He had been an old father, that much was for sure. After his Bolly had never recovered from that bleeding coma back in '82 it had felt as if a part of him had died alongside her. He tried to prove he hadn't gone soft by going off with the next bit of skirt he saw. And he'd been doing that for a few years. And then he would promptly forget. Until one year, one turned up two and a half months later to accuse him of knocking her up. He'd done the decent thing of course, married the headcase and made sure his kid would be well looked after. And for all his quips about a 'Gene Junior', they'd named the baby Sam, after his best mate. Sam Alex, though he didn't tell his wife about the reason behind the middle name – told her that he wanted to name his kid after his best friends, she hadn't complained.

He'd been about to turn 50 when Sam had been born. He was 51 when his wife left him for the drugs. So at 50, he was a single father, entering the 1990's. He'd done him best, and Sam had turned out alright. He was a copper now, up in Manchester, and made sure to always treat women right.

And now his son was coming back with a bird and a job offer in the London Met. She was a student, about to join the police force Sam had said. A real cracker apparently. Gene had noticed that his son's voice would take on a certain tone when he talked of his girl Molly. Probably the same tone that his old man used to have when he was talking about Bolly to strangers. And if Sam loved this girl the same way as Gene had loved Alex Drake, but had buckled up the courage to admit it, then good on him.

Today, Sam was taking Gene out to dinner to meet his bird and the birds mam. Which meant Sam was serious about this one – Gene couldn't easily get up to Manchester any more, so hadn't really met any of Sam's girls. Sam's treat apparently, the grub. Obviously he wasn't trusting either his dad's or his own skills in the kitchen which were shoddy at best.

Anyway, he had better go and get dolled up. If Sam was bringing the mam round too, it meant he was serious about this one. Silver solitaire serious. The ring that Gene had kept for thirty years serious. Which meant he had to be on his best behaviour and dress smart.

"Da?"

Gene sighed, of course Sam would check up on him, make sure he actually made it to the restaurant rather than falling asleep into his scotch. Heck, he had raised a kid even Bolly would be proud of!

"Sam, will yer stop yer fussin'. I'm seventy, not dead yet," Gene grumbled good naturedly as his son entered the room.

"Actually Da, you're nearer ter seventy-five then seventy. You could end up toes up one time I visit!" Sam grinned, his accent a mix of Manchester and London. "Now will yer stop Bollyin' and get yerself ready? Molly and Alex are meetin' us at the grub in under an hour and yer still with yer bleedin' whisky!"

As usual, Gene felt a pitch in his stomach at the name Alex, but ignored it. He pretended to huff at Sam's mollycoddling and heaved himself out of his chair, surepstitiously tucking the dog eared photo back into his pocket. It was Gene's only picture of her. Sam had never seen it. And Sam only knew of Bolly, the woman his dad loved once. He didn't know that meeting another woman called Alex would hurt his dad, because she wasn't his Alex because Gene had never said. And that was the way he liked it. His secret Alex.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'. Now quit yer bleedin' naggin', Laws yer worse than any woman!"

Across town, Alex was pouring her first glass of wine of the night. Her hair was freshly dried and pulled smartly back, and she could hardly continue getting ready without her glass of red now could she? And she felt she would need the fortification for this unfortunate dinner out with Molly's lovely boyfriend and his dad.

Sam reminded her of Gene sometimes, with his blonde hair, mancunian accent and passion for doing the right thing. But Hunt was a common surname, and anyhow, Gene had just been a construct. Alex had made him up...

At least, that was what she continued to tell herself. It had pleased other people when she stopped talking of '82, and it became easier for her to keep her reality hidden.

Sam was a credit to his father. Alex had been impressed to find out that Sam had been bought up exclusively by his father, his only female influence being an Aunty Sharon and Dandy, his female cousin. Not many boys in that situation were so extraordinarily level headed. She doubted even Gene could raise a boy like that. He was kind, thoughtful towards peoples feeling, just a model gentleman in a society where they were a rapidly endangered breed. Alex had to admit that she was fascinated about meeting this Mr Hunt. And seeing how happy Sam made Molly, Alex was going to try her hardest tonight.

Molly was so nervous bless her. She hadn't met the father that Sam worshipped yet, only heard stories about him from Sam and a few of his friends. She was terrified that he wouldn't like her, because Sam valued his fathers' opinion above all else. So Alex was tagging along. It made her remember the first time she met Margery and Bryan, seventeen and slipping over in her flat shoes. It had been awful, but they had accepted her, and even put her and Molly before Pete on some occasions. Pete hadn't had it any easier of course, he had to deal with Evan. Evan had wanted to tag along as well, but Alex had put her foot down. This was Molly's night and he was not going to attempt the whole macho man to scare off the Hunts.

Alex caught herself wondering if 'Ole Mr Hunt' would be anything like Gene... but stopped herself before she was overwhelmed to launch herself off the London met to reclaim a dream, as Sam had done. She had been back in 2008 for eight years. Molly was twenty and studying psychology and criminology at Manchester, fully intending to follow her mother into the police force as a profiler. Alex was so proud of her, and was glad that she had managed to get back to her baby. However much she missed Chris and Shaz, Ray, Luigi, bright colours, the Quattro, bad wine, unorthodox policing, arguments, and most especially, Gene. However much she missed 1982 like it was a physical part of her she had lost, she was glad that Gene's bullet had taken her back to 2008. She got to watch her daughter growing up, and she had long since forgiven him for shooting her. She knew it was an accident. If he meant to kill her, he wouldn't have missed.

Alex just wished she could tell him, tell him that she forgave him, that she loved him. But that was impossible. She had managed to resist looking him up, all of them up, so far. Because that would make it real, and prove or disprove that the entirety of Fenchurch East 1982, was in her head. And she didn't know if she wanted to know if it was real or not. Some small part of her was still clinging to the reality of it all. And she didn't want to prove she was crazy. Not yet. Besides, what would she say to any of them? "hi, great to see you after thirty odd plus years, but do you remember me? I was your DI back in 1982 and I have only aged two years! Looking good for pushing 50/60/70.." Yeah, that would go down wonderfully of course!

This line of thought ran through her mind as she sighed, and began to remove the blue eyeliner she still automatically applied every morning before reaching for the neutral eyeshadows that were much more age and era appropriate. Blue eyeliner was 'not cool' when you are mid-forties and going out to dinner with your potential son in law.

"Mum?"

Alex rolled her eyes. She knew Molly would pop in to check up on her! She was a bundle of nerves and needed the vent that mothering her mother would provide. Molly and Evan had become so damn clingy after her shooting and they had yet, eight years on, to kick the habit.

"Bedroom Molls."

Molly bounded in, her tightly coiled hair bouncing slightly in its ponytail, the tendrils around her face swinging. She was wearing a loose fitting grey dress, held in at the waist by a thick red belt with matching red shoes. It was a bit more conservative than Bolly had ever dressed, but Alex was suddenly struck by how similar her daughter looked to her.

"Do I look ok?" Molly asked, nervously tugging at the high neckline, her blue eyes pleading for approval.

"Sam will love it," Alex smiled softly, reaching up to smooth away her daughters hair "My beautiful, beautiful girl!"

"I was aiming for your sassy eighties look that you told me about," Molly broached apprehensively. She was breaking the taboo – the unspoken we-do-not-talk-about-Alex's-dream-world taboo.

"Well, you pull it off amaziningly," Alex smiled "Only what I wore was a bit more tight fitting and a bit more low cut so I am incredibly glad you haven't gone whole hog, Molls. You look beautiful. Please stop worrying!"

"I look like you," Molly smiled, pushing her face against her mothers and looking into the mirror. "Of course I'm beautiful."

"Creep," Alex laughed, kissing Molly on the cheek. But she was right, they were incredibly alike. And now that Molly had permed her hair she looked scarily like eighties Alex Drake, only of course, a decade younger. And more covered up. And no blue eyeliner.

"One question left now Molls," Alex said seriously, looking up at her daughter. "Blue blouse or black?"

"Green," Molly declared with a grin, producing a bag from behind the door and pulling out a jade silk pussy bow neck blouse. Just like Gene's favourite, not that Molly needed to know that.

...

Gene followed Sam into the fancy restaurant that had been chosen for the interrogation – ahem – dinner. Didn't hold a candle to Luigi's, but that may have been more to do with the company than the place. They crossed the room to a round table near the back of the restaurant where a woman was sitting alone, her fingers nervously running up and down the stem to her wine glass. As they approached, she stood up to introduce herself and greet Sam, and as she turned around, Gene felt himself pulling up short.

For a moment he could've sworn it was Alex, his Bolly, stood before him – grey tunic, red accessories, curled hair, statement maker... but then he blinked and noticed the differences between the two. The one before him was looking nervously up at Sam, even in heels she was shorter than Alex, and she wasn't wearing blue eyeliner. And Alex wore much tighter fitting clothes and had only ever once looked like she would be anywhere rather than with him. And Alex's eyes were hazel, not blue.

"Dad, I'd like you to meet Molly," Sam said proudly, not noticing that his father had spaced out in shock for a second. Molly stepped forward slightly and held out her hand. Definately not Bolly, too bleedin' polite.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr Hunt," She said politely.

"Bloody 'ell Sammy," Gene joked, taking Molly's hand. "She's got a bloody plum in 'er gob! Your birds a bit o posh!"

"Dad!" Sam hissed in embarrassment, gripping Molly's hand tightly.

But to both of their surprise, Molly simply laughed, genuinely laughed. "Well that's one way to break the ice Mr Hunt! I have only ever heard that term being used to describe my mum before now but hey ho.! Sam has told me so much about you, and I think he may have idolosed you just a little bit. Hero complex, it's entirely normal in a single parent relationship don't worry. But I have to warn you, he is unlikely to grow out of it."

Molly turned and winked to Sam, who just turned a deeper shade of red.

"Don't tell me yer into this psychiatry?" Gene grumbled. "I 'ad enough o that back in the eighties wit Bolly!"

Molly looked at him strangely for a moment, as if trying to reconcile something. "It's psychology." She replied, confused. "Shall we sit down? Mum had to take a call from one of her students thats having a major panic attack about the criminology exam she's about to sit. Could be a while. She said to order without her if necessary."

"Nah," Gene shrugged, "It's ok, we'll just get some drinks in and wait for 'er."

"But an old man like yerself needs 'is meals on time Da," Sam grinned, regaining his composure and pilling Molly's chair out for her to sit down. "Alex is a lot younger than you and eats like a bleedin' stick insect. She'll be havin' the 'ouse salad hey Mols?"

"Actually Sam," Called out a voice that made Gene's heart almost stop. It couldn't be... "I've ordered the fish and chips. The menopause makes you hungry after all!"

"What did yer say yer surname was again?" Gene asked Molly quickly across the table.

"Drake," She answered in confusion. "It's Molly Drake, why?"

"Blimey Alex," Sam teased "'eaven forbid you consume calories!"

"You wait till you hit the wrong side of forty Sam Hunt, then come to me and moan about calories and weight gain!" She was obviously standing just behind him now, he just had to turn around... "Besides, what I don't eat in food I certainly add on in wine!"

Slowly, Gene turned around, he didn't want to fool himself, but this was just too many coincidences. He turned around and blinked, just to make sure she didn't disappear. But sure enough, when he met her eyes, and saw them widen in shock and surprise, he was sure.

Stood before him, barely changed after almost forty years, stood Alex Drake.