Ok, so my first ever fanfiction, scary... A prequel-y thing based on what we find out at the end of Series 3. Hope you enjoy...
23rd December 1940
After three hours of not too distant booms that shook the house almost as terribly as they shook her nerves, Evelyn Hunt finally admitted defeat.
'We're going to your grandfather's,' she told the two boys sitting in the kitchen with her as she extinguished her cigarette and grabbed their coats, sick of listening to the constant rattle of the china in the dresser and the groan of the stairs. She could hear her husband's voice in her ear, chastising her for being frightened, telling her she was as bad as the children to run to his father at the slightest thing. Still, she had never pretended to be brave. Not all of us are soldiers, she reassured herself, though she was certain neither of her sons were as afraid as she was. Stuart was impassive, his face a blank mask as usual, unreadable. He's so quiet, has he always been so quiet? she wondered as he disappeared upstairs to fetch the bags she had packed earlier, just in case. She half wished he could have been younger than thirteen, too young to be frightened. Instead, she had watched his knuckles whiten at ever sickening whistle of another bomb falling.
'Mam? Is it Christmas yet? Mam? Mam!' Eugene shouted from the window. For all of Stuart's silence, her younger son more than made up for it. For the past hour he had stood on a box by the window, watching out for flashes of light and imitating the sounds of the bombs, unconvinced by her or Stuart that the commotion outside was not a herald to the early arrival of Father Christmas.
'No. Two more sleeps,' Evelyn replied, forcing a weary smile, 'Come here and put your coat on,' she asked. She crouched down in front of him and as he tried to stifle a yawn, lest he should be sent to bed, she capitalised on this momentary calm and manipulated his arms into the small coat, a miniature version of the coat that Stuart pulled on as he hurried back into the kitchen, dumping the three gas masks and two small backpacks on an empty chair.
'D'you want me to lock up?' he asked her as she attempted to button his brother into his coat.
'Just the front door, sweetheart, if those things get any closer it isn't going to matter whether we locked up or not- Jesus, would you keep still?' she snapped at Eugene, hopping from one foot to the other and itching to run to the window to see the latest bomb fall.
'Masks, bags, valuables,' Evelyn reeled off as she wound a scarf around Eugene's neck, 'Should we take anything else? Maybe I should-'
'Mam, let's just go,' Stuart said firmly.
'Where're we going?' Eugene asked as they made their way through dark alleyways and side streets, their breath steaming in the freezing December air.
'Grandad's,' Stuart answered, taking Eugene's small hand in his. Evelyn walked slightly ahead of them, firstly to check the way was clear so none would stumble in the dark and secondly to have a cigarette in peace and not be Mam for a few precious minutes.
'Oh. Will Father Christmas know we're there?' came the next question. She could tell by the tone of his voice that her youngest son was wrestling with a dilemma. If they went to her father-in-law's house, there was a chance he would be missed by Father Christmas. However, a visit to his grandfather was almost as good as Christmas anyway, it was simply a question as to which old man would give the better present.
'Yeah. He will.'
'But how will he know we've gone out?'
'Because he knows everything.'
'At Sunday school they said God knows everything.'
'That's because God and Father Christmas are friends.'
'Oh.'
When they reached James Hunt's house half an hour later, it was to the sound of a church bell ringing twelve in the brief calm.
'Now it's Christmas Eve,' Evelyn whispered into Eugene's hair as she balanced him precariously on her hip, kissing the top of his head. He was dozing lightly and yawned in reply, the day's excitement finally catching up with him. Stuart rapped on the door and Evelyn was relieved to see that her sister-in-law had also chosen to come here.
'All right, Evelyn? Come in out the cold, Dad's just putting on a brew,' Sheila sighed, ushering them inside.
'Would you look at this one?' she smiled as Evelyn set Eugene down in the hallway, 'Can't barely keep his eyes open, can you, Genie? How old are you now?'
'Seven now,' Evelyn answered for him, tugging off the small coat it had been such a struggle to get him into, 'I think I'll put him to bed, it's better he sleeps through it.'
'And miss all the excitement?' James called from the kitchen. The sound of his voice roused Eugene from his drowsiness and sent him bowling into the kitchen, back to chattering nineteen to the dozen. This was nothing unexpected; both grandfather and grandson had gotten along exceptionally well since Eugene was old enough to talk. Whilst he had never been prone to shyness, she knew James shared more than she ever would with her child, and especially more so than he would ever share with his father. Stephen Hunt had gotten into a fight in the pub, as was customary on a Friday night, only this particular night his assailant had come at him with a broken pint glass. Built, in his own words, like a brick shithouse, Stephen had easily floored the other man. Except the contact this man's head had made with a corner of a nearby table had killed him. Though a lenient judge and a jury sympathetic to his plea of self-defence heard his case, Stephen still found himself beginning a prison sentence of several years. With one young son and a baby on the way, Evelyn found a saviour in her father-in-law, who made it his personal mission to see that they wanted for nothing. The origins of some of the items she was gifted with were dubious, but she had already experienced that from her marriage and knew it was better to say nothing and accept them with gratitude. He had seemed the most concerned with the fact that his youngest grandchild would be without his father for so long and had taken his paternal role very seriously.
As Stuart joined his cousins in the front room, Evelyn followed Sheila into the kitchen and found Eugene and James sitting at the kitchen table in deep discussion.
'I was planning on going over to check on you and the boys tonight,' James told her.
'I was just-' Evelyn began embarrassedly.
'I think it's better for everyone to be together at times like this,' he said over her apologies, 'It was very kind of you both to make sure I wasn't blown to bits.'
'Actually, we thought that if you were, we might be able to find out where you're hiding all your cash,' Sheila replied slyly.
'I'm a poor old man, love, don't know what cash you're on about,' he said with an innocent shrug. A particularly loud boom made Evelyn start and give a scream in fright.
'Phew, that's loud, hmm?' James whispered to Eugene.
'Granddad? How many more sleeps is it till Christmas?' Eugene asked. As neither Evelyn nor Stuart had provided satisfactory answers, it was up to his grandfather to set the record straight.
'Genie, I told you, it's two,' Evelyn said tiredly.
'One. I slept on the way here.'
'It's still nighttime, sweetheart. Speaking of which, you should go to bed,' she reminded both herself and him.
'I'm not tired. I'm not really, Granddad. Father Christmas is in the sky, right now. I heard him.'
'That's not Father Christmas, lovey, that's the Germans attacking us. That's who your dad and Uncle John are fighting,' Sheila explained.
'But… Father Christmas is on our side, isn't he? Mam?'
'Of course he is,' she sighed.
'What if one of the Germans hits his sleigh?' Eugene asked worriedly.
'Well, he thought of that… He didn't want boys and girls to go without just because of Hitler. So he came to see me yesterday and left something for me to give to you when it was time,' James said, getting to his feet and rooting through a cupboard to find something. Holding it behind his back, he presented Eugene with the model ship. Despite her exhaustion and terror, Evelyn allowed herself the smallest smile. James had been carving wooden models for as long as she had known him, but they had developed from fairly crude cravings when she had first married Stephen into the intricate models the likes of which Eugene was presented now. His eyes were round with delight as he brushed the small cloth sails and string rigging with the tips of his fingers.
'Wow,' Eugene breathed.
'Every ship needs a captain,' James said, handing Eugene a miniscule captain to accompany the ship, 'And did you see what the ship is called, Geno?' he asked.
'Same as me,' he said with a grin as he traced the letters of his name along the side of the ship, 'Will it really sail, Granddad?'
'We'll try it in the spring,' James promised. Eugene sat in silence, marvelling at the ship for a few minutes, until the bright smile slipped from his face slightly.
'What's the matter? Storm at sea?' James asked with a smile as he ruffled Eugene's hair.
'Does the captain have any friends?' he asked. Sheila let out a hoot of laughter.
'He wants his money's worth, Dad!' she snorted.
'I think you mean, 'Thank you very much, Granddad'!' Evelyn hissed across the table. James smiled again and pulled Eugene onto his lap.
'Don't you worry yourself over him, Geno. He's captain of the ship. He's got his own kingdom, where everything's just how he likes it, forever and ever.'
'He's not lonely?'
'He's too busy fighting pirates to get lonely.'
1st June 1953
Armed with a bag full of silverware and a crowbar, the man who kicked the back gate leading into the alleyway gave a wild whoop of laughter as he glanced over his shoulder to see the middle-aged constable slam into the stonewall opposite the gate. The constable began to pursue at a lumbering pace, lurching down the alleyway and was followed in turn by a younger officer emerging from another side street. Richard Pierce recognised from previous run-ins with the police and the all too neat uniform that the second constable was a new recruit and felt more elated at the thought. Experience had taught him that this novice, like so many others before him, would be nervous and trying to remember everything they had been taught in the weeks beforehand, and would inevitably panic when the arrest didn't go as smoothly as he had envisaged, thereby allowing him to slip away.
What he hadn't expected when the senior constable slumped against a fence in defeat was for the young PC to break into a sprint and begin to catch him up. Clutching at his side, Pierce hurried to increase his pace. As he rounded another sharp corner he cursed the army under his breath; this national service they were all sent on would be behind training this officer to run like that. Hearing footsteps draw closer behind him, Pierce swung the crowbar wildly backwards, hoping it would make contact with either his head or any of his long limbs, anything to incapacitate this boy. The low groan that followed told him that his aim wasn't as good as he had hoped.
'Bastard,' Gene panted, massaging his bruised hip as he pushed off from the wall to continue the chase. Morrison was following at a leisurely jog, huffing with effort and no help to Gene. He might have caught Pierce sooner, had Morrison not insisted on leading. Though by no means wider than the average man, neither was Morrison particularly tall and Gene could cover double the amount of ground in the same stride. Still, Morrison would be the first to admit this and now gestured for Gene to carry on the pursuit without him.
He drew almost level with Pierce again and was sure that if he reached out his hand he could grab Pierce by the scruff of his neck, but was wary of the swing of that crowbar, especially within nose breaking vicinity. Instead, he dealt a quick kick to the back of Pierce's knee and he went down with a smack, nose making painful contact with the cobbled ground.
'Ha!' Gene hissed, pressing his knee between Pierce's shoulder blades as he fished in a back pocket for a pair of brand new handcuffs.
'Late for dinner, were you?' Morrison asked mockingly as a dish lid rolled slowly out of the bag of silverware, coming to a halt at his feet.
'Wouldn't have been if it was just you, old boy. Who's your dogsbody?' Pierce sneered. Gene jerked him to his feet and Morrison grabbed his other shoulder as they began to march him down the street.
'Usually your lot are running away from the station, so it was good of you to do the opposite,' Gene said brightly, taking care to bang Pierce into a dustbin.
'Do I know you?' Pierce asked him after a moment's scrutinising.
'Doubt it.'
'You look familiar.'
'I promise you, I'm not.'
'What's your name?'
'It's PC Hunt to you.'
'You any relation to Stephen… or James? Sorry to hear he died,' Pierce managed before Gene swung him into the stone wall.
'I'd be very careful what you say next. You're not fit to say his name… Did- did you know him?'
'Nah… Only heard Stephen mention him. You did though. How are you and Stephen related?'
'James is- was my granddad.'
'Oho! So you'reone of Stephen's? Thought you might've been a cousin or something. Small world, ain't it?'
'Well, before we start reminiscing about old times, I'll ask again: how do you know Stephen?' Gene snapped. Pierce gave an unpleasant smile.
'I know your dad of old. You tell him, boy, tell him Richard says hello.'
'That's enough!' Morrison said sharply as Gene drew back his fist to hit Pierce.
'Right, you go to the Arms and get a round in. I'll make sure your mate finds a nice cell to stew in before I knock off. We can deal with him tomorrow,' Morrison ordered, taking Gene's arm and steering him in the opposite direction.
'Shouldn't we-?'
'Listen, tomorrow's going to be a long day, for Christ's sake let's not make it one today.'
Gene left Morrison sinking lower and lower in his chair two hours later, making his excuses to leave. Though he hated to admit it and would never do so, the first week on the beat had left him knackered. Needing to be constantly alert and ready to spring into action was more exhausting than the little action he had so far seen. Today it had been a relief to actually do something; chasing Pierce had released the nervous energy he had been running on. Besides which, watching Morrison grow steadily drunker was not how he hoped to spend his evening. As he had attempted to leave, Morrison had the front of his shirt in a vice-like grip and repeatedly predicted Gene a brilliant career in the force, looking for the assent of anyone else who would listen.
'Sergeant! You'll be sergeant as soon as- as- very soon! Or in CID! Mark my words, you'll go far… Give it a few years and everyone'll know your name. Good old John!'
'Gene.'
'Him an' all.'
He did like the sound of Sergeant Hunt. He liked the sound of Inspector Hunt better though, the former reminded him of red-faced sergeants he wished to leave behind with the rest of national service, screaming in his face. If two years of national service had taught him nothing else, it was that he did not suit the army. He didn't like the petty rules he couldn't see the point of and especially didn't like being yelled at and unable to answer back. He had imagined two years away from home would be a good escape, instead he found his father's angry voice had been replaced by that of an army officer's, albeit in a slightly warmer climate.
The day's rain had eased off whilst he and Morrison had been sat in the pub and as he rounded the corner to let himself in the back of the house he found Will kicking a ball through the puddles left by the rain, commentating on an imaginary match.
'And Hunt swoops in and takes possession of the ball! Oh, I don't think we've ever seen the like before! Did anyone see that coming? No! Least of all Will Hunt, he doesn't know what's hit him. Bad luck, Man United, bad luck, you'll have to get up earlier to beat Hunt… And he scores! A spectacular goal by Gene Hunt!' he yelled as he tackled the ball from Will and kicked it against a fence, doing an imaginary lap of honour.
'You're soaked. How long have you been out here?' Gene asked, coming to a halt in front of Will and throwing him the ball.
'Since the end of school. I'm keeping out the way. Mam's busy and there's already enough people at home… I hate this coronation,' Will muttered, bouncing the ball in front of him.
'Why? What's Liz ever done to you?'
'Taken over tomorrow. Now everyone's too busy getting ready for her.'
'She's got you a day off school.'
'But everyone's forgotten about my birthday!'
'Well, I suppose if everyone's forgotten about it, then this can't be for you, can it?' Gene replied, producing a wrapped box from an inside pocket. Will's eyes widened as he stretched out a hand for it.
'How d'you expect other people to remember if you forget that you don't get birthday presents until it's actually your birthday?'
'What is it, Gene?'
'Dunno,' he shrugged with a smile, 'Wait and see.'
'Did you get anyone today, Geno?' Sheila asked interestedly from the other end of the alleyway. She and their cousin, Charlotte were well wrapped up against the cool evening air as they made their way home.
'Some idiot thought he'd burgle a house near the station. He didn't get too far.'
'He might be the same person who came to your house.'
'What?'
'Your mam was out and someone broke in. Lucky your dad was there, otherwise who knows what they'd have taken?'
'Lucky it wasn't Mam on her own,' Gene said with a shiver at the thought. He was going to enjoy seeing Richard Pierce again tomorrow, though he half felt the bloke had suffered enough; expecting to find either an empty house or an easily frightened woman was something quite different to coming face to face with all eighteen stone of Stephen Hunt, 'Did anyone call the police?'
'No, your dad said there was no need. Your mam's pretty upset though, best go see how she is.'
'All right. I'll try to catch up with you in a minute, said I'd drop in on Emma if I had time,' Gene said as they bid goodbye to Sheila and Charlotte.
'Did all this slip your mind?' Gene asked Will incredulously as they let themselves into the kitchen. Evelyn was dabbing tentatively at a cut above Stephen Hunt's right eye, the smell of antiseptic filling the kitchen.
'What happened?' Gene asked.
'Burglar,' Stephen replied shortly, stubbing out a cigarette with a sigh.
'When?'
'I just popped out to get a few last minute things and-' Evelyn began, trying to bandage the cut when Stephen waved her away.
'Someone thought they'd have a go and I saw them off. The end.'
'Dad, what did he look like? We could-'
'Yes, thank you, PC Plod… will you stop fussing?' Stephen snapped at Evelyn.
'Sort yourself out then. I've got a million other things to do,' she snapped back.
'Dad, was it Richard Pierce?' Gene persisted. He thought he saw a flicker of something pass across Stephen's face, but the moment was gone almost as quickly as it had come.
'Who?'
'He burgled a house today… I arrested him,' Gene told the kitchen as a whole, with the smallest hint of pride, something Stephen was quick to pick up on.
'Ooh, arrested him? D'you want a medal?' he sneered. Will stopped bouncing the ball against the floor and retreated into a corner of the kitchen.
'He said he knew you,' Gene continued, ignoring the previous jibe.
'Do you, Stephen?' Evelyn asked cautiously, unravelling a roll of bandages in another attempt to tend her husband's injuries.
'Yeah, well, maybe I met him on the inside. Meet a lot of people in five years,' Stephen shrugged.
'Yes, but-'
'D'you expect me to remember everyone I've ever met?'
'No… Did they take any-?'
'Oh, pack it in, PC Prat! Where were you and your sodding uniform when they were needed?' Stephen shouted, crossing the kitchen and retrieving a bottle of scotch from under the kitchen sink.
'Catching your mate,' Gene muttered, throwing his constable's hat into the armchair in the corner of the room and sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. Wordlessly, Evelyn placed a mug of sugary tea in front of him, smoothing his hair, a gestured that pleaded for him not to retaliate.
Until he was six it had just been him, Stuart, their mother and Granddad, with occasionally Aunt Sheila and the cousins. Then war had broken out and Stephen had been given the choice either to remain in prison or to be conscripted into the army. Choosing the latter had meant his return home for the briefest time and Gene had not welcomed the sudden intrusion of the ogre plucked almost directly from the book of fairytales his mother occasionally read to him, who took up a surprising amount of room in the house and seemed to be never happier than when he was shouting. Then, he was gone again and it was almost as though he had imagined the whole thing. When the war ended, the paperwork pertaining to Stephen's incarceration was conveniently misplaced by the same authorities who had regretted having to sentence him with manslaughter in the first place. This Stephen was so vastly different to the image of the man that others mentioned when they spoke to his mother in the street, telling her what a shame it was, and to James that Gene was half convinced that the wrong Stephen had come back to them. When he returned home early enough to see his family before they went to bed, it was with a malevolent aura that made them wish he had remained at the pub. The whole room would tense when he entered it and the apprehension was most apparent in their mother, whose shoulders would hunch as she kept her eyes averted from her husband, silently hoping her children would do the same. The drinking made him paranoid and more easy with his fists, increasing the risk that one of them might strike his wife or that what usually would have earned one of the boys a cuff around the back of the head would lead to a proper belting. Nowadays it was only truly the tension in the room that remained, being on the receiving end of Stephen's anger was less likely now, with both Stuart and Gene strong enough to stand between and restrain their father, however the threat of violence still hung in the air.
'Right, I'm off out,' Gene said, downing the rest of the tea and picking his jacket back up.
'You are not,' Evelyn replied shortly.
'What?'
'You and William are going to tidy that bedroom of yours. Stuart and Nancy should be here this evening and I want that room spotless for when they arrive.'
'And what are they going to be doing in our bedroom?'
'Sleeping. They're staying over for a couple of nights for the coronation.'
'Well, where are me and Will supposed to sleep?' Gene asked indignantly.
'Living room,' Evelyn answered vacantly, attention turned back to preparing more food for the next day.
'Can't they sleep in the living room?' Will asked, bouncing the football on the linoleum.
'No, they bloody well can't! Baby's due any day now and that poor girl needs to be comfortable!' Evelyn snapped, 'And take that ball outside.'
'Eurgh, she better not even think about dropping that baby anywhere near our room,' Gene said sounding repulsed.
'What?'
'For goodness sake, I don't think it's due that soon, probably sometime in the next week,' Evelyn said.
'Who? Mam?'
'She was big as a bloody house the last time we saw them. Christ, rather him than me.'
'I'll remind you of that in about ten years, when you've got your own,' Evelyn said knowingly.
'Yeah, that girl'll want a ring on her finger and a baby on the way soon enough,' Stephen added in warning, sitting back down at the table with another glass of scotch.
'Who's dropped a baby?' Will shouted at the top of his voice, bouncing the ball again.
'What did your mother tell you about that ball?' Stephen shouted, kicking back his chair and rounding on Will.
'Stephen, it doesn't matter, love… Will, can you take that ball outside?' Evelyn asked desperately.
'He needs to learn!'
'He's all right. Will, let's sort that room,' Gene said confidently, guiding Will away from the corner of the kitchen he had shrunk into, hoping that Will would learn to behave as though he had nothing to fear from his father, something that had always served Gene well; pretending to not be afraid had the effect of dissipating his own fear. Stephen seized his arm.
'Where do you think you're going? I'm his father, I'll say if he's got to be punished or not!' he said, words beginning to blur together.
'He doesn't,' Gene replied.
'And I'll say if you've got to be as well! You might think you're the big man now, but you're not too old to be belted.'
'You try it, and I'll arrest you.'
Stephen squared up to him and Gene wondered what he would do if he did lunge for him. Despite being nearly two inches taller, he was half as wide as his father and would prove an ineffective shield for Will. Though if I could side-step him, then I could cuff him, miserable fat bastard, he thought. Instead of attacking, Stephen simply gave a mirthless laugh when his face was an inch away from Gene's.
'You've always been a little shit,' he said softly.
'Come on, Will, let's go upstairs,' Gene said, ignoring Stephen and marching Will out of the kitchen away from him, knowing that simply ignoring him would rile the drunk part of him, but would leave the half sober Stephen feeling wrong-footed and angry.
Neither Gene nor Will had said a word an hour later when they had finally tidied their bedroom to a standard that Evelyn was satisfied with. Will was still shivering in fright and as he retrieved odd socks from hard to reach nooks of the room, Gene found he was shaking almost as badly, but with exhilaration. Stephen had left the house almost as soon as he and Will had disappeared upstairs and Gene had felt nothing but triumph at the sound of the front door closing. Maybe this would be how he guaranteed his mother and brother's safety, by arresting Stephen if he dared raise a hand to either of them and it would be all the worse if he tried it with Gene, assaulting a police officer would not be taken lightly.
'Will, go and say hello to Nancy,' Gene instructed when they heard their mother cooing over Nancy and their soon to be niece or nephew, 'And how old are you tomorrow?'
'Seven,' Will sniffed.
'Exactly. Big boy now, so no tears,' Gene said firmly, packing the last few bits and pieces into the wooden box he kept under his bed. Their bedroom was dominated by the three beds placed in there from the briefest time when all three of them had shared the room. Gene preferred the bed closest to the door, to save from having to clamber across the other two for a piss. There was the occasional hazard of finding a muddy footprint on his own bed.
After shoving the box in the bottom of the wardrobe in the corner of the room he hurried downstairs to find Evelyn and Nancy in deep conversation over a mug of tea and cigarette, Will resting his head on their mother's shoulder, able to do so without being reprimanded by their father for now.
'Taking care of my nephew, Nance?' Gene asked, bending to allow her to kiss his cheek without having to get up. Nancy patted her distended belly with a contented smile.
'You can have him when he's ready,' she replied, 'He's driving me mad.'
'Where's his father?'
'Outside with the dog,' Nancy sighed. Gene let himself out the back door and found Stuart leaning against the gate, watching Holiday run around the garden and leap at him, beside himself that Stuart was back.
'All right?' Stuart asked with a dark look and Gene could tell that Evelyn had already partly filled him in on what had happened before he arrived.
'Yes, we're fine.'
'What was the matter this time?'
'Could tell he was looking for a fight, and he decided to pick on Will.'
'Mam said you threatened to arrest him.'
'Yeah, I did,' Gene replied, throwing a stick for Holiday.
'Christ, you've only had that warrant for a week and you're already trying to lock your own family,' Stuart laughed, handing him a cigarette.
'I'm not dealing with scum all day, then coming home to another.'
'Well, I meant what I said, you could always come stay with Nance and me.'
'Who's going to look after Mam and Will then? Besides, not going to be a lot of room to stay with you two soon, is there?' Gene shrugged. Since Stuart had moved into his own house with Nancy in the middle of Manchester, he had repeatedly offered for Gene to live with them, knowing how badly he and Stephen got along. Gene had half resented Stuart for this; he had moved out of their home as soon as he could and seemed, in Gene's eyes, determined to rub it in that he was free from worrying about their father. He knew there was nothing to stop Gene from packing a bag and moving into their house, nothing except the sense of duty he had to their mother and Will, something he rather thought Stuart had selfishly forgotten about.
'Can't believe you're going to have a kid,' Gene murmured.
'Me neither… Everyone keeps giving me advice, even Dad and-'
'Well, what the hell would he know about being a father?' Gene spat, fiercer than he had intended, 'He's only doing it so you'll name the kid after him… or call her Stephanie.'
'Well, we're not. Nance reckons it is a boy, in which case he's going to be Eugene James.'
'Ah, mate, don't call him Eugene,' Gene said, humbled by the suggestion, 'Or maybe you should, it sets you up for all the disappointments in life.'
'Whatever he's called, I don't think… I mean, Jesus, I- How am I supposed to be someone's dad?' Stuart asked agitatedly, 'He'd be better off with no dad than with me.'
'Stu, you haven't got anything to worry about there… Anyway, you've just… got to get on with it. He needs you.'
'Does he?' Stuart muttered.
'Listen- what's that?' Gene asked, frowning at Stuart's hand closed around a small tin. Stuart didn't answer and flicked the lid open and closed, lost in thought. Gene could see the tin contained a small amount of white powder.
'I thought you'd given all that up. Stu-'
'Going to arrest me and all? You'll have the whole family banged up before tea tomorrow.'
'Gene?'
'What?'
'How many baddies have you got?' Will whispered. The rest of the house was silent and asleep, save Will, too excited about his impending birthday, and by Will's chatter, Gene.
'Give me a chance, Will, it's only been a week,' Gene groaned. Will had curled up in the armchair, whilst he had made up a bed on the sofa, though his feet were freezing from sticking out the end of his blankets.
'Are you a proper policeman?'
'Yes, I think so. Go to sleep.'
'Gene?'
'Yes, Will?'
'Who would win in a fight between Father Christmas and Satan?'
'That's easy, Father Christmas.'
'But he's so fat!'
'Yeah, but he's one of the good guys.'
'Yeah?'
'And the good guys always win. That's the point.'
'We're the good guys, aren't we?'
'Yes. Especially me and you.'
'Us?'
'Yep. I'm Gary Cooper, and you can be John Wayne, when you're bigger. Maybe when you're eight.'
'All right.'
'Will?'
'Yeah?'
'Can you shut up now and let us get some sleep?'
2nd June 1953
They awoke the next morning to a loud banging and scraping in the kitchen, accompanied by the sounds of several excited voices. Gene left Will sleeping, dressed quickly and entered the kitchen to find his father and Stuart heaving a television into the house, watched by Evelyn, Sheila, Nancy and Charlotte.
'Where the bloody hell did you get that?' he asked his father incredulously. Stephen simply smiled. He looked somewhat worse for wear and Gene suspected terribly hung over; he had returned from the pub long after they had fallen asleep. Nevertheless, he appeared to be in a better mood than he had been the night before.
'Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies,' he said, 'It's not stolen, so you can stop worrying about that,' he snapped when he saw the disapproving look Gene gave him, mirrored by Evelyn.
'Anyway, haven't you got somewhere to go, Eugene?' Stephen asked after he and Stuart had lugged the television into the living room. He hated it when his father used his full name, always with the same curl of his lip as he drew out the syllables mockingly. You-Gene.
'Yes,' Gene answered shortly, squeezing past his aunt to grab the hat from the chair he had thrown it in the night before.
'Oh, put it on, let's see,' Nancy smiled.
'It's very dashing, there's a lot to be said for a man in uniform,' Charlotte laughed, patting his backside when he bent to pick up the hat.
'Sod off!'
'Still needs to fill out those shoulders,' Sheila teased, squeezing his arm, 'Give it a couple of years and he'll be breaking a few hearts, won't he, Evelyn?'
'What time will you be back at?' Evelyn asked, halfway through making breakfast for their guests.
'I dunno. Morrison said there's some big party going on at that farm, Farringfield? We'll go there after we knock off. God knows how long we'll be up there.'
'Who's Morrison?' Stuart asked and Gene noticed he looked almost as bad as their father.
'He's Eugene's mentor,' Stephen replied, 'Lives a few streets away with that gorgeous wife-'
'Excuse me,' Evelyn shot back, prodding his shoulder.
'That wife of his… which couldn't hold a candle to my own, of course,' he added, 'Still, bugger me if I know how he landed her. See if you can pick up any tips,' he suggested to Gene.
'Explains why I've never met her,' Gene shrugged, 'In any case, I won't be back till late. Don't let Will have his present from me before I'm back,' he called, slamming the back door shut on his way out.
Despite Gene's confidence that Richard Pierce and the intruder his father had chased off were one and the same, Morrison was much more interested in patrolling the various street parties going on, than going back to the station to get a confession out of Pierce.
'He'll get what's coming, skinny, don't fret,' Morrison repeated as they were handed more cake and lemonade. Gene was beginning to find it as difficult to force a smile as he found it to force down the food they were given.
'I mean, I reckon Pierce's got an accomplice, there's no way he'd be stupid enough to try to rob two houses in one day, but it's too much of a coincidence to have two unconnected burglaries within a couple of streets… Maybe he's working for someone else and-'
'Hunt. It's bad enough that I've got to work today, I've also got to nurse a hangover. All I want is a nice, quiet day, without having to listen to you prattle on endlessly.'
'Yes, sir,' Gene managed, forcing a last mouthful of cake into his mouth to keep a number of retorts down.
By the time they reached Farringfield Green later that evening, Gene thought if he so much looked at another cake again, then he would be violently ill. Morrison had driven them up there, equally stuffed with food and had parked just off the end of a dirt track leading up to the farmhouse and barn. It was common knowledge that some rich bloke he bought the farm several years ago, hoping to do it up and make it his next successful venture. It hadn't worked out and, though still owned by him, the farm languished empty.
The barn had been decked out with bunting and was hosting a large party when they arrived, slipping and sliding through the boggy mud, caused by the past few days' rain. At first, Gene tried to match Morrison drink for drink to keep up appearances, but after a couple of whiskeys he considered himself beaten, unwilling to try to compete with what he was soon realising was a seasoned drinker and unwilling to make a fool of himself in front of a lot of people he knew none of. He noticed his speech was beginning to slur almost as terribly as Morrison's and when he tried to shut his eyes to regain his focus, he felt the earth spin beneath him, and his stomach churn to match it. He exited the barn quickly, determinedly walking in a straight line and sure that if he was going to chuck, it would not be in front of the rest of the partygoers. As he stood outside, the cool night's air steadied him and he began to wonder whether Morrison would notice if he left. He could imagine his house now; the rest of the street would have gathered around the new television, if Charlotte and Sheila were there then there was a good chance Emma would be too and it would be easy to find a secluded corner with her whilst everyone else's attention was elsewhere and Will would have his birthday present.
He wondered how far out this farm was and how long it would take him to walk home? He hadn't been paying much attention when Morrison drove them there. Now he wished he had.
'Too much to drink?'
He spun around to find a woman in her thirties leaning against the side of the barn. She had long auburn hair neatly pinned up and bright blue eyes as she smiled at him.
'M'all right,' he replied, lighting a cigarette awkwardly, hoping now more than ever he wouldn't throw up.
'You got another one?' she asked. He silently handed her a cigarette and gave a small smile when she leaned forward to let him light it for her.
'What's your name?'
'Eu- Gene Hunt.'
'Hmm.'
'What about you?' he asked, his head beginning to clear.
'Anna.'
'Anna?' he repeated, waiting for her to continue. Instead, she smiled slowly.
'You look like a little boy in that uniform.'
'I don't think that's the image it's supposed to give off.'
'No?'
'Nah, it's supposed to look imposing, stern, that sort of thing.'
'Are you imposing and stern, Gene Hunt?' she asked softly, blowing a cloud of smoke in his face.
'Can't you tell?' he smiled.
'Yes,' she replied, leaning closer and kissing him, her tongue exploring his mouth whilst her hands knotted in his hair. Despite himself, hardly daring to believe his good fortune and simultaneously forgetting about Emma, he pulled her closer, appreciating the warmth of her body against his. Without warning, she sprang away from him, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
'I have to go back,' she murmured, flicking the stub of her cigarette into the grass.
'What?' he murmured hoarsely, grabbing her hand in his. She carefully drew hers away.
'My husband will be wondering where I've got to.'
'Husband?'
She smiled mischievously again and made her way back towards the barn. Allowing a moment's pause, Gene followed her, about to give her a piece of his mind about what he thought of her going round kissing other men, leading them on, when her husband stood metres away. That was until he saw her embrace her husband and his blood ran cold.
'Hunt! Hunt! C'mere, this is my wife, Anna. Anna, this is PC Hunt, our newbie,' Morrison called, an arm around his wife's waist.
'Nice to meet you, PC Hunt,' she smiled, this smile wider and less hungry than the smile she had given him outside.
'You too,' he replied, determinedly meeting her eye, though it didn't seem to have any effect on her.
'Hunt, you look green. Doesn't he, Anna? Can't hold his drink!' Morrison hooted.
'Maybe you should lie down,' Anna Morrison advised. Gene jerked his head in a nod.
'Maybe I will,' he excused himself, marching back out the barn for the second time in less than half an hour. He felt sick to his stomach now and it was little to do with the whiskey. He had betrayed Morrison's trust and despite Morrison's obliviousness, he felt guilty. Would she tell her husband? Of course not, he reasoned with himself, it was her that kissed you. Yes, but who would he believe, his wife or some young bobby? If Morrison found out, he could make life terrible for Gene. He would feel no guilt in driving Gene out of the force, and then where would he be? His future gone, reputation destroyed before it had even been made, and his new plan of how to protect his mother and brother from his father in tatters. Besides which, he had kissed her back, he hadn't pulled away. He would have if he had known who she was. Had she known who he was? Of course she had, he was in his uniform, she would have known he was a colleague of her husband's. She won't tell him, Gene reassured himself, she wasn't looking for anything more than a quick thrill, maybe it was something she had done before. Should he tell Morrison? He had a right to know, after all, if his wife was laughing at him behind his back. But telling Morrison would mean admitting to kissing her and he was back to square one again.
'Bollocks,' he muttered, aiming a kick at a stone in the yard. His aimless walking had brought him to the farmhouse. The windows were boarded and the door was hanging open, swinging in the night's breeze. Filled with a sudden recklessness, Gene slipped into the house, flicking his lighter open as he did so. Someone had thrown a load of bunting around in there earlier in the day and it was strung in every room. He moved slowly up the staircase that groaned terribly under the weight of his footsteps. It was only when he reached the top of the staircase that he wondered whether the floor was strong enough to hold his weight, or whether the floorboards were too terribly rotted. He pushed open a door upstairs and found himself in the master bedroom, empty save for a large four-poster bed. Even with a layer of dust coating the coverlet, the bed looked inviting as the effects of the alcohol were beginning to wear off. He placed his hat at the foot of the bed, kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie, sinking back into the mattress, planning on resting his eyes for a few minutes.
When he awoke he could still hear the sounds of the party at the barn, though somewhat quieter as partygoers began to retire home. He checked his watch and realised he had been sleeping for three hours. Cursing, he leapt out of the bed, wondering if Morrison would still be at the barn, or whether he would have driven home and left Gene there when he had been unable to find him. He was just about to grab his shoes on when he heard the sound of a voice downstairs. He froze, uncertain whether he had imagined it, when he heard the muffled rumble of another voice, accompanied by the smash of some china. Probably kids messing about, he thought to himself. It was exactly the sort of thing he and Stuart would have done when they were children, dared each other to break into the old house, praying they wouldn't see a ghost.
This lot can have their own ghost, he thought with a smile as he began to pad down the stairs, the thick dust and lack of shoes muffling his footsteps.
They were in the kitchen. He could see a flickering light gleaming through the ajar door. He had to bite back a laugh at the thought of their faces when he burst through the door. Once again he was reminded of childhood, at playing hide and seek with Stuart and being barely able to stifle his laughter at the thought of Stuart's yell of fright when he leapt out at him.
Gene Hunt straightened his uniform, took a deep breath and kicked the door to the kitchen open.
Note: I've always seen Stuart as the older brother and I'm like 99.9% certain it never specifies in the canon whether he is or not. So there.
Also, now realising that I've completely contradicted my previous statement by giving them a younger brother with Will in any case. Bugger.
Anyway, I hope this was ok and I'm going to write more of it anyway, so hopefully stick around...
