Usual Disclaimer
I don't own the characters of Bodie and Doyle, or any others from the TV series. They belong to Mark One Productions and Brian Clemens.
I borrow them to write fiction for my own (and hopefully your) pleasure, with no financial gain to myself or anyone else.
THE CAMERA NEVER LIES
Part One
The cafe was bustling. Its windows were steamed up and the tables were full of students and tourists. Cambridge never seemed to be peaceful or quiet. Joanne stirred her tea and used her paper napkin to wipe away some of the condensation on the glass. She looked out onto the shopping mall concourse to see if she could spot her friend. They always met for lunch, but Tracy was late today. It was already quarter past one so they wouldn't have much time for a chat.
The door opened and Tracy hurried into the cafe. She looked around and spotted her friend. Waving frantically, she pushed her through the tables and chairs to reach Joanne. She looked flustered and breathless. Joanne slid a rapidly cooling cup of tea across and raised her eyebrow questioningly.
"What's up Trace? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Tracy stared at her friend, and taking a deep breath she spoke.
"I've just seen Ray Doyle." Those few words seemed to drain her friend of all colour.
Joanne pushed her chair back and stood up, swaying slightly.
"Ray? Where? Are you sure?" Joanne paled and steadied herself by holding on to the edge of the table.
Tracy gently took her hand.
"I'm pretty sure it's him. He's changed a bit from that photo you've got of him, but I reckon it is. He's outside in a car with another bloke. They're just sitting there talking. His friend is drop dead gorgeous," she added. Seeing Jo's white face, her tone softened.
"Jo . . . let it go. It was years ago."
Joanne smiled sadly.
"I can't Trace. I'll always remember him. I was just eighteen. He was almost seventeen. God, he was lovely even at that young age."
"Well he doesn't look so good now. Obviously he's been in a fight – his cheek's damaged and he's got a chipped front tooth."
Joanne gasped and sat down hard.
"Oh. Oh." She seemed incapable of saying any more.
Part Two
Outside in the car, Bodie pored over a map while Doyle sat with his feet up on the dashboard.
"Have you found the route yet?" he asked. "Can't be that difficult."
Bodie muttered to himself.
"We're in the back end of beyond Doyle. It's been a waste of time, and I wanna get home. Sue's got a 24hr stopover and the key to my flat. I need the quickest way back to London.
Doyle stretched his arms up and yawned.
"I used to live 'ere once," he said.
Bodie perked up, Doyle wasn't one to give details of his past out to anyone. He turned the radio down and faced his partner.
". . . .course, there was a cinema there then. Me and me mates used to smuggle each other in. One of us'd pay and then open the fire exit for the rest. Took some girls there too until . . ." Doyle shut up abruptly.
Bodie grinned at his partner.
"That's it is it. 'took some girls there'" he mimicked Doyle's flattened Derby drawl. "Guess you needed the practice," he said jokingly. Then he caught sight of the look on Doyle's face, and decided for the sake of his health, to shut up.
Doyle sat there, eyes narrowed obviously in a world of his own.
Bodie leaned back in his seat and went back to perusing the map. Whatever had surfaced in Doyle's strange little mind was best left there. He tapped the dashboard.
"C'mon sunshine. Let's go home. I've got loved ones at home."
Doyle gave a humourless laugh as Bodie let the brake off. The car pulled away from the kerb and the two agents began their journey back to London.
Part Three
Joanne was in turmoil. She rang the office from the cafe and begged off with a migraine. Dully she made her way home not aware of her surroundings. When she arrived at her front door, she was momentarily surprised to realise she was home.
She sat quietly for the remainder of the afternoon, her thoughts random and unformed. The only recurrent memory was of a young Ray Doyle, thin, long haired and old beyond his years. Eventually Joanne reached a decision and picked up the phone. She dialled a number and closed her eyes, waiting for the recipient to answer.
"Hello. 359667."
"Hi Dad, it's me, Jo."
There was a long silence, which seemed to grow louder as it dragged on.
At last he answered her.
"What do you want Joanne? His voice was distant and lacked any warmth.
"Ray's been seen in town Dad, and I thought you should know. It's part of your probation that you don't go near him. Take this a courtesy call Dad."
There was a short, sharp bark of laughter down the line.
"Why would I go near him love? I've done my time for that little bastard. I'm not going back to jail for him again." His voice grew menacing. "But if you do see him Jo, tell him to watch his back. I've got friends! And don't phone again." The phone went dead in her hand.
Joanne put the receiver down gently and with tears falling down her face she began dialling again.
"Tracy? Can you come over? I really need a friend tonight."
Half an hour later, Tracy was ensconced in the kitchen of Joanne's flat. She busied herself making tea while her friend was in the bathroom washing her face. Tracy carried two steaming mugs of tea into the lounge and flopped down on the sofa. She tucked her feet beneath her, and waited for Joanne to return.
Joanne entered the room. Tracy noticed her friend's red rimmed eyes. She patted the sofa, motioning her friend to sit down. Joanne smiled ruefully, and picking up her tea, she sat at the opposite end.
Tracy began without preamble.
"Jo. You're my best friend, I've known you for years, but in some ways you're a closed book. You never mention your family – I don't even know where they live. I've never pried, 'cos I decided a long time ago that whatever or whenever you wanted to talk, I'd be there for you. I know this has something to do with Ray. I thought you'd be happy I'd seen him! His photo has pride of place on the mantelpiece! Isn't it about time you got whatever it is off your chest?"
Jo stared at her friend for a time and then, taking a deep breath, she answered.
"Oh Tracy, it's such a mess . . ."
Tracy looked at her friend and saw the stress and strain etched across her face. She reached across and patted her shoulder.
"Jo we're mates! You've got your reasons for keeping your past to yourself. It's not my business to probe. But if talking about it will help, I'm here."
Suddenly Joanne felt a whole lot better. The secrets she kept to herself needed to be aired, and Tracy would not make any judgements. It was time to get the past firmly put aside.
"I met Ray about fifteen years ago. We went to the same secondary school. He was the year below me, but we were doing the same A levels. All the girls really fancied him – he was a bit other worldly and different. Wasn't interested playing football for a start. I kept bumping in to him in the local library. He looked so sweet . . . all that long curly hair and he wore glasses to read." Joanne smiled at the memory.
"Eventually he asked me out and we went to the cinema. He was the first boy I fell in love with. He used to look after me. We got on so well, and after a while we took it further. He was really nervous with me at first. We did it at my house – Mum and Dad were away at one of their dinners in London, so we knew we had the place to ourselves for the night."
Tracy broke in.
"You did it . . . with him? I bet you got some stick for doing a kid in the lower sixth!"
Joanne blushed faintly.
"He was seventeen! It wasn't like he was that much younger than me. It was a couple of weeks before his birthday. But he was so much older than his years. There'd been some problems with his Dad, I think. Something about beating Ray, his Mum and his sister so Mrs Doyle divorced him and moved the family here to start again. He was disgusted with his Dad. Said no-one should beat up women. I think that was why he was so gentle."
She remembered the old scars on his body, white against his golden skin. She recalled running her finger around his ribs following the pattern of the marks as they encircled his body.
Tracy moved closer to her friend, and found a box of tissues on the table. She had a feeling they'd be needed.
"That night I was determined to get him into bed. We'd been together for a couple of months. Saw each other almost every night. I thought he was so handsome. Anyway, we stayed in and watched the telly. We were lying together on the sofa . . . he was so wiry and strong . . . I just wanted him so much. I knew he felt the same . . ." she laughed gently, "the bulge in his jeans gave him away. Anyway, I just sat up and took my T shirt off. I wasn't wearing a bra. Ray sat bolt upright and spilt his drink all over himself."
Both women chuckled at the vision of an embarrassed and slightly damp Doyle.
"After that, there was no stopping him. We barely made it upstairs. He was a revelation. I didn't quite know what to expect. I'd gone out with Mike Barker for a while, and slept with him – it wasn't much fun at all, and then I went out with Jon Graham but he made it clear I had to give him a blow job the first date. I told him to dream on! Ray was amazing. So gentle and thoughtful. He actually seemed to care that I enjoyed it too. We couldn't get enough of each other."
Joanne stopped talking and looked at her friend.
"I sound like a right little slut don't I?" she asked.
Tracy shook her head.
"Oh Jo, it was all peace and love. We were all on the pill. Virginity was something to be got rid of. It was the same at my school, before I moved here." She gave a chuckle. "We thought we were so trendy and in the moment then."
Joanne smiled wistfully.
"I really thought Ray and I had something special. We were together for nearly a year. He took me out to decent restaurants, the cinema, concerts. Inevitably we'd end up in bed. He was just so good at it! And he changed in that time. I remember one evening I was waiting for him – we were going to see the Rolling Stones at the Hippodrome – I was really cross, 'cos it was late, and I thought he'd stood me up. Then I saw this bloke walking down the road and he caught my eye. He was broad shouldered but slim. He had really tight jeans on, and his shirt was open at the neck. He looked gorgeous, wanton . . . and then I realised it was Ray. He'd grown up and I'd not noticed.
Tracy touched her friend's arm.
"You had it bad love, didn't you? What happened – it sounds like a match made in heaven."
Joanne replied quickly and too brightly.
"I fell pregnant. We'd been so careful, but I'd caught a tummy bug and been sick. You were supposed to take extra precautions in those days, 'cos the pill didn't work if you were sick, but we didn't. My Dad found out . . . he was furious. Said Ray was just a piece of trash . . ." Joanne's voiced tailed off.
Tracy waited. She knew that Jo had to get this out of her system.
"Dad went round to Ray's house one night. He took him outside and beat him up. He broke his arm, kicked him in the head, broke his cheek and his tooth. Then he came home and punched me in the stomach. I lost the baby . . . and I lost Ray."
Tracy sat stock still. She couldn't quite believe what she'd heard. No wonder Jo never talked about her family. She ventured a question.
"Didn't your Mum help out?"
Joanne looked bleakly at the other woman.
"My Mum told me it was for the best. Ray wasn't 'right' for me. She said there'd be more babies later, by men 'more in keeping with our sort of people'. I moved out a couple of weeks later and never went back." She paused, for a moment. "Then I grassed up my Dad to the police. He went down for ten years for GBH."
Tracy was speechless. All she could do was hold her friend, who was now silently crying. Big fat tears slipped down her cheeks.
"What . . . what happened next?" she stuttered.
"Ray's Mum let me stay with her for a while. She was in a state too. Ray refused to see her or me when he was in hospital. He had some facial reconstructive surgery and then a week or so afterwards discharged himself and left the area. Didn't tell anyone where he was going! Ray's Mum was distraught. She was so kind to me – never blamed me for him leaving. She'd no idea where he'd gone. She didn't hear from him for a long time. Then she got a letter – he'd moved to London and joined the Met. He was training at Hendon Police College."
Jo fell silent. Tracy could see the effort it had taken to drag these memories to the forefront again, but she also sensed that her friend felt better it.
"What happened then," asked Tracy.
Joanne looked bleakly into the distance.
"Nothing," she whispered, "he never came back to Cambridge. I moved in with my Auntie Moira; she's Mum's sister. They had a terrible row over what happened and haven't spoken since. Mrs Doyle and Kath moved back to Derby and we lost touch. I went to university but I dropped out after two years. I couldn't settle to anything. Then I got the job at Dell's and I've been there ever since. I like it, and Moira's been wonderful. We're very close . . ."
Joanne paused and looked at the other woman. Tracy was struggling to maintain her composure.
"Didn't you ever try to find Ray?" she asked. "You knew he'd gone to London. He was a policeman, he should have been easy to find."
Joanne looked away.
"Why? For all I know he thinks it's my fault Dad beat him up. I tried to visit him loads of times when he was in hospital, but he refused to see me . . . or his Mum. I wrote to him, but he never replied. I think I'm the last person in the world he'd want to keep in contact with At first I used to phone his Mum for news, but after she moved, I thought it best not to bother her again After all, I'm the reason her son deserted her. They were a lovely family, and had had enough problems before they moved here; I just thought it would be better all round . . . you know, a fresh start, that sort of thing."
The women talked long into the night Eventually, worn down by memories and emotion, Jo fell asleep on the sofa. Tracy found some blankets and gently covered her friend's body. She quietly cleared up the cups, and rang for a minicab.
The following morning Tracy came to a decision. The office was quietly busy, with the hum of conversation on the air Everyone was involved in their own tasks. Tracy picked up her phone and dialled a number. The connection clicked and she heard the soft buzz of the ring tone.
"Directory Enquiries."
Tracy asked her question and then carefully wrote down the information from the operator.
Part Four
It was two days later when Doyle, deskbound and bad tempered bumped into Betty outside Cowley's office. Even on a Saturday morning, she was fresh as a daisy; he, unshaven, unkempt and tired.
"Is he in?" he asked, his voice thick from lack of sleep.
"Mr Cowley is in. I'll tell him you're here. I can see that you're in a bad mood." She balanced a tea tray while she went to open the door.
Doyle stepped in and pushed it open.
"Yeah well, he wanted me to go through the Matthews files – we found some information in Cambridge that might help with the case. It took me all night to get through it, and I've still not found what I'm looking for. Fell asleep over the desk. I'm tired, hungry and bored!"
"Where was your little friend," asked Betty sweetly.
"On leave," was the sharp reply.
The lift announced its arrival with a faint ping. The doors opened and Bodie also fresh as a daisy sauntered down the corridor.
He caught sight of Doyle and wrinkled his nose. He stared at Doyle's scruffy appearance, the unbuttoned shirt and and tight jeans. He noticed Doyle was barefoot - a sure sign he'd been at his desk all night. Doyle never wore shoes unless he had to.
"Raymond. Will you ever master the art of dressing yourself?" He smiled and turned round, snapping his cuffs.
"Betty. You look good enough to eat."
Betty didn't even look up.
"I'm not typing your report Bodie, so you can dispense with the compliments. At least Doyle looks as if he's been working!"
Betty swept past the young agent, closely followed by Doyle, who turned and gave Bodie the most irritating smirk he could muster. Bodie stuck out his tongue and fell in behind them.
In the 'inner sanctum' Cowley sat behind his desk, reading through a file. He beckoned to Doyle and gestured for him to sit down. He looked over his glasses at Bodie, who in the outer office had parked himself on the corner of Betty's desk.
"3-7. Do you not have anything else to do other than bother my very busy assistant? A report to type perhaps?"
Bodie gracefully rose to his feet, blowing a kiss to Betty and giving Doyle a broad wink.
"Leaving right now sir. Reports to write, tea to drink, girlfriends to phone . . ." he scooted out the office closing the door behind him.
Cowley pushed a cup of tea across to Doyle, and went back to reading the file.
He took his glasses off and stared at the tired looking man opposite.
Doyle struggled to get comfy. He was so tired!
"Doyle, forget the Matthews report for now. Go home and freshen up. Then get yourself a car, and go to Cambridge. The details are in here," he pushed the file over to Doyle. "You're to meet up with a Tracy Owen."
Doyle shrugged his shoulders, He was really too tired to care.
"Who's Tracy Owen?" he asked offhandedly.
The feisty Scotsman looked hard at Doyle.
"You don't know the lady then? How strange Doyle, because she has been to visit your mother in Derby, and the hospital in Cambridge, enquiring after your health. She's phoned Hendon to ask about your career with the Met. She claims she knew you some years ago, but has been abroad. Apparently she has come home and wants to see you."
Doyle shifted in the chair, wracking his brains for a memory of this person.
"No sir. I've never heard of her," he replied.
"Not an old girlfriend or perhaps someone with whom you had a brief dalliance?"
Doyle shook his head.
"No definitely not. Don't know the name at all."
Cowley gave his agent a shrewd look. Deep down he knew Doyle was telling the truth, but there were questions he wanted answered. Tracy Owen knew far too much about Ray Doyle. Yet she appeared to be quite innocent of how her questions would raise flags with the security services. Cowley wanted to know why she was pursuing her enquiries.
"She mentioned your time at Challoners Comprehensive School Doyle, and knew about Hendon. For someone you claim not to know that's interesting. Twenty four hours, Doyle to sort this out! I don't like the past sneaking up on my agents. You're too valuable and it takes years to train replacements. Pick up Bodie, he can drive you. It'll save me reading his badly typed and badly spelt report."
Doyle left his boss's office at a complete loss as to why this stranger was making enquiries about him. He stuck his head round the rest room and was rewarded with the sight of Bodie, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, laboriously pecking away at an ancient typewriter.
"C'mon sunshine. We've got a job to do. Back to Cambridge again."
Part Five
Back at his flat, Doyle had a long hot shower, getting the kinks out of his body. As he scraped the stubble from his chin, he wondered what this was all about. It seemed such an insignificant thing. Doyle was absolutely certain he'd never met a Tracy Owen. Going back to Cambridge was also not high on his list of life affirming events. Too many memories . . .
He sauntered out into the kitchen, where Bodie thrust a welcome mug of tea at him. He'd also thoughtfully toasted half a loaf – his signature dish he claimed – and was busy slathering butter over a slice. Doyle slid onto the chair and helped himself to the toast. Munching contentedly, the two friends eyed each other up. Bodie was the first to break!
"Okay, what exactly are we going back to Cambridge for? We were only there a week ago."
Doyle finished his tea.
"We're going to find a Tracy Owen, who apparently is a long lost friend of mine and anxious to see me again."
Bodie's blue eyes twinkled.
"Ah chasing you for alimony is she? Is there a tiny Doyle in tow?"
Doyle gave his partner one of his 'holier than thou" looks and shook his head. "Don't know 'er, never heard of 'er," he replied.
Bodie's expressive eyebrows danced with bewilderment.
"We need to talk young man," was his only comment.
An hour later, they were stuck in traffic on the way to Cambridge. Doyle had been quiet, and each time Bodie had snuck a look, he saw Doyle's brows furrowed, his hand supporting his chin. He was clearly thinking. Subconsciously he kept checking his gun. This action didn't escape Bodie's notice.
After travelling two miles in just under an hour, Bodie couldn't contain himself any longer. He turned to his partner and asked him outright.
"You said you'd lived there before. How did that come about? I've seen your file and you were born in Birmingham. What's with Cambridge?"
Doyle cast a glance at Bodie. He shook his head, and pointed to a sign showing a rest area at the next slip road.
"Let's take a break. I need some coffee to stay awake. Then I'll tell you."
Half an hour later, with two large cups of coffee and some tired looking sandwiches, they sat down in a quiet corner. Bodie took a swig of his coffee, forcefully put the cup down and thrust his jaw out.
"Well?" The word was loaded with questions.
Doyle sighed and dragged a hand through his hair.
"Not much to tell really. Girlfriend got knocked up, I got beat up, life got fucked up."
Bodie whistled quietly.
"That's a bit brutal mate, not to say lacking in detail."
Doyle shrugged his shoulders as if he wasn't bothered, but Bodie caught a fleeting look of anguish in his friend's eyes.
"C'mon Doyle, you're not 'fessing up at all. Cowley wouldn't send us both to Cambridge unless there was more to it than that!"
"To be honest I'm not sure why he's sent us. I really don't know anyone called Tracy Owen – she wasn't one of Jo's friends . . . ." Doyle shut up abruptly.
Bodie gave a broad smile.
"So there's more. Get it off your chest Doyle. It can't be that bad, you're still here."
All the fight seemed to drain from Doyle. He sipped the coffee and pushed the sandwich around his plate.
"I met a girl. Jo. I was at school with her, she was a year above me. She was amazing. So pretty and funny and intelligent. Really different from all the others. We went out for about eighteen months and I thought we'd stay together. Although we were careful she got pregnant. Her Dad took offence at me bein' the father, and he beat me up. I ended up in hospital for a few weeks with a busted face." Doyle unconsciously rubbed his damaged cheekbone. "Her Dad also hit her and she lost the baby. She shopped 'im to the police and he did ten years for GBH on her an' me. The end!"
Bodie was speechless. No stranger to violence, he had his own moral code, and never hitting a woman was top of his list. The casual violence that Doyle described was something he could not fully understand.
Doyle continued, his voice strangely flat and emotionless.
"She left 'ome and lived with Mum for a while. They both came to the hospital, but I refused to see them. I looked so awful I didn't want to scare them. My face was like a balloon 'cos of the beating and the ops. I couldn't see properly either. I thought I might lose my sight. As soon as I could, I discharged meself and left Cambridge. Went to London and stayed with Mum's cousin. I got back in contact with Mum. She'd moved back to Derby with Kath. She sent me Jo's letters. I'd left them at the hospital. Didn't even bother to read 'em . . . I reckoned she blamed me for forcing her into shoppin' her Dad. She'd lost everything 'cos of me and I thought it was better . . . ".
Doyle took a deep breath and ploughed on. It was as though a tap had been left on and wouldn't stop until it had run dry.
". . . then I worked in an art studio for a while. Eventually I decided to join the police. Initially I wanted to join the Domestic Violence Unit. As it was, I turned out to have a nose for undercover work, so got posted to Limehouse." He stopped talking and took a long draught of coffee.
Bodie began to speak, but was silenced by Doyle lifting his hand.
"Bodie! Wait, please. I need to get this out of my system. I read the letters a few years later. Realised what I'd lost. I don't know if we'd have stayed together . . . we were so young . . . but I did love her then. She lost her family, her home . . .our baby . . . and me!"
Doyle sounded so poignant; his partner understood in an instant that this experience had shaped much of Doyle's psyche, and that he kept such influences to himself.
Bodie was conscious that Doyle had entrusted his partner with a part of his life that was very private. He also realised he was ill equipped to help him other than listen.
Bodie had been in love in the past, but since returning to the UK and joining CI5 he'd not allowed himself to get too involved with anyone. You never know when that bullet has your name on it, or you see the unexpected flash of a blade, he thought. He also knew that Ray, tough and fearless on the outside, could be full of angst if he felt he was to blame for a situation. What had happened to Doyle and Jo was something Bodie hated.
He thought back to his own youth. His father had been a colourful man with a drink problem, but he could melt any woman's heart with his soft Irish brogue and charm, His stepfather was a vicious bully, who had tried once too often to beat respect into the young William Andrew Phillip. Bodie had ensured the man never had the opportunity to try again, and he never blamed himself for inflicting the blow that rendered his stepfather immobile for weeks. Unlike Doyle, Bodie felt blame was overrated.
He smiled at Doyle, who was playing with the wilting lettuce 'side salad'.
"C'mon sunshine, Let's go and find this Tracy Owen. Find out why she's so interested in you and yours."
They resumed their journey, glad that the traffic had thinned out. Bodie drove quickly through Essex, while Doyle dozed, tired after his all night work on the files.
Part Six
Late afternoon found the partners outside a maisonette in Cambridge. The car clicked and hummed as the hot metal cooled down. Doyle had his nose in a thin file; every so often he passed a sheet of paper across to Bodie.
They got out of the car, and Bodie entered a well kept garden. The block looked well maintained, the windows clean and the flower beds full of colour. He strode up to the front door and rang the bell. A few seconds later he heard the latch being drawn back, and the door opened. A young woman, in her early thirties stood on the threshold. Bodie showed her his ID, and was about to speak, when the woman caught sight of Doyle walking up the path, having locked the car. She gave a little cry and her hand flew to her mouth. Bodie gave her a quizzical look. The colour had leached from her face, and her blue eyes were round and staring.
"You're Ray Doyle, aren't you?" she asked. "I've seen your photo."
Doyle looked blankly at her. Bodie smiled sweetly and motioned for her to go inside. She turned around and motioned for them to follow her. She led them into a comfortable lounge where they sat down.
"Miss Owen. We're here because of your interest in Ray Doyle You've visited his mother, and the hospital. Could you tell us why?" Bodie spoke softly trying to put the woman at rest.
"Am I in trouble?" she asked "I didn't mean any harm I just wanted to trace Ray Doyle."
Doyle gave her tight smile.
"Well you've found me," he said, "but why? I don't know you, I'm pretty sure we've never met."
Tracy looked sheepishly at him
"No we haven't . . . but I know a lot about you. I'm Joanne Saunders's friend."
At the mention of Jo's name, Doyle sat upright. He reached across for Tracy and grabbed her hand.
"You . . . you know Jo? She's still around? Is she OK? Is that why you tried to find me . . . ?" The questions tumbled from his lips.
Bodie stared in amazement; he'd never seen Doyle quite so agitated, although given the background he understood his partner's outburst.
Tracy sat there, uncertainty masking her face.
"Mr Doyle, I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused. I'm not sure it was a good idea, trying to find you, but Jo has your photo in her flat, and when I saw you last week I told her. She was so upset. Then she told me the story, and I just wanted some closure for her. After all, you refused to see her when she tried to visit you, and you never replied to her letters. Please . . . I think it's best we just let sleeping dogs lie. I am sorry, but you've had a wasted journey."
Bodie butted in
"Now look here love You started poking your nose around Doyle's life. You visit his Mum, then the hospital. You phone the police college and give some cock and bull story about being a long lost friend." Bodie's voice lowered and his words dripped menace.
"That action alone alerted us! We're CI5 and letting sleeping dogs lie isn't what we do!" So, let's try and sort out what happens next, eh?"
Tracy sat open mouthed as the angry young man continued. Doyle stared wordlessly into the distance. It was if he'd removed himself mentally from his surroundings.
Bodie carried on. "Doyle here gave me his version of what happened. It's unbelievable people would behave like that! It's disgusting! So the least you can do is tell her that Doyle's OK."
At the mention of his name, Doyle seemed to come to.
"Give me her address Tracy," he said, "I'll sort it out once and for all."
Part Seven
At seven o clock that evening Doyle sat outside Jo's flat. Both Tracy and Bodie had argued against his actions, but Doyle was adamant. Eventually they gave up, realising he wouldn't give in. Doyle elicited a promise that Tracy wouldn't phone Jo and tell her of his visit. He wanted to do it his way. He borrowed Bodie's car keys, and left the two of them resigned to a wait. Bodie, as ever, suggested a takeaway , citing his lack of food that day. Tracy, who was becoming quite taken with the big, blue eyed man despite his earlier outburst, readily agreed.
Now Doyle was alone. It had begun to drizzle softly and he sat pondering his next move. He was feeling far from confident, and his thoughts were of his seventeen year old self. He sighed deeply and got out of the car, locking it behind him. He entered the building and walked along the corridor. He arrived at number eleven and without hesitating, rang the bell.
The few seconds it took for the door to open seemed like hours. Then the door opened and Jo stood there before him. Wordlessly she stared at Doyle, her eyes huge in her pale face.
"Hello Jo," he said.
She gasped and sagged against the door frame. Doyle moved forward to help her. She put out a hand towards him and grabbed his arm. As he helped her up she snaked an arm around his neck and pulled him towards her. Her mouth sought his and she kissed him deeply. Doyle returned her kiss, but moved her away until she was at arm's length.
"Can I come in?" was his simple request.
Jo took his hand and led him into the living room. Doyle sat down heavily, drawing Jo next to him. Neither spoke, but Jo's eyes took in every inch of her ex lover.
Finally she spoke, her voice husky with emotion.
"Oh Ray, you are OK. I'm so glad to see you. I'd no idea . . . I'm so sorry . . . my Dad . . . ," her voice rose "why didn't you tell me!"
Doyle slipped his arm around her shoulders, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
"Ssh, ssh, it's OK," he whispered. "It's OK."
They sat together, quietly, just holding each other for some while. Then Jo broke away, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Do you want a drink?"
Doyle smiled at her.
"I could do with a cuppa."
While Jo busied herself in the kitchen, Doyle took in his surroundings. The flat was small but comfortable. Muted colours and lighting gave a feeling of cosiness. Jo had some prints on the wall, and there was a well stocked bookcase along the wall. A TV and a music-centre sat on a low sideboard, and a coffee table was placed between two small sofas. Doyle moved across to examine the books and came face to face with a photo of himself aged nineteen. He stared hard at the black and white picture. In it, he was laughing, his eyes screwed up against the sun. He was sitting on a bench by the beach, the breeze had ruffled his hair, and he held a large stick of candy floss. There was no sign of the damage to his face, and his teeth were white, even and unchipped.
Before August 1965 then, he thought.
Jo came back in the room with mugs of tea. She saw Doyle looking intently at the photo.
"Kings Lynn, July 1964," she said quietly. "We'd gone away for the weekend. Auntie Moira took us. It's the only way Mum and Dad would let me go."
Doyle laughed.
"Good old Moira. She was lovely. Bet she didn't tell your Dad she'd only booked a double room for us."
Jo set the mugs down.
"She still keeps an eye out for me. When I left your Mum's I lived with her for a while, before I went to university."
Doyle raised his eyebrows at this nugget.
"Never knew that," he said.
"Well you wouldn't Ray. No one knew where you were then."
Doyle heard the brittle tone and turned.
"Jo, I am sorry. I just didn't know what to do for the best. I didn't want you or Mum to see what Jack had done."
The use of her father's name shook Jo.
"I looked awful," Doyle continued. "I couldn't see properly out of my right eye, my mouth was all wonky and my face was like a football. Not to mention the broken arm and the odd bruise. There was no way I was gonna inflict that on my nearest and dearest. Afterwards, it just made sense to leave. I couldn't work out if I was so scared of your Dad, or if I was gonna kill 'im."
Jo stole a quick look at him. Doyle's eyes were screwed shut, as if the effort of remembering was almost too hard.
"I didn't find out you'd lost the baby for a while. When I phoned Mum, she told me, an' that you'd shopped your Dad. I was so angry. I should never have left and put Mum and you through that. I just thought that it was better I never came back. I didn't know if you'd want to see me again, or if you'd moved on."
She looked steadily at him.
"I wrote to you Ray, but you never replied. What was I supposed to do? I've not spoken to my parents since it happened," she said, "apart from last week. I phoned Dad and told him Tracy had seen you in town. I warned him off Ray, 'cos I know what he's like. He told me he 'has friends' and you should watch your back. If he did go looking for you, there'd be trouble, and I'd never forgive myself."
Doyle smiled briefly.
"I can take care of myself love. No need to worry. Jo, I can't turn back the clock, I'm just sorry for everything."
She sighed and leaned back on the sofa.
"Ray, we're adults now. We both did what we thought was for the best. I'm just so pleased that you're here, so I can see for myself you're OK. We both had changes forced on us Ray, which made us make and take decisions before our time. I'm glad you've come back. I guess this is down to Tracy isn't it?"
"She cares Jo. She's a good friend to have. It was her digging up the past that alerted my boss to the situation."
Jo looked at him quizzically.
"Oh. The Met vet their officers' past life do they?"
"I'm not with the Met any more love. Haven't been for a while. I work for CI5."
Jo looked warily at him
"What? Are you a spy now? CI5 – they're the shadowy lot, aren't they? Home security or something?"
"Yeah . . .or something," said Doyle laughing.
Part Eight
Bodie and Tracy sat among the remnants of a Chinese takeaway. Tracy had produced a bottle of wine, and the two of them had enjoyed a quiet meal. The conversation had been light and amusing. Bodie was a first class raconteur and his stories of his Army life had kept Tracy amused for some time. Neither of them had mentioned Doyle or Jo. Tracy pushed her chair back and collected the plates.
"Do you fancy some more wine, or a coffee," she called from the kitchen.
Bodie, sleek and replete had settled in the armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
"I think coffee would be best," he called back. "I guess I'll be driving back to London later . . . need to keep me wits about me."
Tracy stood in the doorway and looked across at her guest.
"Do you reckon Ray will come back then?" she asked.
Bodie shifted his body, getting more comfortable.
"Why wouldn't he?" he asked reasonably. "He's just gone to make sure Jo's OK."
Tracy shook her head.
"Bodie, you really don't understand at all do you? She's been holding a candle for Ray for as long as I've known her. She's never let go. They've got years of history to catch up on. They'll talk all night."
Bodie smiled to himself. Doyle spending all night just talking to a woman would be a new thing indeed for his partner. However, he admitted, these circumstances were so different; Doyle might 'just talk'.
The two of them spent another companionable hour chatting inconsequentially about how Tracy and Jo met, their work and social life. Another bottle of wine followed the first, and then some brandy.
Bodie soon learned that Jo had not been out seriously with anyone for a long while. There had been relationships lasting for a few months, but nothing longer.
"They all have to share her with Ray," remarked Tracy. She went on to tell Bodie that Jo had left university two years into her degree and had been working as a graphic artist for a local marketing agency ever since. He also discovered Tracy worked for an arts supply shop and taught the subject at evening classes.
As the evening wore on, Bodie discovered he quite liked this type of duty. Tracy was warm and funny, and after the initial wariness they got on like a house on fire. So it wasn't surprising that Bodie found himself lying side by side with Tracy on her sofa. He slipped an arm around her neck, and gently nuzzled her hair. She turned slightly and put her arm across his chest, inhaling his warmth and the tangy scent of his aftershave.
Bodie smiled inwardly. They had 24 hours to sort this out. He still had enough time to get to know this lady better.
Tracy pushed herself up on one elbow, and looked down at the handsome man. He lay there peacefully, eyes closed and lashes to die for. She ran her fingers down his chest, gently scratching at his skin between the buttons on his shirt. He smiled sleepily at her.
"That sort of behaviour could lead to a situation beyond my control," he said wickedly.
Tracy smiled down at him
"Bodie, I think you, out of control, is a sight worth seeing."
He took her gently in his arms and swept her off the sofa.
Tracy laughed, low and husky.
"Second door on the right Bodie, that's all you need to know."
Part Nine
Doyle and Jo talked for what seemed like ages. She told him about Moira and how she had given her a home, about her job and about Tracy. She never mentioned her parents and Doyle felt vaguely sad about it. In his eyes, whatever the Saunders felt about their daughter's behaviour, they should have supported her, rather than punish her. For his own part, he regretted the lack of trust he had put in his Mum and sister, thinking they would be better off without him. He had learnt from his Mum that she didn't blame him at all for leaving.
"You tried to make it right for everyone son. That's what you do," she had said one day. That comment alone had healed him.
As the evening drew on, they grew quieter. Each knew there would be no return to the past. They were both happy and content with each other. Their youthful passion may or may not have lasted, but circumstances ended any chance of finding out. Jo knew she had laid the past to rest and from now on, things would be better. Doyle asked her what she would do.
"I'm not too sure," she replied. "Moira wants to go to Paris for a while. She managed to get a gallery interested in some of her paintings, and they sold really well. Now they're asking her to go over for six months to paint and get herself established. She's asked me to go with her. I wasn't sure, but now I think it would be a good idea. I need to make some changes." She smiled at the young man sitting opposite her. "What about you?"
Doyle smiled at her.
"I'll go back to London and keep the country safe. It's what I'm best at," he said jokingly. "I guess I should be going soon. Poor old Bodie – he's spent the best part of the day hanging around waiting for me. He'll want to be getting home – he's got loved ones at home – especially one particular red head!"
"Is he married then?" asked Jo, thinking of Tracy's comments earlier in the week, about Doyle's partner.
Doyle just laughed.
"Er, no. It doesn't work like that with Bodie."
Doyle collected up the mugs and plates while Jo disappeared into the hall. He had just put the crockery into the sink when she reappeared, looking flustered.
"Ray, I just called Tracy to say you were on your way back. She suggested it might be better if you picked up Bodie tomorrow morning – say about nine."
Doyle smiled wolfishly.
"Oh. It's like that is it? Fair enough. Erm, can I beg the use of your sofa for the night then . . . or I'll kip in the car. Won't be the first time."
Jo stared at Doyle, unsure of how to respond. Logically she knew she didn't want a future with him anymore. Too much time had passed, and they had changed so much, but she was acutely aware that she wanted, in fact needed, an intimacy with Doyle that would finally close the door on their history. She quickly reached her decision.
Moving swiftly across the room, she slid her arms around Doyle's neck, and kissed him hard on the mouth. She took his hand, and led him from the lounge, switching off the lights as she went.
As soon as they reached the bedroom, Jo turned and pulled Doyle's T shirt over his head. She held him at arm's length, and slowly feasted her eyes on his body. She gently ran her hand across his chest, through the hair and down towards his belly. She caught sight of the small gold nipple ring and raised her eyes to his face.
"Spain. Two years ago," he managed to say.
She continued her exploration of him, noting the changes that had taken place in the intervening years. There were scars to be sure, but Doyle had toughened up. The thin, wiry youth had grown into a muscled and strong man. Her eyes never left his face, and she saw the race of emotions flit across him.
She quickly undressed and slipped into bed. Doyle was mesmerised. For the first time in many years he felt unsure of what to do. Eventually he spoke.
"You don't have to do this Jo . . .." She reached up and put a finger across his mouth, stopping any further talk.
"But I want to Ray. I need to. It's what will end it for me . . . and in the best way possible. Now get yourself over here."
Doyle needed no more encouragement. Slipping out of his jeans, he pulled the bedding down and lay next to Jo. With a shock he realised how little things had changed. It was much like he remembered it. Her cool skin and long legs, her perfume and those busy fingers!
Jo also relived the past. Doyle now, was a more refined, more experienced version of himself than at nineteen – and he'd been very good then, she recalled.
She abandoned herself to his ministrations, content to absorb all he had to give. When he finally climaxed, she gave him a brief respite before starting her own exploration of his body. What she found didn't disappoint. Doyle lay there, exhausted, but all too willing to rest and recoup. His senses were overloaded, as Jo touched, kissed and stroked him. Together, they gave and received of each other until sleep overtook them.
Part Ten
Bodie let the hot water run over his shoulders and down his back. He was cheerful and relaxed. He'd spent a wonderful evening with a woman whose appetites matched his own. He decided the emerging female emancipation movement was a great thing, if it meant he could enjoy no strings attached sex such as he'd had with Tracy. She'd made it quite plain it was a one off.
"You're too handsome for your own good Bodie, you couldn't stay faithful if your life depended on it," she'd said while nestled in his arms.
Now he wanted to go home. He dried himself off and sauntered into the kitchen fetchingly garbed in a large pink bath towel.
Tracy turned from the cooker and smiled at the big man.
"Not really your colour Bodie," she said, nodding at the towel. "Tea or coffee? Eggs, two or three rashers of bacon?"
Bodie decided heaven could well be in Cambridge. His blue eyes crinkled merrily as a huge grin split his face.
"Tea, please. And, is there any chance of some toast and marmalade?"
Idly his thoughts drifted to Doyle, and he wondered when his partner would show up. Hopefully, not before he'd demolished the huge plate of food in front of him. Tracy watched him tuck into his breakfast. She walked across to the wall phone and dialled out.
"Hello love, how are you? Did you get things sorted out?" Bodie assumed Tracy was talking to Jo. He paid scant attention until the conversation changed tone somewhat.
"You what? Oh my goodness, was that really for the best . . . ah, I see . . . and you're sure . . . in that case, I'm really pleased. Tell me more later. Oh yeah, things were very good thanks." She ended the call with a wicked giggle.
"Doyle will be here in about an hour. They're going out for breakfast."
Bodie pushed his empty plate away.
"An hour. That's sixty minutes. You can do a lot in sixty minutes."
The maisonette rang with laughter as Tracy chased the big man back into the bedroom.
Part Eleven
Doyle and Jo finished their food and paid the bill. Together they left the cafe and walked up to where Doyle had left the Capri.
"Well love, this is where I have to go." He looked at the woman affectionately. "No regrets about last night?" he asked.
Jo shook her head.
She kissed him so gently on the mouth, and ran her finger around his jaw. "None at all. I'll always love you Ray Doyle, but it's time I claimed my life back."
She hugged him tightly, thankful that she'd had the chance to talk and love this very special man. The future looked brighter than it had for years. She waved and turned away, a spring in her step that had been missing for so long.
Doyle drove away slowly. He couldn't decide how he felt. He'd come to Cambridge more anxious then he'd let on, and fully prepared to do harm to Jack Saunders if that's what it took to end the situation. Instead, he'd rekindled a relationship with a woman he'd loved, and also realised that he had also changed. He was happier with the man he'd become.
Bodie was waiting for him outside of Tracy's home. As he pulled up, he saw his partner pull the slight figure of Tracy Owen towards him, and kiss her deeply. She in turn slipped her hand around his back and, Doyle noted with amusement, patted his friend's bum.
Bodie opened the door and made a show of clambering into the car.
"Sorry mate. A bit stiff this morning," he added wickedly. He slammed the door closed and with a wave to Tracy, the partners pulled away and headed back to London.
"Get everything sorted out last night?" asked Bodie conversationally.
"Yes thank you. All sorted," came the guarded reply.
"Er, sorry about the sleeping arrangements," said Bodie, not sorry at all. "It seemed sensible for me to stay, when it got late. I didn't know what to do," he added, trying to inject an air of pathos into his voice.
Doyle cackled at his friend.
"You couldn't have cared less, mate. I spent the night in the car, cold and uncomfortable. I 'ope you feel guilty."
Bodie gave his friend a swift side long look, just in time to catch Doyle trying to stifle a belly laugh.
"Stupid bugger," he replied. Then he asked in all seriousness, "Where did you sleep then? Find a hotel or something?"
"Something" was Doyle's reply.
Bodie considered this nugget of information for a few minutes before commenting again.
"I know you Doyle. You've got that well fucked look this morning. So I'm guessing angelfish, that you played some horizontal footsie last night. You were supposed to be sorting out your past problems, not relighting the fire mate. What happens now?"
Doyle sighed.
"Nothing happens now. Too much water under the bridge. I'm glad we met up again, and yes Bodie we did talk. For hours. And hours. Things are straight between us. No ongoing problems. Jo's fine. She's got plans and a future. So have I."
Bodie went to open his mouth, but was stopped by a sharp look from his partner.
"And yes, 'orizontal footsie did enter into it, but it was more like it used be with Jo."
Bodie knew when he was beaten and accepted defeat graciously. After a few minutes he asked,
"Are you going to ask me how things are?"
Doyle considered his reply.
"Probably not mate. 'Cos it'll be the same is usual with you. You'll have fallen in love, however briefly, you'll have had your wicked way with Tracy, possibly several times, and you'll have eaten the contents of her fridge afterwards. At least have the grace to look sorry Bodie!"
Bodie managed a small pout and a barely concealed grin.
"And how was it 'more like it used to be'", he asked silkily.
Doyle brought the car to a stop at the traffic lights.
He turned to his partner and looked his straight in the eye.
"We made love Bodie," he replied.
Part Eleven
Into the future. Tracy bent down to pick up her mail from the mat. She rifled through the paper, frowning at the envelope from the gas board, smiling at a postcard from her parents in Malaga, and grinning broadly when she saw an envelope with a French stamp on it. Quickly she ripped it open, and fumbled with the thin, airmail paper inside.
It was from Moira this time. The last exhibition had been a great success with all the paintings sold. She would remain in Paris for the time being, but Jo was coming home and moving into Moira's house. Moira continued 'she's met a lovely man here called Lucien, and I think they may marry. He'll be coming with her, not to meet the parents – that hurt will never heal, but Jo wants you to see him. Anyway Lucien is besotted with her, and treats Rory as his own. Jo remains reticent about Rory's origins, but just look at the photo of Ray Doyle – it'll answer all your questions. Do come over soon, Paris is lovely this time of year, and you're always welcome Best Wishes Moira.