straight at him, startled. “It was a rescue attempt, I suppose, to save her from being beaten again. But us being together… She thought I was something I wasn’t, and I couldn’t be what she wanted. I’m not, to this day, sure what that was. I just don’t want her to romanticize a past that we didn’t really ever have.”
Win reached out for his hand. “I know, Morse. I think if she thought about it more, she would know that, too. She’s a good person, but she’s not a traditionalist and unfortunately Jim is, He thinks she should be happy to stay home and look after Jennifer and him while he works and goes to Lodge meetings. I know otherwise, and I guess my job is to help him understand how important her work was and is to her.”
“She was very good at her job,” Morse said. “She has so much to offer. I think I saw her at work more than Jim ever did. It wasn’t just a time filler until she got married, it became her vocation. I could see that. If you can do one thing, get Strange to understand how important it is for her to be that person again.”
Win’s eyes were bright with tears as she looked at him. “You are a good man, Morse. I have always known that, even though you kept so much to yourself. I think things have changed for you, and I’m happy to see that.”
“I’ve had a lot of help, from a lot of good people,” he said. “I have a good deal to be grateful for. And,” he added, “I’ve thought of you often over the last long while. Hoped you were doing all right and wished that things had been different for you.” He stood up then, reaching out to her to hug her and she stood up and into his embrace. It occurred to him that this was a woman who gave so much more than she ever got. She had deserved better.
He poured her another sherry and asked her “Out of curiosity, where *did* you and Fred escape to? I had thought perhaps Canada but really had no idea. Joan told me that Sam is in Australia, in the outback somewhere.”
She shook her head as she sat down again. “No, we thought about Canada, but it would have been too expensive, given our limited income. Sam worked his way over to Australia on a merchant ship, so we wouldn’t have to pay fare for him. It would have been difficult for us to get much in the way of employment, and Fred didn’t want anyone to be able to track us down through a paper trail.” She paused and continued. “We went to Shetland. Fred figured that it would not involve as much change for us but was remote enough to prevent the bikers from finding us, let alone getting there. It’s isolated, for certain. No trees. In the middle of wild seas. We were definitely different, but the islanders were kind to us. You wouldn’t have recognized Fred – no more suits or trilby. Rough trousers and heavy-knit jumpers. It was cheap to live there, but a much harder life than we were used to. The good part was that people didn’t ask questions, just took us as we were.”
Morse tried to imagine Fred Thursday without his second skin – suit, overcoat and trilby – without much success. He wondered if he had managed to achieve any measure of contentment during their time there. What did he do with himself? For a southern Brit, even a working class one, the north of England seemed rather foreign. The most northern reaches of Scotland must have been a considerable shock for them.
“And Sam,” he asked tentatively. “Do you ever hear from him?”
“We worked out a system to send him mail to Darwin, which someone picks up for him. I think he is living somewhere around Alice Springs. He has sent a number of letters back. Always hard to know from a letter, but he seems to have straightened himself out. The outback life seems to suit him. I did let him know about Fred.” Her eyes were bright, “I don’t know if or when I’ll ever see him again. All I can hope for is that he is happy and well.”
Morse sighed, “And safe. Who knows? The bikers have long memories, but not infinite ones. And their own life spans are short. He may be able to return, at least for a visit, at some point.” Win seemed comforted by that.
He heard Trew moving around upstairs. She had appropriated one of the bedrooms as an office space for herself when she was at his and had been, he thought, doing some case review backgrounders for a case she had just been assigned. She had just passed her sergeant’s exam and was rapidly adapting to her new role and responsibilities, just as he anticipated she would. Win looked up at the ceiling.
“Would you like to meet her?” Morse asked. “I think she would like to meet you.”
Win nodded and Morse called up the stairs, asking her to come downstairs. Trew appeared, dressed in slacks and a jumper, her hair loose and tumbling down well past her shoulders. She saw Win and smiled at her. "Mrs. Thursday,” she greeted her. “I don’t suppose that you remember me. I believe we met briefly under not the best of circumstances. The day of the bank raid. I was a WPC then. Um, and a blonde. My name is Shirley Trewlove, although Morse, here, calls me Trew.”
Win stared at her intently for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes, I do recall. You had to contend with your beat partner being shot by the Matthews,” she replied. “I think I’d heard you had transferred to London when Cowley was disbanded.”
“I did,” Trew responded, “But I came back to Oxford and new Cowley last year. A better choice, it turns out, for many reasons. People I knew and trusted, and one,” she glanced at Morse, “that I got to know much better. It’s a good place to be, for me.”
She sat on the couch next to Win. “I want to give you my condolences about Fred. He had always treated me well, with respect. It must be hard for you, although I would imagine that meeting your new grandchild has been a joy.”
Win nodded. “Thanks. You never really know what life is going to bring you. It’s been a hard couple of years, but I mean to make the best of being back here.” She smiled at Morse and added, “I think you’ve done a world of good for this one, from what I can see.”
“As he does for me”, Trew responded. She left it at that, knowing how acutely uncomfortable he was with public discussions about their relationship.
Win got up, then, and said, “I really should go. Don’t want to disturb the household by coming back unreasonably late.” She turned to Morse, “Thank you for seeing me. I hope this won’t be the last time.”
“No,” he replied. “Don’t be a stranger, Win.” And remembered, a split second too late, that that was about the last thing she had said to him before he had terminated the relationship with Thursday and forever altered their lives. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. It felt like forgiveness.
***
Once the door had closed behind her, and the taxi had drawn away, Trew approached Morse, who was still standing still, looking in the direction Win had left. Trew took his hands in hers and asked, softly, “Okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think she is. I think we are.”
EPILOGUE
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in
Later in the evening, after the kitchen had been put back to order, they sat together on the couch, Trew with a book and Morse with the crossword. He turned his head to look at her and thought, as he inevitably did, about how beautiful she was. Self-contained, engrossed in her book. He realized that his love for her had become, without his conscious awareness, something that had become totally woven into him. He had lived most of his life as a private and lonely man and had begun to expect that he would always be that. He would always be private, he knew – but somewhere over the past year or so, the loneliness had dissolved. He would never be someone that had multitudes of friends, but the ones he held close were so dear to him. And there was her.
Still, there was one thing that he wanted, and was unsure if Trew did, as well. Although he had trepidation raising the issue, he also felt that it would be best to know her answer. If it wasn’t what he hoped for, then he would need to adapt.
He drew a deep breath, which caught her attention. She looked up from her book and at him. He said, hesitantly, “Can I ask you a question?”
She raised her eyebrows, “And what might it be?”
He looked uncomfortable and tugged on his ear. “Um, I’ll preface this by saying that “no” is an acceptable answer. And that I’m more than a little anxious about asking.”
“Now I’m intrigued,” she said. “What is it?”
He looked apprehensive and just a little hopeful at the same time. “Would you consider moving in here? I mean, only if you wanted that… Only if you felt that we wouldn’t be on top of each other.”
She laughed, “God, Morse. I think we are on top of each other more often than not, some days.” She poked him gently in the shoulder and added, in a more serious tone. “I’ve thought about this, too. Quite a bit, actually. It’s a bigger commitment, but to be honest, I know you love this house, and I love it too. We’ve been drifting in this direction for awhile, and … “she paused. “When I’m not here, I miss it. I miss you. I don’t have to be in the same room with you, I just love the feeling that you are in this house, even when you’re not.”
“Is that, um, a ‘yes’?” he asked, still tentative. “Or a ‘maybe’?”
She locked her fingers at the nape of his neck and looked up him. “Lord, Morse. You are such an insecure twat at times. Stop frowning. Of course, it’s yes. And I’m happy you asked, because otherwise, you very probably would have come home one night before long to find all my stuff in your closets.” She held more tightly to him, head on his chest, heard his heart and the low rumble of his laugh.
***
That night, Morse lay awake, Trew next to him sleeping. His arm around her, his fingers brushed across her scars and he thought about the beauty that her brokenness had created. He brushed his lips against her shoulder, inhaling her scent, and considered the past and the future. He understood now how close he had come to dying. Not just from the many times that he had been shot at (and shot), or stabbed or escaped the jaws of a tiger, but from the quicksand of his depression which could have been equally lethal. The trajectory of his life which had begun in early childhood and continued through his aborted university life and the early days of his police career had been disrupted. A deliberate and unexpected intervention from a woman who was more a friend than he could have believed. A random second opportunity with a woman whom he might have never encountered again. Who had, from the outset, garnered his respect and affection, out of which grew a friendship. Traumatic events in both their lives pulled them closer to each other. Bonded them.
Trew stirred and whimpered sharply in her sleep. A nightmare. Morse knew the territory well. He pulled her close, stroked her hair, whispered a soothing “Shh, it’s okay.” Willed the circling wolves to dissipate. He felt her relax in his arms, sigh and curl against his body, her head tucked under his chin. Her breathing slowed, deepened and as he breathed with her, he followed her into sleep.
Finis