"Bolly!" Gene bellowed, his level of irritation ever-rising in having to louden his voice for the third time. He was quite sure that a fourth would involve him performing a fireman's lift in order to place Alex's pointless arse in his office.
Alex rolled her eyes, slamming her pen onto the file she was working on. The rest of the team were no longer fazed by their Guv's disgruntlement, particularly that which was directed at D.I Drake. It was Shaz that had said they should either kill each other or get a room. To everyone's dismay though, neither had happened. Gene was certain he'd sooner top himself than put to use any of the assets Bollinger Knickers had to offer; at least he tried to convince himself so.
"What is it?" Alex asked bluntly, standing before Gene's desk with her hands by her sides. Gene scrutinised her for a moment, assessing the length of her long legs before responding. Quite like the rest of CID, Alex was no longer fazed by the Guv's garish nature. "Well?"
"That new bloke..." Gene took a sip from the tumbler that was readily positioned between the pads of his fingertips. Alex followed Gene's stare as his eyes fixated on the new D.S through the glass-paned divider. Detective Sergeant John Beaman, he'd been transferred to Fenchurch East CID only a few weeks ago.
"Beaman? What about him?"
"Got yer eye on 'im?" His gaze settled back on the pair of hazel irises he'd dreamt about but dared not admit he admired.
"And if I have?" Alex raised a single eyebrow as Gene placed the crystalware back onto the desk. Why do women always 'ave ter answer a question with another bloody question?
"No skin off my nose, luv, but if my officers are canoodling I believe it to be in my best interest to know about it." It came as no great surprise to him that Alex scoffed in return. It wouldn't be entirely unbelievable if Drake had shown an interest to D.S Beaman. He was a decent-looking bloke: blonde hair styled in a pompadour fashion, deep blue eyes, broad shoulders. Adolf Hitler's wet dream, Gene thought. He was tall too — but not as tall as the Guv — and well mannered...something Gene hadn't quite mastered yet.
Alex placed her hands on her hips in frustration. Little did Gene know, he was the one whose attention she craved; not the likes of John Beaman. "Anybody would think you were green-eyed, Gene."
"Green-eyed?" Gene retorted. "The Gene Genie does not get green-eyed, and if anybody were to send me green-eyed, it would not be the likes of Johnny B. Goode out there." He pointed a long, stiff finger in the direction of the blissfully unaware newcomer.
Perching on the Guv's desk, Alex stifled a grin at his defensiveness. She secretly revelled in his jealousy. Even she couldn't quite fathom though, why she found the out-of-date misogynist with a superiority complex, so much more attractive than the gentle and understanding, modern-minded D.S.
Alas, Alex had succumbed to her connection with her superior officer, but that didn't mean she was going to express it. She needed to remain professional after all, didn't she? Even on such a night as— no, especially on such a night as New Years Eve. She'd imagined spending the first few moments of 1984 filled with bubbly exuberance, as her lips finally sought out those belonging to Gene. But then again, she'd imagined many things she knew could never materialise.
Celebrations would be different this year with Luigi's departure. The trattoria had since been converted into a cocktail bar named 'Violet's' after the woman who'd taken over, and if that hadn't miffed Gene enough, a double scotch was now near double the price. "That stupid cow's turned this place into a bar for poofters," Ray had grumbled, slightly too loudly for Shaz's liking. Even Shaz had quietly confessed she wasn't a fan of the change though.
"It's too bloody bright in 'ere," Gene protested, intending for Violet to hear him. "All this neon is turnin' me eyes funny."
"It puts Lili Lakich's gallery to shame," added Alex, regardless of the fact nobody would understand her reference.
"Lili who?" Gene frowned, "if yer can say that ten times in quick succession, I'll treat yer to supper."Typical Gene, she thought. He'd never change, but she equally wouldn't want him to. That was the thing about D.C.I Hunt; Martin Summers was right: he was her constant.
Through all their differences, here they were about to celebrate the beginning of a new year together for the third time. There'd been a time when Alex had dreamt of a far off land, but she couldn't remember much about it anymore. She'd grown accustomed to this world and it's occupants, maybe even fallen in love with it, with them...him.
"Er...Guv?" Alex halted Gene's exit from CID as he pivoted ninety degrees to face her desk. There a few stragglers left, but John, Ray, Chris and Shaz had already vacated the office.
"Yes, Lady Bolls?"
Alex paused for a moment, as the aromas of nicotine, scotch and aftershave tickled her senses. "Later on," she shifted in her seat before continuing. "Are you going to Violet's?"
"Is the pope a catholic?" A subtle smile grew on Alex's face. Of course he was going. "I s'pose you'll want picking up." The Guv threw his long, black coat around his shoulders.
"If you don't mind," Drake answered tentatively. She'd been forced to take up residence elsewhere the second Violet had taken over. In fact, it made no sense as to why they still took their custom there. Luigi was overbearing at times but he had a good heart, and more importantly he didn't overcharge for neither alcohol nor rent. Still, Alex's new home was larger and more of a forever home than the flat. She could hardly complain.
"What time will your very fine self be ready?" Gene's palms planted a meter apart on Alex's desk. The mellowness oozed out of him, and the words he addressed Alex by made her more aware of her now-raised heart-rate. Three years ago, he'd have only bellowed a collection time, Alex thought, and he probably wouldn't have even stopped on my request.
"What time would you like me to be ready?" Alex asked in return. Gene pouted again. She's answering questions with questions again.
"What's it now..." he raised his fist to read the watch on his wrist. "Seventeen-'undred hours. Why don't I drop yer 'ome now and then come back for yer at six thirty?"
"Yeah...yeah okay." Alex shuffled her chair out from beneath her desk and rose to her feet. Gene was still taken aback by D.I Drake's height. Her air of authority was undeniable, easily five-foot-ten in her stiletto-style boots. Nonetheless, he knew he'd have no trouble throwing her around, not that he'd ever be granted the chance.
They both clambered into the quattro, taking care not to slip on the frost-dusted ground. "Can yer believe it?" Gene piped up as he steered away from the station for the last time in 1983. "Another year come an' gone."
"I didn't think I'd be here for this long," Alex noted, "but I'm pleased that I am." She offered the burly man beside her an eager smile. He took his eyes off the road to look at her for a second.
"Are you, Bolls?"
"Yeah I am." Alex responded with no hesitation, and she knew she believed it.
"Not a bad partnership, you and me," the Guv continued after careful consideration. He knew as well as she did that sexual tensions were high. It was likely the root problem of at least seventy-percent of arguments.
"Yin and yang," she added. Gene considered the pair slotting together like the circle in question, leaving no space between them and filling all the gaps. Lighting a cigarette, he hoped the nicotine would settle his depraved and very lucid imagination. "What are your New Year's resolutions?" queried Alex, striking up a conversation.
"Resolution suggests the possibility that I could be better than I am, Bolly." Alex's brow lifted in a skeptical fashion, and she knew Gene saw. After a long and smoky exhale, the word "booze" escaped his unimpressed lips as he stared out at the road. "Gonna try and cut down on booze." Alex was gobsmacked; liquor to D.C.I Hunt was like grass to a cow.
"Really? Why?"
"Because despite my ravishing and youthful looks, I'm not gettin' any younger." Gene took another drag from the tobacco stick between his index finger and thumb. He couldn't believe he confessed that he knew he was getting on a bit.
"Let's do Dry January together," Alex suggested. "No alcohol for a month, you and me."
"Doing wet January with yer sounds far more tempting."
"Come on. It'll be good for us, a cleanse-"
"Yeah, so would my proposal." Gene glanced over at Alex surreptitiously, but she could see his face in her peripheral vision. We could always do both, she supposed, before blinking hard to rid her mind of it's raw imagery.
The car journey felt much shorter in duration than it should have; both Drake and the Guv thought so. The quattro came to a standstill outside Alex's new townhouse, and Gene inspected it with curious eyes. "Big, innit?" he commented.
"Sorry?"
"Yer new 'ouse. Much bigger."
"Oh. Yes it is, arguably too big." Alex stared at the three-storey building through the passenger-side window.
"Nothin's ever too big Bolls, can always make it work. I should know."
"It feels too empty sometimes," Alex continued, trying to dismiss Gene's innuendo for the sake of maintaining a stable physiological state.
"Maybe yer should find something to fill it with then." Gene stared at her with a daring glint in his eyes as she turned back to face him; a glint Alex was all too familiar with. She'd walked right into that one in fairness.
"Maybe." Her eyes flickered between both of Gene's.
"Six-thirty on the dot, Mrs Woman. Have yer stockin' tots ready and waitin'." Gene flashed a smile, and for once it wasn't thanks to sarcasm or arrogance. For once, it was thanks to joy.
"Thanks Guv." Drake climbed out of the ruby-red vehicle and shut the door behind her. The Guv sped off Gene-style, and Alex craned her neck to watch the car as she turned the key in the door. Meanwhile Gene's mind raced. He wanted nothing more than to fill D.I Drake's emptiness, and not just in a sexual way either. Feeling actual emotions only made it worse. She's turnin' me all soft.
Taking one last drag from his cigarette, he flicked it out of the window and grunted. He'd been emasculated by the likes of a posh, mouthy tart, but there was little he could do about it. He'd bet his bottom dollar that D.S Beaman would make a move on her around eleven p.m., stealing a kiss as the clock strikes midnight. The image corrupted the Guv's mind. He fumbled in his seat for the hip flask in his inside pocket, willing the liquor to numb the effects of such thoughts. He had an hour until he had to return to Bolly's residence. An hour that would be spent making an effort to impress her, all the while trying to convince himself he didn't give a stuff. Bloody women.
