Kieren is certain he has a hangover.

It is the first thing that runs through his head when he wakes in the morning. Well, that and the stabbing pain he feels when Simon speaks to him in anything above a whisper.

Then again, Simon does not look that great either. He said something last night about having a couple of shots at the bar while Kieren and Philip were on the dance floor. They had both come to the conclusion on the way home in the taxi – once they had found one that would take PDS fares – that the potent blue liquid in the bottle at the end of the optics, aptly named Water of Lithe, was more than likely spiked with Blue Oblivion.

It was not that Simon was anywhere near close to suffering any of the effects of the illegal drug and was thus in danger of turning rabid any time soon, but he was no lightweight - not after the life he had lead - and so two shots should not have affected him so badly. Even after drinking them on top of all the HiGlow they had sunk. Although that too as it turned out, was a concentrated version, rather than the regular bottled sort distributed to pubs and bars around the country. The exclusive liquor was certainly suspicious and Kieren was just glad he was not at the bar at the time and had downed a shot or two of the stuff along with Simon.

Kieren is already showered and dressed by the time Simon rifles through his bag looking for whatever it is he is looking for, and heads into the bathroom. He almost misses it, but the white Irisalways contact lens case catches Kieren's eye, and then he notices the cover-up mousse and sponge applicator in Simon's other hand. He had been flicking through the morning telly, but presses the standby button on the remote control, prompting th e picture to disappear and fade to black as he does so.

The bathroom door is not shut and Simon catches Kieren looking at the items he has retrieved. He self-consciously purses his lips in an almost smile back at Kieren through the bathroom mirror, before fixing his gaze at the floor. Kieren can see by his mirrored reflection that he looks almost ashamed.

"It's for…" Simon mumbles in a feeble attempt at an explanation, but cannot finish the sentence.

Kieren is surprised. To say this was unlike Simon would be an understatement. Simon, as long as Kieren has known him anyway, has always been so comfortable with who he is; what he is. In the time he had known him, Simon had only worn contacts and cover-up once, and that was for Kieren when he introduced him to his parents for the first time. It was the 'getting to know him' stage of their relationship and Simon had been willing in order to try to better understand the world Kieren came from.

Simon was not someone who needed to fit in, if anything he went out of his way to do the exact opposite and not comply with any form of dictatorship, but for Kieren he was willing to buckle under. For Kieren, he would put aside everything he believed, to be with him.

But perhaps, Kieren was not the only one who he was willing to do that for? He wanted to be accepted – and forgiven – by his father, but if that was even possible, it would have to be done by taking baby steps and not a full charge assault.

"Yer don't want yer dad to see yer like this," Kieren spoke the words for him.

Simon looked up for a moment and shook his head.

"No. No I don't," he answered quietly. "Not yet, anyway."

"Simon, it's okay, yer know? It's probably for the best anyway, if yer see him looking…" Better be careful here. Kieren swallows before finishing, "As he remembers you."

Simon listens to the words meant to make him feel better; the words that allow the pressure to ease just a little. But that is not Simon and today is made all the worse, because he always stays strong. He has people that depend on him - people he cares about that rely on him to be their emotional rock - so no matter the situation, he is always confident, always in control, but not now.

Not today. Not when it comes to this.

Because when it comes to his dad, Simon is a different person and it is taking Kieren some time to recognise this side of him as belonging to the same person he has come to know so well.

Kieren could not imagine how difficult this was going to be for Simon. He had not seen his father, Iain Monroe, in such a long time and they had parted on the worst terms imaginable. Could someone even get over something like that in time?

The world had come to understand PDS a little more in the five years that had passed, but was it enough for his father to understand that the Rabid that came home that night after The Rising was not who Simon really was. He was in his untreated state and unmedicated. If it were a court of law, he would be able to plead diminished responsibility, but Kieren knew Simon was not looking for a way out. He would not allow excuses for himself. He had come home and killed his mother and that was all there was to it as far as he was concerned.

Never mind the fact that even now Simon still could not remember the event, and again, if he were living, there would be a term for that too. They call it Dissociative Amnesia.

Kieren had looked it up online when Simon first told him. He had read on the NHS website that in situations such as Simon's, the memories almost certainly still existed but were so deeply buried within that person's mind that they could not be recalled. The memories might, however, resurface on their own over time or after being triggered by something in the person's surroundings. Simon had already returned to his family home once before and he could not remember anything of that night past clawing his way out of the grave, so Kieren was doubtful a second visit would make any difference now.

The Rising had left many living and undead with emotional and mental scars - in addition to their physical ones - so why was it only the living were considered eligible for mental therapy treatments? During his time at Norfolk they were forced to openly share their experiences and explore their emotional responses to certain things in a group, as if they were attending an AA meeting, but that was as far as it went. And even that was far more than Simon had experienced, as after being used as a lab rat he had been discharged from the Treatment Centre. The moment he refused to continue to be the subject of Halperin & Weston's experiments, he had been packed off home with his father. No advice was given, no precautions put in place should anything go wrong. He was not useful to them anymore and had been sent away, totally venerable and unprepared, into this damaged new world.

There were no Cognitive or Psychotherapy, and certainly no Clinical Hypnosis offered. From a research point of view alone, there surely would have been some scientific ground to be covered, even if the benefit of such treatments for the patient was just a by-product of such undertaken studies.

Kieren had looked all those up too; treatments that aimed to help a person 'safely express and process painful memories, develop new coping and life skills, restore functioning, and improve relationships'. It sounded exactly what a PDS Sufferer needed once the Neurotriptyline kicked in, and not just for Simon, but for all of them.

Kieren remains sitting on the bed and watches Simon without offering further comment as he stretches each eyelid open and presses the blue contacts onto his eyes, one and then the other, concealing each undead iris. Next to be applied is the cover-up mousse, but Simon fumbles with the lid as he tries to get it open. His nerves are failing, finally get the better of him.

"Want some help?" Kieren asks, in the doorway now.

He does not wait for an answer, just silently takes the pot of mousse from Simon's hands. No effort is made to stop him – if anything, relief washes over Simon's features - and their fingers touch briefly, lingering over the contact during the exchange.

Kieren is far more practiced at applying the camouflage than Simon and he unscrews the lid and places it down on the edge of the sink. Next he takes the applicator sponge from him and dabs it into the mouse. As he does so, he thinks of the first time he saw Simon with cover-up on.

It was last December and they had walked to his parent's house. Kieren had realised the position he was putting Simon in, and so told him over and over again that he did not have to do this and they could just forget the whole thing. Even if that was what Simon had wanted at the time, he dug his heels in and refused to be given a free pass. He had kept his chin up all the way there in determination and braved out what was to come. The lunch was important; it was his chance to prove to Kieren how far he was prepared to go in order to prove his promise of giving him anything he could to make him happy. They had stopped several times on the way. The first for Kieren to thank him, for which Simon was rewarded with an unexpected kiss – in those days all of Kieren's kisses tended to come unexpectedly for Simon, but were always gratefully received - and the second to help him clean up the poor job he had made of his face.

All PDS made the mistake of plastering too much cover-up on when they first started using it, which gave the impression they had been sunning themselves in the Bahamas during their rabid state. With Kieren's naturally pale complexion, while alive, he never tanned easily and although the cover-up mousse was undeniably good stuff – Jem was always stealing pots of it to cover up her spots – the 'one colour fits all' bronze hue (okay, orange then!) stood out like a sore thumb if applied too heavily. It had taken Kieren some time to figure out just the right amount that would conceal his undead skin, but not look as if he had lost a fight with a fake tan bottle.

Kieren puts what he has learnt into practice now and applies the mousse sparingly. He traces the contours of Simon's face with the sponge. Beginning with his temples, he strokes the mousse across his cheekbones, over his jaw and down to his neck as his pale skin begins to vanish under a thin veil of the cover-up. Simon does not look at him as he works, but only stares back at his own reflection through the mirror as the undead Simon Monroe disappears before his eyes and a replica of who he once was emerges slowly.

"There," Kieren says as he finishes the job on his face. "Think you'll do."

Simon takes a long hard look at himself, while Kieren works on his hands.

"Thank you." Simon smiles, but not through happiness.

He is grateful for Kieren's help, grateful for his understanding, and most importantly, grateful he does not judge him.

"I wish I'd of known you when yer were alive," Kieren muses, as he works on the inside of Simon's wrists where his cuffs meet the skin there.

Kieren looks as surprised as Simon by the statement and cringes inwardly at not censoring himself in time. He certainly did not mean to say that.

Simon shakes his head and he genuinely looks sad now.

"No ye don', Kieren. I wasn't the same man back then."

"Nor was I. Maybe if we'd have met sooner, things might not have turned out the way they did?"

"Maybe," Simon shrugs, "But they turned out alright in the end. Never forget that. Small mercies and all, ay?"

Kieren replaces the lid on the mouse and puts it down with the sponge on the sink.

"I won't," Kieren promises. "'New life', that's what yer said to me first time we met, do you remember? Yer said, we've 'been given a new life', and now finally, finally, it feels like it's actually beginning to start."

"It's there, just waiting for us. Need to be patient, is all."

"Don't run before yer can walk, yer mean?"

Simon takes Kieren's hands in his own and runs his thumbs over the cool skin of his knuckles leaving a smudge of cover-up it his wake.

He nods. "Baby steps."


"I can't believe I forget to bring it," Amy is telling Philip when Kieren and Simon arrive in the restaurant of 'The Toad and Crown' next door to their hotel.

They have finished breakfast and are sitting in front of empty plates. Most of the tables around them are vacant as it is almost ten-thirty and service is coming to an end.

"It'll be okay. It's just a single dose, can't make that much difference, surely? I mean, yer not going to turn back just from missing one shot," Philip reassures her. Then adds, a little less convinced, "Are yer?"

"Nah, don't think so. Probably just being silly," Amy agrees, but the way she says it sounds suspiciously like hope, rather than fact. "I mean I missed a dose or two when I was back in the commune and never went rabid then."

She laughs and Philip does likewise, obviously somewhat relieved. With a face like his, he was hopeless at lying or concealing his feelings.

"Like yer say, sure it'll fine," she concludes before noticing Simon and Kieren approaching. "Hey you two, what d'ya know then?"

"Not much," Kieren replies as they both sit down – Simon next to Amy and Kieren next to Philip - in the empty seats on opposite sides of the table. "How about you?"

"Same. Got a stinking hangover though."

Philip had thought to bring along aspirin for their trip, but they were yet to take effect. Still, the full English fry-up they had just polished off had helped settle their stomachs a little.

A waitress comes over to clear the plates from the table. Seeing Kieren and Simon have joined them, she takes out a pad and pen from her pocket and poises it, ready to take their orders.

They are both wearing cover-up and contact lenses.

"What'll yer have?" she asks, oblivious to the fact they are PDS. "The menu's on the table, but would yer like tea or coffee first?"

"Sorry, breakfast's not really our thing," Kieren smiles at her.

Shrugging, she puts the items back into her pocket and takes away the plates away to the kitchen.

"Well she should'a gone to Specsavers!" Amy says, "Hey, yer know what? Maybe she's trying to get her own back on whoever has to clean the men's bogs…"

She turns to look at Simon and stops midsentence.

"Oh my God!" she gasps, "Look at you, all glammed up. Looking very gorgeous, gorgeous! Bet yer got a few Pulse Beaters heart's racing on yer way over here?"

Philip frowns at the Pulse Beater description, but says nothing. Not only was he himself a 'Pulse Beater', but technically Amy was too these days - if by Pulse Beater it meant someone whose heart was beating.

"S'no big deal," Simon responds, trying to play down the fact that this is the first time Amy has ever seen him wearing cover-up. He spent so long as a disciple, trying to encourage the Redeemed to take it off, it seems damn near hypocritical to wear it himself.

"Course not, but… well, wow!" she continues, taking in his appearance. "Never knew yer had blue eyes? Suits yer."

Simon looks less than enthusiastic at being subjected to such close scrutiny.

"Okay, okay. Take a good look then." He does not add that she should commit it to memory, as he will not be wearing it again in a hurry.

"So what's all this in aid of?"

"Off to see me dad, aren't I," Simon reminds her.

In all her excitement, Amy had clearly forgotten the part of the conversation Simon and Kieren were having, earlier in the week, as to why they were planning a trip to the city at all as it was certainly not to go to some club.

"Of course. Sorry."

And she does look sorry. Sorry for letting something so important slip her mind and sorry for Simon for having to go through this at all.

The four of them sit in silence for a moment.

"So," Amy pipes up again, somewhat more breezily, "Today's the big day, then? Thought about what yer going to say?"

Philip coughs, but it sounds a lot like "AMY!"

"What?" she asks him, neither noticing his subtlety nor abiding by it.

"Well, it's just, maybe Simon doesn't want to talk about it?"

But Simon does not look like he minds. He knows that is just Amy's way.

"S'okay," he tells Philip, and then to Amy, in answer to her question, "In truth, I have no idea what I'm going to say. Will just see when we get there, I suppose."

Amy lays her hand on Simon's and squeezes it gently.

"You're his son. It'll work out, guarantee it."

Simon squeezes back.

"We'll see."

Silence falls on the group again and Amy begins to tap her fingernails in an irregular beat against the cheap china of the coffee mug in front of her.

"Hands up who thinks their hangover was totally worth it," Amy announces suddenly, nodding at Philip who takes the hint and raises his hand precariously while Amy stretches both her arms in the air. Kieren's arm gets yanked skyward too when he does not comply, but she leaves Simon alone at least.

Simon is miles away anyway. Extracting his hand from Amy's, Kieren reaches under the table so no one else will notice and gently touches Simon's knee. When he looks up, Kieren mouths, "You Okay?" at him.

It takes a moment, but eventually Simon gives him a reassuring smile and then a wink for good measure, but it does little to alleviate Kieren's growing concern for him.

Amy rolls her eyes at the pair.

"Would you two just get a room, please? Honestly, Philly and me may as well not be here."

"We've just come from our room," Kieren points out.

"Might want to think about going back there then. Yer could work off all those calories yer just had for breakfast?"

If there is one thing Amy Dyer is brilliant at, it is lightening a mood.

"Honestly, you two should have an 18 certificate plastered on yer foreheads. It's totally shocking the way some people behave," but her attempt at an appalled tone of voice fools no one.

"We should probably make a move ourselves," Philip points out as he pushes his chair back to stand and shrugs on his coat as a big a hint as he can manage.

"Off for a bit of retail therapy," she tells the others before rising from her own chair and wrapping her coat around her. "Come on then you, yer big handsome hunk of stuff."

Philip automatically looks behind him to see whom Amy is referring to.

"I mean you, yer great ninny!"


Philip offered them a lift to Iain Monroe's address, but Simon had declined the offer saying he preferred to walk. It would give him time to mentally prepare for what was ahead, and Kieren was happy to go along with whatever Simon wanted – or needed under the circumstances – and Philip must have understood too because he did not press the matter.

They are already on the right side of the city at least, but the walk is hardly scenic, even when Simon and Kieren pass through a park in the crisp spring mid-morning air, hidden amongst the concrete jungle of shops and office blocks. Everything here is grey. The sky is grey, the light is grey, the buildings are grey, the streets are grey. Even the atmosphere of the city feels grey. There are few people around and for a Saturday, a day usually filled with retail frenzy, it feels strange.

The Rising has left its mark on their surroundings. Kieren had not noticed it the night before, but now in the daylight, the past horrors of what took place are plain to see. The city that bore witness to the war casts darks shadows around every corner.

Many of the shops have thick metal sheets covering their entrances, and the glass windows of floors above are either smashed or boarded up with chipboard wedged firm against the frames from the inside. Some have survived, but they become fewer as they journey further away from the city centre. The offices and other businesses have not faired much better, and spray painted warnings in brightly coloured graffiti still adorn the outside of those that have not yet been renovated.

The country's economy took a battering after The Rising, and even five years on, things are pretty bleak and there's no money to bring things up again. Businesses went under, people lost their jobs, and all faith was lost in the British Government as they struggled to contain over one hundred and forty thousand risen dead around the country. Social security, the National Health Service, life insurance – Act of God did not seem to cover it - all went south and not in the soft Southern Fairies sort of way. In fact, London was hit hardest of all and while stock markets crashed around the world, it left both the FTSE and the Pound Stirling in dire straights. No one was investing, no one was buying, and no one was selling. Everyone was just trying to survive.

Thankfully many did, but others had not been so lucky and it was impossible to forget that fact now.

Public phone boxes and abandoned buildings are covered with missing posters of loved ones that are lost – some dead, some risen, perhaps wandering far from the city limits, still untreated, yet to be caught and sent to Norfolk – and their photos taken during happier times haunt those passing by, who regardless pretend to ignore their faces.

There are flowers too, and toys, rotten and weathered, left by friends and relatives who have marked the spot where someone fell. Roarton might have been through the mill, but five years ago feels a lot further away in the valley than it does here. Metropolises are usually brimming with life, but in December 2009, a city was the last place you wanted to be.

They have been walking for over an hour and Kieren has noticed Simon's posture has changed. He is beginning to grow increasingly agitated and Kieren suspects that that must mean they are close now to his old home and where his father lives.

He follows Simon's lead as they cross the road and round a corner of another nondescript street. There are iron railings in front of a tall hedge running down the side of the pavement, until suddenly they come to a break in the shrubbery with a tall open gate leading into a large city cemetery.

"This is a short cut," Simon tells Kieren as they enter through the opening.

They make their way down the path, past the older graves with names and dates on gravestones eroded over time, and past the small mortuary chapel in the centre, its large oaks door locked and bolted. No new business today it seems.

There are no signs warning trespassers and no sign of the remnants of police tape cordoning off certain areas like Roarton's old graveyard. There are no visitors either. The only other people around looks to be a couple of workman - is there such thing as a gravedigger anymore with the invention of the JCB? – and it is only as they start to get closer that they can see what they are working on.

A white Ford Transit van is parked on the side of the path and they stop at the sight of the two men hauling a newish gravestone into the back. One man is wearing a bright orange bib - the one who looks to be doing most of the work - is a Give Back worker, and as he goes back to the graveside the other, living, lights up a cigarette and leans on the side of the van to watch.

He notices Kieren and Simon as they approach.

"Yer looking for someone?" he calls out to them.

Neither answer until they have made it to the van and although Kieren cannot explain it, he feels relieved in that moment that they are both wearing cover-up, so it is not obvious at first glance that they too are PDS.

"Yeah, I am," Simon says as he peers into the back of the van to see a large stack of similar gravestones and half rotten broken up coffins piled high down the length of the vehicle.

"Who yer looking for, they might be on me sheet," the living workman says, putting the cigarette in his mouth to free both his hands. He pulls out a folded A4 sheet of paper out of his pocket. It has a list of names and plots running down both sides.

"Simon Monroe?" Simon Monroe answers.

Kieren sucks in a breath. It did not occur to him when they entered the cemetery that this was where Simon had been buried. He has sense enough to remain quiet and just lets the conversation play out.

"Monroe… Monroe," he says, running through the names. "Be bloody useful if they'd put this shit in alphabetical order. He's probably not even on here. What year d'he died?"

"2009," Simon answers.

"Oh, he'll definitely be on here then. Simon Monroe," he continues, taking another puff on his cigarette without removing it from his mouth, and running his finger down the list. "Ah, there he is. Simon Monroe. Plot K17."

Kieren automatically looks around as if they are in an airport car park and every section is signposted.

"You're in luck mate. This whole area here is K. This is K4, so 17's gotta be right over there, somewhere."

He points to the left and both Kieren and Simon squint in that direction.

"Hey, Drop Dead Fred? Yer wanna go show them where it is?" he says to the Give Back workman. "It's on our list anyway. May as well do it now before lunch. Well, lunch for me. Then you can make a start on J for when I get back."

Fred plants his shovel into the disturbed earth of the now empty grave and gestures for them to follow them.

Simon lets Kieren go first and then follows closely behind.

"What are yer doing exactly?" Kieren asks as they walk.

"Removing all the headstones and coffins from the graves of those who rose. Council needs the space." He rethinks his last comment and then corrects himself, "Or wants the money, more like. These plots cost a bomb."

He scans the names on the granite stones as they walk.

"Think it must be over there," Fred continues, crossing through a row of graves. "Don't mean to be rude or nothing, Keith's a right moron and wouldn'ta realised, but you two are PDS, right?"

"Yeah, we are," Kieren confirms, following him over the grass.

"Nice to see a friendly face. Name's Mick by the way."

"Thought he said yer name was Fred?"

"Keith thinks he's funny. That's the Living for you. Oh, there it is, Simon Monroe," Fred or Mick, or whatever his name is, nods a little further ahead of them.

Kieren is trying to see which gravestone he is referring to, but is distracted by Mick who is continuing to explain what they are doing here.

"Caused a right palaver with some of the relatives, this. Lots of these, whose graves we're clearing," he points to the empty spaces dotted in amongst still occupied graves, "Well let's just say, they weren't as fortunate as us. Be nothing left of them once we're done here. Nothing to remember them by, poor bastards."

Mick comes to a stop at a white polished granite gravestone with lettering carved and painted black onto the surface.

In Loving Memory of Our Beloved Son

SIMON MONROE

1982 ~ 2009

Requiescat In Pace

The thick mud spills out onto the grass surrounding the open grave in dark clumps and there is a deep recess in the centre, where on that stormy December night, Simon had pushed himself through the soil and emerged from the earth.

"A mate of yours, was he?" Mick asks.

Kieren nods, looking over at Simon who is staring blankly at his own grave.

"Well, this is going today, so hope his family knows where he is or has some good memories to remember him by, otherwise it'll be like he never existed."

Kieren moves over to stand close to Simon, but his eyes never leave the gravestone. He realises this is probably the first time Simon has read what his parent's chose as an inscription. It seems strange that he saw Kieren's before he saw his own – or at least, can remember seeing his own.

"Christ, here comes dickhead now," Mick grumbles. "Come to watch me do all the hard work, while he just stands there doing bugger all."

Keith comes over, another cigarette in his mouth, and hands Mick the spade.

"Found it then?" he says to Kieren and Simon before turning to his co-worker. "What yer waiting for, hurry up, wanna go on lunch. My stomach thinks me throat's been cut."

Mick begins work on the earth around the gravestone and once he has dug down deep enough and cleared the area around it, Keith takes a last drag of his cigarette, tosses it on the ground in front of him on the exposed mud, and takes one side of the heavy granite stone, while Mick takes the other. They rock it back and forth until it gives and then wrench it from the ground, letting it crash with a loud thump onto the grass behind.

"Right, I'm off. That coffin's gotta be out by the time I get back. And start on J too, like I said. We'll take the van load to the dump after."

Keith leaves and Mick begins digging. He is shovelling earth either side of the grave as Simon walks over to the toppled gravestone and reads the words over and over again in his head, as if to try and memorise them. Kieren gives him a minute alone before joining him.

He looks close to tears and Kieren cannot think of anything other than to take his hand. He presses his body close, but just having Kieren there is a comfort to him, as they both look down at all that remains of Simon's first life.

"Hope his family knows where he is or has some good memories to remember him by, otherwise it'll be like he never existed."

Mick's words echo through Simon's mind and the irony of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Once upon a time, to have never existed was all Simon had ever wanted.

And it dawns on him, that now more than ever, his words to Kieren the year before have got to come true. They had to make a new life for themselves, because after today Simon may well learn that there is nothing at all left of his old one.


Tracking down Iain Monroe was proving to be a little more difficult than Simon and Kieren had anticipated.

When they finally arrive at the house, Simon comes to an abrupt stop in front of the building. He stands motionless, just looking up at it and holding his breath, as if he were a statue. It is almost as if, now that they are there, he does not dare even take a single step further from the pavement onto the short and narrow concrete path that connects the entrance of the house to the outside world.

With the blue contact lenses and flesh coloured cover-up he wears - an imperfect copy of the living man he once was - Simon looks younger somehow; like a lost little boy now they were here. His whole demeanour has changed. He seems smaller all of a sudden, and the wholly confident Simon Monroe seems to shrink away into nothing, until all that is left is this shadow version of himself. It is a far cry by comparison to the one Kieren knows.

The front garden is a wreck, displaying pitiful threadbare turf and overgrown borders that make it difficult to distinguish between bramble and plant. The front gate has been left open and appears to have been left this way for some time, as the hinges have rusted so badly it is fused permanently ajar. Weeds and long grass protrude through cracks in the crumbling path and one of the front windows is boarded up.

Simon does not notice any of this. All he sees is the house he grew up in. The one his mother and father brought him to as a boy, when they moved to England from Ireland, and it is the home he had come back to, that fateful night during The Rising.

It is only when Kieren takes his hand again, it seems to stir him from his memories and it brings him back from wherever it was he had gone to.

He has to do this. He has to go through with it, no matter what the outcome.

The first knock on the door goes unanswered and fear begins to surge through Simon's body while paranoia pours poison into his ear. It whispers cruel things that flood his mind with doubt and he has to summon the strength just to remain where he is and not to run.

They continue to wait in silence.

Is his father at home, listening at the door? Does he know who is standing on the other side of it, having caught a glimpse of his caller through the frosted glass, and is now refusing to answer?

Simon takes a deep breath and tries the doorbell again, knocking on the door so hard with his knuckles this time, it makes the pane of glass vibrate at the top of the wood.

Still no answer.

Eventually a neighbour sticks her head out of a door a few houses down. She tells them that if they are looking for Iain Monroe, he moved house six months ago. Simon asks if she knows his forwarding address. She nods and is hesitant at first in giving it to him, but he explains he is Iain's son and she looks confused for a moment.

"Didn't know he had another son?" she tells him.

So they knew then? Knew he died. Or maybe they knew he had come back? And what he had done when he did? Why was he even trying to build bridges, when really, they had been burnt so badly there was only ash left?

Suspicious or not, she gives them the address.

Kieren cannot tell if it is relief or disappointment on Simon's face, because his father's new home turns out to not be very far away at all. In fact, it is only two streets down, and as Simon is familiar with the surrounding area anyway, they easily find the address they have been given.

And that is how they find themselves standing in the porch of this second house. Only this time, this home has freshly mown green grass in the front garden and tidy, well tended flowerbeds, boasting flourishing red roses planted between the lavender bushes. There is even the odd daffodil or two, and the shocking yellow of the blooms is a stark contrast to the rest of the city's grey. By the front door there is an outside doormat for visitors to wipe their feet on, spelling out the word WELCOME, and two miniature olive trees keep guard on each side.

Simon does not waste time now. He just wants to get it over and done with. What will be, will be after all.

He presses the door bell and they wait. There is a large glass window in the top half of the door and before he presses the button a second time, the blurry outline of someone appears in the hallway inside.

The door opens slowly.

A man in his fifties stands in front of them. His hair is dark and straight like Simon's, and he wears a short trimmed beard that sports grey whiskers amongst the black. His features look weary, as if belonging to a man who has witnessed more than he would have liked to in his lifetime.

This man and Simon look at each other in silence until Simon eventually finds his voice to speak, but when he does, it comes out as barely a whisper.

"Hello dad."

Iain Monroe looks back at his son. His gaze moves on to Kieren for a moment and then back to Simon, wide-eyed and unblinking, but he remains quiet.

Simon clears his throat and tries to smile, but it feels unnatural and pulls tightly at the skin on his face.

"You've moved. Didn't know."

Iain nods. "Aye, 'bout six months ago now."

"Yeah, I spoke to one of your old neighbours. She told me where ye were living now."

"I see," Iain says. He is calm and his tone is one of addressing a stranger. "Who's this?"

Simon turns to Kieren. It is as if he has only just remembered his presence next to him, but when he smiles again, it feels genuine.

"Dad, this is Kieren."

Kieren extends a hand and Iain looks at it as if the gesture is alien to him and is not sure what to do with it.

"Nice to meet you…" Kieren says tentatively.

Iain remembers his manners and holds out his own hand, and they shake hands briefly.

"Iain," he confirms.

A boy in his mid-teens peeks apprehensively from an open door off the hallway.

"Dad, Qualifiers are back on."

Iain glances over his shoulder at the boy.

"Something's come up, son. I've got to pop out for a bit. Ye gonna be alright with your brother for a bit until your mum's home?"

The boy face is a picture of disappointment.

"Sure, but who should I tell mum you're with when she gets in?"

"Nobody important," Iain reassured him. "Anyway, shouldn't be long. Ye can fill me in on what I've missed when I get back, yeah?"

The boy smiles, a little more encouraged now.

Ian waits until the boy has disappeared back into the front room and the television, before turning back to Simon and Kieren. He uses hushed tones now as he speaks.

"Ye know the pub on the corner, the Cross Keys?"

Simon nods. "Yeah, I remember it."

"We'll go there."

Iain seems in a rush now and he hastily grabs his coat off the hook and his keys from a bowl on the sideboard and closes the door quickly but quietly behind him as they leave.

"Don't want Ros and the kids getting upset."


The pub is relatively empty when they arrive. There is a pool table beyond the bar and fruit machines by the door. It is not unlike Roarton Legion, only there is music playing and Joy Division's Ian Curtis is singing, "They keep calling me, Keep on calling me," sounds low over the tiny speaks on the wall.

There is a dull hum of chatter and a few of the patrons turn their heads to see who is entering. Some nod a greeting at Iain, but most return to their drinks or conversation, minding their own business.

The barman obviously knows Iain though, and as they approach he smiles in recognition.

"Iain, haven't seen you in a while. The usual?"

The elder Monroe looks a little nervous, but nods and then turns to his son, "Whiskey?"

The last time Simon saw his father they had sat down to a takeaway dinner of fish and chips, despite the fact Simon's condition does not allow him to eat. He knew that, but Iain did not, and he did not tell him, feeling he would somehow be letting him down if he did.

"Thank you," Simon agrees, again not correcting him for fear of seeming ungrateful.

"Make that two," Iain tells the barman and then looks to Kieren.

"No, I'm okay thanks."

"I'll get these. Why don't ye go find us some place to sit?" Iain says, reaching for his wallet in his jacket pocket.

"So Iain, how's the family?" the barman asks as he places the drinks on the bar.

Simon lets Kieren lead and he chooses a table out of the way to allow them some privacy. They take off their coats off and hang them on the back of their chairs before sitting down. Iain joins them moments later with the whiskeys. He sets one down in front of Simon and takes a mouthful of his own drink as he sits down too, leaving his coat on.

Simon thanks his father for the drink and wraps his hand around the glass, but does not taste it.

There is an awkward silence.

"Think I'm the only one who comes in here and drinks Jameson's. Everyone else is on Scotch," Iain says making small talk.

"Jameson's? That's Irish Whiskey isn't it?" Kieren asks, in an attempt to carry the conversation forward. They serve it at The Legion so he knows full well what it is, but if it gets Simon and his father talking, he will do whatever he can to make it happen.

"Aye," Iain confirms, "Used to have the distillery back home in Dublin, but they've moved it down to Cork since."

Like Simon, Iain Monroe was born in Dublin, but as a child his family moved around and eventually settled in Belfast. He did not return to Dublin until he attended the city's university, Trinity College, which is where he met Simon's mother. As a result, his accent was a strange mix of the two regions.

"The old distillery's a tourist attraction now," Simon tells Kieren, finally taking a small sip of his whiskey and swallowing the liquid gingerly. He knows if he drinks too much or too quickly, he will only vomit it back up.

"It's a pity. The English and Americans who come over are far more interested in the whiskey and drinking Guinness in Temple Bar, than experiencing true culture like The Book of Kells."

"What's that?" Kieren asks.

He has to admit he has never heard of it before, so Simon explains, "It's an illuminated manuscript Gospel book, written in Latin and created in a Columban monastery between the 6th and 9th century."

It is clear that theirs was a household that liked culture - and not in a snobby way, but in a genuine way – and Kieren begins to see where Simon gets it from.

Iain takes another gulp of his whiskey and for want of a better subject, asks, "How's your chess game these days?"

Simon half laughs, "Haven't played in a long time. Not since…"

He is about to say, "Not since I played you that evening I came home from the treatment centre," but stops himself just in time. He does not want to bring up the night his father threw him out. The last time they saw each other.

"You play…" Iain begins to ask Kieren, but in the shock of seeing his son earlier, he has forgotten his name.

"Kieren," Kieren says, "No, I come from more of a Trivial Pursuit type of family."

Both Mornoes take another drink and while Simon looks down at his glass, Iain looks ahead, past his son, staring into space, until Simon eventually breaks the silence once again.

"So ye remarried? That's good."

"Tony and Barbara introduced us. Ye remember Tony and Barbara?"

This is good. They are starting to sound more relaxed with each other now.

"Robert's parents?"

"Aye, that's right. Ros lost her husband during the… well anyway, she's a widow."

It seems no matter what they try to talk about, The Rising and the war keep raising their ugly heads, but if Simon wants this to work and to get to know his father again, they have to get past it and stop tiptoeing around every subject.

"They're her kids?" Simon presses on.

"Yeah, Mark's the eldest, he's sixteen now. And Patrick, well he's still a wee leanbh, but he's growing up fast, so he is."

Simon smiles, but Kieren can see it is forced. It must be hard for him to hear his father talk about his new family - his new sons - but he does his best to stay positive.

"That's nice. They look like good kids."

"Aye, they are. Mark wanted me to take him up to a United game earlier in the year. It reminded me of when w…"

And there it is again.

Simon is determined now though. "They win?"

"Course. Two – one. But then it was against Sunderland."

They both share the joke and Kieren holds his breath. He realises how desperately he wants this to work out for Simon.

"Ye watch the Formula One grand prix at the weekend?" Iain carries on. Simon shakes his head. "It were Barhain. That Michael Schumacher turn is a right bugger."

"I know," Simon nods.

"Mark's been going Go Karting. Costs a bloody fortune, but he enjoys it. Wants to be the next Lewis Hamilton."

It seems their burst of conversation has died down now and Iain drains his glass.

"I'm going to get another drink. Ye want another?" he asks his son, despite the fact Simon's glass is only half empty.

Iain is about to stand up but Simon gestures for him to stay where he is.

"I'll get them, dad, ye got the last one."

Kieren is left alone with Iain and they both watch Simon as he walks over to the bar to order another drink.

"So, are you two together?"

The question startles Kieren and for a moment he does not know what to say to Simon's father. He is obviously under no illusion as to his son's sexuality and Kieren feels a strong sense of envy for the honesty and acceptance they clearly once shared.

"That's right," he answers, wondering if Iain had always known that Simon was gay; whether he had had to come out to his parents; or if Iain had just put two and two together as to what Kieren was doing there. Kieren suspected it was a combination of the three. His son being in a relationship with another man was simply not any kind of issue for him.

"Ye known each other long?"

"Since he moved to Roarton. So, about seven months now."

"Seven months? Must be serious if you're counting."

"Yeah, I think it is," and then, he is not sure why, but he adds, "Wasn't what you might call in the best of places before I met Simon. Thought things were improving, but they weren't, not really. Only things are okay now. I'm okay now, better than okay, and that's pretty much down to him."

"Well that's grand. Grand," he repeats. "Glad he's got someone."

It strikes Kieren as odd that Iain uses practically identical wording to those Sue had used to him on a few months ago about himself.

"And ye seem like a nice lad. Still young mind," Iain points out. "And yer family? They live in this place, Roarton is it, too, do they?"

"Yep. Just me mum and me dad and me little sister Jem."

"They get on with…?" He gestures towards the bar where Simon is being served, and Kieren realises that he has not said Simon's name out loud once yet during their entire conversation.

"Yeah. I mean, I don't live with them anymore. Simon and I, we had this friend, Amy, and when she died, Simon stayed on at her bungalow and that's where we're living now."

"Sorry to hear that. How did she die?" he asks and then considers, "If yer don't mind me asking?"

Kieren shakes his head. "She was killed."

Iain snaps his head up at him in thinly disguised horror. Hearing those words – even after five years of untimely deaths, living and undead – still comes as a shock.

"Murdered?" Iain says, but it sounds more like a statement than a question.

"She was PDS and there was this Victus MP."

Kieren does not feel like going into details and he can see Iain is more than happy for him not to do so too.

"Well I'm sorry for your loss."

Simon is back now. He sets the single drink he has bought in front of his dad on the table and sits back down.

"Thanks," Iain says, before holding the glass up and saying, "Sláinte."

Kieren has no idea what it means, but Simon holds his drink up and they clink glasses as Simon repeats, "Sláinte," in return. Guess it means cheers then?

Simon takes the barest of sips again and puts the liquor back down. He would give anything to feel the burn at the back of his throat from the whiskey - be warmed and given just that little bit of Dutch courage from the alcohol - but there is none to be found for him now.

Simon wracks his brain for a new subject to talk about.

"So, ye still teaching, dad?"

Iain nods. "Aye. For my sins."

"Dad teaches English," he says to Kieren, mindful he is not excluding from the conversation.

"Literature," Iain clarifies.

"Ah, that must be where Simon gets it from then," Kieren says as the penny drops. Iain just raises his eyebrows at him, not understanding his meaning, so Kieren continues to explain. "Think Simon must have a whole library's worth stored in his head. Could'a done with someone like that when I were doing me GCSEs."

He keeps his tone upbeat. If Iain could just see Simon through his eyes.

Iain changes the subject away from Simon. "So what do you do, Kieren?"

"At the moment? Er…"

He should have anticipated this question, but in truth Kieren had not thought past finding Iain and for Simon to have the opportunity to speak to him and try and resolve things. He had completely overlooked the fact that if it did go well, he would at some point be the topic of conversation. It is only natural, after all, for a father to want to know more about his son's partner and Kieren wanted to give a good impression. Unfortunately, his current situation did not exactly scream 'going places' and suddenly it occurs to him that Iain might think him not good enough for Simon.

"Well, currently I… we," he corrects, "have this Give Back programme all PDS have to complete."

Iain looks to Simon who does not look like he wants to elaborate of what exactly this programme entails.

"Then in the evenings I work down The Legion," Kieren finishes, desperately wishing he had gone to Art College after all as he originally planned. But then of course, he would never have met Simon, so it is swings and roundabouts when you think about it.

Iain looks blankly at the name. The gulf between his world and Simon and Kieren's was growing by the second.

"It's like the social in Roarton Village," Kieren explains.

"A pub?"

Kieren smiles as convincingly as he can and nods more enthusiastically than he feels. "That's right. Only for the time being though. Don't want to be pulling pints for the rest of… forever."

When Iain looks away to take another gulp of his whiskey Kieren rolls his eyes at himself.

'Nice one Kieren!' he thinks to himself, but then Simon comes to his rescue.

"Kieren's an artist, dad," he says and he sounds proud rather than out to impress.

But Iain looks impressed anyway. "Oh right. Any good?"

"Er, okay. At least I hope so," Kieren answers, not sure if this question is directed at himself or Simon.

"He's incredibly talented," Simon clarifies.

The way Simon says it makes Kieren stare at him. It is the first time since introducing him to his father earlier that he has smiled - like really smiled - and not just the painted on kind, and as Kieren looks at him he sees it is because of how much Simon means it. Thinking about Kieren has taken him out of himself, and for just a moment, the weight of their conversation has been lifted.

Kieren is still marvelling at Simon and contemplating how not so long ago everything seemed so bleak, but now how quickly life can change, when he realises Iain is asking him another question.

"Is it painting or sculpture, ye do?"

"Painting, mostly. Acrylics, sometimes charcoal. Oil's a bit messy without a proper studio though. Mainly do portraiture, that sort of thing."

He had painted plenty of his family in the past, which even today still adorned many of the walls in his old home, but he had wanted to do one of Simon and Amy for the bungalow. Recent events were making finding the time in achieving that ambition further away by the day though.

"My wife, she was an art teacher."

That surprises Kieren and he shakes his head.

"Really? Didn't know."

"He didn't tell ye that, no?" And there is more than a hint of accusation in his voice. Kieren notices Iain's body has tensed again and he continues before Kieren has time to answer, "Did he tell ye she died five years ago?"

This throws Kieren. It has been going so well up until now, but there is no disguising the way Iain looks at Simon when he speaks his next words.

"And so did my son."

It is impossible not to read the inflection in his words. Kieren stares at him and tries to remain calm.

"Yeah, yeah he did, But now he's back. Simon's back and he's right here."

"Kieren," Simon warns. It is not a chastisement, just an acceptance of the inevitable, but Kieren is not having any of it. He has something to say as he knows Simon will not be the one to confess what he is about to.

"How ever much yer blame him, believe me, it's not as much as he blames himself," he can feel himself getting worked up now. "What we did, what we all did after The Rising; living, undead, it don't matter. Cos it eats yer up inside. The guilt of it. Yer see their faces in the back of your eyelids everytime yer close your eyes. They're the last thing yer see just before yer go to sleep, and then they're the first thing you're aware of when yer wake in the morning."

"Kieren, leave it. It's okay," Simon says. He sounds defeated and it is up to Kieren to be strong now for both of them.

"No, hang on a minute," Kieren tells him and then focuses his attention back on Iain. "What Simon did, it wasn't his fault. Can't yer see that? We can't change the past, no matter how much we want to, but yer can't let it ruin the future either."

Iain shakes his head. He does not want to hear this.

"No," he shouts, slamming his glass down on the table as his whole body bristles. "I'm sorry, but my son's dead. I buried him. I grieved for him. And now…"

He looks at Simon and suddenly seems lost for words, like the fight has been knocked out of him.

The crux of the matter is, Iain has moved on. He has learned to accept what cannot be changed, but not in the way Kieren is suggesting.

Iain tries to find the words to explain and continues on more tentatively now.

"Yer have to understand, I've been given a second chance at life now, so I have. I have a family again; they're my future."

Simon nods in resignation at his father's words. It is what he expected, just not what he had dared to let himself hope for.

"I understand," he says and presses his lips together in a feeble attempt at a smile. "I do. And I'm glad for ye, dad. Ye deserve it."

He does deserve it, Simon accepts that.

But Simon does too.

They have that much in common and have both been blessed enough to have a new path laid out in front of them; new people in their lives and a second chance to love and be loved.

Iain moves his hand across the table and hovers it over Simon's for a second as if he is considering whether or not he wants to do this. Eventually he makes his decision and places his hand down on his son's. Simon knows his skin must feel cold to the touch, but Iain to his credit, does not flinch.

"It's for the best. A fresh start," he says, patting his hand, before taking it away again.

He looks purposely over at Kieren for the briefest of moments, and then finally back to Simon.

"For both of us," Iain concedes, and it may not be the happy ending Simon wanted, but he knows there is still a happy ending of another kind waiting for him.

It feels like closure, at the very least, for both of them.


The drive home to Roarton is a sombre event.

Amy occupies herself for the first half of the journey by switching between the radio stations on the car stereo looking for songs she likes until Philip complains, as tactfully as he can, that she is going to break the knob if she carries on like this the whole way home. Despite this, she does not criticise his driving once, although she does mutter a comment or two under her breath - but has at least turned the volume up on the radio loud enough for him not to catch any of what she is saying. There is a car bootful of her new purchases, half of which Philip has bought for her, and that is obviously compensation enough.

They stop off at a petrol station for Philip to refuel and when they get going again, Amy has swapped seats with Simon and is now sitting in the back with Kieren, in addition to a tube of sour cream and chive Pringles and a can of Red Bull. She crunches the crisps loudly and sulks that the weekend is coming to an end. Not that she will have to go to work the next day, although she is going to have to look into getting a job at some point.

Kieren watches the world go by out of the back passenger window while all this is going on, but his thoughts are on the night before.

Simon and he arrived back at the hotel after meeting with Iain. It was still early so they decided to go into the bar for a while. They sat on a sofa at the far end, out of the way of everyone else enjoying their Saturday night, and talked.

They talked about anything, they talked about nothing and everything, but the subject of what had happened during the day did not come up until they were alone in their hotel room.

The lights were off, but they had left the curtains open and the light pollution from the city lit up the room as well as any bedside lamp. Cover-up washed off and contact lenses removed, they were themselves again and they lay curled up against one another under the duvet, the rest of the world but a distant memory.

"Simon?" Kieren asked, disturbing the silence.

Simon was exhausted by the day's events and could barely manage a, "Hm?"

Kieren lifted his head from where it is laying on the crook of Simon's arm to look at him.

"How are yer feeling?"

"Tired," Simon mumbled again. "Ye forget, I'm not as young as you."

Kieren smiled. It always amazed him just how different Simon was when they were alone together.

"Not by that much," he pointed out. Simon was hardly an old man by comparison.

He kept his eyes shut, but the corners of his lips curl upwards. "Still wear me out, though."

"I find that hard to believe. Anyway, I wasn't talking about…"

"I know what you're talking about, Kieren," he interrupted, the pretence over.

"So are yer? Okay then?"

Simon turned his body towards Kieren and Kieren followed suit so they were facing each other.

They both looked at each other for a moment before Simon answered again.

"I'm okay."

"Is it what yer expected? How yer dad was?"

"Maybe. I guess," Simon sighed. His voice was quiet and Kieren was not sure if it was because he was sleepy or because he was disappointed and could not find the energy to go through it all so soon. "Didn't know what I was expecting, really."

"He knows you're alright now. Yer know he's alright. That's something, at least."

"Yeah, that's something."

"So?" Kieren was obviously not going to drop it.

If either of them had a hope of getting any sleep he may as well get his thoughts and emotions into some sort of order. Kieren came from a family who was well practiced at bottling things up and it never resulted in anything good, so he could understand why he was being unusually pushy on the subject now. So Simon bit the bullet and opened up.

"Relieved, if ye want to call it that; an overwhelming feeling of relief. Relieved he's been able to move on. After mum. After what I… after what happened."

Kieren wriggled up a little and propped himself up on his elbow. He laid his head on his hand, so he was a little above Simon now, and Simon got the impression of being scrutinized. He would be able to tell if he was holding anything back.

"And what about you?"

Simon laid back and looked up at the ceiling, evading his gaze, running his free hand through his hair.

"A second chance at life, that's what he said, and he's right. And although I don't deserve it, I've been given that too."

"Don't be talking like that, of course yer deserve it."

Simon turned his head and looked straight into Kieren's eyes. "Do I? Deserve you, do I?"

Kieren held his gaze and stared straight back. "Simon, if it weren't for you, I don't know where I'd be. Life means something for me again now, and that's not nothing. That's everything." And although he does not say, 'And it was you that helped me see that,' the words are there between them, all the same.

"Ye didn't need me for that, Kieren," Simon said, in response to the unspoken declaration.

"Yeah, I think I did as it happens," but Simon looked like he did not believe him, so Kieren persisted. "I'm here now because of it. I'm here with you and that's enough for me."

Simon's reply was automatic. "It's enough for me."

Kieren smiled down at him. "Then what else do we need for this fresh start of ours?"

"Nothing," Simon said, reaching up to touch Kieren's face, "I've got everything I want right here."


It is mid afternoon by the time they make it back to Roarton. The sun is going down and the sky is red in that 'shepherd's delight' kind of way. Sue used to tell that rhyme to Kieren and Jem as children - Red sky at night, shepherd's delight, red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning – so if true, fine weather the next day was a distinct possibility, and after all the grey of the city, the burst of colour is a welcome one.

Philip drives past the bus shelter in the middle of the village and follows the road up the hill, toward the bungalow and it is only when they pull into Conyers Road that they notice something is different. The usually quiet road has cars and vans parked up and down the street, on both sides, some parked half way on the pavement to make room for passing traffic.

Philip slows down. "Is there some kind of do going on?"

Most of the residents are elderly, so it is unlikely there is a party taking place and it cannot be a wake as if someone has died word would have got around long before the funeral, the village as small as it is.

"Don't think so," Simon says back to Philip who has now slowed the car down to little more than a crawl.

Simon sits up straighter in his seat to gain a better view of the street in front of them. He can see a crowd gathered ahead.

"What's happening?" Amy asks from the back, peering between the gap in the two front seats.

"Nothing good," Simon answers, as he sees whose home the group of people have congregated in front of.

Those on the fringes of the crowd nearest the road spot the car as it pulls up, and immediately come towards it. The four of them get out. Soon the rest have noticed and are following too. Before Philip, Simon, Amy and Kieren know it, they are surrounded.

"Amy Dyer," one of the strangers asks.

Amy is so surprised she answers without thinking, "Yes?"

A multitude of camera flashes go off in her face.

"Were you murdered by Victus?"

Amy puts her hand up to shield the bright lights from her eyes and squints underneath them to see as they begin to push their way towards the front door of the bungalow.

"Is it true that you've come back from the dead twice?" Another woman asks, thrusting a microphone towards her.

"Are you really Re-Alive now?" someone else shouts.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Amy says, taking hold of Philip's arm and clinging onto it as he pushes past them.

Simon and Kieren have taken up Amy's flank to try and shield her from the worst of it, but it is not just Amy the journalists are interested in as they are now concentrating their attentions on the two PDS in the group and ignoring the obviously living male.

"Which one of you two is Kieren Walker?" one reporter asks, but another has done better research and he tries to block Kieren's path.

"Is it true that you were the first to rise from your grave? Are you really The First Risen?"

Simon pushes a cameraman out of the way and brings his arm around Kieren's shoulders to steer him away from the reporters, all the while cameras and microphones are being pushed and shoved towards them.

"Simon Monroe?" someone else shouts, "How did you get involved with the ULA? Are you part of a terrorist plot? Are the ULA planning an attack on Roarton Valley?"

Amy fumbles to try and get the key into the lock and Philip takes it from her hand and unlocks the door, ushering the other three through.

"Come on," the journalists are shouting now, "Give us a statement?" and then more, "Don't you want your side of the story heard?"

Once the others are safely inside, Philip turns to the crowd for a moment as more flashes go off and says, "No comment," like he has seen dozens of times on the telly, before he disappears inside.

They can hear more calls from those outside as they sit in the living room. Philip has drawn the curtains to block out the faces peering in and Amy sits on the end of the sofa with her head in her hands. Kieren sits beside her with his arm around her back.

"What's going on?" she asks, through the tears that are starting to fall from her eyes.

"Must have been that reporter that was sniffing around?" Kieren says to Simon, rubbing Amy's back to try and calm her.

Simon is hunched forward on the armchair, thinking.

"No, he would have wanted to keep it to himself; not exactly an exclusive otherwise. No, this has come from somewhere else."

Philip frowns and turns toward Simon and Kieren. He does not know anything about this.

"A reporter? For who? When?"

Kieren is still trying to comfort Amy and nods silently for Philip to sit next to her and do the same.

"Someone from the Roarton Gazette came around last week asking questions. Amy and Jem saw him off," he says, as Philip sits down and takes over. Amy lays her head on his shoulder as he pulls his arm around her.

"The Roarton Gazette? Some of those out there were from the nationals," Philip observes.

"Great," Kieren signs, getting up to pace around the room. "What do we do now?"

"Well, we can't stay here," Amy says, pulling herself together and wiping her eyes.

Simon nods in agreement. "Amy's right, it's not safe. We should go until this has blown over."

Kieren has stopped pacing now and stares at Simon.

"Go where? There's nowhere to go?"

"Amy can come back to mine," Philip says, "I'll can take care of her there."

Both Simon and Kieren are relieved that Philip will keep her safe, but that does not solve their problem.

"Can't yer two go to Sue and Steve's," Philip asks hopefully. His mum will be only too happy for Amy to stay, but having Simon and Kieren kip over too might require a little more persuasion as they were short on room as it was now Tom had practically moved in.

"Me and my dad are not exactly on speaking terms at the moment," Kieren explains.

Simon moves to the window and peers through the gap in the curtains. The journalists do not look like they are going anywhere until they have their story.

"A B&B then?" Philip suggests, trying to be helpful.

"Around here?" Kieren answers doubtfully.

Philip looks at him, but does not answer. He has a point. The B&B's in Roarton are not exactly PDS friendly, even if Sandra and Clive have a relation who is a sufferer and living under their own roof.

Simon sighs, leaning his back on the window ledge and folding his arms. They have a refuge, but it would only be as a last resort. The problem is, they are now out of options.

"I know some place we can go," Simon finally says.

Kieren notes the reluctance in his voice and glances at him.

Simon's expression tells him everything he needs to know. Wherever he has in mind, is because they have no choice.


They have packed quickly, taking only the essentials they could easily carry, and gathered together in the hallway.

"Ready?" Philip asks.

All three nod, and despite the circumstances Amy cannot help but smile a little at Philip's assertiveness. Her big strong Knight has really taken charge of the situation.

When they get outside, some of the journalists have called it a day and the group has thinned out, but others are still hanging around and they rush towards them when they see their targets reappear. There is another burst of camera flashes and questions, but they are in the car and down the road before anyone has chance to follow them.

Simon instructs Philip where to drop Kieren and himself off, and they watch the car pull away as Philip and Amy head off towards Shirley's house and Philip's home.

It is almost dark now, but the walk to the Traveller's camp is made an easier one as they head towards the light. They can hear music playing and there is a bonfire lit that acts like a beacon.

As they get closer it occurs to Kieren how much larger it is than the first time they saw it on their way home from The Legion just a couple of weeks before. The ground the caravans and tents cover is extensive and there must literally be, not tens of people, but hundreds now. Even more have arrived since Simon's last visit and it looks like a music festival gathering, not a band of Travellers.

They hear dogs barking as they approach and Simon expects to see them bounding out of the gloom to meet them as they did before. Silhouettes of people begin to gather together as they notice their visitors and start to form a tight group at a gap between the caravans where Simon and Kieren are headed.

Kieren hesitates. The last thing they need is to find more trouble, but Simon looks back at him and gently tells him it is okay and to carry on.

As they arrive at the boundary of the camp of people - some living, more PDS – they stand shoulder to shoulder, blocking their path, but Simon is undeterred and continues forward. Kieren stays close to him as Simon wraps his hand around his forearm propelling him forward behind him.

Simon sees no face he recognises and although his stride is sure, he begins to wonder if this was in fact a mistake, but then suddenly the enormous group of people begin to separate. Like the parting of the Red Sea, they start to stand aside to allow them both entrance.

They both walk forward and these faces of strangers change from stony and hostile to warm and friendly as each person nods and speaks words of greeting as they pass by, and that is when they both notice there is someone standing at the very end of the tunnel they have been forging.

Kieren does not recognise him, but Simon knows him all too well.

Julian is waiting for them, smiling. His arms wide at his side, his palms open and facing forward like he was expecting them.

"Simon, Kieren, welcome home," he says and Kieren glances at Simon to find he is smiling too.

Zoe and Brian are standing at the sidelines, watching the scene play out from afar. Her face is beaming with satisfaction, but Brian looks worried.

"See, told yer it would work," Zoe says, barely concealing how proud she is of herself.

Brian looks unconvinced. They took an awful risk doing what they did.

"Yeah, and what happens if Simon finds out it was us that gave the press that tip off?"

She tuts at his negativity. "He won't, how could he? It were anonymous, wasn't it? Anyway, Julian said."

"Julian says a lot of things," Brian huffs.

He is shaking his head at her now, Zoe's naivety will land her in a lot of trouble one of these days. People take advantage and she does not even realise it.

"He said Simon belongs back with us, the Undead Prophet told him."

"And Kieren? Last we knew, Simon was meant to have offed him under the Undead Prophet's orders."

Zoe rolls her eyes at Brian. He just does not get it.

"No, because Kieren's special too."

She always finds it so easy to have such faith in what they tell her and he envies her ability to absorb it all like a sponge. Try as he might, he just needs a little more proof sometimes.

"But I thought Amy Dyer was meant to be The First," he asks, confused. He cannot keep up with all of this. One minute it is Kieren, then it is Amy, now it is back to Kieren, is it? True, he remembers Kieren above everyone else on that stormy night of The Rising - remembers the denim jacket he wore and was buried in - but he could not recall Amy at all.

Zoe shrugs. "Maybe it's bigger than that though? Maybe it's more important that that? Ever considered that, Brian?"

Her enthusiasm is infectious and he knows that is why he keeps going along with her hare-brained schemes.

They both watch as Julian leads Simon and Kieren away to a place beyond the crowd. Some of the others had been instructed to clear a caravan for them in preparation for their arrival, but not them. Julian had told them that they had already done their bit. He was proud of them and the Prophet, he was proud of them too. That was certainly reward enough as far as Zoe was concerned.

"The Prophet wants Simon and Kieren here, and now they are. And that's down to us," she continues, standing on tiptoes to try and catch sight of Julian and their new – or in Simon's case, returning – brothers.

"What are yer saying, something's coming?"

Zoe had spoken to him about being let into the inner circle, but as of yet, he did not see any of that being likely for either of them in the foreseeable. He had known Julian for some months now and he was very much 'on a need to know basis' sort of man.

"Looks that way, yeah. And Julian, he says that's why Simon never sacrificed Kieren like he was supposed to. Apparently, it was a test. Simon's no traitor. Simon sees things, he knows things."

Brian notices every time Zoe mentions Simon's name, she gets this misty eyed look in her eyes. It is the very same look she had when he first arrived in Roarton and was preaching the words of the Undead Prophet.

"Knows what? What things, Zoe?"

She looks back at him now and glares. Always so many questions!

"Look, I dunno, right? I just know, that there has to be a reason why Simon didn't go through with it in the end."

If Zoe has designs on Simon, she is sure barking up the wrong tree there – just like Amy before her. What was it about these women liking men who preferred other men?

"They're a couple, isn't that reason enough?" Brian points out. Obviously, it was beyond the realms of possibility for Zoe, that Simon might have come here on a mission to Roarton to seek out The First and then to sacrifice him - only by the time he had figured out who it was, it was too late - he could not go through with it, as he had fallen for him instead.

"Yeah, I know!" Zoe says sharply. She is not stupid. "Who says that's not the plan though, hm? All this time, Simon's been playing the long game."

Brian is still not buying it. He would do his bit for the ULA as much as the next undead man, but he drew the line at some things. And if Simon was not really gay, he was certainly more devoted to the cause than anyone else either of them knew.

"They look pretty cozy from where I'm standing."

Zoe looks back at him and grins.

"No, something's going on, Brian. And you and me, we're going to be right there when it happens."

They both look toward the caravan Julian has shown Simon and Kieren to. The lights are on inside and door is already shut. Brian may not believe the way Zoe does, but the fact that something was going on - and something big at that - he had to admit was undeniable for even him.


AUTHOR's NOTES:

This was meant to be a short chapter, but by the end I think it has resulted in being one of the lostest - if not the longest - chapter as yet! I have also kept to my four chapters is the equivalent of an episode plan, so to my mind this is the end of episode 2 in this story. That means we're a third of the way through now.

Couple of things, for those of you who are going to visit Dublin in the future and fancy seeing The Book of Kells, do book in advance, the queues of toursists despite what Iain says in this, are rather long. Secondly, I searched long and hard as to where it is stated that Simon died at 27 and was born in 1982. I can't find this information either on screen or in the scripts, but it seems to be considered as canon by fans, so I've stuck with that - although I find it a bit of a stretch that Simon is meant to look like he's in his late twenties. I'm the same age as Emmett as I certianly couldn't pass for 27 either! If anyone knows what the source of this is, please leave a comment and put me out of my misery :)

Thank you so much for following along. It will start to ramp up a gear from now on in.