"Danny Boy?"
The five year old stirred.
"Danny. Wake up darling, Daddy needs to speak to you."
Blearily the child rubbed his eyes, reluctantly shaking off the last remnants of sleep, resolving instead to roll over, holding his teddy tightly to his chest.
"Danny. It's about mummy," the boy looked up, "you remember I said mummy was poorly, that she might be going away? Well mummy's been poorly for a long while now hasn't she?"
Dan nodded.
"She gone to somewhere better now, we won't be able to see her again, not for a long while now, but she'll be happier there, she won't be hurting any more like she did here."
"Is she in Heaven Daddy?"
"Yes Darling."
"Like the hamster?"
"Yes Darling. She'll be up there feeding him biscuits."
"Why are you crying Daddy?"
"Because we don't have mummy any more, we're going to miss her aren't we?"
"Yeah. Can we have eggs for breakfast?"
The figure of a bespectacled man stepped from the shadows and engulfed the scene.
Station Road, 3rd August 1988
Dan awoke. His head buzzed as he squinted into the sunlight, feeling like he'd just attended the piss-up of his life. Dan registered vaguely the warmth of the sun, when he could have sworn, just moments ago, it was overcast at best. He suddenly became aware of the sound of drills and the hum of cement mixers.
"Oi! D'you wanna get tarmaced in or what?"
"What?" Dan sat up to be greeted by utter devastation. Station Road was bomb site. The houses all around him were gone, only their foundations remaining and what seemed like walls were springing up all around.
"I said shift! What are you, a spastic?"
Dan looked straight ahead, dumbstruck, to see a man in a hard hat laying tarmac where Dan was sure a road had been before.
Dan muttered something in vague reply and began to pull himself off the ground, his head spinning and his mind racing. He searched his pockets frantically.
"Where the hell's my phone?"
Dan looked up at the builder, taking out his warrant card. The builder squinted at his ID
"Have you got a mobile I could borrow?"
"You what?"
"A phone? A mobile phone?"
"You what Detective Inspector," he sneered. "You think I've got a mobile phone? We're not all from Westminster, prick."
"Inspector? I'm a Sergeant, shit brain."
"Just bugger off Officer."
Dan looked from the man to his warrant card, looking dumbly at the words printed there. Daniel Hartley, Detective Inspector, Metropolitan Police 1988. He turned on his heel and staggered away.
He'd got halfway down the road when he noticed his clothes. A pinstriped turtleneck jumper and a brown leather jacket.
"What the …?"
The office seemed like the sensible place to go. As he hurried down corridors and belted up stairs he hardly noticed the surroundings had changed almost beyond recognition. He was preoccupied by the silence of it all, the absence of the clicking of keyboards that until recently had been the norm. He burst through the double doors.
The computers were gone. Emily had gone. His stapler was gone! Dan stood open mouthed in the doorway, staring around at the room that had inexplicably changed so much in what felt like half hour. A voice from the opposite end of the room rang out in the silence.
"Hartley?" Dan nodded. "Don't just stand there with your mouth open, you'll give Woodall here the horn."
A soft featured young man to Dan's right looked down at his desk dejectedly.
"My office, now Inspector."
On command, Dan walked across the room almost robotically.
The office was gloomy. The man sat behind his desk and surveyed Dan, sipping from a glass of whisky. He gestured towards the bottle and an empty glass in invitation. Dan stayed standing.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Nice to meet you too. Dan is it? Can I call you Danny?"
"No."
"Sit down Danny."
Dan sat, though reluctantly.
"So who are you? What am I doing here? Why does it say 88 on my warrant card? I'm not an Inspector and why do I look like an extra from Back To The-fucking-Future?"
"Well it seems you've had a promotion, so I'd shut up if I were you, you picky wanker."
"Who the hell are you to call me anything?"
"I'm your DCI, Gene Hunt, some call me Guv or Sir, although you can call me God. Though any of the above address will do."
"Arsehole."
In an instant Hunt had grabbed his lapels and pinned him to the filing cabinet in the corner of the room. Gene began to breathe irregularly, muttering threatingly, daring Dan to make the slightest move.
"D'you want to rephrase that Inspector?"
Dan stared resolutely back into his eyes, unblinking.
"Sorry. Mr Arsehole."
Gene paused, considering the face that was just an inch away from his own.
"I like you. But be a good lad and don't let Woodall see this, he'll think it's a free-for-all."
As Gene let go of Dan's jacket he seemed to deflate, no longer preparing for a fight.
"Now piss off out there and do some bloody work."