Evan White adjusted his tie in a quick practiced movement. He looked good, with the confidence which springs from such deep buried knowledge, his self conceit was so perfect as to appear to be humility. He'd arrived, precisely as bidden, at 6.30pm, for a light repast to be followed by tickets to a concert.
He could hear the sound of feet coming towards the door, his perfectly practiced, polite, friendly but not too friendly, smile slid into place and he raised his hand.
The door swung open.
Evan's jaw dropped, his equilibrium slipped, and he stood, hand frozen in mid air.
"Good evening, Mr White." The voice was exactly as he remembered it. Gene Hunt... impossible. He gazed up at the unexpected and unwelcome apparition. Then his solicitor's savoir faire rose up automatically, recovering his position and his equilibrium, he shook hands with Gene. "Good evening, Mr Hunt. I had no idea you were joining us." He stepped past the larger man into the cool hallway.
Alex stepped from the kitchen. "Evan, you really shouldn't have," she accepted the offered flowers with good grace, and just a hint of mischief, put that in your pipe and smoke it Gene Hunt. She flicked a glance up at her "imaginary construct", Gene's profile appeared carved in stone. "Dinner will be another five minutes."
Evan, had by this time regained all of his customary calm, "Alex", she turned towards him, "have you forgotten something?" She frowned, as though drawing a blank. "The concert. I have tickets."
Alex looked stricken and slightly confused. "Tickets?" Covering well, "Oh, Evan, I am sorry, I had completely forgotten. And then there's Molly." She trailed off.
Evan's protestations were already to rise to his lips, when help came from an unexpected quarter.
"I'll stay with her."
Alex looked startled. "You?"
"Yes me. I admit I'm not exactly Grandma, but I'm not exactly the Big Bad Wolf either." he glanced down at her prim white shirt and grey trousers, "Little Red Bolly Knickers." Alex's eyebrows snapped together, once again he'd wrong footed her, only this time it was in front of Evan.
Evan sprang in, relieved to have got what he wanted.
"Well that's settled then." He moved towards the dining table. Alex subsided. She looked long and hard at Gene, wondering what exactly was running through his mind this time.
Gene was feeling the need to put some space between Miss Bolly Knickers and himself before things went up in smoke. He needed to establish where and when he was, now I'm starting to sound like Sam Tyler. He followed Evan to the dining table.
"Molly..." Alex called her daughter.
"Just coming..." scampering feet on the stairs. Alex paused, in a trance, heart bursting with love and pride. My Molly.
Molly slipped her hand into her mother's, sensing without words the need for contact. She smiled happily up at her mother.
"Look who's here." Alex's voice held a slight tremble, overcome with the sudden flush of emotion. She was home.
"Evan." Molly smile split into a beam of delight and she threw herself forward trustingly into Evan's arms. In that second of contact, Alex noticed two things, that Evan seemed slightly uncomfortable with Molly's enthusiasm, and that Gene was less than enthusiastic with Evan's reception of her daughter.
Alex silently thanked heavens that dinner was over, as she settled into the passenger seat of Evan's BMW. It had been stilted at best, and Alex also thanked heavens for her daughter's presence and chatter. Without Molly it would have been a complete disaster. And what is wrong with Evan? She glanced sideways at him, outwardly at least he was the same Evan, the one she had always known, and still do know... Alex found herself unwilling to examine the realities of what she had learned about their relationship. It's all in my mind. She settled back against the seat, annoyed with herself, but relieved to be out, away from another problem that was plaguing her mind. The reasons she felt unhappy with her return to her life were something else she could ignore for the time being.
Gene slumped down onto the sofa. "What do you want to do now, little Miss Molly."
"Can we watch a movie?" Molly grabbed for the remote. Glanced up at him hesitantly and then handed it over. Gene glanced down at something completely alien. "I'm feeling tired love, you choose." he quickly handed it back before it bit him. It was starting to dawn on him that this may be about half past seven on a Thursday evening, but this Thursday was totally foreign to him. Covered it well, though. He shifted into a more comfortable position and settled back to watch. Might even pick up some clues, jeez, beginning to sound like Sherlock frigging Holmes...
Molly slid down the saved movie list rapidly, You've Got Mail, excellent! She pressed the appropriate buttons. Then settled back. It seemed entirely natural to cuddle back against a large solid comforting presence on the sofa next to her. A heartbeat's pause, and a strong arm went round her shoulders, Molly smiled, this feels good.
The film was a romantic comedy, which for a man whose last foray into the world of cinema was Popeye Doyle chasing around France after a poncey low life who'd pumped him full of something very nasty indeed, was a true endurance test. One thing that Gene had picked up, everyone now seemed to be communicating by computer. This was something that he'd picked up at dinner, email, what the heck is that... Well now he knew. What it was, at any rate.
He knew he was going to have to work out how to survive in this world. Communicating would be a good start. Ask Bolly...no way...ask Molly he looked down at his little companion. Hmmm, possible. "Well Moll, have you got mail too?"
"Of course!" her innocent little face looked up at him. A thought niggled at the back of his mind that he was taking advantage of a child, but he squashed it down. He was feeling fragile in the presence of Bolly right now, assume the defensive position, she already thinks she knows it all. "I'll show you."
Levering himself upright, he followed her upstairs, only much more slowly. The feeling of hot and cold had returned, and his arm ached. Ten minutes later, he was submerged in learning something about the twenty first century, and it was one big blur to him.
Two hours later, Alex Drake let herself in her own front door and wondered at the quiet. She set the alarm, turned the lights off and mounted the staircase. Pausing in her daughter's doorway, she was slightly startled by the sight of her feisty nine year old, in bed, fast asleep, and her large, inconvenient, imaginary construct, slumped in the chair next to the bed, also fast asleep. Tamping firmly down on thoughts of tenderness, she gave him a nudge. He grunted and shifted position. Damn. She nudged a little harder. Another grunt, another slight shift. He was out for the count. She tiptoed out, removed the spare quilt from the spare bedroom and returned. Covering him, she reached over and switched off the screen.
Alex returned to her own bedroom, thoughts whirling in her head. What am I going to do with him tomorrow. What is going on. She climbed into bed and fell back against the pillows. Sleep, that's all I need. It's a dream. It will all be allright in the morning. She really didn't want to think of the alternatives.
A quiet bell sounded next to her ear. Followed a split second later by an ear splitting screech. "what..." She sat bolt upright. It took a moment for her to collect her scrambled thoughts sufficiently to recollect that the ear splitting shriek was the house alarm and that it would be waking her neighbours. Alex bailed out of bed, grabbing her housecoat as she fled, struggling into it and trying to do it up as she negotiated the stairs.
"Hell and damnation." He was stood there, glaring at the box. "Bolly, all I wanted was a swift ciggie, and I got the End of the World is Nigh. Dammit, shut that thing off."
It was true. Gene Bloody Hunt was not a figment of her imagination. There he was, large as life and twice as unnatural, stirring feelings in her that she didn't want, and did want and... and...
"Bolly." the impatience in his tone flicked at her nerve endings. "Alarm!" He jabbed an emphatic finger upwards.
Without a word, she opened the cupboard door behind her. "Look." She punched in the code. Blissful silence.
"Remember it for next time." She retorted airily. Alex was in control.
Gene had had a lousy night, his sleep had been fitful and full of weird dreams. All he wanted was a ciggie and a cuppa. Then he wanted to find the address on the printed calling card in his pocket. He couldn't remember picking it up, or being given it, and it piqued his curiosity. Since the best way to achieve those ends was through this bossy, cocky, all fur coat and no knickers, smart alec, crack brained halfwit, he would have to be patient. Controlling his temper with effort, he neatly compartmentalised her response as women's trouble, to be filed away for future non use.
"Bolly. Tea?" he schooled his features into an expression he rather hoped she would recognise as conciliatory.
Alex was immediately concerned by the wince that crossed his normally deadpan features, and her mood softened. He was in pain. She was home. She could afford to be generous.
"Tea it is." She turned and entered the kitchen.
Pleased with the results of his unexpected foray into the world of the female human brain, Gene followed.
Some miles away, Don Bradley, poured himself a fresh coffee and settled back in his chair to wait. He'd been feeling good about today. He wasn't quite sure way, but it felt like a day when something was going to happen.
Life had been good to Don. He'd ridden the wave at the top of the eighties, getting in on the ground floor of the music business he'd worked his way up, and watched and waited, then branched out on his own with a radical new label which musicians had jumped at. His artists were making money, and so was he. Life was good, but there was a sense of incompleteness, which had grown with the years. Now 35, he was at the top of his game.
To think where it all began. He reached down to the bottom draw of his beautiful desk, running his fingers appreciatively over the fine wood, as he always did, he pulled the drawer open.
A simple walkman player, a very old design, lay within. He took it out, cherishing it. From such humble acorns...