Page 2 of The Echo Man (Major Crimes)

She’s bent over the taps: the soap dispenser in front of her, the hand dryer to the left. She can see the man behind her. The man that’s doing a below average job of fucking her in the disabled toilets of the community center, barely fifteen minutes after dropping their children off at school.

Her underwear is around her ankles; her skirt, pulled up to her waist. He has his hand shoved under her bra, kneading her breast like unproofed dough, the other gripping her hip as he thrusts into her.

Ethan? Evan? Whatever, she thinks. She remembers his kid’s name is Hayden. He’d said he was in the same class as Alice, pointing toward the throng of indistinguishable children running into the school as the bell rang.

He stood out among the throng of yummy mommies in tight gym gear and hurried career women on their way to work. Short brown hair, a little skinny for her liking, but decent enough. No wedding ring. That was the only sign she needed before making the suggestion. He ignored hers, the platinum band now reflecting in the stark fluorescent lighting.

She cringes as he spasms, coming with a suppressed cry, then slumping against her back. She wriggles out from underneath him and stands, pulling her skirt down, trying to preserve some sort of modesty.

He has his back to her, cleaning himself up. He drops the piece of toilet paper and the condom into the loo, then flushes it.

He refastens his belt before opening the door and peering out nervously.

“Jessica, right? Do you want to …?” he asks.

“Just go,” she says. He leans over to give her a kiss, but she pulls back.

“Thanks,” he mutters awkwardly, closing the door.

She locks it behind him and sits on the toilet. She shakes her head with disbelief, pulling her tights back on.

I’m so fucking bored, she thinks again.

* * *

Jess has a shower when she gets home, washing away all traces of Ethan/Evan. She makes a cup of coffee and takes it out to the garden.

It has stopped raining, and the winter’s air is cold and biting. She sits on the edge of one of the concrete steps, dressed only in a sweatshirt and jeans, her feet bare, her hair still wet from the shower. She knows she can’t stay out here long, but she enjoys the feeling of the cold on her body.

Their garden is large and rambling. Overgrown grass, weeds pushing their way through the gaps in the paving slabs, shrubs no more than twigs. Her husband occasionally makes comments about the mess, but she tells him she likes it this way—nature forging its own path, ignoring regulation or order.

She finishes her coffee and looks down at her feet. The flesh has turned white, her toenails blue. She’s started to shiver slightly. It’s time to go inside, and she turns her attention to what needs to be done before she picks Alice up from school.

She used to work, but the balance with the school run was a nightmare. She doesn’t miss it—she was just as bored then as she is now—but she liked the distraction it gave. Now, there is nothing for her to focus on. Nothing to do.

* * *

At school pickup she nervously scours the crowd, but Ethan/Evan is mercifully absent. She hovers at the edge of the playground, ignoring the other moms as they chat, their banalities an anathema to Jess. The door opens and the children bound out, one by one, directed by the teacher toward their mothers.

And then, there’s Alice. Her curls are escaping from her hairband as she skips toward Jess, a huge grin on her face, her school bag still massive in comparison to her tiny body. Jess pulls her into a hug, then ushers her toward the car, listening to her chatter about her day.

As she drives, she looks at her daughter in the rearview mirror. It astonishes her how she managed to create this beautiful, confident creature: unselfconscious, lithe, full of energy. The only good thing to come from her, she thinks ruefully. Alice talks about Georgia, about Isabelle, about Ned. Faceless kids Jess has never met.

“What about Hayden?” she throws back to her daughter.

Alice shakes her head. “I don’t know him,” she replies, and Jess is relieved. The last thing she needs is a forced playdate with the guy.

They get home. Alice rushes off to her toys and Jess gets on with dinner. She’s making beef in a red wine sauce tonight, chopping vegetables carefully, sautéing the meat. She hears her husband come in the front door, and Alice runs to greet him. Jess barely looks up until she feels him behind her, kissing the back of her neck.

“Smells good,” Patrick murmurs into her hair.

“Me, or dinner?” she asks, and he laughs.

She turns and watches him as he goes into the hallway. He’s taking his suit jacket off as he walks, pulling the tie from around his neck. She takes him in objectively.

Patrick’s never been slim, but lately his metabolism seems to have been getting the better of him. His shirt strains at the neck, a belly pushes over the waistband of his trousers.

She turns back to the hob. She’s not being fair, she knows. He’s devoted, compassionate, hard-working. All the Good Husband adjectives. She should be making the most of him, she thinks, pouring a glass of red from the bottle, then transferring the rest into the pan. She should be screwing him in public toilets, rather than nameless strangers. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so keen to get it elsewhere.

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