"Bye Mols, have a good day", Alex told her daughter as she gave her a quick hug and watched her walk out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

"Are you joking Mum? I have double French first!" Molly shouted over her shoulder. "See you later, try and get some more rest. I'll come straight home after school."

"Yes Mum", Alex mocked with a roll of her eyes.

Once she heard the front door slam shut, Alex dumped the half eaten piece of toast she had been nibbling for appearances sake in front of Molly in the bin. Really not hungry. The truth was she felt a little sick. Hardly surprising, she told herself. I've been in a coma, pumped full of drugs, had . . . disturbing . . . dreams and spoken about a fictitious world to my very real daughter like a crazy person.

With a heavy sigh, Alex looked around the kitchen in which she now stood. The kitchen that had been her kitchen for more years than she cared to remember. Her mind wandered back to times spent in this kitchen with Pete before he walked out on her, with Molly as she grew up, and more recently with a teenage Molly and Evan. Evan. He had been her father for so much of her life. He'd always been there for her since the death of her parents. A tragedy that once again felt raw in Alex's heart as she thought about that day. The day her father had blown himself and her mother up to try and keep them together. Although the daughter in her felt grief and shame and hate towards her father for what he did, the rational, educated psychologist within her could understand where his actions had come from.

But how could Evan keep what really happened that day secret from me for so many years? He never told me. Will he ever tell me? After coming downstairs with Molly that morning, she had found a note on the fridge from Evan, stating that he had had to go into work but would be back around 6pm to see how she was doing. He had also reminded her that a nurse from the hospital would be coming over at around 2pm to see how she was doing after her questionable discharge from the ward.

She suddenly felt very lonely. The house was silent around her. Needing something to occupy her mind, Alex reached for the phone off the wall and dialled the police station, reading the number that she couldn't remember off the piece of paper that she had pinned to the board under the phone for Molly and Evan if they ever needed her in an emergency.

***

Putting the phone down a good twenty minutes later, Alex felt a little surge of energy as she replayed the conversation she had just had in her head. DCI Taylor was still in charge at the station. Of course he is, she admonished herself, it's only been two weeks.

Anyway, Mark Taylor had been happy to hear from her, wished her a speedy recovery and assured her that her job was still available to her just as soon as she was ready. At least I still have a job.

She thought about going back to her old station. It's not my 'old' station, it's just 'my' station, Alex reminded herself, as she tried not to think about Fenchurch East and more specifically, the people who worked at that station. Alex let out a little chuckle at herself. Fenchurch East. A station that only exists in your head full of people that your subconscious conjured up because of stories you heard from an ex-copper who committed suicide.

But now she had started, she couldn't seem to shake the thoughts of Sam, Fenchurch East and 1981 from her mind. Time flew past as she sat there, mulling things over and over in her mind, until an idea began to take shape. Bolting out into the hallway with a renewed sense of purpose she grabbed the Yellow Pages from the cupboard by the stairs and went back into the kitchen to find the phone.

An hallucination? Coma-induced dream? Fictitious characters? Well, there's one way to find out, she thought as she thumbed her way through the phone book to the page she was looking for.

It can't be this easy can it? Her breath stopped and her heart missed a beat as she found the name she was looking for?

Picking up the phone once again, she felt her hand shaking as she ouched in the correct numbers and placed the handset to her ear. After ringing for a few seconds, Alec heard the line connect and an older woman's voice answer "Hello?"

"Hello" Alex managed to squeak out before trying to swallow the lump that ha formed in her throat.

"May I help you?" the woman asked.

Alex tried but failed to keep the tension out of her voice as she spoke. "May I speak to DCI Hunt please?"

He he he, sorry to leave it there but I wanted o know what people think so far?

Should I carry on? Please let me know!

x