I just had an emotional breakdown in a coffee shop and it's your fault. – Well, nothing like pinning the blame on me, is there? There are worse places to have an emotional breakdown... Try a train station; I will never again read fanfiction whilst waiting for the metro ;)
Chapter 2 – Julie
Bright red heels.
Rachel's heart pounded, her head dragging her involuntarily back to the office. Those heels on Gill's desk, the wearer leaning back casually in the chair, eyes closed in the dim light.
Gill had walked past and entered her office: oh, hi, Slap. Pushed the feet down, retaken her place at her desk. That was the thing about being a copper – you were nosey; you were always watching and listening, even when perhaps you shouldn't have been.
Thinking about the station made her feel dizzy. All the things that had happened in the past few days flowed over her, bounced against her. The accusations against her, and then her being cleared, and Dom running for his freedom.
Nick Savage – he was gone, he could never cast his shadow over her life again. So why did she feel like sobbing whenever she thought of him lying dead? She'd loved that man so much, once.
"Here's your red wine, love."
"Thank you," she took it, gulped some down.
The woman in the bright red heels watched her. She seemed nervous, cautious, eager. She seemed to want to soak up everything she was seeing, as though she'd been starved of the sight of a young woman having an unhealthy relationship with alcohol.
She was the one who'd accused her. Tell me about Rachel Bailey, she'd demanded of Gill. Hadn't arrested her in front of her colleagues, but as good as: dragged her out of the station by her collar, piled her into a police car.
At which point had she realised, then? Had she known all along? The way she'd watched her all of the way to the other station, drinking her in like the wine Rachel clutched, remembering everything.
"You alright, love?" a hand touched her arm.
She objected to being called love. It was patronising, she'd told Janet, when her colleague had laughed at her. But really it was because her mum had called her love, when she'd tucked her up in bed: that last night, before she was gone forever. Kissed her. Goodnight, love. Sweet dreams.
She shrugged off the touch. Realised something was trickling down her leg, and wondered if thinking about her childhood had somehow caused her to revert to childhood bad habits too.
It wasn't piss, but red wine. The glass had shattered in her grasp, shards of glass spraying everywhere. Blood on her hand. Wine on her jeans. Shit. Shit.
"Rachel," the red-heel woman was beside her now, reaching out for her arm tentatively, helping her to sit down.
A softer voice than she used at work. She wore make-up tonight, highlighting her eyes, and her heels co-ordinated with her jacket; Rachel realised she'd made an effort. Her eyes were still searching, but they looked confused now, and frightened.
"Shit."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not," Rachel murmured, shaking her head. She met the woman's gaze and looked away instantly. "I'm fine."
"You're shaking, Rachel."
"Not enough wine yet."
"Have you eaten anything all day?"
"Yeah. I had..." she paused, glanced around. People were staring. Someone was moving towards her with a first aid kit, another was mopping the floor. "I had an Aero yoghurt. You can ask Gill."
Gill had protected her, throughout the week. Julie coming down hard, asking so many questions, confusing her. Rachel realised Julie was quite restrained compared to how Rachel herself sometimes was with suspects. Bloody hell. So much for a justice system.
But Gill and Julie had even argued about it; she'd heard them, when she was being nosey again. It wasn't her, Gill had said. Julie smiled weakly, reached out, touched Gill's arm. You don't know her. You don't know what she's capable of, really. You just wish you did. Gill, yanking her arm away. It wasn't her.
"Don't," Rachel moaned as someone tried to touch her injured hand. They nodded, dropped the first-aid kit.
"It's okay, Rachel," Julie picked up a dressing and wrapped it around the cut with gentle fingers, "That's quite deep. We should take you to the hospital and get it stitched."
She sounded so calm, as though she'd done this a million times. Perhaps she had, but not with her daughter. Mum. She felt dizzy again, dizzy and nauseous.
"Can we just... can we stay here, for a few minutes?"
"Yes, of course."
She nodded, whispered, "I'm sorry."
"Oh, you don't need to be sorry, Rachel," Julie smiled, and her eyes glittered with something other than the mascara, a tear winding its way down her cheek, "I think I'm the one that needs to be sorry."
"Can we... go to the toilets?"
"Yeah."
Julie took her arm, supported her. They both blanked the glares they were given, because they were used to glares, really, in their line of work. God, how similar were they?
The toilets were cool. She felt better after she'd been sick, and Julie helped her wash her hand under the water. Held it under when Rachel tried to pull it out, stroked her hair as she whimpered.
"It should be alright. Looks worse than it really is," Julie took a tissue from her handbag, dabbed the skin, applied a new bandage she'd miraculously pulled from her pocket. Magician, or clever? Rachel knew the answer. "Feel better now?"
She did, but not because the blood had been washed away. The toilets, where they always had their discussions, their heart-to-hearts. Everyone needed familiarity in life. She nodded, managed a weak smile.
"How's Alison? Dom?"
"Good. Yeah." Hates me, and somewhere on the other side of the country by now.
"How have you been?"
"Well, you know..."
"Yeah," Julie nodded slowly, "I know. I know."
"Can we just go back to my house? I've got a bottle of wine somewhere. And... and some Galaxy chocolate? The X-Factor's on at eight thirty."
"Yeah. Good idea."
They looked at each other for a moment in the mirror stretching across the wall. Both crying, their tears symmetrical. Julie's hands were shaking as much as Rachel's, if not more.
"Mum," Rachel murmured.
Julie smiled, "Rach."
XxXxX
