17 October 1989

The police witness room at the court was nothing to write home about. A small, windowless room that could only comfortably hold three people at most, it wouldn't have been her choice to spend the day there. But then it wouldn't have been her choice to be there at all, not really.

She had changed outfit three times that morning, worried that whatever she picked wouldn't look smart enough for the jury to take her seriously, but also desperate for them to see her as more than a police officer, as someone who had been, albeit in the course of her employment, attacked. Stewart had been singularly useless, telling her that each choice was fine and then growing impatient because of the time she was taking to decide. He had agreed to travel with her to the courthouse to be in the public gallery whilst she gave her evidence and having him there made her feel slightly better about the whole thing. It was so important to have support, that was what they always told witnesses, and yet it felt as though there was none coming from close quarters.

At that moment, Frank was sat a few feet away from her, his feet up on the coffee table, the morning's paper in front of his face. He had been there before she had arrived and their conversation had been minimal to say the least, just as it had been around the station over the last few weeks. Sometimes, as far as he was concerned, she felt like a yo-yo, their relationship going up and down as the months passed. Right now, they were down and she found herself wondering what would need to happen for them to go up again.

"It's getting busy out there," Ted said, opening the door and coming in to join them. "Looks like quite a lot of press too."

She felt her heart sink at the prospect. It was going to be bad enough as it was without knowing there were reporters there, noting down every word she was saying. "There go my chances of ever working undercover again."

"I reckon that went long before any reporter got hold of your name," Frank said.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome."

"Cheer up," Ted said. "You'll be up first so at least you'll be out of here soon."

"I still don't understand why he pled not guilty," she said. "I mean, what possible defence could he offer?"

"I doubt he's planning to offer a defence. His brief probably just wants the opportunity to make us look stupid," Ted replied.

"No doubt…" she looked down into the cup of watery coffee in her hand and put it down on the table. "I just hope there's no delays."

"I hope that for your sake and all," Frank said. "You've got a ton of work to be getting through as it is."

"No more than anyone else."

"Funny how everyone else seems to get through their pile quicker than you though, isn't it?" he lowered the paper and met her gaze. "Now, why is that?"

"Give her a break, Guv," Ted spoke up.

"I don't know why that is," she replied. "Maybe I'm just not very good at my job."

"Well, you said it not me."

She got to her feet, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She wanted to call him out on his remarks, wanted to argue that she was as good, if not better, than everyone else in the department and yet she knew it was pointless. It was all so familiar, as though nothing had changed in the last year, as though they were right back where they started when he first arrived. The thought of that, the thought that the understanding they had shared over Tracy's death and what had happened at the club had gone, made her feel worse than she would have imagined, and she wasn't quite sure why. In the past, she would have raged at it, called him every name under the sun, hated him even. Now…well, it just didn't feel the same.

Opening the door, she looked out into the corridor at the crowds thronging about. At the far end, she could see Stewart on the payphone, his back to her, waiting to be allowed into the public gallery. Somehow, just seeing him, made her feel better. Whatever happened, she knew she would always have him in her corner even if, at times, it didn't feel like it.

"Close the door, will you? You're letting a draught in." Frank's words brought her up sharp again and she did as requested, before sitting back down in her seat again and letting out a long breath. "I hope you're not going to flake out on us."

"Meaning what?" she looked at him angrily. "I'm fine. I'm sorry if I'm just a bit nervous, that's all."

"You've given evidence before."

"Yes, but not about something like this."

"You gave evidence against Nelson last year when he belted you in the face."

"That was different, and you know it." She held his gaze and thought, for the first time, that she saw a flicker of guilt cross it. But then he turned away again, and the moment was lost. "But anyway, I suppose I should be grateful he didn't rape me, or so everyone keeps reminding me."

"Yeah well…" he rustled the paper again, "there is that."

The door of the room suddenly opened again, and the court clerical officer stuck his head in, "WDC Christina Lewis?"

"Yes?" she got to her feet.

"You're up in five minutes. If you could come and wait at the side door, please."

"Ok, thanks." She glanced over at Frank again, still ensconced behind the newspaper. "Well, wish me luck."

"Good luck," he replied without looking at her.

"You'll do fine," Ted said, patting her gently on the shoulder. "All you can do is tell the truth."

"Thanks." Opening the door, she stepped out into the now quiet hallway and made her way over to the side door as directed. Her heart was thudding loudly in her chest and she could feel a cold sweat breaking out across her back. Although she knew she had nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of, she couldn't help the anxiety building inside her, aided nicely by the cold reaction she seemed to be getting from some. Glancing back down the corridor towards the witness room, she felt a sudden pang in her gut and found herself wishing that the door would open, that he would come and say something to her, anything, that would make her feel as though he supported her. "Pull yourself together," she whispered angrily to herself. "He's your boss. Stewart's inside. He's all you need."

The side door suddenly opened and, taking a deep breath, she lifted her head and stepped inside.

XXXX

Frank put down the paper and drained the last of the terrible coffee from his cup before tossing it into the bin. The tension had left the room and yet he was left with a sudden cold feeling that he couldn't quite explain. It certainly wasn't to do with the temperature in the room as, if anything, it was too stuffy. Getting to his feet he wandered over to the noticeboard affixed to the wall, displaying faded crime prevention posters and other pointless literature that seemed irrelevant in a police waiting room.

"You were a bit hard on her."

"Was I."

"Yes, and you know you were. She's about to give evidence about being sexually assaulted."

"I'm aware of that, Ted."

"So?"

"So what?" he turned around to face the other man. "What would you have me do, hold her hand and kiss her forehead?" The moment the words had left his mouth, he knew they were a mistake, particularly based on the conversation that had previously been had. Ted raised his eyebrows. "She's a big girl."

"Yes, she is, but she's also a junior officer and you have a duty of care towards her which, I doubt, includes giving her a hard time about her workload right before she has to get up on the stand and talk about a fellow police officer trying to rape her."

"All right, point taken." He turned back to the wall again, pretending to read one of the posters there whilst in his mind he could see the look on her face before she had left the room. "I'm going to get some air. Give us a shout if they're looking for us." Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and stepped out into the now deserted corridor. As he closed it behind him, he saw the door to the public gallery open and Stewart Church slip out before heading over to the payphone and lifting the receiver. Frank watched him for a long moment as he made a quick call before hanging up and heading towards the main entrance.

"Leaving already? Show's only just started."

Stewart started and turned to look at him, his expression bearing a trace of annoyance. "DI Burnside…yes, well you know how it is."

"And how is it?"

"I'm a busy man, duty calls. Not that I'd expect things to be quite as exciting on division as they are on the squad."

The man's arrogance, not to say disrespect, was almost breath-taking, and though he would have liked nothing more than to put the sergeant in his place, Frank found that his concern lay closer to home. "But you only just got here. The case has only just started and Christina's up first."

"Yes, I know, I saw her sworn in, but, unfortunately, something's come up." He checked his watch impatiently.

Frank knew he was being hypocritical and yet found he couldn't help himself. "Something more important than supporting her when she gives her evidence?"

Stewart's face tightened, "It's not something I can get out of."

"No?"

"No."

"She's your wife."

"Your point being?"

"That she needs your support. She's about to testify about being subjected to a sexual assault. Don't you want to be there for her?"

"Well, there's not much I can do from the public gallery now, is there? Besides, it's not as if she was actually assaulted, is it?"

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning…she wasn't raped, was she? Just had some arsehole on top of her for a while."

Anger flared inside him. "And you think that's all right, do you? Think it's all just part of the job? Something that female officers have to put up with?"

"Don't you?" Stewart met his gaze.

Frank paused. "She's not my wife."

"No, she isn't, and I don't have time to stand here debating this with you. I've got real police work to be getting on with."

The implication was clear; the matter before the court wasn't real police work, it didn't matter. What had happened to her, his own wife, didn't matter. As he watched Stewart hurry away through the front door into the damp morning, Frank found himself torn between anger at the man's dismissal of what was taking place that morning and guilt at his own failings. In that moment, he desperately wished he could go into the courtroom and take Stewart's place, but witnesses were prohibited from listening to testimony before giving their own, so all he could was get another cup of watery coffee and head back to Ted.

XXXX

The sight of Stewart rising to his feet and leaving the public gallery filled Christina with sudden dread. He never so much as looked in her direction as he squeezed past the other spectators and disappeared through the entrance, leaving her feeling even more abandoned than she already did. The conversation she had had with Frank, the animosity that he had expressed towards her, still lingered and, on top of everything else, she felt her confidence start to crack.

The prosecution lawyer was gentle and methodical with her, taking her through her knowledge about the operation, what she had done and experienced and had displayed appropriate sympathy and tact when they had reached the core issue about the assault. She had never once looked in Ryan's direction, preferring to blank him out completely, and could only hope that what she said came across appropriately and made sense.

By the time it came to cross-examination, she felt she had found her stride and that her confidence had returned. She knew it was a tactic, having a female solicitor defend an alleged male rapist, and she tried to face down the woman's questions as best as she could, but reliving the ordeal and being made out to be some sort of agent provocateur made her fall back and the lack of her husband's presence made her falter to the extent that some of her answers didn't come out the way she had intended them to. By the time she was told she could leave the witness box, she felt as though her legs had turned to jelly and it was only by good fortune that she managed to take herself outside.

She glanced up the corridor, hoping to see Stewart but finding herself left wanting. Looking the other way back towards the witness room, she found herself hoping to see Frank, despite what he had said to her. But the door was closed, and she knew that they couldn't discuss anything before he gave his own evidence. She knew she had two choices; leave, head back to the station and wait, or take her seat in the public gallery and listen to the other evidence. Although she leaned towards the former, she found herself walking around to the public entrance, opening the door and stepping inside, just as the side door opened and Frank stepped into the witness box.

He caught her eye immediately, and she felt her breath hitch slightly in her throat at the look in his eyes. The moment was brief, however, and he turned his attention towards taking the oath and answering the prosecution's questions. The solicitor was more robust this time, and she wondered if that was because he was male or because he wasn't the victim. When Ryan's lawyer started her questioning, she was more disparaging and aggressive than she had been with her and as the time went on, the judge had to frequently intervene as Frank's answers became more and more aggressive in turn.

"So, you are in no doubt about what you saw, no doubt at all?" the solicitor asked.

Frank glanced at Christina quickly before looking back at the solicitor. "He was on top of her, trying to rip her underclothes off with the intention of raping her. Maybe you think that's acceptable for an officer in the line of the duty, but I don't!"

"And there's no possibility that WDC Lewis might have been consenting?"

Frank's jaw clenched. "No, none."

"Thank you, Inspector, I have no further questions."

The prosecution having confirmed that they had no re-examination, Frank was dismissed from the witness box. Christina got to her feet and hurried back out of the public entrance, rounding the corner in time to see him emerge from the side door. For a moment, they just looked at each other, before he made his way towards her.

"You did well," she said.

"Bitch," he replied, "Ryan's brief. He only hired her to try and sway the jury. As if having a female lawyer means he couldn't have done it."

"I know." She paused. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Saying what you did."

"Telling the truth, you mean? You don't need to thank me for that. What else was I going to say?"

She felt her face flush with embarrassment, "Nothing, of course. Well…anyway…" she looked at the ground. "I don't suppose you could give me a lift back to the nick, could you? Stewart's probably taken the car."

"Yeah, I saw him bail out. Said he had 'real police work' to be getting on with."

"You spoke to him?"

"Only briefly," he replied. "I think he got my point."

She frowned, "What point?"

"That nothing should have been more important than supporting you today." He looked away. "I'm…uh…sorry."

"For what?"

"For what I said earlier. I shouldn't have had a go at you about your workload, not today. I was out of order."

"Oh…well…that's all right. You were probably right anyway; I am a bit behind."

"I was definitely right, but I could have picked my timing better. Come on, I'll buy you a real coffee before we head back. That dishwater's going to end up giving me the runs."

"I wish he had stayed," she said as they made their way outside. "Stewart, that is. It would have been nice to have had some support when I was giving evidence."

"Yeah, I'm only sorry they don't allow witnesses to sit in before their evidence, otherwise I would have."

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment." She made to open the passenger door of the car. "I hope I didn't put you off."

He met her gaze across the roof. "No, not at all. I should thank you for being there."

"I doubt you needed any support, Guv. You held your own pretty well."

He grinned at her, "I did, didn't I?"

XXXX

The coffee shop was busy, but they found a table near the back and as he waited at the counter to be served, Frank glanced over his shoulder to where Christina was sat, her chin resting on her hand, her gaze flitting around the room. It shouldn't have been him doing this, he couldn't help but think to himself. Her husband should have been there for her and then taken care of her afterwards. It wasn't for him, as her boss, to provide the emotional support that she needed and, yet, here he was.

"There you go," he put the cup down in front of her.

"Thanks," she replied, lifting a sachet of sugar and tossing it in. "What a morning."

"Yeah…you all right?"

"Fine."

"You sure?"

She lifted her gaze to meet his, "Well I'm not about to collapse in a sobbing heap if that's what you mean."

"You can if you want to."

"I doubt you'd appreciate that, Guv," she laughed. "Would you even know what to do?"

"I'm not a complete Neanderthal. I have been married, so I do know a little bit about the female emotions."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He sipped his own coffee, it being on the tip of his tongue to say something disparaging about Stewart, but good sense preventing him from doing so. He needn't have worried, as Christina sighed and lifted her cup.

"I feel…"

"You feel what?"

"Let down? I don't know if I'm allowed to say that."

"Depends on who you're saying it about."

"Stewart."

"You're his wife; I reckon you're entitled to say it. Quite frankly, I don't blame you. There's no way I could have gone off and done 'real police work' whilst my wife was giving evidence about being sexually assaulted."

"No, I mean…" she paused, "I don't know if I'm allowed to say that to you."

He frowned, "How do you mean?"

"I suppose…well…" she looked down into her cup, "my marriage isn't anyone else's business really, is it? Good or bad." He waited. "He's not having an affair."

"Christina…I never said…"

"No, I know. I'm sorry," she looked up again. "I reacted badly when you told me what you'd seen. I…I couldn't work out why you'd told me, what you'd thought it would achieve. I mean…I know my marriage isn't perfect, I know he isn't perfect but…well…he's all I've got really. My mum's dead and my dad and I don't really see eye to eye and…well…if I didn't have Stewart, I wouldn't have anybody. It's a bit of scary thought."

"I can imagine, especially being together as long as you have. I told you because I thought you ought to know the facts, and then make of them what you wanted to. I suppose one wife wouldn't have a problem with her husband having his arm around another woman whereas another one would. I wanted you to have that choice."

"And you don't like him," she met his gaze.

"No," he admitted, "I don't like him."

"Would you have wanted someone to tell your wife about you being unfaithful, not that I'm saying Stewart is, because he's not, but…well…would you have?"

He paused, picturing Julie in his mind's eye. "It might have saved a lot of heartache in the end, for her that is, if she'd known sooner. We'd probably have got divorced sooner than we did. In the beginning, I obviously hid it but, towards the end, well I didn't really care."

"You didn't really care if she found out?"

"No, I would have told her myself, and I eventually did, but it would have been easier if someone else had done it."

"Easier for you."

"Exactly. Men are selfish creatures."

"I reckon women can be too." She smiled and then grew serious again. "I owe you an apology too, for what I said about what happened after Tracy's funeral. I didn't mean to suggest…well, anything. I know you weren't trying it on."

"No," he replied after a long moment, choosing not to take the bait that she appeared to be subtly laying out. "I wasn't."

"Truce?"

"Truce." She smiled again and he felt something turn over inside him, something he pushed away, hard. "Anyway, I reckon we should head back. Someone has got a whole heap of work to be getting on with and I don't mean my good self."

"Yeah, you're right." She drained her cup and got to her feet. "Thanks for the coffee, and the support. It really does…well, it means a lot."

He turned for the door, "You can thank me later when my foot's on your backside."