Hello!! So, here we have the prenultimate chapter :O Thank you for keeping with the story, even if i wasn't sure about it in some parts! :D I hope you enjoy this chapter!

The Eleventh Hour

Chapter Nine

Unfortunate Hooligan Accident

Bov pushes deep into the girl, her legs wrapped tight around his waist. A low groan escapes his throat and she kisses his lips. His hand knots in her blonde hair. What's her name again? Alex? Casey? Does it really fucking matter? He pulls out, just to thrust himself up to the hilt, when there's a loud knocking on the door.

'Wait a minute, Pete!' he yells without thinking, before going still. His eyes darken. Pete? The girl beneath him frowns.

'Bov?' she urges, rolling her hips. Bov pulls out of her and away completely, leaving her spread legged on the bed. She covers herself quickly and sits on her elbows, eyes narrowed, as Bov pulls his boxers over his hips. 'Bov,' she demands. He ignores her and walked towards the door. Unlocking it, he pulls it open and stares at the man in the doorway.

Dave.

He's looking back with a frown. 'You yelled Pete,' he states. Bov says nothing and after a moment, he steps back into his apartment. The girl is pulling her shirt over her head and she gives Dave a flirtatious smile.

'Is a treat? Didn't tell me you was gonna get me a present,' she giggles.

'Get out,' Bov says, holding the door open for her. She frowns.

'What?'

'This is a door. Now, walk through it.' She flushed, gathering her clothes and stalking past him, shouldering past Dave as she went.

'You treat all your birds like that?' Dave asks. Bov scowls.

'You coming the fuck in or what?' he demands. Dave steps into the apartment and Bov slams the door shut behind him, reaching for his can of beer on the side. Dave looks around; the apartment is untidy, cans littering the floor, dirty clothes in piles and the TV is on its side. Bov used to be quite a clean man and suddenly... It was like a war zone in here.

Bov is still watching him carefully, so Dave turns to face him. 'The other day you said you didn't want Pete to be forgotten.'

'And?' he shrugs, though his eyes are cautious, wondering what Dave is getting at.

'He ain't gonna be forgotten, Bov.'

'By us, he won't,' Bov tells him. 'But, every fucker else? It was just that unfortunate hooligan accident that 'appened last year. They don't give a fuck.'

'Pete ain't coming back,' Dave says, voice quiet. 'I know it's 'ard and you can't fight us all. You can spit and scream and fling your fucking rattle out the buggy for all I care, but he ain't coming back. You've gotten get outta this cycle you're in. Before you 'urt yourself.'

'You 'ave no fucking idea how I feel,' Bov glares. Dave steps forward.

'We all lost Pete.'

'It was my fault,' Bov hisses, blurting out his true feelings for the first time. He runs his hands over his head with a growl of frustration. 'I betrayed him. He's dead because of me!' He sniffs angrily, trying to bite back his emotions. 'And people are forgetting about him.'

--

Maria sits on the park bench beside Steve, watching as Ben scrambles up the wooden stairs to go down the slide. There's a huge grin on the little boy's face, Dunham blue eyes bright. Then, she glances across at her oldest son, a tired smile on her face.

She always looked tired these days. It's weird seeing it; she used to be full of life, almost cooking or cleaning or gardening, forever on her feet with a smile on her lips and a twinkle in her eye.

'I'm proud of you, Steve,' she tells him. Steve looks at her, before he puts his arm around her shoulders.

'I know, mum.'

Maria sighs, looking back at Ben as he tries to climb up the slide, shoes leaving streaks of mud on the metal. Tears form in her eyes and she gives a small sob, trying to stifle the sound by covering her mouth. 'I'm sorry,' she cries, squeezing her eyes shut.

Steve hugs her tighter, quieting her. 'Ssh, it's alright. Don't be sorry.' His heart feels heavy, but he's cried enough tears for his brother.

He doesn't realize it would hurt this much. When Shannon left, his heart had been broken, but then Pete had died and it feels as though his whole body is confused with fire and rage and hatred and the salty taste of tears. He comforts his mother, who weeps quietly in her hands.

Ben looks over curiously, before plucking a handful of dandelions from the grass. He rushes over, thrusting them at Maria with a small smile.

Maria lowers her hands, a tearful, but genuine smile on her face. She takes them, fingers trailing over the yellow.

'Thank you, Ben,' she murmurs.

1986

The Airshow was brimming with people, the sound of jet engines drowning out the noise of thousands trying to get a look at the planes on the runway.

Eleven year old Dave sat on a fold up chair beside his grandad, trying his best to grab a rather large hotdog into his mouth. Granddad Harry raised a long finger to the air, grey eyes narrowed against the sun. 'You see that? You see that there?'

'Yeah,' Dave said, mouth full as he peered at the plane soaring through the sky.

'That's an Avro Vulcan,' the old man explained. Dave's eyes followed the camouflage coloured plane against the blue summer's sky. 'It's a delta wing subsonic jet bomber that was operated by the Royal Air Force. One of my favourite planes, that is.'

'Hey, look,' Dave exclaimed, almost out his chair as he peered to see another plane take off. 'It's a... a...'

'Chinook,' Granddad finished for him, with a smile. 'A CH-47D Chinook, to be precise.'

'Yeah!' Dave grinned.

'Want to tell me about it?' Harry asked, looking across at his grandson, teaching him everything he, himself, knew about planes.

Dave frowned for a moment, scratching his chin as he tried to remember. 'Twin-engine,' he replied. 'Its top speed is...' he bit his bottom lip, before grinning. 'Top speed is 170 knots.'

'What's it used for?'

'Troop movement, artillery emplacement and battlefield resupply.'

'Good,' Granddad nodded and they sat back, watching as the Red Arrows flew in circles and loops, spreading blue and red and white across the sky.

'What did you fly in the war, Granddad?' Dave asked after a moment, finishing his hotdog and wiping his fingers on his jeans. Granddad was quiet for a moment.

'A flew a Spitfire. Powerful thing, it was. You won't be able to imagine how I felt up there.'

'Was it scary?'

Harry looked down at his grandson's curious expression and gave a nod. 'Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.'

'What was it like to be shot, granddad?' Dave persisted, but Harry laughed and ruffled his hair.

'I'll tell you when you're older.' Dave nodded, feeling a little disappointed but knowing not to ask for now. He knew his grandad didn't like talking about the war. He frowned, kicking his legs before straightening up as he caught sight of another plane, still waiting to take off.

'What kind of plane is that?' he asked. Granddad paused for a moment, as he looked the plane over, before giving a smile.

'That, Dave, is a Tornado F3,' he replied, eyes crinkling in the corners as he chuckled. Dave's eyes went like saucers. Tornado F3? It sounded big and powerful and fast!

'What's it for, Granddad?' he asked impatiently.

'It's an RAF plane. There's three different, urm, versions of it, shall we say.'

'Which versions that?'

'It looks like a Tornado IDS. It's a fighter-bomber.'

Dave grinned, eyes still on the plane. 'I'm going to fly a Tornado when I grow up, Granddad,' he said eagerly.

'Are you really?' Harry laughed, lighting his pipe and taking a puff.

'Yeah! And I'm going to be the best there is!'

Now

Red sits at the kitchen table, glitter covering the surface, her hands, sticking her in hair and on the tip of her nose. The table top was hidden beneath glue pots and bits of cut paper and card as she lifted one of her makings to shake the glitter off.

'Tadda!' she shrills as Dave comes into the kitchen, laughing when he sees her.

'What's this?' he asks, hanging his jacket over the back of the chair.

'Invites,' she grins, patting a pile at her side.

'What for?' he asks, peering at the very glittery and pink invites.

'To our garden party. It's summer, I don't see why not. And it'll give you an excuse to get that old BBQ out again,' she replies, blowing glitter from her hands with no real affect. She stands up, picks up the invites and hands them to Dave with a grin. 'Give 'em out, will ya?'

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