Work Text:
Mallory was about to head to the pub when the shrill ring of the telephone stopped him in his tracks. He froze, his coat over one arm and his hand poised in mid-air as it reached for his hat. Waiting with bated breath as his wife picked up the receiver, he sent a quick plea to the universe that it wasn’t the station calling. Three months in Scotland, and he hadn’t had a single serious case to deal with. It would be just his luck if that changed when he finally had a day off.
“Oh, hello, Sergeant; how are you?” he heard Valerie say. “Yes, you’ve just caught him.”
His heart sank. So much for his double scotch at the White Stag. But when she cupped her hand over the receiver and turned to him, she was smiling brightly.
“It’s for you, Gerry”, she told him. “Daniel Goodfellow.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?!” Mallory flung his coat back in the general direction of its peg and crossed the room in three strides, grabbing the phone from Valerie’s hand. “Goodfellow?”
“Oh, hello, sir.” Goodfellow’s voice was as friendly and cheerful as ever, and the familiarity of it tugged at Mallory’s heart.
“It’s good to hear from you, Sergeant”, he said gruffly. “How have you been?”
“Well, actually, sir, that’s what I was ringing about. It’s not ‘Sergeant’ anymore.”
Oh God, he’s been sacked. Mallory tightened his grip on the phone and sat down with a bump on the nearest chair. “What the hell happened?”
“You needn’t sound so shocked, sir. It’s just that I had a letter yesterday telling me I’d passed my inspector's exams.” Goodfellow’s voice glowed with pride. “With distinction, too; 97%. I thought you’d like to know.”
Mallory blinked and swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. “I don’t know what to say”, he croaked. And then, “Wait, ninety-sev—?!” He couldn’t remember what his own score was, all those years ago, but he knew for damn sure it wasn’t that high.
“I know, sir; I was surprised, too.” There was a smile in Goodfellow's voice, brimming with delight at his success, and Mallory found himself smiling back at the phone.
“Well, I’m glad to hear you learned so much from working with me”, he said gruffly. “Congratulations, Goodfellow.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, I never doubted you for a moment.”
“Of course, sir. Thank you.”
There was a pause, and Mallory thanked God that Goodfellow couldn’t see him beaming stupidly at the phone. He cleared his throat again. “So, how have things been at the station? Has my replacement finished settling in?”
“Ah, well, things didn’t go quite as planned there, sir. The chap who was going to do it pulled out at the last minute, and they had a job finding anyone else to take over. Apparently, Kembleford’s developed a bit of a reputation. Something about an ‘interfering priest’.”
“Ha!” Mallory scoffed. “Is that so? I wonder what gave them that idea.”
“I can’t imagine, sir”, Goodfellow said dryly. “Anyway, in the end, Chief Inspector Sullivan had to come back and take charge of the station instead. He’s been here ever since.”
Mallory’s smugness deflated with a rush, and he scowled at the nearest wall. “Chief Inspector Sullivan.” He practically spat the name, hating the taste of it in his mouth. “Would that be the same DCI Sullivan who commandeered my office and treated me like a ruddy constable?”
“That’s the one, sir. Although strictly speaking, it’s his office again now, with his nameplate on the door and everything.” Goodfellow paused. “Well, apart from the couple of times he tore it off and threw it across the room. He overturned the desk once as well, when he was having an especially bad day. He can be a bit temperamental at times.”
“Ruddy interloper, wrecking the place”, Mallory growled, seething with fury. Leaving was one thing, but he never meant for Sullivan to move back in. A territorial feeling of resentment seized him. That should be his office. His desk. His nameplate on the door, to tear off and throw around if he felt like it. “I suppose he thinks he’s beaten me”, he grumbled, “Stealing his old job back.”
“Actually, sir, he hasn’t mentioned you at all, at least not to me. He’s spent most of his time complaining about being back in Kembleford.”
“Serves him right”, Mallory muttered sourly. If Sullivan had to be back with Goodfellow, at least he was miserable about it. Better that than him stealing Mallory’s friend along with everything else.
“How about you, sir?” Goodfellow asked. “How are you getting on in Scotland?”
Mallory’s bitterness evaporated at once, and he drew himself up taller. “As it happens, I’ve made quite an impression here already”, he said proudly. “People around here have a nickname for northerners. They like to refer to us as ‘Scots with the brains bashed in’, but by the end of my first week here, the lads at the station had decided I was an Englishman after all.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line, and then: “Are you sure they meant that as a compliment, sir?”
Mallory bristled. “Of course it was a compliment! What else would it be? I’ll have you know, the superintendent here says he’s never known an inspector like me before.”
He heard Goodfellow chuckle. “I can’t say I’m surprised about that, sir. I’ve met a lot of inspectors in my time, but you’re one of a kind.”
A glow of warmth like molten sunshine filled Mallory, and he puffed out his chest, beaming at the phone. “Thank you, Goodfellow, that’s very kind of you.” Then, feeling magnanimous, he added, “I’m sure you’ll make a fine inspector, too, once you settle into the role. Do you know yet where you’re going to be working?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest, sir.” Goodfellow sighed. “Chief Inspector Sullivan was planning on going back to London and leaving me to take over in Kembleford, but now it looks like he'll be staying after all. There isn't exactly room here for two inspectors, so I suppose I’ll have to ask for a transfer. I can try requesting a position somewhere else in Gloucestershire, but I don’t know where it’ll be.”
There was a weariness in his voice that made Mallory wonder how long Sullivan waited to spring the news he’d be staying. Arrogant ruddy DCI, with his smart suits and his chiselled jaw, never thinking of anyone but himself.
“Come to Scotland”, he blurted out, then stopped abruptly. He hadn’t meant to sound quite so eager. “We’ve got some good scenery here”, he added hurriedly, trying to sound nonchalant and waving his arm in a casual gesture that Goodfellow couldn’t see. “You’d like it. Plenty of fresh air for the kids, and the golf courses are top-notch.”
“I don’t play golf, sir”, Goodfellow reminded him.
“I could teach you. If you’re going to be an inspector, you’ll want a way to mingle with the top brass off duty.” Mallory was warming to his theme now, a vision forming in his mind of a new and brighter future where he and Goodfellow spent their weekends on the golf course together. “There must be somewhere around here that needs a new inspector. I can put in a good word for you.”
“Thank you very much, sir.” Goodfellow still didn’t sound convinced. “I’d have to clear it with Mrs Goodfellow first, though. I’m not sure how she’d feel about me uprooting her and the kids and moving us all to another country.”
If that was a dig at Mallory, he chose to ignore it. “You could always come and visit first, and see how you like it.” He hoped it sounded like an offhand suggestion and not the desperate plea he’d been wanting to make ever since he moved.
“That’s not a bad idea”, Goodfellow mused, the uncertainty fading from his voice. “Perhaps I could take some time off, and we could have a family holiday up there. It’d be nice to see you again, if you’re up for it.”
“Of course.” Mallory took a deep breath, then quickly added, “I’m sure Valerie would enjoy seeing Mrs Goodfellow again, and the kids have always got on well with yours.”
“Well, yes, but—” Goodfellow began, then broke off, distracted. “Hang on a moment, sir.”
Somewhere in the background, beyond the other end of the line, Mallory heard children calling out and then the faint voice of Mrs Goodfellow. It seemed almost unreal to think they were still in Kembleford, once so near and now so far away. A thin tendril of wistfulness unfurled in his heart, and he quickly stomped it flat. He refused to think fondly of the place. That way lay the madness of regret, and the risk of Cotswold holidays.
Goodfellow must have covered the telephone receiver with his hand, because his voice was muffled as he called back to his family. Then it returned with full clarity as he said, “I’d better go, sir. Apparently, Mrs Goodfellow’s made a celebration cake, and she’s refusing to cut it until I get there.”
Mallory felt a tug in his chest, and an ache that felt like grief settle in. It had been so good to hear Goodfellow’s voice again after all that time. He wasn’t ready to let him go again so soon.
“Don’t forget what I said about visiting”, he said gruffly.
“I won’t, sir. I’ll have a word with Mrs Goodfellow later and let you know what we decide. Bye for now, then.”
“Wait, Goodfellow!” Mallory broke in desperately before he could hang up. “I—” He stopped abruptly. There were a hundred things he wanted to say, but the thought of saying any of them sent heat creeping up the back of his neck.
“Sir?”
I miss you. I miss your company. Things just aren’t the same without you around. “I...” Mallory cleared his throat. “I just wanted to congratulate you again on passing those exams. Excellent work.”
“Thank you, sir; I appreciate that.” There was that smile again in Goodfellow’s voice, bright and genuine. “I must say, it’s been good hearing your voice again. Chief Inspector Sullivan’s a decent man, but he’s not one for socialising much off duty. I’ve missed having you around.”
“Yes”, Mallory croaked, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Yes, you too.”
“I’ll call again, shall I? When I’ve got some more news.”
“You do that, Serg— I mean, you do that, Inspector Goodfellow.”
“I could get used to hearing you say that.” He could hear Goodfellow’s grin.
“Yes, well. Come and visit Scotland, and you will.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Speak to you soon, sir.”
There was a distant click as Goodfellow hung up. Mallory held the receiver to his ear for a few more seconds, listening to his absence. Then he slowly replaced it in its cradle. To the pub, then, for that well-deserved scotch. Unless...
“Valerie”, he called out, “Have you washed my plus fours? I’m going to the golf course!”
Goodfellow was clearly a better student than he’d realised. If Mallory was going to teach him, he needed to work on his swing.