Chapter Two - Outside
He looked up, this time meaning to catch some meaning in his DCI's slate blue eyes, some explanation. Their eyes met, smoke from the cigarette creating a thin veil between them. Blue eyes into brown, they looked levelly at each other for a second before Gene slid his fingers gently out from under Sam's.
'Drink up, then,' said the Guv, never looking away.
'It's home time.'
Sam nodded at him, still feeling a bit breathless, and functioning on auto-pilot took a sip from his glass. Gene nodded back, once, then drained his drink in a practised swallow and swung his legs off the stool.
'I'm off to the pisser,' he said, banging his tumbler back on the table. As he walked off, Sam was relieved to see a hint of stagger in the usual, straight-backed gait. They'd both had too much to drink, then, that was alright. Sam took another sip of his whiskey and sat up straighter, feeling more awake and less drunk than he'd been minutes before. He put his glass down to drag his hands across his face and through his short hair, leaving it ruffled. He noticed a jug of fresh water on the table. He smiled.
Nelson, he thought. What a barman. What a mate. There was even a lonely ice cube, melting on the surface.
What, no lime wedge? He snorted quiet laughter as he reached for the jug. He hooked the Guv's empty with the other hand and poured himself a drink, knocked it back and poured another. He definitely felt a lot more sober now; still pleasantly sparkled, but not borderline falling-down-passing-out drunk as he'd been earlier on. The sleep must have done him good. He must have been out for a while, too; the pub was empty apart from their table. He didn't remember anyone leaving, he hoped that was because he'd been out cold and not because he'd been too pissed.
The intensity of the moment between him and the Guv had faded. He'd always been one to let the drink make conversations and even relationships seem more important, more charged than they really were. He probably wouldn't remember it at all tomorrow, it really was a non-event. When he'd been single, his mates had wound him up about being such a flirt, but it was more down to this tendency to find interacting with people so fascinating, so meaningful than any desire to sleep around. That wasn't a bad by-product, as it went, but he didn't really do it on purpose. His more amorously challenged friends were always disgusted when he told them that. He drank the rest of his second water glass and dished out a third.
The Guv relieved himself with the appreciation that only drunk people can truly feel for a good arc. He mulled over that odd moment with Tyler, not sure what, if anything, had happened and how he felt about it, whatever it may or may not be. He was pretty sure it was just Tyler waking up and taking a bit of time to get back up to speed. It had looked like he might drop that glass, and even if it wasn't the best stuff Gene didn't want to see it soaking into the carpet, so he'd held on to it a bit longer to make sure that didn't happen. There was something else there, something about how he felt when his DI's expressive eyes met his own. Something about the touch of their hands. No, forget that, there was nothing but a couple of drunk guys down the pub.
He zipped up and washed his hands. He had many faults, but a lack of cleanliness wasn't among them. Time to go home, he thought, absent-mindedly drying his hands on his suit trousers – he should probably leave the Cortina round the back where it was, but that never usually stopped him from taking it. The streets would be quiet anyway. Sam might be too tired to object, that would spare him the usual telling off that he had to pretend not to hear. He'd decide when he got out into the air; he did have the best part of a bottle down him, that was a bit much even by his own standards. He made his way back into the pub.
Gene arrived back at the table, having weaved around chairs and tables that didn't necessarily need weaving around. He lifted his camelhair coat from the back of the chair and noticed Sam drinking water as he pulled it on.
'You can't help it, can you Gladys? Even down the pub you're a fairy.' He smiled though, despite himself. There was something about Sam, sitting upright and tucked in and sipping his water, that was impossible to look at with a straight face. Sam raised his eyes as he took another drink, the creasing at their corners showing that he had taken the jibe with good humour. 'You ready to go then?'
Sam nodded, still draining the glass, then dropped it back on the table and came to his feet. He lifted his coat from the chair and tugged it on, with a couple of false starts. Gene was still smiling at him, unregarded; really he was a character you couldn't help but be fond of, Tyler was. All wide eyes and tousled hair, and a look of fierce concentration as he tried to get his arm and his sleeve to match. The jacket was a tight fit, of course. Tyler's whole wardrobe was a tight fit. Gene wondered if he had to cut himself out of his jeans some nights. He paused for a moment then decided that was a thought that a red blooded man should never have about another man (even if he was less red blooded than you), and filed it away at the back of his mind. Sam had both sleeves negotiated by now, gave his pockets a pat to check for all the essentials and looked back up, seemingly pleased with himself. He saw the Guv smiling at him and returned it with a slightly dopey grin and outspread arms.
'I'm ready!' He dropped his hands to his sides again, still grinning in that unique way of his. Gene returned his own features to a non-committal pout and turned for the door. Standing here grinning at each other like a couple of brain donors, thank God nobody else was here to see it. Nelson had given Mr Hunt a set of keys for the pub years ago, after one too many lock ins that Nelson didn't mind hosting but didn't really want to be part of. The coppers' chat could be both deadly dull and depressingly grim by turns, and after you'd been up till 4am listening to it once or twice you were in no hurry to repeat the experience. So a set of keys seemed to be the perfect solution; nobody would hit a coppers' bar, anyway, but it didn't do to invite trouble. Gene didn't take the piss, left the pub in a decent state and made sure to lock up behind him. He glanced around now, taking in all the upturned chairs that he and Nelson had seen to, the optics soaking for the night, the glassware all stacked away. Only the table he and Sam had been at was left, their two glasses and water jug the only remnants of a busy Friday night. It'd do.
Sam had followed him over, bringing the whiskey that Gene was surprised at himself for forgetting. The younger man held it out, and Gene took it and slid it in his coat pocket, which had sagged into the right shape years ago. He turned and opened the door, drawing it towards him and stepping back to let Sam pass.
'Ladies first.' Sam only shook his head at that as we went by. Gene pulled the door to and set about locking it. Sam stood on the pavement, taking deep breaths and swaying a little. With the pub keys safely pocketed, too, Gene joined him.
'You're not driving, are you Guv?' Gene couldn't believe it, he was still going to get the lecture. He decided to skip it and shook his head.
'No, Tyler, I'll walk it. Don't worry.' Sam nodded, hands in his pockets, swaying on purpose now from the balls to the heels of his feet and back.
'Alright Guv. See you on Monday. Hope the missus doesn't give you a hard time when you get in.' He started off. Gene felt the words welling up before he was aware he was going to say them.
'Not much chance of that.' There, now he would tell someone. It might be good actually, Tyler was always saying that people should talk about things more. Of course, he could talk the hind legs off a donkey then sell them back, but maybe he was on to something. He was frowning down at the pavement now, not really turned around to face Gene but not walking any more, either.
'What?'
'She, er… she went to stay at her mother's…' Sam's shoulders came down and brow started to clear. '…for good, this time. She left me a note, says she's not coming back.' The frown came back and Sam lifted his head up now, looking at him. He seemed, for once, at a loss for words. He stood there with his mouth open, trying to find them.
'Shit,' he finally said, 'I'm sorry Guv.' He looked it too, so earnest. It was Gene's turn to look down at the pavement, suddenly sad and wishing he'd kept his trap shut.
'When?'
'Couple of weeks ago. She left while I was at work. Or maybe while I was at the pub. She says that's the problem, I'm always out somewhere. I spose she found a way to use it to her advantage; plenty of time to get packed up and write a Dear Gene letter.'
Sam wasn't sure if Gene was making a joke or if he really thought the phrase was 'Dear Gene'. He realised he was focusing on the wrong thing and tried to find some words of comfort.
'Shit.'
Gene huffed laughter. 'Thanks Sammy-boy. It was bound to happen eventually.'
'Are you OK?'
This brought a proper, if bitter, laugh. 'I don't know, and that's the truth. But if you tell anyone I said that I'll break your wrists. Any of this, in fact. It's between you and me, Tyler, OK?'
As if he had to ask. Sam was already nodding before the end of the sentence.
'Of course! Er… is there anything I can, you know… d'you need…?' he trailed off, not really sure what he was trying to offer but wanting the Guv to know that he, Sam, was there for him. He reached out to clap the bigger man on the shoulder.
'Alright you poof, I know you're always looking for an excuse to get yer hands on me but there's no need. Keep your grubby paws in your pockets.'
Sam did just that, giving a sad smile. 'Sorry Guv.'
They both stood silently now, looking at their shoes. Gene withdrew the bottle from his coat and opened it. He took a draught and held it out to Sam, nudging him on the arm with it when he didn't respond. Sam looked up then, taking the bottle but only holding it for now.
'What are you gonna do?' he asked, not really knowing what that meant but not knowing what else to say.
'Do? Nothing to do, is there? I'm gonna keep on being a copper and keeping the streets clean. I'm gonna keep on spending my wages in Nelson's till. I'm gonna have another drink of that Scotch if you're quite finished admiring it.'
He sounded angrier than he felt but all this talk about feelings was getting on his nerves. He watched as Sam took a nip from the bottle and passed it back, unhurriedly, not offended in the least. Tyler knew when he was angry with him, anyway, usually by the way their faces were an inch apart and his back was against a handy filing cabinet. He took the bottle back, wondering if Sam was going to try and get him to 'open up'. What a load of horseshit; if a man was meant to open up he'd have a zip up the back and Gene Hunt most definitely did not. He wasn't sure, now, if he was glad he'd said anything. Might have been better to carry on as he'd been going. Still, it was bound to come out eventually, had to start some time. The Scotch burned in his throat, warmed the rest of him. Tyler was still standing there rocking on his feet, seemingly still speechless. When he offered the bottle back it was met with a sideways glance and a headshake.
'Well, I'm glad we had this heart to heart, Tyler. Time to get home, eh? See you on Monday.'
Sam looked up as if to speak, then settled for nodding, the corners of his mouth downturned.
'Alright Guv. See you on Monday.'
Gene turned then without further ceremony, and stalked off into the night. The house wasn't too far, he'd be home in no time. Home to climb into a cold bed. Actually, right now, that didn't sound so bad. Maybe it was good to talk, after all.
Sam watched the Guv walk off, mouth open again. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard, or that he, of all people, would be Gene's only confidant. The Guv's wife, gone. She'd always been there in the background, a presence unseen but often felt. She'd be brought up as an example of the civilians they were there to protect; she was a key part of one of A division's favourite Christmas Night Out stories; she was invoked in the pub when Gene seemed hell bent on having one too many.
Oh God, thought Sam. Did I say that to him last weekend? And the one before? Have I been talking about her all this time? What an idiot. Idiot. He wracked his brains, trying to remember. He didn't think he had brought her up recently, until tonight. Even if he had, he wasn't to know, was he? Nobody knew.
He marvelled over that again. Nobody else knew. Maybe that moment in the pub had been real? No, he was reading too much into things again. Bloody Scotch.
God, he couldn't believe this had happened and the Guv was just walking around as if nothing was wrong. They'd been married over twenty years, that was a long time to live with someone. When they're suddenly gone, how could you not feel upset? The Guv never was forthcoming with his feelings, of course. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he didn't know how he felt; men from the seventies weren't expected to have the same emotional intelligence that men back home were. There were pros and cons to that, Sam thought.
He realised that he'd been standing there looking after Gene's diminishing back, and started on his way home. Thank God the flat was nearby; it was one of its few good qualities. He thought of getting there, climbing into a cold bed. For once, that didn't sound too bad.