Doyle managed to avoid a pan of boiling pasta hurled at his head by the very recently bereaved June Cook. He had just broken the news to her that her husband had died on active service. June had blamed him because it was he who had persuaded her husband that life was greener on the other side. That Cookie hadn't taken much persuading and had jumped at the chance was not something to point out to a very distressed June at the moment. She had her back to him and was gagging at the sink - trying to cry, vomit and scream at the same time. Doyle stood there, impotent. Nothing he could say would make bad things better. Doyle was very aware that June was in the final stages of her second pregnancy and such a shock that he had given her could lead to an early labour. Feeling that there was nothing he could do - or anything that June would allow him to do - he trailed next door, shutting the dog in the back garden. His legs and his heart felt like lead. He didn't know if Mary was at home, but he knocked all the same. After not too long she answered the door. Like June, Mary was glad to see him - at first. He muscled in silently. She knew now that there was something very wrong. Ray Doyle was a cheery soul most of the time and here he was, unannounced, and very withdrawn.

"I've just been to see June," he said dully. Mary waited. "Cookie's dead." There, the words he couldn't bring himself to say to June, he'd now blurted out. It made it all seem too real now it was out in the open. He couldn't get his voice or breathing under control.

Mary gasped and her hands flew to her face. "Oh, my God," she breathed through her fingers.

Doyle guided her to the lounge and sat her down. He felt he needed to sit down himself. A whisky would go down very well just now.

"He, he was shot," Doyle stumbled. "June, well June's in a state."

Despite her shock, Mary knew what was required of her. "I'll go and see how she is. Are you coming?"

Doyle knew that he was the last person on God's earth that June would want to see at that moment. Not knowing how to put it into words, and not wanting to go into detail, Doyle just hung his head and left. The short journey to his car seemed endless. He got in blindly, leaning on the steering wheel, his arms over his head. He let the shock work its way through his body. Bloody fine agent you are, Doyle yelled in his head, first you get Cookie shot, then you go to pieces when you tell his missus and her mate. Doyle shook his head at his own incompetence.

Mary got her coat on quickly and hurried out of the door. She paused on the pavement, seeing Doyle hunched over the steering wheel. She wanted nothing more than to slide into the passenger seat and comfort him. But June needed more urgent attention. God knows what she was going to say to her neighbour. She stoically turned into the Cook's garden and heard the dog barking. She took a deep breath and braced her shoulders.

Sometime later, Doyle stirred himself. He needed to report to HQ. Cowley wouldn't allow him the entire afternoon off to break the news to Mrs Cook. He glanced guiltily at the house. He the saw Mary approaching, supporting June. The pair staggered towards the front gate. Doyle automatically got out of the car to help.

"I think she's gone into labour," Mary said anxiously.

Doyle opened the back of the car, placing his jacket on the back seat. June would have preferred to get a bus - a donkey - any means of transport to the hospital except the one on offer. But women in labour can't be choosy who they get to drive them to the hospital. Mary and Ray eased June into the back seat.

"I'll get Danny."

For a moment Doyle looked bewildered, then he remembered who Danny was - June's first-born. He was at junior school. Someone would have to pick him up, and someone would have to break the news.

"I'll tell him," Doyle offered stoically.

"No," Mary countered, "I'll tell him, and he can stay with us. You need to take June to the hospital quick."

It wasn't a task he relished, but June's family lived away and hadn't expected a birth for at least a few weeks, and Cookie's people would have enough on their plate once they heard the news of their son's demise. Doyle could see Mary's point, but didn't want to be responsible for getting June to the hospital - having let her husband down so badly - but there wasn't time to wait for an ambulance.

"All right but let me know if there's anything I can do."

Before Doyle could find a scrap of paper to write his phone number on, June interrupted. "There's nothing you can do. Haven't you done enough?" she snarled. It was going to be a very unpleasant journey.

Doyle left Mary to collect Danny and silently slid behind the driving wheel and eased the car out into the traffic. On the journey he was aware of deep breathing and gasps behind his left ear. He hoped fervently that she and the baby could hold on. The traffic got heavier as they neared the hospital. Doyle took some back roads, but other drivers had the same knowledge as Doyle and the 'rat runs' soon clogged. June's panting was taking on a more urgent edge. Doyle made a decision and turned into a nearby woodyard. It seemed empty and derelict. He turned the car round to face back into the traffic and brought the car to a stop. He got out and opened the rear door. Kneeling down to eye level he asked June how long she was between contractions.

"I don't know!" She looked very frightened and lost.

Doyle persuaded her to lay back on his coat on the back seat and asked permission to feel the baby.

"You a doctor, too?"

"I've delivered a couple of babies, June," Doyle said softly, trying to sooth her anger.

June said nothing but allowed him to help. As he took his hands away, she almost doubled up as a major contraction hit her. Doyle supported her with her breathing. On the slow ride to this place, he had a fear and a feeling that the baby was not going to wait till they reached a safe haven.

"We're going to have to do this together, June." He looked into her eyes. Neither of them wanted this, but they knew there was no alternative. She nodded reluctantly and allowed Doyle to carry on.

"Ok," he announced, "baby is on its way. Get all that anger out, June, and push when I say."

"No, Ray. I won't have her born to anger. I'll do this for Cookie."

"Alright, June. That's good. Let's do some panting before the next wave. Ok?"

June did as she was told and, with the second push, Doyle announced that he could see its head.

"Ok, June. Hold it there. The cord's wrapped round its neck. Just give me a minute."

Doyle delicately unwound the cord and directed June to push again. Within moments, the child made its noisy entrance into the world. Despite their hostility, they grinned as the tiny infant was placed on its mother's breast.

"It's a girl, June. A healthy little girl!"

"Cookie said it would be."

June burst into tears as she held her tiny daughter. Doyle used his Swiss army knife to cut the cord and unpicked a little of his cardigan for sutures. He had nothing to clean mother and child with, but wrapped the baby in the remains of his jumper.

"I'll try to get us back on the road. The traffic may have eased. No point in calling an ambulance. It'll get stuck in the same tailback."

June just nodded, her attention more on her child. Doyle looked down on them, huddled on the back seat. He wished he could find words to reach her. As emotions threatened to overwhelm him, he turned and got in the driver seat, fingering the gold chain which he had dragged from Cookie's body so many hours ealier. He dragged a sleeve over his eyes, took a deep breath and braced his shoulders. He'd get June safely to the hospital if it was the last thing he did. As he eased back into the traffic, he reached for the radio.

"4.5, 4.5. We've just had a little girl!"

"Are you on the happy pills again, Ray?" queried Control.

Doyle grinned idiotically and let Control make of the joyous announcement what they would.