Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes or A Christmas Carol.
Renewed thanks to everyone who's reading, alerting, faveing and (especially) reviewing. It's all so much appreciated. I hope you all enjoy this Stave - please keep the feedback coming!
After this chapter, I'll try to post one more before Christmas.
"Nelson? What the bloody'ell are you doing 'ere? Don't tell me you're the second of Mac's three spirits."
"That's right, Mr Hunt. Have some punch."
Gene took a glass and sipped it cautiously. I was right. Tastes innocent enough, but it's got a kick like a City forward. He noticed that Nelson's Jamaican accent had faded to a gentle Lancashire burr. He recalled Sam saying once, that Nelson used to drop the accent when they talked together. "But you're not dead."
"Ah, but I was always a bit of a spirit guide to young Sam. He understood that. Don't you remember what Mr Mackintosh said? One living, two dead, one from Heaven, one from Hell."
"So you're the living one? But 'ow come you're in London?"
"My body's asleep in bed in my flat above the Railway Arms while my spirit's here on police business."
"Police business?"
"Your business, then. Same thing." He took the empty glass from Gene's unresisting hand. "Come on."
"So, why are you 'ere?"
"My assignment tonight is to show you how the people you know are celebrating Christmas this year."
As he spoke, the kitchen vanished, and they were standing in a large function room. Decorations hung from the walls and ceiling, a substantial Christmas tree stood at one end, and tables laid for dinner stood around the walls, but at that moment the focus of attention was on the centre of the room, where about thirty children, all around ten years old, were mobbing a thin and terrified-looking Father Christmas.
"Wants more padding," Gene said judiciously.
"You know him." Nelson grinned mischievously.
A small hand tugged at an insecure white beard, and it slipped for a moment beforeits owner pulled it firmly back into place.
"Bloody 'ell! Evan White!"
"That's right."
"But what's a poncey lawyer doin' givin' out the ho-ho-hos?" His eyes were already scanning the crowd of children for one whom he knew would be there.
"Alex Price was lonely on Christmas Day last year, so this year he wanted her to have a party, but all her friends had their own family celebrations. So he had a word with the local childrens' home, hired this hall, and threw this party for thirty kids of her age. Including Alex."
Gene had located his little lady, shrieking with excitement as she raced around the perimeter of the group surrounding the hapless Santa. "Looks like it's done the trick. Mind you," he added with a chuckle,"I wonder 'ow many of 'em still believe in Santa, at that age?"
"Kids'll do anything for a pressie," said Nelson knowingly.
Helpers, presumably from the childrens' home, managed to get the kids to form something like an orderly queue, and Evan/Santa gave out a present to each one before leaving with a cheery wave. Gene spotted him creeping back into the room later, wearing one of his usual smart suits, while the children were being served their turkey and trimmings, with Christmas pudding to follow. His heart ached as he remembered his own ruined tenth Christmas.
"They'd have liked to invite you," Nelson said softly. "She often talks about her Gene Genie, and you could have helped keep 'em in order."
Gene smiled faintly. "By threatening to come round to their house and stamp on all their toys?" He shook his head. "I'd be out of place at a kids' party, an' it's best she never sees me again. I'd remind 'er of the day 'er parents died. But I 'ope she knows I'll always be there for'er if she needs me."
"You will see her again, mon brave, and you'll be there for her." Nelson spoke with certainty. "But be careful. The day may come when you fail her just as she needs you most."
A spirit guide. For no reason that he could name, a chill ran down Gene's spine. "What the 'ell are you talking about?"
"That's for me to know and you to find out," said Nelson enigmatically.
"God, I 'ope not. I've failed one Alex already, an' that's enough," Gene said, very low, the memory of her sad hazel eyes haunting him again.
After dinner, some entertainers kept the children happy for half an hour while they digested their meal. Little Alex shrank away from a white-faced clown who vaguely resembled David Bowie. Of course. She remembers that the cassette player was playing Ashes to Ashes when the car went up. She much preferred a conjurer who was "assisted" by a glove puppet rabbit wearing an Australian bush hat. Later there was a disco, which lasted for a couple of hours until the tired, excited kids were packed into a bus to take them back to the childrens' home, and Evan drove Alex home.
"Did you enjoy your party, Alex?" said Evan, as she snuggled against him in the car.
"Oh, yes, thank you, Evan, it was lovely. Can we have another next year?"
He smiled. "If you want it then, of course we can."
"Evan."
"Yes?"
"I know you were Father Christmas."
"Oh, dear. I had hoped my disguise was better than that."
"Your white beard slipped, but I knew before that. You can't disguise how you move your hands, or the way you walk."
"That's very clever of you. Maybe you'll be a detective when you grow up."
"That's what I want. Ladies can be detectives, can't they? Like that pretty lady at the station, with the Gene Genie."
"Yes."
"Did you enjoy playing Father Christmas?"
"Shall I tell you a secret? I'd rather have to cross-examine a dozen hostile witnesses than go through that again."
"That's a pity. You were a very good Father Christmas."
"Thank you."
There was a short silence.
"Evan, can Charlotte come to tea sometime?"
"Who's Charlotte?"
"She was sitting next to me at dinner. She's so nice."
He smiled again. "I'm sure we can arrange that. I'll talk to the people at the childrens' home."
By the time they got home, Alex was asleep. Gene and Nelson watched as Evan garaged the car and carried the sleeping child indoors.
"Looks like the rest of her Christmas presents'll have to wait till tomorrow," Nelson observed.
"Good bloke," said Gene approvingly. "I know I 'aven't liked 'im in the past, but 'e's done bloody well today."
Nelson shrugged. "He's spent a load of money. What's special about that?"
"It's not the cash, it's what 'e's done with it," Gene said warmly. "Little Alex 'as 'ad 'er party an' she's made a new friend, an' thirty other kids 'ave 'ad a good Christmas too. That's a good bloke, even if 'e is a lefty lawyer."
Nelson spread his hands wide in a gesture of defeat. "Let's see how some other people you know are spending Christmas."
They passed through the darkening streets, as empty as a ghost town except where churches were open for evening services, with open doors revealing pinpoints of warmth and brightness in the increasing gloom, the pealing of bells sometimes the only sound in the frosty air. Elsewhere, they passed pubs, hotels and restaurants open for business and heard Christmas sing-songs around pub pianos. Every other window seemed to boast a Christmas tree or a display of fairy lights, and the houses they passed were full of warmth and laughter. The occasional car ferried people to and from visits to relatives and friends. A dingy green Vauxhall, which Gene recognised as one of the Fenchurch pool cars, stopped outside a block of flats in Southwark and Alex and Chris got out. Chris led Alex up the stairs, unlocked a front door, and proudly showed her into a small flat. Gene and Nelson followed, passing through the closed door - bloody hell, I'm getting blasé about all this.
Shaz walked back and forth in the small living room, her six-week-old daughter on her shoulder, carefully winding her. Her face bore the pasty look of one who has forgotten what a night of unbroken sleep is like, and there were heavy, dark rings beneath her eyes. Every time she tried to lay the baby in the Moses basket, it set up a thin, uneasy wail, and she had to rock it gently. She kept glancing anxiously towards the kitchen, and was just about to go out there, still holding the baby, when she heard the key in the lock, and Chris and Alex came in.
"Chris! Ma'am! I wasn't expecting you yet!"
"Boss nicked a pool car to get us 'ome quickly,"said Chris, kissing her.
"Merry Christmas, Shaz." Alex, her arms full of parcels, reached around the baby to kiss Shaz on the cheek. "It's lovely to see you again. How are you, and how's Tammy?"
"I'm good, Ma'am." Shaz's exhausted appearance belied her words. "But I'll be better when Tammy learns to sleep a bit longer." As if to emphasise the point, the baby began to cry again, and Shaz nearly wept too, with weariness and frustration. "Oh, no, not again. I've got to go and see to the dinner, or it'll spoil!"
Gene stirred uneasily as Shaz's wail reminded him of his mother's dread of ruining the meal, even after his father had struck her. "Drake was right. I punished Shaz as well, not letting Chris 'ave the day off. Big day for 'er, first Christmas as a wife an' mum, an' she's too knackered to enjoy it, dealin' with the kid an' the dinner. She didn't deserve that."
Nelson regarded him, bright-eyed. "Did Chris deserve to be punished?"
Gene could not answer.
"Will you let me take care of Tammy, while you see to the food?" Alex said shyly, setting her parcels down beneath the tree. "I know about babies."
"Oh, thank you, Ma'am, if you will," said Shaz gratefully. "Chris does his best, but he always makes her cry."
"What can I do?" said Chris hopefully.
"You can mix the bread sauce and the gravy, get that monster turkey out of the oven to rest, lay the table, get the wine out of the fridge and drain the sprouts," Shaz said briskly. She gave the small, whimpering bundle into Alex's arms and marched out into the kitchen. Chris followed in her wake, pausing only to turn out the light, leaving the living room illuminated by the tree lights and the glow of the electric fire.
"Hope you don't mind, Ma'am," he said softly."She gets off to sleep quicker in the dark." Alex nodded, and he left.
"Well, Tammy," she murmured as she settled onto the sofa with the baby in her arms, "maybe your Daddy knows more about babies than your Mummy gives him credit for."
Tammy's only response was another thin wail. Alex began to rock her gently, crooning a lullaby. Gene watched, moved beyond words, as he saw a side of Alex that he had never witnessed before. Once, in thoughtless anger, he had accused her of neglecting her daughter. Now he saw her as a mother. It was as though time stood still in the darkened room, with Alex's soft voice the only sound, and the light from the tree and the fire illumining her like a halo. Gene wanted the moment to last forever.
Nelson touched his arm and nodded towards the area in front of Alex, and suddenly he became aware of another source of light there. It slowly solidified into the figure of a little girl with long, fairish hair. She wore a party dress and held a plate, upon which stood a birthday cake with twelve brightly burning candles. To Gene, the image seemed blurry and out of focus, as though it were seen on a badly-tuned TV. Alex looked up and gasped.
"Molly!" Her voice was husky with emotion and longing. "Oh, my darling. It's been so long since I've seen you. Over a year, since the shooting. I thought I saw you then, when I was in a coma. I know now that it was only another hallucination. I'd almost given up hope of ever seeing you again. But I promise I'll never give up hope, I'll never stop fighting."
The little girl did not move or even blink. It gave Gene the creeps.
"You didn't disappear when I looked at you," Alex said softly. "Does that mean that I'm closer to death? Or that someone's fighting for me? How much time has passed with you since I was shot? Is it Christmas where you are? If it is, I hope you have a happy Christmas, even though I'm not there. Oh, Mols, just because I'm here, holding someone else's daughter in my arms, it doesn't mean that I don't want you, it doesn't mean that I don't love you and miss you as much as ever. Oh, Mols..."
The little girl smiled, shook her head slightly, held the birthday cake out towards Alex, and took a deep breath.
"No!" Alex's voice was high with panic. "No, Molly, please don't blow the candles out, please - "
The little girl blew the candles out, and vanished in that moment. Alex bowed her head over the sleeping Tammy and wept, silently and bitterly.
"Was that a ghost we just saw?" he demanded of Nelson.
Nelson shrugged. "Could be."
"That must 'ave been 'er daughter," he said, very low. "A ghost. Her daughter's dead. That's why she never talks about 'er, never phones 'er, never tries to see 'er. But why didn't she just tell me?"
Nelson shrugged again. "Would she want to?"
"In denial", Gene continued, more to himself than to Nelson."That was what she said about a case of ours once. A bloke who wouldn't accept that 'is wife was divorcing 'im, an' took 'er hostage. She can't accept that 'er kid's dead. That's why she talked about the future. About going 'ome to 'er. As though, if she did go back, she'd find 'er daughter alive. Oh, Christ, I told 'er she was cold. She'll never forgive me for this, Nelson, never."
"Never's a long time, mon brave," said Nelson quietly. "It's been a year since you apologised and she wouldn't accept it. Isn't it worth trying again now?"
"D'you think she'd 'ear me out?" said Gene bitterly. "Or don't you know what she said then?"
"Yes, I know. But remember, she was upset then, and in pain. You know, people can say things they don't mean, when they're angry. Just as you did."
Gene blenched. "Don't remind me."
"Have you been very forgivable, this past year?"
Gene shook his head. "Nah."
"Try it. Remember what Mr Mackintosh said - while a man still lives, it is never too late to change his course. And don't you think she needs someone?"
Where I'm needed. "Yeah." Gene was gazing at Alex, who had laid Tammy down in the Moses basket and was rocking to and fro, hugging herself as though in pain. He ached to take her in his arms and comfort her.
The door opened and Chris crept in. "Dinner's ready, Ma'am. Ma'am? Are you all right?"
Alex resolutely wiped her eyes and stood up."Yes, thank you, Chris. I - I was just thinking, how long it is since I held my own daughter in my arms. She's so far away."
"Sorry, Ma'am." Chris was sympathetic but uncomprehending. "Well done, you got Tammy to sleep. More than I can do. We'll leave her there, she sleeps best like this." Alex nodded, rose, and followed him out of the room.
On the small kitchen table, the eighteen pound turkey, roasted to a golden turn, looked like the Taj Mahal in a suburban back garden. Even after Chris had carved off mountains of meat for Shaz, Alex and himself, there was enough left for a platoon. The smell of the chestnut stuffing tickled Gene's nose, and the sausages, bacon curls, potatoes, sprouts, bread sauce and gravy were all perfect. Shaz had excelled herself. All three tucked in like starving wolves. Shaz had sensibly provided only a small pudding, and while she was out of the room checking on Tammy, Chris incautiously admitted to Alex that Shaz had bought it at Marks and Sparks.
"For Heaven's sake don't let her know that you told me," Alex whispered. "She'd kill you."
"Yeah, you know she's a crack shot," Chris said cheerfully, and turned scarlet as Alex looked away.
Great, Gene thought grimly. DC Skelton wins Most Tactful Copper Of The Year Award yet again. Doesn't the twonk remember she was shot, and who did it ?
When at length they had finished eating, Chris poured out wine for all of them and stood, looking very proud and important.
"Ladies and - er, ladies, The Queen!"
"The Queen!" Shaz and Alex rose, and all three drank.
"Absent friends," Chris said solemnly. "May their memory be ever green." They all looked at one another.
"Tyler," said Chris, and drank.
"Uncle Joseph," said Shaz, and drank.
"Molly," said Alex huskily, and drained her glass.
"Ladies, recharge your glasses!" Chris poured out more for Shaz, who didn't need it, and for Alex, who did. "The Guv!"
"NO!" Shaz slammed her glass down so hard that the wine slopped onto the tablecloth, and Chris quailed visibly before her fury. "I am not drinking to him!"
"Shaz - "
"No, Chris. He's made your life hell. I know you made a bad mistake, but you've spent a whole year since then making good, and that miserable bastard has done nothing but punish you again and again. The dogs at the station get treated better than you. You should be looking for promotion, but he won't let you. I just can't understand why you're still loyal to him, after everything that's happened. He's given you all the shit tasks, he's belittled you at every turn, he wouldn't come to the wedding, didn't even send a present or a card, and now he hasn't let us spend Tammy's first Christmas together. I'm not going to drink to him!"
"Shaz." Chris spoke quietly but firmly, with an air of maturity and authority that Gene had never seen in him before. "You're right, it has been hard this past year. But remember, he should have reported me when he found out what I'd been doing. Instead, he dealt with it internally, just as he did with Ray after Billy Kemble's death. Ray got a demotion, and I didn't even get that. When the investigating team searched Summers' flat and found his diary, there was an entry that named me as his contact inside the station. They questioned the Guv and asked him why he hadn't reported me. He said that I'd told him what was happening when Summers first contacted me, and that he'd ordered me to work on both sides to get evidence against the Rose team, but that I'd buggered it up and he'd had to pretend I'd been caught taking bungs, to avoid blowing the cover on the whole operation, because he didn't know at that time whether anyone else at the station was involved. If it hadn't been for him, I'd have been prosecuted and I'd be in jail now. Then there'd have been no wedding and no Tammy. I betrayed him, Shaz. I'd been like a son to him, and I destroyed his faith in me and in everyone else. I'll carry that knowledge with me all my life. But in spite of that, he protected me. It would have been the end of his career as well as mine, if anyone had found out. Yeah, he's been giving me a bad time. But he's stuck with me, so I'm sticking with him, and it'll come right in the end. Because he's the Guv."
The table seated four. Three places were occupied. As though I should be in the empty one. Gene leaned against the empty chair and bowed his head. He could not meet Nelson's eye.
"In spite of all I've said an' done to 'im..." he muttered.
"Yeah, he's made more than his fair share of mistakes, but his heart's in the right place," said Nelson quietly.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Shaz and Chris looked each other in the eye, and Gene felt that Alex was waiting as tensely as he, for the inevitable explosion. But in the end, it was Shaz who looked at the floor.
"Yeah. All right."
Chris smiled as he recognised her quotation of the words with which she had once answered his proposal. "Thanks, love."
Shaz picked up her glass and drank. "The Guv. May he have a merry Christmas." For the life of her, she could not keep an edge of vindictiveness from her voice.
"The Guv." Gene's heart skipped a beat as he heard the warmth in Alex's voice and saw how her eyes sparkled.
Nelson laid his hand on Gene's arm. "Come on, we've got to go."
"Eh? Can't we stay an' see 'em open their presents?"
"No. Lots more places for us to visit."
They were in a comfortable if shabby living room which Gene recognised as Ray's. The man himself sat on the sofa, his arm around yet another bosomy blonde. They were watching the Queen's Christmas message on TV, but that didn't stop the girl snuggling closer into Ray's embrace or him nuzzling a kiss into her fair hair. The coffee table in front of them was piled high with presents. Gene inspected them.
"Denim aftershave - gold chain, could be 'is or 'ers - lambswool polo neck sweater - VHS set of The Professionals - perfume - silk scarf - book on gardening?"
"Looks like Ray's found a girl with outdoor tastes," said Nelson thoughtfully.
"Yeah, plant in a warm bed an' leave undisturbed for several days."
The TV played the National Anthem as the Queen's message ended. Ray grabbed the girl in a clinch and reached for the remote to switch the TV off.
Nelson touched Gene's arm again, and they were in Viv's house. It looked as though the whole of his extended family had packed into his suburban semi for the day, and the place was alive with adults and children of all ages. Gene and Nelson had to dive out of the way several times as one or more guests scooted past. Viv, at the centre of the merry mayhem, looked postively patriarchal. His wife looked merely shattered.
"All right for 'im, 'e doesn't 'ave to cook an' clean up after twenty-six cousins," Gene remarked. "Behind every successful man stands an exhausted bird."
The scene changed again, and they stood in a large room which Gene recognised as the dining hall of Wormwood Scrubs. The inmates sat at the long tables, making short work of their Christmas dinner. Gene noted with pleasure that the assembled company included a number whom he had nailed: Simon Neary, as handsome and arrogant as ever; Doctor Battleford, looking cowed and terrifed by his surroundings; Chas Cale, a dessicated shadow of his former self; Edward Markham, limping miserably to his place at table.
"One of the biggest collections of bastards you could hope to meet," Nelson observed. "But even they know how to enjoy their Christmas."
Gene searched in vain for one face. "Where's John Carnegie?"
"In the infirmary. Got on the wrong end of a knife from an inmate whom he'd sent down. It's hard, being a copper in this place."
"Yeah." Gene's blood ran cold as he remembered how close he had come to being tried and sent down for shooting Alex. He pushed the thought away. "What about Fearless Freddie Higgins?"
"In his cell, pissed on hooch. He'd set up a still in the prison laundry, but even he didn't realise how strong the stuff would be," said Nelson with a grin. "Another way of celebrating Christmas. He'll be missed in a few minutes, when they realise he hasn't shown up for dinner. Then it's the infirmary for him too. They'll have to pump him out. Come on."
Gene lost count of the places to which Nelson took him that night. They stood in a Christmas shelter for the homeless, where volunteers gave shivering vagrants a hot meal and a bed for the night, with medical checks, haircuts and entertainments. All ways of making them feel more human. They visited the childrens' ward of a large hospital. A surgeon, who looked as if he were normally very fierce, put on a Father Christmas robe and beard before entering the ward, and Gene was touched to see how he toured about the beds of the children who were too sick to move, with a present, a kindly word, and a pat on the head for each one. In the adult wards, the atmosphere was less frenetic, but still festive, with drinks, festive nibbles, and games to accompany the inevitable turkey. They saw an old peoples' home, where helpers encouraged the frail and often confused residents to join in the festivities. Carol singers arrived, and Gene heard one helper whisper to another, with tears in her eyes, "Can you hear? Mrs Sinclair's singing with them. None of us has heard her say a word since she was brought here eight months ago. That's what Christmas has done for her."
"Yeah, an' what has it ever done for me?" Gene growled.
"More to the point," said Nelson mildly, "what have you done for it?"
Gene didn't answer, but Nelson's question set him thinking. In so many of the places they visited that night, they witnessed the sense of peace and goodwill engendered by the season, inspiring people to help each other. Making each others' lives better. He had always prided himself on making things better for the law-abiding: that was a copper's job. But when he had been hurt, he had retreated to his den to lick his wounds, spurning all offers of assistance and conciliation. He did not feel proud of that.
He had forgiven Mac. So why could he not forgive Chris?
Because of Alex.
The struggle with Mac had brought him closer to Alex than ever before, and amid the bitterness of the battle, he had cherished that. Chris's betrayal had left him unable to trust Alex, and had driven them apart. But he had just learned that in rejecting Alex, he had abandoned a grieving woman who could not come to terms with the loss of her child, just when she may have needed him most. And he had just witnessed Chris's unchanged loyalty.
It's not too late. Mac said so. That's why he gave me this chance. If I could forgive him, I can forgive Chris, and ask Chris and Bolly to forgive me.
He was so deep in thoughtthat he barely noticed their final port of call, a Christmas party on an ocean-going liner just leaving Southampton, before he and Nelson stood in a dark, open space illuminated only by the occasional ray of moonlight.
"Blimey, not much of a party going on 'ere, is there?"
"Not much," Nelson agreed.
"So why are we 'ere?"
"It's nearly midnight. I've got to leave you here to rendezvous with Number Three."
"What, not back at my office?"
"No, sorry about that. Orders."
"Now, come on, Nelson, you are not going to park me miles from anywhere with no way of getting 'ome - "
Midnight began to strike. Nelson grasped his hand. "Time's up, Mr Hunt. Got to go. Goodbye and good luck, mon brave. Remember, if ever you're back in Manchester, there'll be a pint waiting for you on the bar at the Railway Arms." He turned and walked away.
"NELSON! Come back!"
Nelson turned back once, waving his farewell. Then, like Sam before him, he was swallowed up by the darkness as the last chime sounded.
Gene sensed that he was not alone. He turned and stared into the darkness, and his straining eyes made out what looked like a billowing robe slowly drifting towards him - or maybe a shroud? His blood ran cold. Get a grip on yourself, Hunt. As the drifting mass came nearer, it solidified into the figure of a tall, spare man, who wore a black overcoat which swirled about him. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the face as he approached.
"Good evening, Mr Hunt. My name is Martin Summers."
TBC