Many thanks for the wonderful comments and reviews for the first chapter - very much appreciated. Many thanks also to grainweevil for her essential episode transcriptions which helped when writing this chapter.

Looking for a Friend

Alex cut the engine of the hired silver Ford Focus and sat silently for a few moments while she gathered her thoughts. The last time she had been to Farringfield Green it had turned out to be a nightmare of epic proportions. She deliberately turned her thoughts towards the events that head led to the revelation of who Gene Hunt actually was – a young PC killed in the line of duty, brave but reckless…in fact very much like the man he grew up to be.

She couldn't really explain to Evan why she had to come here – and why she had to come here alone at that. All she knew was that she had to do this for herself – only then could she lay this particular ghost to rest. So she had hired a car, smiling as she imagined Gene's reaction to the nondescript but serviceable vehicle she was allocated. 'Bloody girls car'. She could hear his disdain as clear as the day. With a weary smile she got out of the car and stretched her aching legs. In truth she shouldn't really be driving yet but she relished in this one small rebellion in the certain knowledge that Gene would have at least approved of her motives if not the actual vehicle.

The sun was stronger today and the clouds had obligingly disappeared, leaving a typical English late-summer's day – not exactly t-shirt and shorts weather, but warm enough to dispense with the jacket she had been wearing. She was glad. Glad it wasn't dark and gloomy and oppressive – that was the image of Farringfield that had stuck in her mind and she was pleasantly surprised at how beautiful it was in reality. From her position she could now see that the farmhouse wasn't isolated at all and there was a small cluster of buildings – a small village perhaps – just a ten minute walk away.

She was also aware that she was putting off the inevitable and so she turned towards the crest of the hill to where a scarecrow still stood. She started to walk slowly towards her destination until a voice sounded in her head. 'Don't forget your stick'. She was so used to his voice now that she simply shook her head and turned back, opened the car door and retrieved her walking stick. "Nag, nag, nag," she muttered. 'I heard that!'

She grinned and walked on.

This was the moment she had been dreading but now that it had arrived she suddenly didn't feel scared at all. Yes, the scarecrow was still there but at least he didn't seem quite so sinister now – he had been re-dressed in gaily coloured ribbons and a jaunty red beret and seemed to be doing a fine job of…well, whatever is was that scarecrows did. She looked at the ground beneath the scarecrow and immediately recognised the signs she was looking for. Of course Gene wasn't here any more and the makeshift grave he had lain in for so long was now refilled with earth and covered with newly grown grass. But her copper's instincts were still good and she knew this was the place.

"Oh Gene." Tears filled her eyes as she thought of how he had lain he undiscovered for over fifty years. How his mother must have grieved for him, never knowing whether he was alive or dead. 'Don't cry Bols, that's an order.' She wasn't sure if she was just remembering his voice or actually hearing him – but it didn't really matter. His voice was comforting in its rough familiarity. "Yes Guv."

She brushed the tears away and as she did, she remembered a line of poetry that she had once heard somewhere. 'My feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping…' As happened so often nowadays she couldn't remember the rest of it. And anyway, she knew he wasn't sleeping here, not sleeping anywhere really, but she still found some comfort in knowing that he had been found and acknowledged and remembered. "I'm sorry," she said finally, "sorry I couldn't stay…I…I wanted to sometimes. But there was Molly you see and…." Her voice tailed off but she stayed there for a while, lost in thoughts in what might have been and feeling a mixture of sadness and guilt. It probably wasn't what her psychologist would recommend as a healing process.

Reluctantly she tore herself away, and even though she knew he wasn't there anymore, she felt such a wrench…almost as if she was abandoning him again. With grim determination she limped back towards the car, only looking up when she heard an insistent voice.

"This is private land miss, you shouldn't be here." A middle-aged man dressed in working clothes ran towards her, only stopping to catch his breath as he reached her side.

"What?"

"Private land." He pointed towards a sign that she hadn't seen when she drove in.

She was just about to reach for her warrant card when she realised that she didn't have one any more. Officially she was on long-term sick leave but she already knew that she wouldn't be going back to the Met.

"I'm sorry." She smiled apologetically and was rewarded with a softening of the man's features. Still got it, she thought. She looked around and took in the old farmhouse and the derelict outbuildings all looking much the same as they had done. However there was something different – there was scaffolding surrounding the main farmhouse and delivery vans parked in the yard and a general air of something underway.

"That's alright Miss," the man said, "taking a walk were you? Or did you come to see the site? Bit early mind, won't be ready for a while…"

"What won't be ready?"

"The new development. About time they did something to this place if you ask me."

"Not a housing estate?" Alex's heart sank. For some reason she couldn't bear to think of this place covered in anonymous box-like houses.

"No, nothing like that. Exclusive they reckon. Big farmhouse there – that'll be the main house when it's finished and just a couple of others around about."

"So they're not knocking it down?"

"Renovating. Inside has been gutted already." He cocked his head to one side as if contemplating something. "You want to see?"

Alex's heart skipped a beat but she couldn't really say no – this was the final part of her pilgrimage to Gene's memory. She couldn't chicken out now. She nodded. "I'd love to."

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Alex paused on the threshold of the farmhouse kitchen. Mr McVitie (for that was her companion's name) led the way.

"They don't build 'em like this any more. Solid. Built to last this one."

She nodded and stepped tentatively through the doorway. It was empty of course, no patriotic coronation bunting, no signs that someone had once been murdered here. And yet, if she closed her eyes, she could hear it all.

'Skinny. Yeah, he was, um... He was a skinny lad, needed fattening up…. Didn't deserve a shallow grave, did he? Did he, Alex?...No. No, you didn't.'

She swayed on her feet.

"Ere, you alright Miss? Here, come and sit yerself down. You look right mithered." He guided her towards a group of wooden chairs gathered around a makeshift table which the workmen were obviously using on their tea breaks.

Alex didn't know what mithered meant, but it didn't sound good. "I'll be fine. I just need a minute to catch my breath. I haven't been well lately."

"Touch of the flu?"

"Bullet in the head." She glanced at Mr McVitie's shocked face. "Sorry. I tend to say things without thinking these days."

"Well there's worse things than that I reckon. Fancy a brew?" He gestured towards a flask on the table.

She nodded. "That would be lovely." There was something in his manner that she found reassuring and slightly familiar. It was the accent of course and his no nonsense manner. Not Gene though. Now that she had had a good look at him she could see that he was a good decade older than Gene – the Gene she had left behind anyway.

He placed a mug of hot and steaming tea in front of her. "Get that down yer. Pick you up before you know it."

She took a sip of the highly sweetened tea and let it warm her insides. When she felt a bit more human she turned to Mr McVitie. "So, you're in charge here?"

He nodded. Foreman of the works – when they start again. First phase is over as you see." He gestured around the barren room which was bare apart from the table and chair they were sitting at. "Everything stripped out top to bottom and now the fun begins. Would you like to see the plans?"

"That would be wonderful."

He reached for a sheaf of papers and slid them across the table. "There'll be glossy brochures aplenty before long but this will do for now."

Alex's eyes widened at the proposed specifications for the renovation. There were artist's impressions of each room and detailed descriptions of what the architects wanted to achieve. Just the plans for the room where they were sitting now were breathtaking – a huge Aga, a central island, room for dining and relaxing – a real family room. A glimmer of a plan started to form in her mind.

"…about time the old place had some life put back…especially after what happened."

"Sorry?" Alex realised her attention had wandered.

"After what happened here? Did you not read the papers? Some young copper killed here they reckon. Murdered on Coronation Day….mind you, only came to light about six months ago. Poor kid."

Alex smiled weakly. "Don't suppose they'll be using that as a selling point will they?"

Mr McVitie chuckled. "You're right there."

She took another sip of tea and looked around the room. "So when will it be finished?"

"Before Christmas is the plan. Sales office isn't really open yet but I reckon it'll be snapped up soon as its ready."

"I want it." The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying.

"Pardon?"

Her eyes gleamed with excitement. "Mr McVitie, I want to buy this house."

…to be continued

A/N. And for those wondering if Gene is ever going to appear in this story the answer is Yes. Sort of. Soon.