Dreadlock Holiday, chapter 2

A/N: I know, I know, I've been neglecting my duties toward you again. But I'm back and I hope you'll be back too. Thanks for your positive reviews.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I haven't been able to get myself written into Dick Wolfe's will. So they're not even mine when he dies…

So…on with the show…

The next morning, you get behind the wheel of Natalie's car, who immediately offered the use of it, already anticipating your impromptu travel. In all honesty, you're a little at a loss at first. You do have a license, but since you live in the centre of one of the busiest cities in Europe, you mostly take the tube, making you hardly an experienced driver. So sitting behind the wheel for the first time in months, not knowing exactly where you're going and anxious about the outcome of your unexpected visit, a wave of panic washes over you and your hands are trembling too hard to put the key into the ignition.

Finally, after three botched attempts, you get the darn thing to start and head off in the direction the GPS system tells you to.

Thank God traffic is mild and the detached voice points you the right way, so in two hours and 45 minutes (including one coffee/bathroom break) you pull up in front of the house you were looking for. With jelly legs you get out, trying to convince yourself it's just because you've been sitting in the car for so long. And that of course is also the cause of your again trembling hands, with the new addition of sweaty palms.

It's a nice, clean suburb and as you approach the front door, your nerves subside a little. This friendly looking neighbourhood certainly couldn't do you any harm and if Niamh is anything like her brother...

...then she might also believe you're at least partially to blame for his pain.

And now you're shaking worse than a Chihuahua on speed.

Still, it's the only chance you have and you'll take it. You don't care if you have to take part of the blame, if only, once you've told your part of the story, she's willing to help you. You're willing to say anything, do anything. Even tell the truth.

Heaving a big sigh to get the trembling under control, you reach out and ring the bell, forcing yourself to stand still and not run. Just as you're about to turn away, half relieved that nobody seems to be home, you hear someone run down the stairs. One moment later, a panting, female version of Matt Devlin is looking at you curiously. Really, the resemblance is scary.

"So sorry to keep you waiting. I was cleaning out the attic. What can I do for you?"

Good. Nice, polite beginning. No hostility. So far.

"Hi. I'm Alesha. Alesha Phillips. I work with your brother. You're Matt's sister, I presume?"

"Yes I am. Please, come in."

You're invited into a sunny kitchen, where Niamh is already busying herself with putting on the kettle. Instant guilt grips you again. You're now not only a trespasser, you're also about to harass a perfectly innocent woman into giving you details about her equally innocent brother's whereabouts, after he's gone to Heaven knows where just to get away from you.

Something brushes against your legs and, slightly yelping in surprise, you cast a quick look underneath the table. A slim, black and white cat is giving you a stern eye, considering your presence in its room and whether it cares enough to challenge you.

Since it calmly walks by you in search of food, it seems like you're accepted. For now.

"Do you mind the cat? We're having it here as a guest and shouldn't let it go outside in unfamiliar territory, but if you're allergic, I can put it in another room."

So it's Matt's cat. You thought it might be. Quickly, you shake your head.

"No, I love cats."

"I hope you don't mind having a drink in the kitchen. We're redecorating and the place is a mess."

"Oh no, of course not. I'm just..." your explanation fizzles out as you have no idea how to finish.

"Just what?"

Like her brother apparently, Niamh's not good at dropping the subject. Thinking hard about what you wanted to say, you carefully proceed.

"I guess I'm surprised at your hospitality, assuming Matt has told you about what happened in court last Friday. I never once thought you'd be willing to even speak to me on the doorstep."

Niamh hands you a mug of tea and places a tray of biscuits on the table in front of you. You wait for her to take a seat at the kitchen table. After a sip of the hot liquid, she answers.

"He has told me and I have to admit: if you had you come to our door last Saturday, I think I would have tried to strangle you. He was so defeated, so sad, I've never seen him that way. But I've had some time to think it all through and even though I still think he was treated very dishonestly, I know it wasn't meant to be personal."

"It really wasn't and believe me, it hurt me so much to see him defeated like that."

"The only thing I don't understand miss Phillips..."

"Oh please, it's Alesha."

"Very well. Just call me Niamh then. But as I was saying, what I don't understand is why, if you're such a good friend of my brother's, you didn't even try to warn him, at least it would have enabled him to prepare himself. I think the unexpectedness, the sudden cruelty of it all weighed heavier on his shoulders than the accusations themselves."

You wince, since that was what you were afraid of. As a copper, being bashed was nothing new to either Matt or Ronnie, but the fact his ability was being questioned by his friends, his peers, the people he trusted...of course that would knock him off his feet. And there's no excuse, except...

"Oh, Niamh, please believe me. I had no idea. I knew the strategy was to show the difference of opinion between Ronnie and Matt and how the first one came to his actions, but I never suspected James would go as far as to nail Matt to the cross and making him out to be a sloppy officer. Had I known he would follow that path, I would have done anything to protect your brother. Really anything."

Without warning, tears of suppressed anger at your boss and his vehement, unjustified approach, fill your eyes and you wonder if Niamh doesn't think you're just a bad actress showing some crocodile tears at her brother's expense.

Instead, you feel a small warm hand cover your own and the carbon copy of a pair of familiar, baby blue eyes look at you kindly.

"My brother is an idiot."

The statement is so unexpected you burst out in a nervous laugh. What does she mean? You feel the sudden urge to defend him, tell this insolent slip of a girl that her brother is, in fact, a wonderful man and that you've been the idiots by doing this to him.

Yet, before you open your mouth, she continues to elaborate on her statement.

"When he came to see me last Saturday morning, he was in a right state. He blamed all of you for something and you personally for not coming to his aid."

Well that was nothing new. She has mentioned this before, only just now. Is she trying to make you feel even guiltier? Is that even possible? And she's not nearly being done, apparently.

"He said that he always thought you were his friend and that you cared as deeply for him as he does for you. Now I can see he's an idiot. You don't have any friendly feelings for him, do you?"

Outraged, you stand, not caring about the chair hitting the floor with a loud crash, not even registering the noise as the ringing in your ears absorb everything else. How dare she draw those kind of unfounded, painful conclusions about your feelings for Matt? What does she know? And how the hell are you supposed to find out where he is now?

"Whoa, please, Alesha, let me finish. All I'm trying to say is that this whole friendship thing between the two of you is just a front you both keep up. Underneath, there's a lot more to it, am I right?"

Totally confused now, you pick up the chair and sit back on it, your shaking heavier than before.

"I...I don't know what you mean."

"I'm sure you do, but just to be safe, I'll spell it out for you. Like I spelled it out for him too: You're in love with my brother. And I'm quite certain he's in love with you too."

There's no defence left; no argument to be won. As in court, once the plain and simple truth is revealed, the suspect remains silent in defeat. So, as a confession, you can only nod. Yes, you're deeply in love with Matt Devlin. You have been for a long time and you need him in your life. You need to get him back. As in right now.

Your spirits lifted slightly by Niamh's warmth toward you, you now dare to ask the one question you came here for.

"Niamh...do you happen to know where he is?"

"Of course I do. He always tells me where he is."

Darn it all, she doesn't elaborate.

"So...can you tell me?"

She sighs now, turning quite serious again.

"I could, but I'm just not sure I should. I mean...he counts on me to keep his privacy. Perhaps it's better to just let him be for a while. He'll be back when he's ready."

"But I can't wait that long!" you burst out in tears again.

Niamh doesn't interrupt as you start ranting, desperate to get your point across. Using all your court experience to persuade her to do the right thing (by you) and for once, break the promise to her big brother, you blindly rush ahead. Your closing statement should change this one woman jury's verdict.

"I'm sorry Niamh, I just don't think I can wait that long. All this time he's away he thinks we don't care, that I don't care. And then, when he comes back and we haven't done anything to try and make up to him in the meantime, he'll be even more convinced and then he might never want to see me again. Niamh, I have to convince him now. I have to try and talk to him, to tell him how sorry I am for what happened, to tell him..."

Niamh relents. With another reassuring pat on your arm, she steps away from the kitchen table and leaves the room, only to come back several minutes later carrying a laptop under her arm. Clicking all the wires and accessories into place, the thing soon whirrs to life. You don't have to ask her what she's doing; you already know that within a few minutes, you'll be getting at least some answers.

And indeed, with some additional clicks, two different confirmation sheets open on screen, one telling you that Mr. Matthew Daniel Devlin has booked a flight to Norman Manley International Airport, Kingston, Jamaica, and the other one confirming the rental of a small cabin on a beach resort. At your request, Kate opens the link on the second sheet and the home page of the resort appears. It looks sunny and tropical and you don't have to wonder why he's chosen that particular place to get away from it all. It's just that...did he really feel the need to fly halfway across the globe to get away from you? Did you really hurt him so badly that he didn't even want to be on the same continent?

Okay...your first question (where is he?) has been answered...now what?

"When is his return flight?"

Niamh checks. "Two weeks from next Friday."

That's too long, really it is.

Again, Niamh doesn't wait for your next move. Before you know what she's up to, she's opened a search engine and is browsing through a list of available flights from all airports in or near London.

"Niamh...what are you doing?"

She looks at you like you've just grown a second head and she can't choose which one of it is slower.

"Well, you said you couldn't wait that long, so I'm trying to check when the next plane to Kingston leaves and if they're any seats available."

Wow, she certainly knows how to take action. So like her brother.

At last she finds a direct flight leaving tomorrow afternoon (gulp!) from Gatwick and though you wince at the price, a quick check of your savings account tells you there is enough left to book it.

You know it's a leap of faith. He might still be angry, he might think you're invading his privacy, he might not care enough about you to come back. Heck, he might not care enough to acknowledge your care for him, despite of what his sister thinks. In the end, this might backfire with nothing gained and so much more lost than just the money for the airfare.

Still, it's better than the uncertainty you live in now. These days of doing nothing, not knowing anything, this restlessness...it is torture.

So there's really nothing to decide, is there? If you win him, you win him. But if you have to lose him, you prefer to do so quickly. It's always less painful if you rip off a bandage with one swift move.

"Book it."

"There are only first class tickets left and they're pretty expensive."

"Don't care. Book it."

To show your determination, you take out your passport and credit card. A few more mouse clicks later and a little more than a few hundred pounds poorer, you're set to go. E-ticket is printed, forms are filled and all you have to do is go home and pack. Since Niamh's a registered nurse at a local hospital, she calls ahead and pulls in some favours to get you vaccinated. You'd almost forgotten about those.

With a hug and a thank you, you say goodbye to Matt's sister, feeling like you've gained a friend and an important ally.

"Stay in touch, Alesha. Whatever happens, let me know. I hope things work out between you and Matt. He deserves a good woman like you."

"Thanks...for everything. I feel so relieved just to know that I'm taking action."

"I know that feeling. Have a safe drive home and a good flight, okay?"

You're exhausted by the time you get home later that evening after bringing the car back to Natalie's and accepting a cup of tea from her. Your arm is sore from the injections. Still, you can't go to bed yet. There's some packing left to do and you just can't decide on what to take with you. Filling your large suitcase seems presumptuous. You've booked an open-ended ticket, ready for any scenario; just in case your little mission fails. In that unfortunate situation it seems foolish to drag half your summer wardrobe along with you.

Finally, after some serious inner debate, you decide on your smallest suitcase, taking only the bare necessities, some underwear, toiletries and sundresses. Once your mind is made up, you're packed in less than fifteen minutes.

Checking your watch to make sure it's not too late in the evening to bother anyone, you decide that it's not and quickly call James. Determinedly and formally you inform him of your plans and request another two weeks off work. In these circumstances, it's clear he doesn't dare refuse, so he only wishes you luck. At least it sounds sincere. James might be a pit-bull in court, he can be quite humane in private and you know he deeply regrets what he thought he had to do, though he would do it again without hesitation. That's the enigma that is James Steel. And it makes it hard to forgive him too.

The moment you hang up, your phone rings again. You jump a little in surprise, then smile in relief when the caller ID tells you it's Ronnie, who wants to know what you found out. When you tell the older DS what you're up to, he's only too happy to help in any way, insisting to bring you to Gatwick airport the next morning as well as taking care of your plants and mail and even almost offering to 'compensate you for the costs in trying to right his wrong'. With a laugh, you accept the first two offers and decline the last. Poor Ronnie, he's definitely miserable without his 'Sunshine'.

All things settled, you decide to go to bed early, even though you know it'll probably take you ages to fall asleep, with so many thoughts fighting for dominance in your tired brain.

Surprisingly, you're apparently tired enough to order your conflicting thoughts to seize fire for the moment and you fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.