Bill and Deb washed up their plates and the dish that Mrs Beazley had sent their meal in. They hadn't spoken much at dinner, but Deb had told him that she had been unhappy with Sean living there, and although they had shared a bed she hadn't let him touch her. In the end he had slept on the couch, the other room being occupied by Andrew. Bill had said that was none of his business.

'I knew he was up to his old tricks,' she whispered, 'I saw him in the park, yesterday, but I knew before. That's when I told him to get out.' Deb looked up at Bill, a flash of defiance in her eyes.

'Good for you.' Bill applauded her, 'he added nothing, did he?'

'No, but that was when he hit me.' Deb looked down at her plate.

'If I could get my hands on him...' Bill grunted.

'No, Bill.' She stopped him, 'he's gone, that's good enough for me. Leave that to someone else.' She whispered.

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'I'll take this back to Mrs Beazley,' Bill said as he left the house.

'Thank you, Bill.' She stood on tiptoe and lightly kissed his cheek, 'for everything.'

Bill coloured, he coughed, cleared his throat, 'Yes, well, family.'

She smiled as he turned and went down the path, 'Daft sod.' She closed the door and slipped the chain on, as he had told her to.

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Deb locked the kitchen door and turned out the lights downstairs, heading to bed. She checked Andrew, fast asleep, flat on his back with his arms flung above his head. She smiled, so sweet, the best thing that had come out of this whole rotten mess. Clive had not been the husband she had envisaged. He'd become cold, distant when she didn't conceive. Sean had flattered her and she had allowed her heart to rule her head. Clive had found out and gone in to sort Sean out and, oh, it had all gone horribly wrong! Bill had confessed he wasn't where he should have been and had blamed himself for Clive's death, but she had told him if anyone was to blame it was her. If she hadn't gone with Sean, if she'd accepted, if they'd accepted they wouldn't have children then none of it would have happened. True she'd have been stuck in a loveless marriage but at least he would have been alive. Now she had to make the best of it and bring up Andrew, hoping he wouldn't make the same mistakes. She had no idea what the future held but if she had Bill's friendship then it wouldn't be too bad. She would find work of sorts that would fit round Andrew, perhaps take in ironing or sewing.

She slipped between the covers, noticing the darns needed re darning and there was a seam that needed repairing in a pillowcase, nothing she couldn't sort out tomorrow. For the first time for a long time Deborah Cooper slept deeply without the worry that someone would hurt her.

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Bill pulled up outside his home. It was a flat, fashioned from a large house that had been converted. He had the ground floor. A living/dining room with a kitchenette off to one side. A small bathroom and a bedroom. Not much to show for a lifetime's service in the force. Plainly and sparsely furnished, no nick-knacks or fripperies, one ancient photograph of his parents and one of his graduation. He sighed, even the chaos of Deb's house was more inviting than this place. He'd never thought of it before, but recently, after he'd visited Deb he would find the place almost depressing.

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He lay in bed wondering about her, nah, he was far too old to even think about going down that line, too old for her, too set in his ways, and her with a kid too, what would he do with Andrew? He thumped the pillow and tried to get some sleep.

Deb insisted on intruding on his dreams. First her black eye, then her tears and the feel of her against his chest. Her smile, timid, hesitant, that fleeting, soft kiss. There was nothing in it, he told himself when he woke up, she was just being friendly A pretty young lass like her would never look at a grumpy old git like him.

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Not knowing whether Blake would be around the station, Bill took the dish back to his house, and Deb had said that if he saw Mrs Beazley he was to thank her again. He could kill two bird with one stone, that way.

He heard Mrs Beazley's voice when he knocked at the door, he was quite grateful it was her that answered, Blake was likely to make some remark about him and Deb.

'Morning Sergeant Hobart,' she smiled.

'Good morning, Mrs Beazley.' he smiled back, wondering how she could be so cheerful when she had to put up with Blake's unreliable ways, 'Brought your dish back, and Deb says thanks again. We both enjoyed it.'

'You're welcome, Sergeant.' She took the dish, 'tell Mrs Cooper if she needs any more help just let me know. It's not easy bringing up a child alone.'

'No, don't suppose it is.' He sighed, 'anyway, best get on.'

'Bye.' Jean waved as he drove away and smiled to herself. Grumpy and a bit quick with his fists he may be, but if a friend was in trouble you could always rely on Bill Hobart.

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Knowing that Bill had looked after Deb the previous day, Matthew Lawson had told his men that if they teased him they could deal with the consequences and that included Blake, who tried to look innocent. Actually, Blake agreed with him, Bill had been supportive and kind to the young widow and if it brought a smile to Bill's face then he was all for it.

Bill was prepared to ignore any comments he may get as he entered the office but all he did get was a 'Mornin' Hobart,' and a 'Bill' accompanied by a nod and inwardly he sighed with relief.

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Deb stretched and yawned as she heard Andrew start his early morning calls. She smiled and went to get him thinking that her life was definitely improving since Sean had left, at least she hoped it was. She took him downstairs and made herself a cup of tea and him a drink of milk and they sat together in the living room. She was lucky, Andrew was an easy baby, as long as he was fed and clean he was happy to play on the floor while she did her chores. She looked around at what she had to do that day. The ironing hadn't been done, dinner with Bill had taken longer than if she had been on her own, so that had to be done. She needed to beat the rugs, her vacuum cleaner had died long ago so she swept and beat instead. She could do all those things first then go into the market for some vegetables. She had a little bit of money left and if she went towards the latter half of the day she could pick up some bargains. It was also an easy way to avoid the gossips who would have gone early in the day to get the best and freshest produce.

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She put the freshly ironed laundry in the cupboard and took the rugs out into the garden and flung them over the washing line. She put Andrew in the pram and out of the way of the flying dust and used the broom handle to beat the carpets. It was exhausting work but she felt a certain sense of satisfaction when she had finished. She decided they could stay on the line while she had a bacon sandwich for lunch and gave Andrew the remains of last night's dinner she had purposely kept back for him. She had to admit Jean Beazley was a very good cook.

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She was grateful the market was relatively quiet when she got there. She had disguised the black eye with makeup as best she could and pulled her hair round to the side to cover up some of the bruise. She found the produce stall she frequented the most and perused the offerings. She could afford some potatoes, along with a selection of other vegetables just past their best, and a little fruit for Andrew. She had just paid and was loading her purchases onto the pram when she heard the first of the murmurings. Comments about her black eye, 'serves her right,' 'fancy being out in public like that,' 'no better than she should be.' She stiffened but refused to turn round until she was tapped on the shoulder. Ready to snap at whoever she relaxed as she turned her head, it was Mrs Beazley.

'Hello, Mrs Cooper,' Jean smiled, 'thank you for sending the dish back. How are you today?'

'Mrs Beazley,' she sighed audibly, 'I'm glad it got back to you. I'm not too bad, how are you?'

'Very well thank you.' Jean leant in and whispered, 'ignore them.' Then louder, 'I've got a recipe you might like that will make those veggies go further.' They moved away from the gossips who were now going to start on Jean Beazley who, horror of horrors, shared a house with a single man!

Jean continued her advice, giving the recipe for a thick soup full of veggies and pearl barley, suggesting that if she could get a ham hock it would make it extra tasty. It was something Jean had made when times were tight after Christopher had been killed.

Mentally calculating how much money she had left she decided that Jean's idea was do-able and thanked her for the recipe. They walked towards the butcher's where Jean left her and headed to the baker's.

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Deb had had a peaceful few days, no visitors, just her and Andrew. She had tried to cut the grass but the mower was heavy and the blades just seemed to pull the grass up rather than cut it. She wondered if Bill would be round any time soon, it was blatantly obvious the neighbours weren't going to help, she'd seen them watch and even if one of the husbands around had offered to help they would have been dragged back by their suspicious wives. Sometimes she wished she could move. She left it, trying to take Mrs Beazley's advice and ignore them. She got the inside of the house tidy and clean and had found an old patchwork cover and had put it over the couch, making it look more inviting, even though it wasn't much more comfortable. She darned the covers in her bedroom and repaired the pillow case, actually enjoying these mundane tasks.

She had just made herself a cup of tea and Andrew was asleep in his pram in the back garden when there was a knock at the door. As usual she stood waiting for the visitor to announce themselves.

'Deb, it's me.' Bill's unmistakable voice. She smiled and he heard her slip the chain and unlock the door.

'Hello, Bill.' She stepped aside to let him in.

'How's things?' He asked noticing the hall was sparkling.

'Not bad, quiet, just how I like it.' She smiled at him, still shy, which she chided herself for.

'I've got this afternoon and tomorrow off, thought you might like the grass cutting.' He smiled.

'Oh, Bill,' she almost gasped, 'you must be a mind reader. I've tried but the mower seems to pull the grass up instead of cutting it.'

'Blades are probably blunt.' he suggested, 'I'll take a look.'

He wandered through to the back garden, 'By the way, I've got you a new lock for the back gate.'

'I must pay you for these things you get for me, Bill.' She looked up at him, 'it's not right you should do all this for me.'

'No you won't.' He stopped her and put his hand on her arm, 'I've no one else to spend my money on.'

'Well, at least let me feed you.' She gave up, she'd had this conversation with him before and lost, 'Mrs Beazley's given me a recipe you might like.'

'Oh, when did you see her?' He was surprised, had Jean been round? the house was certainly up to her standards.

'In the market the other day,' She told him how Jean had helped her ignore the gossips.

'Not surprising,' He admitted, 'she gets it for being a live-in housekeeper to a single man.'

'Typical.'

Bill smiled and went out to the shed, also in need of repair. He looked over the mower, the blades were indeed dull and it needed oiling, but it was nothing he couldn't sort out. It took him longer than he anticipated but he managed to get the mower working properly and cut the front lawn, tidying the edges and leaving it looking smarter. That'd stop the neighbours, he hoped. The back garden needed doing but it was late afternoon now and it would be a longer job than the front. He could do that tomorrow, if Deb didn't mind. He wanted to get the lock on the back gate, he still wasn't sure McBride wouldn't turn up. He hadn't been seen around town, the men still kept a look out. In fact there were no McBrides about. Xavier had lost his parish and had had to leave the church, and Peter's wife and children had moved with him to another state, unable to stand the talk, the turned backs and the children were getting a hard time at school.

'Tea, Bill.' Deb called from the back door.

'Ta.' He said accepting the welcome mug. 'I'll do the back tomorrow, if you like.' He leant against the wall, the garden needed more than the grass cutting, she would need it turning into a safe place for Andrew to play in. That was probably all he knew about children, he'd enjoyed playing in the garden when he was a boy, usually soccer with his dad.

'That's very kind of you.' She replied, quietly, watching him sip his tea and stare out over the tufts of grass and the messy borders.

'I like gardening.' He muttered. 'I used to do it with dad, when I was a kid.'

'I'm not much of a gardener, but, if the mower's working I can cut the grass.'

'Hmm.' was all that Bill could offer to that.

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A slow burner this one. Thanks for all the reviews, very surprising comments and complimentary too. x