Chapter Eight

I dropped Leigh-Anne back at her mother's house on Sunday evening and immediately drove up to Gently's. Guilt was eating at me; both because of how distracted I'd been with Leigh-Anne and because I'd left Gently to his own devices.

The sun was setting over the hills as I approached his home, my thoughts spinning in my head. I'd just left him at his door – at Gently's insistence, yes – and driven away. I hadn't checked up on him to see if he was alright, I hadn't telephoned to see if he needed anything…

I'd been a terrible friend.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I nearly didn't see the bulky figure picking its way carefully along the road. I slammed on the brakes. I shut off the engine and jumped out, "What the hell are you doing?"

Gently looked at me for a moment and then said matter-of-factly, "I'm going shopping, John."

I gaped at him. He stared back, arms crossed, a pugnacious glare in his eyes.

"It's seven miles, sir!"

"I know how far it is, thanks, John." He sounded out of breath. In the back of my mind, I acknowledged that he'd at least put on a heavy coat and a scarf.

I pointed to the car. "Get in." Gently didn't move, eying me suspiciously. "I'll drive you." He opened his mouth to say something, but I interrupted with, "No, it's no trouble and you're supposed to be conserving energy, not wasting it!"

For a heartbeat, I thought he was going to ignore me, but he evidently saw sense. He followed me into the car and settled into the passenger seat. I saw him wince.

"Is it the arm?" I asked as I pulled away.

"The ribs."

"Oh." I kept my eyes on the road. Normally I would be haring down it, but I felt like I had to keep to the speed limit and drive carefully. It was a similar feeling to when I'd taken Leigh-Anne home for the first time. The world had seemed so full of dangers.

I almost laughed. Gently was a grown man, not an infant.

"How's Leigh-Anne?" he asked.

"Good. She made you a get well card."

He brightened. "Really?"

"Really," I said, "But you probably won't get it until June."

"Why?"

"She really wanted to send a letter, so it's coming through the post." Gently smiled at that so I added, "Also, I suggest opening it over a bin 'cause she's discovered the wonderful world of glitter and the less interesting world of glue." Gently's laugh cut off abruptly. Panicked, I glanced over to see him bent double, clutching his ribs. "Are you OK, sir?"

He nodded, features pinched. "Just… just hurts a bit."

I hastily pulled over. Gently's breathing was shallow and his eyes were closed. "Look, guv. If you give me a list I can drop you back home and get the stuff you need meself."

"No." He flapped a hand, "I need to get out of the house. I'll be alright in a moment."

I waited until his face had a little more colour before I restarted the engine.

I carried the basket even though Gently insisted that he was fine. It was a good thing I had, I thought, since my arms were starting to ache. Evidently Gently had actually listened to what the doctors had told him; there was plenty of high-calorie foods in the basket. When he wasn't looking I snuck in more; thinking I could volunteer to cook tonight at least. He shouldn't have lost that much weight in just – what? Three, four days? It worried me a little.

But he seemed better, browsing the shelves with a serene expression. He looked normal – almost. Nearly everyone we passed turned around for another look after he'd passed, no doubt worried by the lingering signs of Raleigh's abuse. He was limping a little, holding himself awkwardly. The bruising around his eye and lip had calmed somewhat, but the skin was still a deep vivid purple. But each concerned glance directed his way was deflected with a small smile and when one of the shop-assistances, obviously used to Gently's presence, hurried over to see if he was alright, Gently calmed her with a little wink and a joke. She watched me like a hawk until we were out of sight. Her stare burned my back.

It was only when we got to the check-out that he started to shake. "Can we hurry up please, John?" he asked, casting nervous glances around. I looked around too, seeing the – in some cases – open curiosity on the faces of the other shoppers. I was feeling the scrutiny and I wasn't even the one they were staring at.

"Of course," I said, "One second."

"John. Now. Please." He was distressed, glancing back over his shoulder. I looked too, but I couldn't see why he was suddenly panicking. Stuffing the last item into the bag, I pushed two tenners across the counter, telling the cashier to keep the change, and then followed Gently outside.

I caught up to him at my car. Gently leant against it, gasping. I patted his back. "You OK, guv?"

He nodded. "Sorry."

"You don't have to be."

We didn't say another word all the way back to Guv's house.

"This," Gently said, "Is actually not bad."

"Always the tone of surprise," I teased. I hadn't burnt the spaghetti (mostly due to Gently's quick eye rather than mine) and the sauce (out of a tin much to Gently's disgust) wasn't as tasteless as I feared. I chewed steadily, pleased by the amount my Guv was managing to put away.

Finally, when he was pushing the last strands around his plate, I gave up his finishing as a last cause and instead walked back to my boss' drinks cupboard and pulled out a half-finished bottle of whisky. When I returned, I saw Gently leaning on the sink, twisting the taps.

"I'll do the washing-up, John," Gently said.

"No, Guv. I'll do it." I took the cloth out of his hand.

He gave me a long look. "I'm not an invalid, John."

"I'm being nice, sir. I thought you'd welcome that. You've been trying to civilise me for – what? Six, seven years? Look, you managed it!"

"I think you've still got a way to go yet, John," he said, but he was smiling. He sat down at the table and poured two generous fingers.

"See?" I grinned back at him and took the plate. I filled the basin and began to scrub the plates, chattering on about anything I could think of; football scores, Leigh-Anne, the weather, cars. I even tried my hand at fishing jargon, making unforgivable mistakes.

"John?" he said.

I stopped nattering and turned around to face him. "Yeh?"

"Thank you." He raised his glass, "You saved my life, John. Three times over at this point."

I didn't know what to say. Finally, I stammered, "Um… you're welcome? It's human decency, innit?"

Gently shook his head, "I just wanted you to know I'm grateful, that's all."

Hesitantly, I sat back down at the table and picked up my glass. Swigging it quickly for some Dutch courage, I asked, "Sir… how are you feeling? Really?"

"I'm alright, John." His gaze was too steady.

"You're going to have to talk to someone at some point," I persisted. Gently eyed me and I clarified, "For the report, sir. The police report."

He nodded stiffly before standing. "I'm going outside."

"Sir –"

"You're welcome to join me," he said loudly. He was smiling, but there was a glassy look to his gaze. Change of subject. "The sun will be setting soon and it's beautiful up here."

As I stood to follow him, I started to wonder what Raleigh had done to Guv to make him this eager to move on and forget the whole thing. He was trying to act like nothing had happened – British stiff upper lip at its finest. I ran a hand through my hair, nervous.

Did I need Guv to talk about what had happened? Or was it better just to leave it?

I stepped out of the door, shielding my eyes against the blood-red glow of the sunset. Gently was standing by the stone wall, nursing the glass. I walked past him and propped my elbows on the wall. "Pretty," I said.

Gently nodded and took a sip. "I like to watch the sunset most nights," he said quietly.

"Did you and Isabella…?" I wasn't sure if I was allowed to bring her up but, to my relief, Gently's expression creased into a misty recollection.

"We used to sit out a lot. She loved the colours…" he trailed off and inspected the contents of his glass, almost embarrassed. "I do mean it, John. I am thankful," he added softly. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"'s alright," I replied. I lifted my hand to touch his arm, but I stopped at the last moment. I'm not sure why.

We stood in companionable silence. The wind began to pick up, ruffling my hair.

I was just considering digging out two cigarettes when a sudden gust of wind blasted past us. Gently dropped his glass. I spun around just in time to see it slip from his fingers and tumble towards the stones. It smashed in a rainbow of sharp colours. Gently slumped to his knees, hands coming up to cover his face. He cried out; a harsh, choked-off noise. Heart-wrenching and terrifying at the same time.

"Guv!" I fell down beside him, reaching out to shake his shoulder. "Guv!" Nothing seemed to work; Guv seemed to be locked some… memory? Waking nightmare? "Guv!" I begged, "Please, Guv – snap out of it!"

A memory rose up in my mind; profane and sick and accusing.

"Don't you ever feel?! Why doesn't it affect you?!"

"But you're feelin' now," I whispered, "You're feeling it now…"

Why now? Why not when he – we – had nearly died on the floor of the cathedral?

Because that time, Guv had been through it before, I thought faintly, he'd seen men killed in the War – he'd fought his way through Africa and Italy for God's sake.

But had he ever been captured? Had he ever been held prisoner?

Maybe that had never happened before. Maybe this was something new. Being held at gunpoint was very different from being held in a barn for days not knowing where you are, or what someone's going to do to you, or how long you have left… only knowing for certain that there's nothing you can do to change it.

Maybe that was what was different. Perhaps it was the fear of that loss of control.

His hand twitched and I flinched back, seeing the fingers balled into fists. I scrambled away, heart hammering, wondering if he was going to come up swinging at any moment. He raised one hand, blinked and then opened his eyes. He stared at me and I couldn't read his expression.

"Are you OK, Guv?" I asked, inching forwards.

"Go home, John."

I bit my lip. "Guv! You're bleeding. Let me –"

"GO HOME!"

I fell backwards, shocked, betrayed. "Wh…"

Gently was still crouched on the ground, panting with the force of his shout. Smears of blood decorated the stones under his knees – he'd fallen on the broken glass. His gaze didn't falter. "Leave me alone." The tone was cold and full of steel.

A snarl of anger battered at my ribcage and I had to swallow it down. He doesn't mean it; I heard the thought echoing dully behind the fire. He didn't know what he was saying. "I…"

"I don't need your help!" he roared.

"Fine!" I retorted. "Fine. Sort out your own damned knees." I swiped a hand across my eyes. "Fine. I'll leave you alone, shall I? Why do you have to be so bloody-minded, Guv? After what I've done for you? Fine. Fine. Sort out your own damned, bloody knees. It's fine."

I marched across the garden towards my car. "Look, John –"

I ignored him, slamming the car door behind me.

My hands were shaking so much I had to pull over only two or three miles down the road. I made sure I was out of sight of Gently's home before I got out and began viciously kicking at a stone dyke, screaming curses at the wind. I cursed Raleigh and Gently and myself, hardly feeling the pain of striking the stones. Finally, I slumped down the wall, gasping for air. I dragged out a cigarette and lit it. Cupping the flame with my hands, I took a deep drag; welcoming the burn of smoke into my lungs. "Why, Guv?" I asked the night air, "Don't you trust me?"

The only answer was a gust of wind bringing the stench of wet, rotting straw.

Sorry that there was such a long gap between updates, so here are two chapters for the price of one.