prologue:
The harsh rain hammered relentlessly against the glass of the cold window. Another night alone with the rain and a bottle, nights like these seemed so familiar by this point. It had been 10 long years of misery and unaffectionate exchanges. And drinking, so much drinking, these days it took very little to drive her to the bottle for escape from her desperate existence. She cursed herself over and over on nights like these, what had she expected? She was married to "The Manc Lion" it wasn't as if she was ever going to receive anything even approaching sensitivity, or love, as she had learned first hand to her detriment. In truth, Gene was married to his job anyway. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried to make an effort, she'd attended several of his "work do's" all of which seemed to end in disaster and embarrassment, with Gene punching some poor sod in the face or getting so drunk he passed out on top of someone. But last night, last night was different. She had found herself alone, as was typical, whilst gene sauntered off to get completely annihilated and characteristically rough with someone who by all accounts probably didn't deserve it. She had been gazing sullenly into her half empty wine glass when she'd felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around coming face to face with a man who resembled a pencil, everything about him was thin and wooden, the way he stood, his moustache, his dreadful hair. He clearly worked with the police, though she suspected, not with her husband, non of his lackeys would dare be so bold as to make a move on her, she figured he must have been from one of the other branches of the station, maybe the drug's squad, he had the distinct look of someone who spent a lot of time around narcotics. He spoke with a sightly posh sounding Mancunian accent, a feat which would have been impressive were he not such an instantly detestable man. And then came the flirting, it wasn't even subtle, She had felt more than uncomfortable with the unwanted advances of pencil-man, her eyes darted around the room, searching frantically for an excuse to escape when her eyes met another. It was like the world slammed to a halt, like the lights had finally thundered on. Deep green eyes, sad eyes, but there was life there, waiting to be set free, and then the face on which they sat spun into focus. Mrs Hunt's breathing quickened as she took in the sight of the most beautiful creature she'd ever laid eyes on. Then there was the the sound and motion of a clenched fist slamming into the face of pencil-man She hadn't even needed to question what had just occurred, she already knew. It was Gene, throwing his not inconsiderable weight in pencil-man's direction. A slew of profanities poured from Gene's mouth as he was dragged to his feet and propelled towards the exit. That was the last thing she remembered of that night, but her thoughts kept being drawn back to those eyes, those perfect eyes, that seemed to grasp at her very being and had pulled her in so deeply. Truly there was nothing else she could think of. For the first time she didn't care that she was coming second to "The Job" she didn't care that her husband was away, she didn't even care that she had reached the end of the bottle. All she cared about was finding those eyes, it was like a compulsion, a desperate need she could feel burning away inside, she could feel it in her bones, she had to do it, she had to. She had to find the girl with the green eyes.