LITMIR.BIZ

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without Chastity - my very own Jiminy Cricket - ticking me off for my bad habits. Now there was a little ray of sunshine on an otherwise bleak home front.

      The school hall was already packed. I was late by a good thirty minutes. Not bad considering my usual track record.

      Chastity was nowhere in sight. I scanned the crowd. It teemed with Stepford Wives and my heart sank. I'd come straight from the stakeout in my bomber jacket, jeans and sneakers, still reeking from the chicken tikka and chapattis I'd shared with the boys. But perhaps I should have made the effort because the other mums were wearing classy clothes, high heels and expensive jewellery. Hair was coiffed, nails buffed and teeth were dazzling in their perfection. I ran my tongue over mine and hoped there were no lurking tikka spices lodged between the pearlies.

      I then wondered about the state of my hair. When had I last brushed it? Not since this morning's shampoo and shower? Maybe. And that was hours ago. Best not think about it. Anyway, no one would notice in the scheme of things.

      `Mum! Oh no, what have you done to your hair?'

      There again, there's always Chastity to keep one grounded.

      `I haven't done anything to it.' I went to give Chastity a hug but she held me at arm's length.

      `That's obvious.'

      `Don't be rude. It's clean. What more do you want?'

      `For you to be properly dressed for once. You look like that seventies cop.'

      `Starsky? Great. I'll take that as a compliment. So what's the problem?'

      Chastity did an exasperated eye roll. `And you reek of garlic and something else…?' Her nose twitched. `You've had a curry. And a smoke! You said you were going to stop. Honestly, Mum.'

      `Hey, can it! Are you glad to see me or not? I had to move mountains to get here tonight. I came straight from work.'

      `Sorry, Mum. Of course I'm pleased to see you. Look, I've booked which teachers we have to see so we won't waste time.' My super-organised daughter handed me a printed list.

      `So we do this thing together?'

      `New policy.'

      `Excellent.' At least I could hide my inferiority behind her straight-A brilliance.

      First cab off the rank was Chastity's chemistry teacher. She was an attractive woman and would've been stunning if ever Sister Immaculata relaxed her stance on habit wearing. But she wouldn't. That wasn't the Iron Nun's style. Other church schools had slung out the habits and put a more hip spin on proceedings, but Sister Immaculata ran this joint with ramrod efficiency and discipline hailing from the dark ages. Which was one of the reasons why her school was so popular.

      In her serene, low voice, Sister Mercy praised Chastity for her diligence and flair and mentioned all the extra time my daughter spent in the laboratory.

      `Since when did you develop a love of science?' I whispered to Chastity as we moved on to the mathematics teacher. She just grinned, her eyes gleaming. Was I missing something here?

      A schoolgirl crush maybe? It could be worse, I suppose. Drugs, rock and roll, disastrous boyfriends. But no, she wasn't me. Chastity was far too smart for that.

      We were about half way through a particularly bad grilling by Sister Immaculata, the Iron Nun herself, about my lack of moral example when there was a stir at the entrance.

      A tall willowy blond stood in backlit splendour. His jeans were scruffier than mine and he was shrugged into a battered American Air Force jacket I coveted instantly. I'd swear there was a collective sigh from all the women in the hall, including my prudish daughter.

      Good, there was hope for her yet.

      A cloud of schoolgirls hovered in muted hysteria around the golden Raphael angel. He ignored them and silently, methodically scanned the hall until his gaze fixed on me. Heat suffused me in all the interesting places as I suffered a jolt of recognition: Fox.

      Grief, what was he doing here?

      He began to walk towards me, using the same slow, measured stride Clint Eastwood had used in the Spaghetti Westerns. Very macho. Very effective. I went from feeling like the mother from Planet Disaster to the high school belle in a nanosecond. My kudos rose with every deliberate step trod by Fox.

      His face remained beautifully bland as he apologised to Sister Immaculata for the unavoidable interruption. She actually simpered and blushed. Yuk. It wasn't pretty. Fox then smiled sweetly at Chastity before turning his attention to me.

      `Can I have a word, DI Rock?' he said.

      I vowed there and then he could have whatever he wanted. He'd made my night by establishing my street-cred and shutting-up the steely-spined nun who'd been reading me my rights as a parent.

      Let me explain about Sister Immaculata. She'd founded the all-girls school after having a vision to educate girls in an environment of high moral calibre. And she didn't let you forget it, not for one single, sinful second.

      How do I know this?

      Because she's also my mother.

      She'd had me before the call to sainthood, while she was still working the streets. Falling pregnant with me put a stop to her nocturnal career and made her do some serious reality checking. It was so serious she turned her back on the dozen-men-a-night habit to embrace celibacy and a totally different sort of habit. I should be grateful.

      I think.

      Anyway, Sister Immaculata now reluctantly agreed we could use her office. Fox and I followed her stumpy, penguin-like figure. I was conscious of a hundred envious eyes as Fox and I walked side by side, both in our tight jeans and creaking leather. Eat your hearts out, Stepford Wives.

      `Well, Fox, this better be good,' I said, acting tough as the disapproving nun closed the door on us.

      A slight smile hovered around his lips, lips that were now free of lipstick and still extremely kissable. His eyes held traces of mascara, which I confess I found deliciously attractive, especially when they crinkled at the corners.

      `You've had a long day, guv. I thought you could do with an early night,' Fox said. He didn't bat one angelic eyelid. He was acting cool to freezing. And I was goose-bumping everywhere to prove it.

      But his baby blues were hot.

      The smell of tikka, cigar smoke and leather clung about us. I decided on a rapid assessment.

      `What sort of car do you drive, Fox?'

      `Spitfire.'

      That swung it. I love fast cars.

      And leather.

      And hot, hot, HOT baby blues.

      `Give me half an hour,' I said. `And we'll shoot through.'

      `But you can't go yet,' wailed Chastity. `You've only just got here. It's because of that cute guy, isn't it?'

      `He's a police officer and I have work to do.' I tried not to focus on the statue of Our Lady just behind Chastity's head. I was already feeling guilty as hell. I didn't need anything else to prick my shaky conscience.

      `I don't believe you.'

      `Chastity!'

      `And you haven't even seen my room.'

      `Let's do it now, but make it quick.'

      We jogged down the corridors, my sneakers squeaking on the highly-polished tiles while her neat low heels clickety-clacked.

      Her room was tidy. No surprise there. Chastity was always tidy. I sometimes wondered if I'd picked up the wrong baby at the hospital. If it weren't for our replica mops of red hair, I'd go for a DNA match.

      Chastity tries to tame hers into a civilised style. I let mine corkscrew to kingdom come. We also have similar wide, brown eyes. Not a lot you can do with those, except mine are sometimes a little bloodshot after a bender and hers sparkle all the time. She puts it down to the

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