15 December 1990
"I'll be sorry to see you go, Guv," Frank said, watching as Gordon rifled through the files in his office, clearly calculating what he should take with him and what should stay for the new incumbent. "To be honest, I still can't believe they've done this."
Gordon looked at him as though he didn't quite believe the sentiment, but smiled tightly anyway, "I appreciate that, Frank, thank you."
"You're too good for Hendon. You should be going somewhere else on division. I mean, how are you going to get further promotion if you're delivering training?" The comment was innocuous enough, but he could tell he had riled Gordon slightly and a perverse part of him was pleased. He hadn't forgotten the circumstances of Operation 'Middleman' or how the other officer had come in over his head. The fact that he was now being punished by the top brass for his affair with June Ackland and shipped out seemed like a little bit of poetic justice.
"Well, hopefully it's a temporary situation."
"Yeah, let's hope so. I don't know how I'm going to deal with your replacement. Women guvnors? It's not natural." Frank sighed theatrically. "But I suppose we all had to adapt." After word had spread that Gordon was being replaced, news had quickly followed that the new DCI would be one Kim Reid. He hadn't been too thrilled at that news, if he was being honest. He'd never had a woman superior officer in his entire career to date, and he wasn't convinced that they were cut out for the position. Too governed by their moons, and all that.
"I'm sure you'll do fine, Frank," Gordon replied. "Though I would imagine it'll bring its own challenges for you."
"Too right," he lamented. "Anyway, now that you're free of the rigours of Sun Hill, you'll be able to continue your…uh…extra-curricular activities unencumbered, won't you?"
Gordon paused and turned to him, an unidentifiable look in his eyes. "You know Frank, we're not really that different, you and I."
"No?" Frank replied, though he was fairly sure he wasn't like the other man at all.
"No, except in one key area."
"Oh yeah? What's that then?"
"I care about June, but I'm not in love with her. I love my wife and my children. I'm not so sure the same can be said about you."
"Well, it may have escaped your notice during the time we've worked together Gordon, but I don't have a wife and children and I'm certainly not in love with June Ackland."
"No, but you are in love with Christina Lewis, aren't you?"
Gordon's expression was triumphant, and Frank couldn't help but feel a shiver run through him as the words died in the air. It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it himself, about giving name to that which he knew he felt, but someone else being truly attuned as to how he felt…that was disconcerting. Taking the easy way out seemed preferable.
"I don't know what…"
"Come on Frank, I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at her, the way you are around her. What's more concerning is the way she looks at you and the way she is around you."
His heart thudded. "What do you mean?"
Gordon shook his head. "You don't need me to tell you that she's going through a very difficult time right now meaning, she's vulnerable and meaning that unless you want to end up in the same situation I've got myself into, then you need to be careful."
He hesitated, wondering how best to respond. Gordon was leaving, their paths would never cross again. Perhaps a complete denial wasn't the right way to approach the matter after all. "Nothing's happened between us."
"No, but you want it to and, if I was a betting person, I'd say she does too. Look, I'm the last person to pass judgement on anyone's choices. For what it's worth, I've never thought that Stewart was good for her, and I've only known them both a short period of time. His behaviour these last few months has simply confirmed it for me. But you need to tread carefully. You're her direct superior officer."
"Message received, loud and clear."
"Make sure it has been," Gordon said. "Once you ring that bell, Frank, you can't un-ring it." The phone on his desk suddenly buzzed and he reached for the receiver, indicating that the conversation was over.
Frank let himself out of the room and walked the short distance back to his own office, closing the door symbolically behind him before sitting down at his desk. He replayed the conversation back in his head, his brain stuck on the few words Gordon had said.
"What's more concerning is the way she looks at you and the way she is around you."
He thought back over every conversation he and Christina had had, every interaction, right back to the first time they had ever met. Was it possible that the way he felt about her was reciprocated? Was it possible that, if he did say something, she would respond in kind? He had told himself he would make a move if she was free. But she wasn't free, would maybe never be free, not if she was determined to support a man who truly didn't deserve it.
He got up and paced around the room trying to quieten the restless beast inside him. She and Ted were out, chasing down some burglar they were hoping to interview before the annual Christmas booze up in the pub. She had barely spoken to him lately, though he understood why, but he knew he had to do something. Going on the way he was – suppressing his feelings, denying what he wanted – it was becoming more and more difficult with every passing day and if Gordon had recognised the extent of it….
Fiona…Fiona was nothing. He knocked on her door wishing it was Christina who would answer. He made love to her fantasising about Christina. She was in his head, and his bed, all the time.
He stopped and looked out of the window at the falling snow.
It was almost too much to bear.
XXXX
It was going to be a harsh winter, or so every forecaster said and, true enough, the snow came. Some days it was mere flurries and other days it fell like a thick blanket, grinding everything and everyone to a halt, though Christina found herself staying late and travelling in early simply to avoid the heavy traffic, not to mention Stewart. Although Christmas was fast approaching, she felt faintly devoid of festive cheer.
On the positive side of things, she had managed to smooth things over with June and Tony, though she suspected that June's acceptance of her apology had been based more on needing support for the end of her affair with Gordon rather than anything else. She could tell that Frank felt slightly smug about the DCI's impending departure, though he had grudgingly admitted to the team that he'd learnt a few things from him and his approach during his tenure. But his smugness had been quickly smothered when word had come from above about Kim Reid. The idea of having a woman as a superior officer pleased and intrigued her, though she knew she couldn't say the same for others. It would be a new concept for all of them.
But any positivity she might have had had been wiped out fairly sharpish with the news that the disciplinary board had recommended Stewart's employment with the Metropolitan Police be terminated on the basis of his behaviour. For a time, there had seemed a glimmer of hope as he had lodged an appeal against the decision, backed by character references from many officers that he had worked with in the past. But three days earlier, the decision had been made final and, with his career in tatters and all his efforts seemingly for nothing, he had gone straight back to the bottle.
"But they can't do this," she had said stupidly, staring at the letter that he had received.
"They can and they have," he had replied, pouring himself another drink. "So, that's it then. Goodbye police force, hello unemployment."
She had tried to talk to him about it, tried to explore other avenues that might be open to him, such as security work – a favourite of ex-coppers – but he had refused to listen. He would think about it after Christmas, he kept saying as he grew more and more drunk and so, she had elected to stop mentioning it, in the hope that, come 1991, he might be able to get a grip on himself and move forwards.
Frank had been appropriately sympathetic when she had told him, even offering to see if there was anything he could do, but for some reason his concern made her uncomfortable and so she had withdrawn, tried to focus on the jobs she had to finish up before her annual leave, and barely spoken to him.
Despite everything, Stewart had insisted that they honour their agreement to spend Christmas and New Year with his parents in Leicester. Though they were nice enough people whom she would always be grateful to for giving her a roof over her head as a teenager, Christina couldn't help but dread the prospect of the visit, especially with Stewart in the state he was most often in. His parents hadn't seen him for some time, and she knew they would be in for a shock if he acted in their home the way he acted in his own. She had carefully tried to enquire of him how much they actually knew about everything that had happened, but his answer had been typically vague.
She was looking forward to the annual booze up though. It wasn't really any different from any other booze up, except that the top brass put a little something behind the bar to thank the troops for all their hard work over the previous twelve months which was always graciously accepted and universally abused.
Before she could get there, however, she and Ted had to interview the prime suspect in a spate of burglaries that had been plaguing the manor over the last few weeks. The perpetrator seemed intent on stealing wrapped Christmas presents and only wrapped Christmas presents, so when their enquiries had led them to one Leonard Smith, she had been expecting someone young, light of foot and with a mean streak, keen to deprive unsuspecting children. Coming face to face with a man in his sixties who looked more like Santa Claus, had been slightly disconcerting.
"So, Mr Smith," Ted said, once the tape machine had stopped bleeping and he had made the introductions. "We're here to talk to you about a number of burglaries that have taken place over the course of the last few weeks."
"Todmore Gardens, Lennox Drive, Whitton Way and Keller Avenue," Leonard said, unprompted.
Ted paused, "You know those locations?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I was there, wasn't I? I broke into the houses."
Christina sat forwards, "Are you sure you don't want a brief, Leonard?" Were he to say yes, she knew it would only cause further delay, putting paid to any chance of partaking of free booze, but having him cough so easily was unnerving.
"No, I just want to put my hands up to them. Whatever houses were broken into in those places, I did them."
She sat back and glanced at Ted. "Why?"
"Well, I wanted the gear, didn't I?"
"The Christmas presents?"
"Yeah, you know, for the grandkids and that. Not that I get to see them, but I could leave them at the door. I've got a big sack all ready to drop off on Christmas Eve. Their little faces…" he chuckled. "It'll be worth it, me being banged up, knowing they've got the gifts."
She opened her mouth to tell him that the stolen goods would have to be returned to their rightful owners but then closed it again. What would be the point? "Why aren't you allowed to see them?"
"Well, because I haven't spoken to my son in years. We don't get on, you see, because of my past offending, which I don't blame him for. But I've got three grandsons now. The ex-wife keeps me updated from time to time." He looked between them. "Either of you got kids?" They both shook their heads. "They're a blessing, a real blessing."
"Leonard…" Ted said, "when we came to your house earlier, it was very cold inside."
"Oh yes, it's always cold."
"Don't you have any heating?"
"No, can't afford it." He leaned forward expectantly. "Will I be kept in tonight then?"
Christina paused, "I would imagine so. You've got quite a record so I would assume bail would be inappropriate."
"Ah, that's good." He sat back. "And then, after court, the Scrubs?"
"Yes, I suppose."
Leonard nodded. "Good, it's nice and warm in there, despite what they say, and the food's not bad neither."
"I think I'm going to cry," she said at the conclusion of the interview as Leonard was escorted back to his cell.
"Oh, don't be so soft," Ted chided her. "If old Santa had come upon any of the occupants of those houses when he was robbing them, don't think for one moment he wouldn't have clocked someone."
"We don't know that. He seems rather sad. Imagine wanting to go to jail because it's better than what you have outside."
"I suppose…" Ted clapped his hands together, clearly unwilling to dwell on Leonard's misfortunes any longer than he had to. "Anyway, shall we head over to the pub?"
"What about the paperwork?"
"It can wait until tomorrow. If we don't get there soon, the free bar will be all gone and I think we've earned a little tipple this year, don't you?"
It was hard to argue against him, and though her better judgement would have seen the paperwork done and dusted before relaxing, she found herself allowing him to propel her out of the station and along the snowy road to the pub, noisy and cramped as it was with the great and good of the Sun Hill relief.
"Thought you two were never going to make it," Frank declared when they walked in, Christina shaking snow from her hair. "Whisky and a G&T, is it?"
"Please," she replied, loosening her coat and looking around. Almost everyone she knew from the station was there, drinking, laughing and joking. It was nice to see some sensible camaraderie, at least so far into the evening. The pub was warm, and she found her spirits lifting.
"There you go," Frank said moments later, handing her a glass and clinking it briefly with his own, "Merry Christmas."
"Same to you." She swallowed the icy liquid and enjoyed the pleasurable sensation of it slipping down her throat. Perhaps she could understand Stewart's love of it, even if she couldn't understand his obsession. "We got a result."
"He coughed then, did he, old Leonard?"
"Yeah, he wanted the gifts to give to his grandsons that he never sees and, from what he said, the prospect of Christmas in the Scrubs was more appealing than Christmas in his own home. It's probably one of the quickest interviews I've ever done at this time of year."
"Christmas can be a lonely time."
"Yeah…" Leaning against the bar, she surveyed him casually, "You heading to your sister's this year then?"
He nodded. "She does a good spread does our Pat. It's a good crowd; me, mum, Pat's husband, the boys and a few other hangers on." He looked at her and shuffled his feet. "When...uh…when are you heading to Leicester?"
"Next week," she replied, the thought making any joviality she had felt start to fade. Seven whole days holed up with Stewart with no escape.
"You don't sound as if you're looking forward to it."
"I'm not," she met his gaze, hoping he would take her meaning without her having to vocalise it.
"I see. Things are still bad, are they?"
She looked down at the floor, "You could say that. He's just…" she broke off and downed the rest of her drink in one go, her previous reluctance to confide in him swiftly returning. "I'm sorry, this isn't your problem."
"Yes, it is," he said softly. "I know you've been avoiding me…"
"I haven't…"
"You have, but it's all right, I understand. I feel like I'm never done saying this, but I'm here if you want to talk and…well…it might be good if we did; talk that is."
She shook her head, so many different thoughts flooding her brain. "I wouldn't know what to say."
"Well, that would be a first for you."
She smiled despite herself before changing the subject. "No Fiona with you tonight then?"
He looked away. "No."
"I would have thought you'd have been keen for her to see what a Sun Hill booze up is all about."
"I think she got enough of an idea the last time," he replied, signalling to the barman for another round. "Anyway, it's not like that."
"Not like what?"
"Not like how you're making it out to be. It's never been like that; I want you to know that."
"Ok…" She surveyed him, wondering what she might be making it out to be and why. Did she want him to say that Fiona was now officially his girlfriend? Perhaps if he did it would make things easier for her, in a way. There would be that extra barrier between them, though she knew there was already a big one; her own husband. "I'm not making it out to be anything," she settled upon.
"She's a nice girl."
"I didn't say she wasn't but, let's face it, you're not getting any younger Guv, are you?" A look of indignation crossed his face, and she couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"I'll have you know I'm in my prime. What other reason would there be for a twenty-five-year-old to be interested in me other than my animal magnetism and prowess?"
"Twenty-five?" she echoed, shocked at the revelation. "Is that how old she is? I would have sworn she was…"
"Older? Yeah, me too."
"You might have to keep that on the downlow, Guv, especially once the new DCI takes over. I reckon she'll be clamping down on the locker room chat."
"Have I ever spoken about Fiona, or any woman, with anything other than complete and utter respect?"
"Well, if you're asking…" she broke off at the sound of a commotion near the other end of the bar. Frank turned away from her and the movement allowed her to see, to her shock, that Stewart was standing a few feet away, arguing with Jim and Ted.
"There she is!" he declared, upon spying her and she could immediately see that he was plastered. "There's my wife." He lurched across the room towards her, but her vision was momentarily blocked by Frank stepping in front of her. "Oh, it's you," Stewart said, looking at him somewhat contemptuously. "I should have known you'd be here."
"It's good to see you again. Stewart," Frank said conversationally.
"Yeah, and the rest. Where's my wife?" he pushed past Frank to get to her, his arms going around her. "There's my girl. Pride of Sun Hill." He kissed her clumsily on the cheek, leaving behind a deposit of saliva that she quickly rubbed off. "I'll let you into a secret, Burnside," he turned back to look at Frank, "She's a good ride, this one."
Christina felt her face instantly start to flame and her overriding thought was one of escape. "Come on, we should be going."
Stewart looked genuinely confused, "Why? I thought I'd come and join you for a drink! I mean, this is a party, isn't it?"
"I think you've had enough already," she said, putting her hand on his arm and trying to keep her expression pleasant in the face of everyone she knew was watching.
"Don't tell me when I have or haven't had enough to drink," he replied, wrenching out of her grip. "It's early yet, and I'd like to have a drink with all your friends here."
"Stewart...please..."
"I've got money," he said, delving into his pocket and pulling out a wad of notes. "Drinks are on me!" There were a few cheers from those who knew no better, but she could see the tense looks on the faces of those who did.
"Where did you get that?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound accusatory.
"Does it matter?" he slurred, swaying as he tried to peel some off. "G&T for the lady and whisky for this lot..." he gestured drunkenly to the others.
"You're alright Stewart," Frank said, "Keep your money. Top brass has put some behind the bar so why don't you have a drink on Sun Hill tonight?"
Stewart smiled drunkenly; his previous dislike seemingly forgotten in the expectation of liquor. "That's very kind of you, Burnside. Mine's a double whisky!"
"Double whisky for the gentleman," Frank said to the barman.
"What are you doing?" Christina hissed, moving in close to him. "Can't you see he's already bladdered?!"
"One drink and you've got a better chance of getting him to leave than refusing him completely."
"Oh, this advice is coming from your vast experience, is it? I thought you were supposed to be my friend! Someone I can confide in? Some friend you are!" Before he could reply, she moved away from him around the side of the bar and into the ladies' toilet. Flashing a brief smile at the people standing by the mirror, she pushed open the door of the nearest cubicle, pulled the seat down and sat, her head in her hands, trying to block out the raucous laughter coming through the thin walls. It was pathetic. Completely pathetic. He was pathetic. What had happened to her husband, the strong, powerful, handsome man he had been? The man who could hold his drink with the best of them? Now, he was just a blithering drunk, no better than some of the winos she dealt with day in and day out. She couldn't help but wonder what everyone must think of her. And Frank… encouraging Stewart in his drunkenness. What was he thinking?
By the time she had gathered herself together, fixed her face in the mirror and headed back into the bar, it was clear that Stewart could barely stand. He was engaged in what looked like a deep conversation with Viv, who was slowly trying to back away from him with little success. When she met the other woman's gaze, Christina couldn't help but hate the pity she saw there. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Frank starting to move towards her, but found she couldn't bear to look at him.
"Right, come on we're going," she said, taking hold of her husband's arm.
"I don't want to go," Stewart replied, pulling free.
"I don't care," she said, keeping her voice as low as she could. "We're going now!"
"Piss off," he grumbled, turning away from her back towards Viv. "I'm talking to your lovely friend here."
"Stewart, you're pissed and making an idiot of yourself so let's go!" She took hold of his arm again and tried to propel him towards the door.
"I said no!" Twisting out of her grip, he turned, took her by the shoulders and threw her roughly against the wall, momentarily knocking the wind out of her, and silencing the crowd around them. As she reached out to maintain her balance, she saw Frank grab him by the lapels of his jacket and propel him towards the door, Stewart shouting and fighting all the way. "Get off me!"
"I should nick you, you bastard!" Frank raged, and she watched as he pushed him through the door and outside onto the pavement, Jim and Ted in hot pursuit. By the time she had regained herself enough to join them, they were shouting at each other in the street, and as she watched in horror, Frank drew his arm back, poised to land a punch.
"No!" she shouted, running forwards and grabbing hold of them both. "Frank, don't!" He met her gaze, a look of anger on his face, mingled with something else that she wasn't quite able to identify, and abruptly let go of Stewart. "Stop, please!"
"See…" Stewart slurred, "she's all right. I didn't mean anything…"
"Chris, don't go with him…"
"Let's go," she said, ignoring Frank and taking hold of her husband's arm, pulling him in the direction of where she remembered she had left her car.
"You can't go with him!" Frank protested, following her. "He needs locking up!"
"He needs some coffee and his bed!"
"Christina!"
"Leave it Guv, please!" she shouted desperately, turning to look at him, aware of some of the others crowded at his back. "Please!"
"You heard her Guv," Stewart mocked drunkenly. "Piss off!"
Frank's gaze never left hers and she felt herself start to crumble under the weight of it. She knew she should let him lock Stewart up, knew it was the right thing to do and yet…she was afraid that if she gave in, if she let him take her husband away, if she let him save her, it would be tantamount to admitting something that she still wasn't quite sure she was ready to admit.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, turning away from him again, not trusting herself to look back. They stumbled along the street together, her grip tight on her husband's arm, terrified to stop walking or let him go. Once she had managed to get him into the car, she switched on the engine and pulled away from the kerb, heading towards home.
"What's his fucking problem anyway?" he mumbled from the passenger seat. "And what's yours? You're such a fucking killjoy Christina. It's meant to be fucking Christmas."
She didn't reply, didn't trust herself not to say the wrong thing. She wanted to pull over, open the door and kick him out into the night. But she didn't and she wasn't sure why not. He had put his hands on her, grabbed her, thrown her against a wall for heaven's sake, in front of everyone…shame washed over her and after she had helped him into the house and up to bed she sat on the couch in the living room, breaking her heart.
What had her life become? Was this all there was? Was this all there would ever be? What had happened to them? What had happened to the two young officers who had graduated from Hendon together, full of enthusiasm to take on the world? What had happened to the husband she had loved, respected and admired for so many years? The man she had thought would always look after her, always protect her?
And Frank...Frank would have hit him, would have possibly screwed up his own career, faced his own disciplinary board…for her.
"No, not for you," she told herself fiercely. "He wouldn't have done it for you, he would have done it because…because…" she trailed off, unable to find a reason that made any sense, other than the one she was trying desperately to ignore and wishing fervently that he was there.