Thank you as usual, to you, Emma.

Not long left to go now and the plot will begin to thicken...

The days passed by slowly. Andrea's tenseness showed no signs of easing, despite the constant reassurances from Smithy and the protection she was being given. It seemed everyone was just as on edge as she was; only two days ago, Smithy had been thrown into a panic when she didn't answer her phone whilst in the shower and had sent a unit to her house. Over the water, she hadn't heard them knocking and getting no response, Tony and Honey had forced her door, scaring her half to death, setting the intruder alarm blaring. That had been the first time it had happened; her heart racing until her ears were buzzing, the tightening of her chest, and the struggle for breath. A panic attack, that's what the counsellor had said when she'd seen him the next day. Not very surprising, given all she'd been through. Smithy had been apologetic for being so over-zealous, and she'd had to persuade him that it was fine, he could go back to work, he didn't have to take any time off. Now, sitting alone, still jumping at every single noise, she regretted it. Desperate for something to do, she retrieved her laptop and set about doing something which had been on her mind for a long time – changing her surname by deed poll to match Graham's. She was printing the relevant forms when there was a knock at the door. She rose slowly, as she always did dialling 999 before slowly opening the door. She blinked.

"Dad?"

The single, shocked word escaped from her lips. Trust her father to turn up utterly out of the blue.

"I'm sorry to just turn up. I wasn't sure if you'd agree to see me if I called."

"What're you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

Against her better judgement, she stood back and allowed him entry into her home; the home he'd bought for her. He glanced around as he removed his smart coat.

"You've done well with this place."

Her eyes narrowed. She didn't think he'd even remember what it originally looked like; he'd only seen the house once when she'd moved to London four years ago.

"What do you want, dad? Don't pretend you came here to admire my décor."

"No," he said and slung his coat neatly on the back of an armchair. "I thought you were right; you do deserve an explanation."

"Where's mum?" Didn't have the guts to face me?"

"Your mother's not very well," he said. "She's actually in hospital."

"But…I spoke to Charlie, he didn't tell me…"

"No. I asked him not to. I wanted to come and tell you myself."

"What happened?"

"It's not physical," he said, then sighed. "It's happened on and off for years. It's not the first time."

"B…because of me?"

"No," he said, but it was after a pause.

"You hesitated."

"Look…Andrea…can we sit down?"

She gestured at the table and he took a seat. She filled the kettle, got down two mugs, then turned to him.

"Do you still take milk and two sugars?"

He smiled at her and she felt the first stirrings of affection.

"You remembered."

She shrugged and dropped the tea bag and sugar into his mug. He caught sight of the papers on the table and picked them up. He raised his eyes to her.

"Are you changing your name?"

He sounded almost…hurt and the thawing stopped almost as soon as it had begun. She glared over her shoulder at him.

"My surname. As Graham was the one who raised me, the one who was there for me, the one who wanted me."

"It wasn't like that, Andrea. We didn't not want you."

She poured water into the mugs, then spun around to face him angrily.

"Leaving me at boarding school and never coming back? Pushing me onto au pairs and whoever else would take me off your hands so you didn't have to look at me? I might've been young dad, but I still remember what living with you was like."

She put his mug down in front of him and sat down opposite. He warmed his hands around his mug.

"You don't have very good memories of living with us, do you?"

"No," she said shortly.

"Look, Andrea…I wanted to come and tell you the truth. It's not going to be nice to hear. It's why your mother and I never wanted to tell you before."

She crinkled an eyebrow at him. He reached into the pocket of his coat and brought out several photographs. He handed one to her and she studied it carefully. Her mother. Her father. A baby in her mother's arms she took to be herself, newborn by the size of her. And a boy, who looked around four, on her father's lap, thin and gaunt. She studied his face, but didn't feel a flicker of recognition. What was he doing in what appeared to be a family photograph? She raised her eyes to his.

"Who is…?"

"Joseph," he said, with a large swallow. "Your brother. Older brother."

"I don't…I don't remember."

"No. You wouldn't." Her father took a deep breath and said; "he died. Not long after that was taken."

"How?"

"He was ill," said Charles. "Leukaemia. He was diagnosed when he was three. The treatments they tried, they didn't work. Our consultant said he needed a bone marrow transplant. He was put on the waiting list, but he was a rare blood type. He said we might not get a donor and your mother and I weren't matches. He asked if we'd considered having another child."

Andrea felt as if ice had been poured all over her.

"Me?"

The word was supposed to come out strong, but escaped her lips in a whisper.

"Yes."

"But…I wasn't a match? It was the seventies, they can't do what they can do now."

"No. You were." Charles spoke to the table, his next words coming quietly. "It didn't work. The consultant did warn us that it might be the case."

"And you blamed that on me? You had your perfect family with the son you wanted, he got ill and the only reason you had me was for spare parts?"

"No. Andrea, no. It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" she snarled. "The child you wanted died and you were left with the daughter you never wanted?"

"We were grieving," he said. "I'm not saying it was right, but we'd pinned such hope on the transplant working. My mother looked after you for a bit."

He held the other photograph to her and she took it hesitantly. She looked down at it and blinked. Charlie had said she was the spit of their grandmother and he'd been right. She held her in her arms, delight all over her face. Her younger self was wearing a little bunny onesie, one little fist gripping her granny's blouse.

"You look just like her," said Charles. "Everyone said it. Her name was Andrea as well. We named you after her. She loved you, you know."

"At least somebody did. What happened to her?"

"She passed away," he said. "You were about two. She'd looked after you a lot until then. Most of the time, actually. Maybe that was the problem, we were grieving and let her do too much. You came back to us when she died, but you didn't really know us and we didn't really know you. You were very quiet, missing your granny of course, but you got more used to us. But we were just so stuck in grief, stuck in limbo. So that's when we got in Kirsten. You remember her?"

"Of course I do."

"She adored you," he said. "And I know you were devastated when we dismissed her. You cried for her for days."

"Then you just left me at boarding school," she said softly. "I can do the math, dad. I'm seven years older than Charlie. I'm twenty-nine, he's twenty-two. Mum was pregnant with him when you left me there."

"Yes."

She got up suddenly, startling him.

"Then you had the son you wanted," she said acidly. "You didn't have any use for me anymore. I bet you though all your Christmases had come at once when Graham finally took me off your hands for good. No unwanted, useless daughter in your way. Couldn't even save her brother."

"Don't say things like that. It's not true."

"No?" she hissed. "Then why didn't you take me with you? Why didn't you raise me with my brother? Why didn't you let me be part of your family? Do you know what it's like to be a child, spending nights, lying in bed, thinking your own parents didn't want you?"

Charles sighed.

"It was wrong," he said. "I'm sorry. We didn't know how unhappy you were. All your reports, they said you were doing well, your marks were always good…"

"And that means everything else is fine? Just as long as I'm passing tests and doing my homework, everything else must be fine? Those kids made my life hell, did you know that? They'd hide my things, freeze me out, gang up on me. They destroyed my blanket you know, the one mum made me. Cut it to pieces."

"I'm sorry…your letters, they never said…."

"And if I had? What would you have done? Come and taken me away? Of course not."

"You talked about Graham a lot," he said. "Even your reports mentioned it sometimes. That you were helping in the gardens, planting flowers."

"He enjoyed spending time with me," she said. "He liked me."

"Then we got the call," he said. "That you'd been hurt in the fire."

"Yeah, you were dragged away from Canada. I remember."

Charles closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I was very stressed. Work was heavy and your mother hadn't long come out of hospital. That's not an excuse, but we'd already lost one child. Even though we weren't that close, I couldn't bear to lose another. Especially for doing something so dangerous."

"You don't get it, do you? Graham was my friend, the only one who was nice to me. And in any case, do you think you could watch someone burn to death?"

"When I saw him with you," he said. "In the hospital, him holding you and the way you were with him. Then he told me and your mother to give you to him if we didn't want you."

"You didn't take much persuading, did you?"

"No," he admitted. "But you were twelve then. You'd been at that school for seven years by then. This isn't going to sound right, but…it didn't feel like you were ours anymore."

"Or ever," Andrea said bitterly. "I used to lay awake, hoping you'd come back for me, you know. I was stupid enough to hope you cared about me."

"We did, Andrea. We do. I know it doesn't seem like it, but we did it for you. Your mother was so depressed after Joseph's death and I wasn't much better. We thought you were better off with some stability. It was no place for a child, being with two parents stuck in that grief."

"But you could raise Charlie," she said. "Why is that? You just admitted yourself that when you left me there, you already knew mum was pregnant. You kept him, you abandoned me and you didn't even tell us about each other. You didn't want to know me and you didn't want my brother to know me. You permitted me to come at New Year, but you had to time for me. Why don't you just admit it? You resented me. I couldn't save Joseph, so you abandoned me."

"All right. Maybe there's some truth in that. But that's also not fair on you to grow up with that stigma around your neck. Especially when it's not true at the end of the day. It's not your fault the procedure didn't work. It happens."

"So you left me to live my life without you, wondering what I'd done so wrong that my own parents didn't want me."

"Maybe I shouldn't have come," he said. "Maybe it was better for you not to know."

"No, I'm glad you told me. I've wanted answers for years, now I've got them and you can dress it up any way you want to, dad, you abandoned me."

"I did," he said. "And I'm sorry."

Andrea scoffed, clenching her fists.

"So, what now? You swan off back to your life in Canada? I stay away from Charlie? Pretend I don't know about him?"

"I doubt I could stop you even if I wanted to," he said. "You two are both adults."

"Does he know? Everything you've told me?"

"Yeah. He was so angry, he didn't speak to us when we got back. He's not very impressed with the way we handled things. Don't mistake me, Andrea. We know we've handled things badly. And it's probably cost us our relationship with you. That's nobody's fault but ours."

"When I was missing," she said. "You could have shown you cared then. You didn't."

"We kept up to date," he said. "We watched the news. We searched for information. And when your inspector told us that you'd been found and it was someone you worked with, and she told us all he'd done to you…" Charles's fists clenched. "Your mother, she wanted to come right away…."

"But you didn't?"

"Please, don't mistake me. I was so pleased you'd been found alive, especially as they were so sure you were dead. But I knew you'd have Graham here and I wasn't sure you wanted to see us, especially after what happened at New Year. But we still had the flights booked that we had for the trial. We were going to come, you see. So we came. And Charlie had never been to London, so he wanted to come too. We couldn't think of a good reason to say no, so he came. And, well….you know the rest."

"Yeah. I do."

"Listen, I know we're probably never going to have the relationship we should have. And that's our fault. But you have Graham and you have Smithy and now you have Charlie too. We should have at least told you about each other. I know it's going to take you a long time to forgive us, if ever. I'm sorry."

She nodded, her jaw tight and she knew he hadn't taken is as an apology accepted. Charles stood up, putting on his coat.

"Keep the photographs. I know you don't remember your granny, but she loved you to pieces. Your brother did too."

He made a move as if to hug her, then thought better of it when she stiffened.

"If you need anything Andrea. Anything at all. You know where we are."

Yeah, she thought bitterly as the door opened and closed quietly. And I'm sure you'll come running if I call you. She looked at the photograph of her and her grandmother. She'd been two when she died but despite her dad's admission that she'd loved her, Andrea didn't feel a flicker of recognition. She picked up the family photograph and stared at Joseph; his cheeks hollow, his skin deathly pale and his body emaciated. And he'd died. Tears gathered in her eyes and she scrubbed them away to no avail, for they formed again and she didn't stop them from rolling down her face.

She was still crying when Smithy got back, and through choked sobs, she told him everything her father had told her. He held her to him, stroking her hair, but she could feel the anger radiating from him.

"He shouldn't have done that," he said angrily. "Not now, of all times."

"In a way, I'm glad," she said. "I wanted the answers, I got them. At least I know now why they didn't want me."

"I want you," he said, wiping her tears with his thumbs. "Graham wants you. You don't have to pin all your hopes on people who make you feel that worthless."

"You know the worst part?" Andrea said. "I get him now. Gabriel. David. Whatever I'm supposed to call him. I get how it must have felt to be shut out, unwanted, second best."

"Yeah," said Smithy. "But I doubt you would even dream of doing what he did. Nobody's claiming he didn't have the right to his feelings Andrea, but what he did was inexcusable."

"You don't have to tell me," she said softly. "I was there, remember?"

"I know," he said and kissed her forehead. He picked up the picture of her and grandmother and smiled at it. "You look like her."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. A lot actually. At least you had someone there for you."

"I wish I could remember her."

Smithy straightened up and held his hands out to her. She took them and he pulled her up, wrapping her in the strong arms she'd dreamed about so many nights when she'd been alone in the dark. She teared up, but held them back as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Can we go for a walk?" she said.

"You sure?"

"Please Smithy. I can't stand looking at these four walls all day every day."

"All right. Go and get a jumper or something. It's cold out there."

She did as he said and came back, pulling on a thick grey cardigan. He was looking at the papers she'd printed that morning, now filled out. He looked up at her.

"You're changing your surname?"

"Yeah," she said, pushing her phone and purse into her pocket. "It's been on my cards for a while. But the time just feels right now. A new beginning maybe."

"So I can't call you 'Dunbar' anymore?" he said. "Damn."

"Only you," she said as she stepped outside.

"Good," he said, taking her hand as they walked down the street. "No disrespect to Graham, but Callahan doesn't quite have the same ring to it. Don't tell him I said that."

"What's it worth?"

Smithy laughed.

"Oh Dunbar, you do drive a hard bargain."

They walked for hours; through the park, down the canal and into the town centre. The Christmas lights were up and she gazed up at them twinkling above her. Smithy wrapped his arms around her from behind and held her tightly. She gripped his forearms and leant back against him.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. "It's beautiful, isn't it? I didn't notice that before."

"Yeah," he said and nodded at the open coffee shop. "Drink? Warm us up a bit?"

"Hot chocolate?" she said hopefully.

"Whatever you like," he said, holding her face and giving her a light kiss. "You be okay here?"

She nodded and sat on the bench near the town centre's Christmas tree. She watched Smithy go, then brought out her phone, reading a text from Charlie, asking if she was okay. He must know she knew. She was in the middle of typing a reply when she heard a very familiar, but tentative voice.

"Andrea?"

She looked up distractedly and stilled. Bruce. A changed Bruce, but she supposed prison would do that to a person. Gone were the pinstriped coats, white shirts and dark trousers. In place of them were jeans and an oversized jumper. He wore scruffy trainers instead of the smart shoes. There was a haunted look in his eyes, one all too familiar. It was the same look she saw in her own face every time she looked in the mirror. He took a step closer and she jumped up.

"That's close enough. Don't come any closer."

For once, he did as he was asked.

"You've changed," he said.

"So've you."

"Prison will do that to a person," Bruce said. "You won't believe what happens in there."

"No?" she said coldly. "It wasn't exactly a bed of roses in that basement for me. What did you think you were doing, Bruce? Following me? Taking photographs? I'm sorry for what happened to you, I really am, but you did yourself no favours."

He couldn't meet her eyes then and looked at the floor. He swallowed hard and looked back up at her.

"If I hadn't outed you that day, they might have known where to look for you."

"Maybe," she said softly. "Maybe if Colin Fairfax hadn't driven that van into the front office that day, it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe I should have told more people my suspicions. But we're never going to know. What's done is done now."

They looked at each other for a moment in silence.

"What'll you do?" she asked.

"I'm selling up," he said, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. "I'm going home."

"What, back to Glasgow?"

"Yeah. I've been in touch with my brother, I'll stay with him. Throw down some new roots. Start again. Find my peace. I hope you can find yours."

They heard footsteps approaching. Smithy was coming towards them, holding two takeaway cups, walking quickly. His eyes were narrowed and he looked as if they were ready for a fight. Bruce looked at Andrea a question in his eyes and she just nodded.

"You look after yourself Andrea," he said and walked away without another word.

"You okay?" Smithy asked, passing her drink to her and glaring after Bruce.

She nodded, blowing on hers and taking a sip. It was sweet and hot and warmed her instantly. He put his free arm around her.

"What did he want?"

They watched Bruce's retreating back as he disappeared into the dark. She looked up at Smithy and said almost sadly; "I think he wanted to say he was sorry."

They had finished their drinks under the lights of the Christmas tree and walked back to Andrea's flat. She slung her cardigan on the chair and poked vaguely in the freezer for something to eat. She decided on pizza and put the oven on. She looked up at Smithy and caught him watching her warily.

"What's the matter?"

"You've just been very quiet," he said. "Ever since you saw him."

She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. He remained standing, waiting for her to speak.

"I didn't want to see him," she said softly. "I told Okaro that. But….when I was, you know, down there and he told me he was on remand for…"

"All the evidence, it pointed…."

"I know. Sam told me," she said. "That was the first I knew of the most of it. Gabriel, he told me about the car park incident, that you all knew about it."

She glanced up at him and his expression was impassive. Then she remembered the story she'd told him, the untrue story.

"I wanted to tell you," she said. "I really did."

"Then why didn't you?"

It was asked reasonably, not accusingly.

"I guess I just didn't have the guts," she said. "It's selfish, I know. I couldn't bear for you to be hurt. Disappointed. Angry. Hate me."

"I don't hate you," he said softly. "I never did. I was angry, and yes, I was hurt, but that was all. I could never hate you."

He sat down and cupped her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"I just want you. I want to start over."

"What if you remember? When it's over? When he's caught, jailed. What if you remember then and you're still angry?"

"Then we'll work through things," he said. "If that's what you want too. But if it isn't, then tell me now and we can put a stop to this before either of us get hurt."

She gripped his hand so tightly, it hurt.

"I want to be with you," she said. "I do. But I don't want to hurt you again."

"You won't," he said. "There are no more secrets anymore."

He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. She put hers around his waist and held on tightly. He kissed her head and smiled.

"I'm going to shower. Save me some pizza."

He went into the bathroom and she soon heard the sound of water running. She put the pizza in the oven and spotted the piece of paper on the floor by the garden door. She stared uncertainly, sure it hadn't been there earlier. She closed the oven slowly, picked it up and unfolded it. She read the words, written on the back of the familiar sunflower paper.

"What's that?"

She looked around. Smithy had come out of the shower, a towel wrapped snugly around his waist, wiping water from his face.

"Nothing," she said, dismissively, tearing it up. "Junk mail."

"You get more junk mail than you get actual letters, don't you?" he said, going to change.

"Yeah," she said and stuffed it into the bin, making a mental note to take it out as soon as she could.

Smithy came out as she was cutting the pizza and they sat at the table, eating in silence. When she finished, she pushed her plate away.

"Are you still going out tomorrow?"

He looked up and his eyes lightened.

"Yeah. Do you want to come?"

She nodded slowly and he smiled, clutching her hand across the table.

"Good," he said. "I'm glad. I know you still don't think so, but everyone does really want to see you."

"I…I thought I might go to town tomorrow," she said. "Do a bit of retail therapy."

Smithy opened his mouth, she was sure, to tell her not to and remind her that Okaro and Morell didn't want her going anywhere alone. She continued.

"Smithy, please. I'm here, on my own, all day, every day. Anyway, do you really think he'll try anything in a busy street full of people doing their Christmas shopping?"

"No," he said. "But it's a risk I'd rather not take."

"How long do I have to stay under house arrest for?" she said. "Smithy, what if he's never caught? Am I supposed to stay here forever? Not go anywhere without an escort? I can't do it. I'm already going stir crazy."

He looked at his empty plate, thinking carefully. Then he sighed.

"Get a bus to town," he said. "Or get a taxi. Do you have one of those personal alarm things?"

"Yes."

"Carry it with you. Keep it close by. You see him or you feel unsafe, then you call me. Right away. All right?"

She nodded.

"I mean it," he said. "Don't take any stupid risks. Please."

"I promise."

He took the dinner plates and washed them up, placing them on the drying rack. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Ready for bed?" she asked.

Ever since the first night, he'd slept in her bed with her, holding her close. She could feel him, rigid and obviously not asleep sometimes. She wondered if he could ever tell she was never any more asleep than he was. He turned in her hold and engulfed her of one of his own, so tight, it hurt. He held on for a long time and she didn't let go either. She felt the familiar longing in her chest and leant up, kissing him lightly on the lips.

He'd wanted her ever since he'd gotten her back, even when he'd seen her for the first time in hospital, skin and bone, bruised and battered, even when she'd screamed at him on seeing him for the first time. She'd thought him dead…it still made his blood boil. Now she'd put on a little weight and was doing better than he could have hoped. He'd held back though on getting any more intimate with her than he thought was right. But her kiss had reawakened the feelings he'd forced himself to restrain. He returned her kiss, one hand resting on the back of her head. It lasted a long time before she took his hand in both of hers and led him to her bedroom.

When he woke the next morning, it was with a smile on his face. It dropped when he saw the space beside him was empty; empty and cold. When he'd fallen asleep, it had been with her wrapped in his arms. He felt the familiar panic and got up quickly, pulling on his t-shirt as he walked out of the bedroom and stopped. She was sitting on the doorstep, staring out into the rain, a mug clutched in her hands.

"Hey," he said, sitting down beside her.

"Hi," she said.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

"You're…you're not regretting…"

"No," she said. "Of course not."

"Andrea?" he said, putting an arm around her. "Talk to me, please?"

"I never liked the rain, you know. The thunder and lightning. It always used to scare me. I wasn't sure why until I was down there. I don't even know if it was a dream or a hallucination, but I remembered a time from when I was little, three or four. A thunderstorm woke me up, scared me. I screamed and my dad came in. I thought he'd shout at me but he just picked me up and hugged me. I can't remember him doing that often."

"Do you think you could forgive them?"

"I don't know," she said and looked across at him. "Could you?"

"No. But that's me."

She dipped her head and he squeezed her to his side.

"Don't try to make yourself forgive them. It's going to take time. I know that you were…." He nearly said 'desperate' but stopped himself – "I know how much you wanted a relationship with them, but what they did to you, that's not how parents are supposed to behave."

"I know," she said. "But Joseph…"

"Don't," he said. "That wasn't your fault and you know that. He should never came come here to tell you that. I'm so angry that he did."

She put her head on his shoulder and he kissed her hair.

"Come on. It's freezing."

He got up and she let him help her up. He hugged her fiercely. She breathed in the smell from his grey t-shirt.

"You still going out?"

"Yeah," she said and looked up at him. "I don't hate the rain that much."

"Please be careful."

"I promise. Toast?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

He watched her put four slices of bread in the toaster, then lay the table with butter, jam and honey. She caught his eye and straightened up.

"You don't have to look so worried. I'm doing fine, you know."

"I know," he said. "I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks."

She smiled and made and pot of tea. The toast popped up and she put it onto two plates, bringing it to the table. He sat and spread butter and jam on his toast.

"Where're we meeting?"

"Two Angels, round about eight."

"Which is code for whenever you get there?" she said with a smile, spreading honey on her own toast.

"Some things never change," he said and glanced at his watch. "I need to get a move on."

"Want a lift? I thought I might drive instead."

"You sure?"

"Smithy, please. I really appreciate you wanting to look after me, but I don't need to be wrapped in cotton wool. If I do see him…well, I just have to be more careful to aim for his head next time, won't I?"

He remembered the decently sized bruise he'd clocked on Kent's back in the locker room a few months back and felt immensely proud of her.

"You did pretty well," he said. "Yeah. Thanks. A lift would be great. I'll go get dressed."

He headed towards the bedroom, stuffing the last of her toast into her mouth, then looked to the bin. She'd empty that now.

Andrea dropped Smithy outside the station and watched him walk in. he turned at the main doors and waved at her. She waved back and he disappeared inside. She drove away, gripping the steering wheel hard. She'd loved being with him last night, but just hoped it wouldn't blow up in their faces. The last heart she wanted to break – again – was his.

Andrea arrived in town centre at eleven. It was already busy, even though it was only late October, it seemed everyone was getting all their Christmas shopping done early. She sat for a minute and watched them go by. Christmas had only just finished when he'd thrown her in that dark, damp basement. Now it was nearly here again? It felt too soon. She got out tentatively and stood against the car. Nobody looked twice and it suited her just fine. She locked the car and joined the ranks of shoppers.

She didn't know what she was looking for, really. It wasn't as if she had many people she ever bought presents for. Graham, Smithy, now Charlie too. She always sent her parents something of course. She didn't know how she felt about that now. They'd lost their child and sacrificed her. Smithy was right, that wasn't how parents were supposed to treat their children. She wandered into the shopping centre and stopped outside a beauty salon. She ran a self-conscious hand over her hair. It had somehow managed to be salvaged from the tangled mess it had become and it had grown long, nearly to her waist. A stylist looked up from where she was flipping through a beauty magazine and smiled; a carefree smile. She smiled back and went inside.

"Hello," she said. "You here for a trim?"

"A cut."

"Okay, well we're not busy, so I can take you now," she said and ushered her to a chair. She ran her fingers through Andrea's waves. "This is pretty."

She looked at her reflection in the mirror.

"It needs to come off."

The stylist caught her eye in the mirror. "What, all of it?"

"No," she said. "Just….something different. Surprise me."

She smiled and gestured her over to the basins. "All right. I've got a good idea."

Well, her head did feel lighter somehow. Andrea ran a hand through her hair, but she thought it'd take her a while to get used to the fringe. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had one. Gone was the mass of waves, her hair was sleek and shiny, coming to a rest just below her collarbone. Certainly different, but she wasn't the same girl she once was. She turned away from the store's mirror and looked carefully as she walked along the shelves. She stopped when she saw a Christmas snow globe. She picked it up and stared at Mr and Mrs Claus in their workshop, surrounded by toys and turned the dial on the bottom. It played jingle bells, to which Mr and Mrs Claus danced. Her mother loved ornaments like this, particularly musical ones. She'd gotten her one from Norway during a winter trip there with Graham. She picked up a boxed one. Something she could say for her parents, they were easy to buy for. A bottle of Scottish whiskey would do her father, reminded him of his roots. Graham….he was always a bit more of a tricky one to buy for, but she'd seen a nice watch in a shop on the floor below. As for Smithy, she had an idea about what to get for him. She just hoped he'd like it.

It was nearing three when she returned home. She collected her bags from the boot of the car and carried them into the house, leaving them on the sofa. In her bedroom, she sat on the bed and hugged Smithy's pillow, breathing in his smell. When she'd got her head around the shock of him being alive, she'd been so glad he was waiting for her to wake up, that he could forgive her, still want her. He'd given her a second chance. She just wasn't sure she deserved one.

Smithy had called to make sure she was still coming and to make sure she was all right. Judging by the background noise in his call, it sounded like he was town centre. She sighed, imagining him looking all over for her and panicking when he didn't see her. It would be like that, she knew, until he was found. After a video call with Graham, she changed into jeans and a jumper, staring into the mirror. She ran her hand over her hair again. It'd take her a while to get used to the change. Collecting her rucksack, she set the intruder alarm and set off. Smithy wouldn't be pleased if he knew she was walking, but she refused to hide away. He'd had too much control of her life and she was damned if she gave him anymore.

She crossed through the park and came out by a stretch of the River Thames. She was walking over the bridge and stopped halfway, staring into the water. It struck her as sinister, it always had, ever since she'd come to London at the tail end of the river murders as they were called. She shivered. The Canley Evening News had been the Daily News's rival, but several of the staff from each had been quite matey even though it was kept under the radar, away from the editors. She'd known Simon Kitson, not well, but had met him on occasion. When he'd been arrested on suspicion of the murders, everyone who'd known him had been shocked. He didn't seem like a killer. Why would he do it? Bit of a strange guy, but harmless. That had been all she'd heard. Of course, now they all knew he hadn't done it at all, but he'd paid a heavy price for one woman's obsession, just like so many others had for Gabriel's obsession with revenge. She turned to walk on and jumped.

Her path was blocked by Gabriel.