Sorry it's been a while since my last update. After the finale, my muse took a battering and I'm still not convinced I've totally got it back. But I knew I couldn't leave you hanging so here's another chapter which I hope you'll read, enjoy and review!
I get out of the car and follow Dad across the road towards the half open door of the garage. Even before we reach it, I can hear the strains of Kylie Minogue's I Should Be So Lucky. It reminds me of happier times, dancing round my bedroom. As we step inside the garage, the pungent smell of engine oil hits my nostrils and I recoil slightly at the sharpness. A burning sensation starts in the back of my throat and I cough to try and dislodge it, but each time I take a breath it is still there, cloying, burning, demanding…
"Give her some more."
"Does she really need to be out for this?"
"It's better this way. Less chance of permanent damage."
I close my eyes, as though that will help push back the terrible smell. The voices in my head grow louder, arguing with each other.
"If this doesn't work, we'll lose her!"
"I know that, but do you have a better idea right now? We're ten minutes from the hospital!"
I feel the world tilt on its axis, and I grab onto the first thing I can to stop myself from falling over. Whatever it is, it feels wet and sticky under my hand.
"Another ten seconds or so and she'll be out."
"Why's it taking so long?"
"Because she's shoved a whole load of shit up her veins, that's why…"
"DC Hunt!"
My eyes fly open and I see Dad looking at me, his lips curled disapprovingly. I realise we are not alone and there are no less than three mechanics in blue overalls watching me with barely disguised amusement.
"Sorry…" I breathe, "I don't know what happened there." I pull my hand away from the wall and look down to see it smeared with brown oil. The smell is still pungent and I take a tentative sniff before holding my hand as far away from myself as possible.
"Too much partying, not enough sleeping," Dad says to the eldest of the three mechanics who is standing wiping his hands on an oily rag and looking at me curiously. "Women in the force. DC Lucy Hunt, meet Tony Phillips, best mechanic this side of the river."
I reach out and limply shake his outstretched hand. "Pleased to meet you," I say, my voice coming out harsh and raspy, my throat sore from the effort.
"'ere," he throws his rag at me.
"Thanks," I reply, wiping the material over my hand.
"Bloody 'ell it's Lucy!" One of the younger mechanics, who has been staring at me, starts suddenly and peers at me. "God you look different love! 'aven't seen you for months now! 'ow are you?"
I pause, mid-wipe, and look from him to Dad and back again, trying to work out why he might know me. Dad crosses his arms and looks at me, as though waiting for some kind of explanation or introduction. "Sorry," I say finally, coughing, "do I know you?"
He laughs, a loud bellowing sound that echoes around the room. "Do you know me? Bloody 'ell, don't tell me that all that stuff's gone to your 'ead and fried your brain already." He nudges the other boy standing next to him, a tall, skinny, ginger boy, who doesn't react, and then grins broadly at me.
"What?" I ask, my head suddenly spinning again.
He sees that I'm not joining in on the joke and, glancing at Dad, his smile suddenly falters. "Not that...I mean, it's not as if you'd remember me."
I fight to keep my balance and take a deep breath, trying to dislodge the smell, "But who are you?"
"Don't mind 'im," Tony says smoothly before the other man can reply, "bit of an idiot is laughing boy." He pushes him over towards the door. "'ave a look at the Quattro will you, Ben?"
"Eh...yeah," the other man, Ben, says, darting a quick look at me before moving past me, taking the keys from Dad and heading out of the door to where we left the car.
"Fan belt gone again?" Tony asks.
"Summat like that," Dad replies. "Right, seeing as I'm 'ere…might as well take a wee nosy around, eh Tony?"
"Oh come on!" Tony exclaims. "Not again Mr 'unt! I've told you before that there is nothing dodgy in this place, not any more."
"Your record says otherwise," Dad replies.
"That was years ago!"
"Well then you won't 'ave a problem with me 'aving a look around now, will you? You." Dad gestures to the ginger bloke. "Come with me. You can make sure I don't nick anything." With a smile of self-satisfied triumph, he makes his way into the office at the back, followed by the ginger bloke.
Tony shakes his head and makes his way over to the far end of the garage where a Ford Fiesta is jacked up. I watch him, wondering if I'm supposed to say or do something. "Should I…?" I call out but from the office, I can hear the sound of drawers being opened and then slammed shut. I wonder if I should search around too, but then I don't even know what I'm meant to be looking for.
"'ow do you know Ben then?" Tony calls from the far end.
It takes me at least a minute to realise that he's talking to me. "Erm…I don't. At least, I don't think I do." I realise how ridiculous that sounds and wish I could take it back.
"Well 'e seems to know you," Tony peers around the Fiesta, "and 'ow can you not know?"
"I meet a lot of people," I say, "I can't be expected to remember them all, can I?"
He grins at me, "Of course not. What's up with it then?" I look over my shoulder and see that the comment is directed at Ben who has come back into the garage.
"Needs a new coil pack," he replies, looking at me, "should only take five minutes to replace." He waits, as if he needs an answer from me.
"Ummm…" I glance towards the office, "it's not my car so…"
"Change it, Ben," Tony says, "let's make sure Mr 'unt leaves 'appy."
Ben moves past me and disappears behind another car. A few moments later, he comes back into sight, his gaze on the contraption in his hand. As he makes to move past me, he bumps me accidentally, causing me to pitch to one side. "Sorry!" he exclaims, grabbing my wrist, "You ok?"
"Ben for Christ's sake!" Tony exclaims.
"I'm fine," I reply, straightening myself up, "absolutely fine."
"Sorry about that," Ben says again, and then winks at me.
I frown and open my mouth to ask him what he's doing, when Dad re-emerges from the office, accompanied by the silent ginger bloke. "Right," he rubs his hands together, "well I'm pleased to report you 'ave nothing too suspicious lying around, Tony, well done."
"Told you," Tony replies. "Everything's legit 'ere Mr 'unt."
"Yeah right," he looks at me, "and my esteemed colleague DC Hunt doesn't take it up the arse."
"I beg your pardon?" I splutter, feeling my face go red. This is my Dad for heaven's sake! "I don't….what on earth…?"
"What's 'appening to my car?" he interrupts me.
"Umm, oh…umm…Ben's changing the umm…the…" I can't seem to form a sentence, so taken aback am I.
"Coil pack," Tony helps me out.
"Exactly, coil pack."
"Good, should be a five minute job then," Dad says, "No charge, I'm assuming Tony?" Without waiting for an answer, he strides towards the door.
I look back at Tony who shrugs, "Always a pleasure, Mr 'unt."
I follow Dad out of the door back onto the forecourt where Ben is in the process of lowering the bonnet.
"Is it fixed?" he asks.
"Shouldn't 'ave any more problems with her," he replies, tossing Dad back the keys and winking at me again. It's pissing me off so much now that I have half a mind to grab him and shake him and demand to know what the hell he's winking at me for!
"One of your dealers?" Dad asks as we watch him make his way back into the garage.
I stop dead and look at him. It seems so bloody obvious now that I think about it. Claiming he knows me…asking me if the stuff had fried my brain…God I'm slow. I look at Dad and see he is looking at me expectantly. I don't want to answer the question. Well, I do because it's not true. I've never seen that guy before and have never bought gear from him and I want my Dad to know that but...but maybe my 1988 self has. How would I ever know? Judging by what Dad said to me yesterday, anything is possible. "I...eh..." is all I manage to say.
"You don't 'ave to tell me," he interrupts, as we get back into the Quattro. "Clean slate and all that."
"What was all that about?" I divert the conversation away from the dangerous waters it's heading into. "What were you looking for in the office?"
"Nothing."
"What, nothing as in nothing or nothing as in, you're not going to tell me?"
He turns and looks at me, "Do you know something? You are beginning to sound worryingly like my wife." I smile before I realise it, the comparison making me feel warm inside. There's no-one else I'd rather be like. "What's so entertaining about that?"
I pull my face into a serious expression. "Nothing."
"Anyway..." he starts up the engine, "the kid with the ginger 'air's an informant."
"The skinny one? The one you took into the office with you?"
"Well aren't you observant. I'm glad we got you on the team."
I ignore him. "So...you didn't want Tony and the others to know, is that it?"
"Exactly."
"Did he tell you anything?"
"Not a sausage. But 'e looked scared. Wouldn't surprise me if Donnelly and the gang 'aven't put the word around a bit. We can't be the only ones to think they might try and pull something off with Muir's parole 'earing."
"I suppose..." I agree, shivering slightly at the mention of his name and jamming my hands in the pockets of my jacket for warmth. Almost immediately, the fingers of my right hand brush against something unfamiliar. Realising that there's something unknown in my pocket, I grasp hold of it and pull it out. "Shit..." I breathe, looking down in shock at the polythene bag. Inside, I can see the oh-so-tantalising brown powder that has dominated so much of my life.
"What?" Dad is craning his neck around to try and see out a blind junction.
"Nothing," I ram the bag back into my pocket, feeling my face start to flush at the same time. My heart beats faster and louder, so that I can hear it pounding in my ears. Where in God's name did it come from? I would have noticed it earlier, of course I would have…
My fingers curl silently around the bag and I think back to all the times when I have never felt anything more wonderful than the sensation of the polythene against my skin, the anticipation of what that little bag means…In the past, I have sat on public transport, I have sat in court, I have sat in Shaz and Chris' house my hand clamped around my prize, desperate to get home to indulge myself the way any other normal woman might buy a pair of shoes and hurry home to try them on with every matching item of her wardrobe. "Does...eh...does DI Drake know about your informant?" I try desperately to think about something else, anything to take my mind off of it.
"Just cause we're married doesn't mean we 'ave to share everything," he replies. "I'm sure she's got 'er own little sources 'idden away somewhere."
"How did you recruit him?"
"Nicked 'im last year. Poor sod 'ad never been in trouble with the law before. I promised 'im it wouldn't go any further if 'e 'elped me out every now and then with some information. Donnelly takes 'is motors to Tony sometimes and I thought that 'e might be involved."
"And is he?"
"Dodgy tax discs, that's more Tony's scene. Not drugs and definitely not violence." He turns the car back onto Fenchurch Street and pulls up outside the station.
"So why take me?" I ask. "If no-one else knows about your informant, why take me along? You could have taken the car to get repaired on your own."
He pulls on the handbrake, shuts off the engine and turns to look at me again, his eyes narrowed. "Dunno. S'pose I thought you could use the fresh air." Without waiting for a response, he gets out of the car.
I follow him, "But I could just as easily have gone back to the prison with DI Drake and no-one would have needed to know about your informant."
"All right," he stops at the top of the stairs and turns to face me. "I wanted to see what you were like in action. 'ow you would do in the field. Whether you would be able to do it or whether you'd run off to find the first dealer to get your hands on some gear."
My shoulders droop at his words. Every time he mentions anything about drugs, about who I really am, it makes me feel beyond terrible. I want to keep the two worlds separate. I want him and Mum to get to know me, the me I could be, not me on drugs. "I don't understand how going with you to the garage..." I don't know what I am trying to get him to say. Perhaps I want him to say that he wanted to spend time with me, and yet I know he will never say that.
He looks me up and down and there is a long moment before he speaks again, "Maybe I wanted to protect you."
I freeze and look at him, "What?"
He leans in closer so that only I can hear, "Maybe I just wanted to protect you," he repeats.
"I…" Before I can get any proper words out, he turns and walks into the station. I stand on the steps, watching his retreating figure, wondering what he meant. The part of me that longs for a relationship with him, with them, wonders if it could possibly be because he knows who I am. Maybe he senses it. Maybe he has a feeling...but the part of me that knows that could never be the case reminds me not to be so stupid. They have no idea who I am and never will. To them, I am just DC Lucy Hunt. I mean nothing to them beyond what I can bring to the team.
Another shiver courses through me and I put my hands in my pockets again, instantly reminding myself of the so-called treasures therein. My head starts to swim, I feel sick and yet my mouth waters at the prospect of a hit. To feel that familiar sense of calm, of peace, to know that no-one can touch me...it is the thing that keeps most junkies going. It is what has kept me going through the dark times.
Hurriedly, I push open the doors and walk in, barely acknowledging Viv, before heading straight to the bathroom. I throw open the door and am relieved to find that there is no-one else there. I pull the bag from my pocket and deposit it on the counter next to the sinks, looking from it to my reflection in the mirror and back again. I don't have the right equipment to hand, but it couldn't be that hard to find a spoon and a lighter in a police station, could it?
"Maybe I just wanted to protect you..." Dad's words echo in my head. My Daddy, the person who was supposed to look after me, supposed to protect me, supposed to make everything all right. He never got the chance to do it. He never got the chance because two days from now Liam Muir will blow his brains out and everything will be the same as it always has been. I can't let that happen. I have to do something. I don't know what, but I have to do something…starting with this.
I lift the bag and step inside one of the cubicles. Closing the door over behind me, I open it and carefully tip the contents into the toilet bowl. Then I pull the chain and watch as the precious heroin slowly disappears.
XXXX
I can't sleep. It's too hot and even with the window open I just can't seem to fall asleep. Barney Bear is on the floor. It's too hot to cuddle him. I need a drink, so I get out of bed and put on my fluffy slippers. I open the door and walk to the top of the stairs. The lights are on downstairs. Mummy and Daddy are still up. It's too early for them to be sleeping.
"She's not stupid, Gene." I hear Mummy talking. She's at the bottom of the stairs but she hasn't seen me.
"I know that, Alex." Daddy is at the door of the living room. He's holding a glass full of brown stuff in his hand and I watch as he drinks it all.
"She's going to hear things. People are going to talk."
"What do you want me to say? She's four years old. She shouldn't 'ave to think about that kind of thing."
"How will she feel in later life if she finds out, Gene, and we haven't told her?"
I sit down on the top step and listen. I want to know who Mummy and Daddy are talking about.
"Alex…she's my little girl. Do you really think I want to sit 'er down and tell 'er 'er uncle's died because of drugs?"
"At least it would be the truth."
Daddy rubs his face hard. "We spend our lives shielding people…families…from the truth. Why shouldn't we do it for our own daughter? Why can't we wait until she's older? Until she's ready to understand?" He looks up and sees me. "Lucy…" He comes dashing up the stairs and scoops me up into his arms, hugging me close. "'ow long 'ave you been there?"
Usually I love Daddy's hugs, but tonight it's too hot. "Daddy…" I grumble.
"What?" he asks, still hugging me tightly.
"I'm too hot and I can't sleep."
He looks at me, "Do you want a drink?"
"Yes," I nod.
"Ok," he carries me back down the stairs, past Mummy, and into the kitchen. He gets me my Tufty glass and pours me some juice. Then he hands it to me and I sit and drink it and he strokes my hair and when I look up at him, I think that he looks sad.
"Daddy," I ask, handing him my glass, "Are you sad?"
He looks at me and he seems surprised at what I've said. "No Luce," he says, crouching down in front of me, "I'm not sad, I'm just…"
"Just what?" I ask. I don't like it when people don't finish what they're saying.
He smiles and ruffles my hair, "You'll understand one day, love. One day when you've got a little girl of your own." Then he lifts me up into his arms again. "Come on, I'll put you back to bed." He carries me back out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Mummy is still standing at the bottom. I wave at her as we go past.
She doesn't wave back.
