It's been over a month since I last posted and even in all that time, it's still been a struggle to write this chapter. The creative juices have completely dried up now and it's all got a bit galling. However - it occurred to me the other day that when I was writing One More Bite Of The Apple, I was always listening to music, something I don't tend to do very often these days for some unknown reason. Music is very mood-inspiring and scene-setting so I think I'll crank up the volume and see where it takes me.

This is pretty much just a filler chapter but I'm hoping a few deep and meaningful lyrics will coax out a more exciting Chapter 14.

Chapter 13

As it got later, Harry wondered when Dempsey was planning on going home. Not that she wanted him to, in fact she was reluctant to even give voice to her thoughts for fear of hastening his departure. Should she ask if he was staying for dinner or merely what he would like for dinner? She already had a delay tactic up her sleeve – the taking down of all the Christmas decorations which realistically shouldn't be left up beyond this weekend.

She couldn't quite believe she was thinking this way, like a young girl who had fallen in love for the first time, clingy and anxious. She needed to back off then, be herself, be normal otherwise Dempsey's partner was in danger of becoming his sidekick!

"Think I need coffee," he said succinctly and levered himself up into a sitting position behind her.

In his own mind, he might as well be saying, 'I need a fix', such was his need to get to the pills in his jacket pocket. He'd felt it building for a while; the nagging pain in his shoulder and the mother of a headache laced with a cloying, nervy sort of desire to get to those painkillers. Shouldn't he be over this thing by now? Hadn't the doc told him only this week that his shoulder had healed well and that if he was still getting some 'residual pain', it was alright to still take a Codeine if he felt he needed it?

Needed it? Christ, he couldn't get by without it!

It was almost like he'd turned into some kind of junkie – only it was painkillers, not coke; he wasn't burning a crack pipe or shooting up with heroin. He'd just gotten a little too familiar with those friendly pink pills, that was all.

"Coffee okay with you?" he asked, squeezing Harry's shoulders as she swung her feet to the floor to make space for him to stand up.

"Mmm, lovely. And if you're staying, I'll make us dinner afterwards," she said casually.

Dempsey mumbled an acceptance as he disappeared into the hallway although Harry failed to catch the "That'd be great, babe" and was left wondering if the offer had been a bad idea.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he went to Harry's bedroom where his jacket hung across the back of the chair by the window and found the pills.

It was no big deal, he told himself and to prove this point, slipped a couple into the pocket of his sweat pants instead of downing them on the spot.

But it was something he was hiding and keeping secrets from Harry wasn't a great idea, even less so now they'd just moved up the relationship ladder.

It was his own fault of course and he could see that now. It had been the carrot and stick thing; if Harry Makepeace wasn't an incentive to get his shoulder right then he didn't know what was. And he could honestly say it hadn't been just to get into her pants. Okay so that was part of it but he knew it was what Harry wanted too. It had been time; they'd needed that closeness that was only gained through love-making.

And he'd been right, hadn't he? He'd fallen for her all over again last night only it went way deeper now, so deep he could drown in his own love for her.

But there was this 'thing' that had insinuated itself between them… no, that wasn't true, it was his doing, he'd created this problem through weakness and impatience. He'd taken the easy way out when he should've manned up and accepted his lot.

Did she feel that barrier he'd put up? It was made of guilt and fear and shame; a complex mix of emotions that formed a tight ball of anger inside his chest. He didn't want it to be this way, this love he had for Harry, so strong, so intense yet still kept at bay by his own stupid mistakes. And he knew Harry. If she thought he was holding back now, she'd shrink back inside that arctic fur fox coat she wore whenever she felt threatened or at a disadvantage. He'd lose her – for good. You didn't get a second chance with someone like her.

With the need to please her punctuating his thoughts, he pulled out the slim, rectangular box from his inside jacket pocket and took it downstairs with him.

He made the coffee, nerves jangling, his mind playing out the way it should be, the way he wanted to feel versus the way it was and the dull, chemical mantle that shrouded his joy.

The after effects of last nights' excesses were still partly to blame of course but he couldn't use that as an excuse forever.

Dempsey looked down at the little pink pill he held between his fingers as he picked up his coffee cup.

Jesus Christ! He was letting these fucking things run his life now? But what else was he supposed to do when the pain got too much, when he got jittery, when his brain wouldn't focus and turned to mush? He should be healed now, he knew. His doctor knew it too – had been surprised by the level of pain he was still experiencing but had refused to up the dosage.

But Dempsey knew people and it wasn't exactly hard to get whatever you needed out there on the streets and in the less salubrious pubs and bars. It was sitting in The Sacred Scald three nights ago that he had finally admitted to himself that he had a problem. Up until that point, it had been easier to blame the medical profession as a whole for mismanaging his medication. But now he couldn't deny the times, from right at the start when he'd popped a couple pills in between the allotted timescale, when he'd taken an extra one to see him through the night, more when he was sat around his apartment with nothing to occupy his mind but the idea of getting back to normal as fast as possible.

And above everything, paramount in his mind – Harry.

The trip to Cornwall had been the turning point for them; when the floodgates had opened.

The frustration involved in not being able to act on those feelings and knowing that Harry felt the same way was like swarm of hornets buzzing inside his head.

So logic had pretty much flown, his screwed up brain telling him that the more meds he took, the faster he'd heal and be able to meet that deadline date.

Thursday night had been a low point. Twenty minutes early for his date with Pepe Sullivan, so called because of the nature of his business – dispensing 'pep' pills to the needy. Not just 'pep' pills of course, all rounders, weed, nose candy, whatever it was you needed with a cast iron guarantee to fuck up your mind.

Dempsey's requirements were lightweight, prescription drugs without the prescription which made them pretty much legal in Pepe's world. Still, it was all about supply and demand and the four packets of imported 30mg Oxycodone came with a price tag, although cheap compared with Class A.

Dempsey was aware he was walking a fine line. Pepe Sullivan knew he was a cop but Dempsey figured no one was gonna get too aeriated over a few dozen Perks. A slap on the wrist if it reached Spikings' ears maybe and Harry… well that was another story and one that wouldn't make for pleasant reading. He'd made things complicated for himself, that was for sure.

He felt the mental relief pass over him as he washed the pills down with hot, black coffee.

He was set up for another few hours now, at least until it was time to leave – or Harry threw him out.

He'd gotten snappy with her once or twice, over Jonathan mainly but that was okay 'cause she'd put that down to lack of sleep and a hangover which it probably was only he wasn't in the habit of suffering from hangovers and he could tell it was the pills that had messed him up like that. What had he been thinking, drinking so much on medication? He still felt pretty lousy even now, like he needed to sleep it off for a week or so.

Going back into the lounge, he found Harry standing by the fireplace, taking down the decorations. Already the room looked quite bare and that cosy feel had evaporated.

"Hey! What happened to the twelve days of Christmas?" he exclaimed, handing over her coffee.

She smiled. "We did have rather a long run-up though."

"Yeah, like three years long," he grinned.

He put his cup down on the mantelpiece and reaching up high, took down the sparkly garland that lay draped across the picture frame. "You got boxes or somethin' to store it all in?" he asked, looking about him expectantly. Everything so far, he noted, had been piled up on the couch.

"In the shed. I'll bring the stepladder in too."

"D'you wanna leave it with me? I'll pack up Christmas if you cook us dinner – deal?"

Harry handed over the plaster cherub she had just picked up. "Deal. Salmon or lamb chops?"

"Do I get either of those with brussel sprouts and stuffing?" he asked cautiously.

With a painfully serious expression on her face, Harry told him, "Actually, in the Home Counties, it's customary to have the custard left over from Christmas Day served cold with the main meal on Boxing Day."

"Nah." Dempsey shook his head but a modicum of uncertainty was definitely present. "That didn't happen at The Castle last year… that I would've remembered."

She didn't try to run with the joke, knowing Dempsey wasn't likely to be drawn any further.

"We'll give it a miss then shall we?"

His gappy grin told her he'd caught up. "You're real funny, Makepeace. You know that? You shoulda been on the stage."

He reached out a hand to swat her behind but she side-stepped gracefully and made for the kitchen, laughing.

"Why, I oughta…" he gruffed in the comic style of The Three Stooges.

Just fifteen minutes and the calm was already descending.

"Smells good," commented Dempsey as he locked the back door behind him and deposited both the back door key and the key to the shed in the kitchen drawer.

"I'll be dishing up in ten minutes," she told him as she replaced the lid on a pan of potatoes.

Dempsey had packed away all the decorations and taken down the Christmas tree standing in the hallway and now the place was back to normal again.

"I guess now would be as good a time as any to give you your gift then, hah?"

Harry turned away from the cooker and found herself being drawn against him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and asked, "You bought me a proper Christmas present?"

"I was gonna give it to you at dinner last night but… things took an unexpected turn, right?"

"You could say that."

Her fingers strayed mindlessly through the hair at the back of his neck. "And as it happens, I have a little something for you too."

"Yeah?" He broke into a grin.

"Well actually, it really isn't that little. I had to stash it behind the wardrobe in my bedroom."

"Interesting."

"Do you want it now?" she asked with a mild suggestion of an undisclosed offer.

Baby, I would love it now," Dempsey growled.

She smiled coquettishly. "Followed by another dried up dinner?"

"I can tear off that gift wrap like you wouldn't believe." His fingers plucked at the hem of her jumper as though to demonstrate.

"I think I'll play it safe and bring it downstairs then."

He laughed, giving her a playful kiss on the lips. "You think you'd be safe from me just 'cause there ain't a bed down here?"

"It's just that it would be foolish to put such an obvious temptation in the way, don't you think?" Her lips teased his back. "And besides, there's really no sense in confining ourselves to one room…"

"When we got another half dozen to try out," he finished for her.

They laughed in unison, low and intimate, the love that they had discovered rising up between them like a bewitching perfume. And then for a second, they just stared into each other's eyes as they revelled in the scent.

"I'll… erm…" Harry took a step back, light-headed and grinning, "go and fetch it."

"You do that, angel."

Whilst she was gone, Dempsey took the gift box he'd brought downstairs earlier from out of one of the kitchen cupboards, having hidden it beneath a packet of dried spaghetti for safekeeping.

"Whoa! Whadya got there?" he asked as she carried a large, flat parcel about 2 ½ feet wide by 1 ½ feet high into the kitchen. It was gift wrapped with plain matt red paper and tied up with shiny black ribbon that was finished with a curly bow on the front.

Harry passed it over to him. "I know you'll either love it or hate it."

Heading to the small kitchen table, Dempsey began to tear the paper from it, his delight obvious. "What have we here?" he grinned as he looked over at her briefly.

Harry found his enthusiasm infectious and hugged her arms about herself, looking on with a smile. "I noticed you kept looking over at it when we were in the shop but I don't know if that was because it appealed to you or because you found it so... divergent."

It was a painting done in oils and depicting an array of nineteenth century fishing boats upon a blue green sea, a swathe of pale golden beach in the foreground and away in the distance, beyond the curve of the wide bay, a proud, skeletal silhouette of an incongruous manmade structure standing starkly black against the blue of the sky. The tin mine and its surrounding surface buildings made for an almost alien presence within the picturesque composition. It was a strangely compelling piece that seemed to combine two separate worlds.

"Wow, Harry! This is terrific." Dempsey held the painting at arms' length whilst he studied it. "I mean it. You picked this up from the antiques place, right? Raspin and Helyer? The interview with Mr Tutti Frutti! Yeah, you were right, it really got me… couldn't take my eyes off of it. Don't know why… it's kinda ugly."

"Well you remember it at least so I wasn't completely barking up the wrong tree."

He turned his head just a degree to acknowledge her words but his eyes remained riveted upon the canvas.

"This is fantastic. Seriously, babe. How'd you get hold of this anyway?"

"I rang up the shop and got him to send it with a courier. He was most obliging actually. I think the idea of the coppers who'd been harassing him for information coming back to purchase artwork quite tickled him."

Still smiling, Dempsey turned around and propped the painting up against the wall below one of the kitchen cupboards where it could still be viewed.

"Kinda funny you should of bought me somethin' from Cornwall 'cause I did the same."

He took the slim box from the pocket of his navy jogging bottoms. "'cept I got this while we were there."

Harry reached out to accept the gift only for Dempsey to draw his hand back.

"Now promise me you ain't gonna throw this one back in my face," he said with a wary humour.

"I'm promising nothing," she told him staunchly as she took the box out of his hand and sat at the table.

Dempsey looked on feeling genuinely anxious. "Well, okay." It was important to him that he'd chosen well. "Just be gentle with me, alright?"

"I'm sure it's very lovely, Dempsey," Harry crooned with just a splash of sarcastic empathy.

It wasn't wrapped but the pale lavender embossed gift box was pretty enough and Harry peeled back the label at one end of the box which held the lid in place. It was printed with the words 'Seaglass Silver Designs' and a 'phone number.

So he had bought her jewellery. The idea pleased her a lot, the purchase of such a gift implying a certain amount of intimacy to Harry. Not only would it bring to light Dempsey's personal taste but also show how well he interpreted her own taste. In a way, it was quite a test and after his gargantuan failure of yesterday evening with the presentation of the AIDS test results, one he was probably very anxious to pass.

The box contained a necklace – a pendant to be exact on a short silver chain. Set within the confines of a silver disc the size of a ten piece was a shining confusion of the brightest blue glass Harry had ever seen. Made up of two different shades, it formed a swirl which seemed to depict buoyancy and movement – a representation of a wave she guessed.

"You like?" asked Dempsey, tentatively.

"I like very much," she said slowly as she examined it more closely.

"It's seaglass, see?" Unnecessarily, Dempsey leaned in and poked a finger at the pendant. "You heard of it before? The woman in the store, she really sold me on it, ya know."

Harry loved his enthusiasm. "No, I'm afraid I don't have a clue… what is it exactly?"

"So she described it as like reclaimed glass. This lady is kind of a beachcomber; goes out lookin' for pieces of glass that've been washed up on the shore, might be two years old, might be two hundred. But the good stuff is usually real old, dumped by sailors... pirates even! Cool, huh?"

"It is rather," Harry beamed.

"An' also, 'cause so much trash used to get thrown into rivers an' carried out to sea, plenty to be had; medicine bottles, wine bottles… She told me chances are the glass in that necklace came from a couple of poison bottles. Poison was always dispensed in blue glass just so's everyone was aware what they were dealin' with."

The enthusiasm suddenly waned. "Maybe you didn't need to hear that last part. Doesn't sound too romantic."

"Romantic, Dempsey?" she chided, a smirk playing at her lips.

He looked uncomfortable. "Yeah. Givin' jewellery to a girl is a romantic gesture," he said defensively. "It ain't somethin' I do every day, ya know."

Wasn't it? If Harry had ever cared to give it her consideration, she would probably have thought that was very likely exactly what Dempsey's angle might be. But by the sounds of it she would have been wrong.

"It is romantic. It's romantic in the true sense of the word and I love it."

She touched a forefinger to the tiny curved shards that formed the sparkling wave. "It's unique, isn't it? One of a kind. And all that history behind it gives it a mysterious sort of charm."

"Yeah? You really like it?" Dempsey asked, clearly still unsure.

Girlishly, she rose up onto her tiptoes and flung her arms about his neck. "It's gorgeous. Thank you."

She briefly kissed his cheek before turning in his arms and holding up the necklace. "Put it on for me," she asked.

"With pleasure."

Taking the necklace from her, Dempsey draped it against her throat as he concentrated on fastening the clasp. He managed it with relative ease and lowered his head to lay a kiss at the back of her neck. "There."

Harry shivered a little, his mouth sending a warm cascade down the length of her spine. "Thank you."

"One day," he murmured, still close enough for her to feel his breath against her skin as he spoke, "I want us to go back to Cornwall, just to make it right, ya know."

"Make it right?"

His hands had slipped around her waist beneath the soft, fluffy sweater, holding her within the span of his thumb and forefinger and it seemed to cost her a few brain cells.

"Yeah, that place was where I finally got to meet all of you. The scene of a murder… some shitty little beach shack… but it changed things for us an' that makes me wanna go back, enjoy it together but different next time."

She nodded, understanding his reasoning but not wanting to revisit some of those raw memories.

"One day," she confirmed, "but not for a while."

She leaned her head back and automatically his mouth transferred to her throat, kissing the silver and glass disc that nestled in the hollow with reverence.

"Okay. Whatever you want, Princess."

Some primal nerve had been touched; a couple of thousand years of raging testosterone was pumping through Dempsey's psyche as he felt the cool glass on his lips.

It was weird but it was like putting that chain round Harry's neck somehow made her more his. It was wrong, he knew it. She wasn't a 'thing' to be owned or possessed, tagged or ensnared. A piece of jewellery didn't mark her out as his and yet the fact that she had willingly offered herself up to be adorned by his silver trammel felt like a minor triumph.

Jeez, what was happening to him? He'd given jewellery to women before; a bracelet here, a necklace there but he'd never once found himself weighed down with this kind of emotional turmoil. If he ever should put a ring on Harry's finger, it'd probably reduce him to a grunting, knuckle-dragging Neanderthal!

"Okay, so what?" smiled Dempsey.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, going through the pretence of ignorance.

Dinner was over with and a quiet had descended between them as they sat together in the lounge with their coffees.

Harry could tell Dempsey thought he knew what the problem was – the time had come for him to go home.

But that wasn't the only issue for Harry; for her the silence was an awkward one because she was on the cusp of throwing one extremely inconvenient spanner into the works.