By the time he reached her flat, she had stopped shaking, but still looked like death, her pallor a terrible colour, her eyes sunken into their sockets. "You sure you don't want me to take you to the hospital?" he asked. "Maybe you've got some sort of bug."
"No, honestly I'm fine," she replied.
"Well, if you're sure…" He got out of the car, came around the front and opened the door for her, offering her his hand to help her get out.
"You're a bit before your time," she joked, sliding her hand into his.
"Nothing wrong with a bit of chivalry," he replied, closing the door behind her. "Can you make it up the path or do you need me to carry you?"
"I reckon I can manage." She moved slowly, fishing in her bag for her keys as she walked, before resting briefly against the door as she made to unlock it. "See, no need to carry me over the threshold."
"Not yet, at least," he replied, following her inside. "Sit down, I'll make you a cuppa."
"You don't have to. I'm sure you've got lots to do," she protested.
"I don't, as it happens. What with Burke's confession, the murder case is solved and, well, the assault at that stupid furniture shop can wait." He moved into the kitchen. "Besides, I'm not convinced you take care of yourself properly."
"Based on what?"
"Based on the lack of biscuits in your cupboard," he replied, opening and closing doors. "Not even a cheeky digestive hiding somewhere?"
"I've been trying to cut down. It's very tempting of an evening to sit and stuff my face in front of the telly."
"Exercise is key. Then you can eat what you like." The noise of the kettle grew louder, and he moved back into the living room where she was sitting on the couch. "Take it from one who knows."
"Oh yeah? Three-mile jog before work, is it?" she smiled wanly.
"Something like that, though I can think of more pleasurable ways of burning the old calories." She smiled again, but it did nothing to help her appearance. "You look terrible."
"Thanks."
"Were you feeling all right before you got the news about Stewart?"
"I suppose so."
"You suppose so?"
"Well, I've felt a bit tired the last few days, but I've been kept busy with the fraud case so…"
"It's not healthy to burn the candle at both ends."
"Well, that would suggest I have a social life, which I don't."
"No," he mused, "me neither." Turning back for the kitchen he poured the boiling water into the teapot, swirled it around and then poured it out into two mugs, making sure to add an extra spoonful of sugar for her to help alleviate any shock she might be experiencing at the thought of Stewart's imminent fate. "Here, get that down you."
"Thanks," she replied, accepting the steaming mug from him and sipping it carefully. "I'm surprised you don't have a social life though."
"Why does that surprise you?"
"Well, I just assumed…I mean…" she reddened slightly, which only served to, at least, improve her colouring.
"Assumed what?" he asked, though he had a fair idea what she was going to say.
"That you'd be cracking open your little black book every night looking for company." She looked down into her cup, clearly avoiding his gaze.
"I suppose I could," he nodded, "but I'm not free, am I?"
"Aren't you?"
"No."
After a long moment, she met his gaze, and he could feel the current passing between them. That thin thread that could pull them together or force them apart depending on what way the wind was blowing. Every time he looked at her, he could see her in Spain, feel her, taste her; under him, over him…it was the first time they had been properly alone together since returning two months earlier and he would have been lying to himself if he'd said he couldn't feel the blood pounding around his body just at the very thought of what they could do together.
"You were the one who stopped it," she said finally.
"I know," he said regretfully.
"It was you who said I needed to see how I felt after the court case."
"I know."
"Then stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"You know like what. Like you're thinking about all the things…" she trailed off slightly and sat forwards on the couch, letting out a long slow breath as she did so. He watched her, his mug halfway to his mouth, as she bent slightly over and then let out another breath.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yeah, I just need to go to the loo." Placing her cup down on the coffee table with a resounding smack, she got up and made her way across the room towards the door, moving more quickly than he would have wagered she should. He heard the bathroom door click shut and then glanced around, looking for something to occupy himself in her absence. In the far corner of the room, the red light of the answering machine was blinking, indicating that she had a message. Curiosity made him leave his seat and meander over to stare down at it, as though the light itself could transmit some sort of signal advising who the caller had been. Unsurprisingly, it refused to reveal its secrets and he returned to his seat as the toilet flushed and she reappeared, her face still ashen.
"Sorry," she said, sitting back down on the couch.
"Well, I hope you sprayed," he joked, and, to his relief, she smiled again. "You look as though you should be going to your bed. Alone," he added, in case she thought he was trying to be suggestive. "A good kip and you'll probably feel miles better in the morning."
"Yeah, probably. Look, thanks. I really do appreciate it. I'd probably have crashed the car if I'd driven myself back here."
"I know, and that would have been the last thing any of us needed." He drained his mug and got to his feet, her following suit. "I mean it though, if you don't feel well enough to come in tomorrow then just let me know. You'll get no hassle from me, or her Ladyship, I'll see to it."
"Thanks Frank."
He made his way to the door, turning when he got there to find her standing behind him, almost just that little bit too close. "Listen, I just want you to know…well…that I'm here. I know it's going to be difficult, and I know you don't want to see Stewart go to prison but…well…I'm here for you. As a friend."
"I know. It means a lot, really it does. You're the only person who, you know, gets it." She held his gaze and he watched as her breathing started to deepen and quicken in a way that he might have said he was convinced was due to desire, but given her outward appearance at that moment, he couldn't be sure that she wasn't, in fact, trying to prevent herself from vomiting.
"I should go," he said finally.
"Yeah, you should."
He turned to open the door and then stopped. Almost too afraid to look at her, he kept his gaze turned away. "I don't want to."
"I don't want you to," she said softly, and he turned back. "But you need to. Even if I didn't feel as shit as I do right now…we both know it's for the best."
In the face of everything that had happened, he was pleased she could be rational, even if it went against everything his soul was crying out for. "Right, look after yourself."
"I will," she smiled at him again before her face suddenly dropped. "I should…"
"Go," he said, stepping out on to the path as the door closed behind him. Making his way back to the car, he could envisage her hunched over the toilet bowl, vomiting as though her life depended on it, and a sudden thought crossed his mind.
15 August
She didn't know where to put herself. The entire evening, after Frank had left, she had flitted about the flat, feeling the ground shift beneath her, her head swimming. She had put a microwave meal in to cook for dinner but, when it was finally ready, found she had no appetite for it. She tried lying on the couch watching television, but the swirling pictures hurt her eyes and made her head throb. Lying in bed made the room spin around her and it was well into the small hours before she finally fell into a dreamless sleep.
When she woke the following morning, she lay staring at the ceiling, trying to focus on keeping her vision steady. What the hell was going on with her? Was it possible to be so physically affected just by the news of what was going to happen at the end of the month? Every time she thought about Stewart, it only made her feel worse and though she knew she should heed Frank's advice to stay at home, something pulled her towards the office, where she found herself half staggering to her desk.
"You look like shit," Jim greeted her.
"Thanks a bunch."
"You should have stayed at home."
"The paperwork won't do itself," she replied, looking down at her desk and mentally ticking off all the things she needed to do in light of the conclusion of the fraud enquiry. People thought that once villains were nicked, that was it. Little did they know that that was when the real work started.
"Yeah, well I could have covered it for you."
"That's very sweet, thanks, but I'm better off doing it myself." She tried to focus, but still her body felt as though she was at sea, swinging one way and then the next, with only a strong coffee from the canteen seeming to bring her under some sort of control.
"Are you sure you should be here?" Viv asked, later that morning. "I mean, the DI did say you could take today off if you needed to."
She glanced into Frank's empty office, for once glad that he wasn't there. "I know but, I'm fine, really."
"You don't look it."
"I don't know, maybe my body's just reacting to the fact that I'm going to know, one way or another, in a couple of weeks what's going to happen to Stewart." It sounded ridiculous to her own ears and yet it was the only explanation she could come up with.
"But you've known that he's going to go to jail regardless of whether it was a trial or a plea." Viv leaned over towards her and lowered her voice. "Do you think there's a chance you could be…?"
"Could be what?"
"You know…pregnant?"
"Don't be daft," she laughed shortly, casually dismissing any such suggestion. But the thought stayed with her for the rest of the morning, taking up space in her brain that she badly needed for work related matters. Mentally, she counted backwards, trying to recall if she had had a period and when that had been. Spain had been the last time that she and Frank had been intimate, and they had always been careful, well, except for that one time on the kitchen table. No…it was a ludicrous suggestion, but one that remained with her to the extent that she left the office at lunchtime and went to the nearest chemist to purchase one of those home testing kits that were all the rage now. Back at the station, she went to the toilet, urinated on the stick and then waited whilst it considered its response.
A million thoughts swam through her mind, doing nothing for her balance problems. If she was pregnant, then it would obviously be Frank's and she recalled the conversation they had had earlier in the year when he had been angry at her for not telling him about her previous scare two years earlier. If the test was positive, she would have to tell him, and what would his reaction be? Happiness? Anger? Apathy? A cold feeling gripped her stomach as she suddenly found herself completely unprepared for all that a baby would bring.
To her relief, five minutes later, the result was negative, and she tossed the test into the bin, grateful that she could at least eliminate one cause for her condition. When she got back to her desk, Frank was standing talking to Tosh and she could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't happy to see her.
"You should be at home," he said by way of greeting. "I thought I told you to take the day off?"
"You said I should stay at home if I didn't feel any better, but I feel ok," she lied.
"You don't look it," Tosh chimed in.
"Thanks, but I'm fine." She felt both pairs of eyes on her as she made her way back around her desk. "What?"
"I've got a lead on Rory Evans," Tosh said. "According to one of my snouts, he's been hanging around the Bull and Bush on the Maycroft estate."
"Oh, well it's only taken, what, five weeks to locate him?"
"Yeah, so we don't want to miss him this time."
"Fine," she let out a breath. "When do you want to go? I've got this paperwork to finish up but…"
"You're not going anywhere," Frank interrupted her. "You're a liability."
"Hardly…"
"If he takes off again, are you going to be able to run and catch him? I doubt it. Take Viv with you, Tosh, she could do with the exercise."
"Cheers Guv," Viv rolled her eyes.
"But that was my enquiry," Christina protested. "I hadn't forgotten about it just because I was working on the fraud case."
"You're not fit."
"Guv…"
"That's an end to it." He paused and eyeballed her. "Anyway, I want to have a word with you, in my office."
She met his gaze, trying to read the purpose of the request and finding herself left in the dark. "All right, fine," she sighed. "Now?"
"Yes, now."
Slowly, she got to her feet and came around her desk again, conscious of everyone in the room watching her, as though waiting for her to keel over. Following him into his office, she closed the door behind her and then sat down opposite his desk. "You don't mind if I don't stand on ceremony, do you?"
"No," he made a face at her. "And you're still going to tell me you could have chased down Rory Evans?"
"Well, I wouldn't want you to think I wasn't capable, Guv."
He moved over towards the window and shifted awkwardly in that way he always did when he was about to say something he knew was possibly not going to be taken well. Instinctively, she felt herself hold her breath. "I was thinking last night."
"Dangerous pastime."
He turned around to look at her. "Are you pregnant?"
A short laugh left her throat before she could stop it, tickled by his timing coming so soon after she had asked herself that very question. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Cause if you were…" he glanced over her shoulder back into the main office. "I would support you. I know that most of the time, we've been careful but…well…there was that one time in Spain…"
"I'm not pregnant, Frank. I took a test earlier."
His eyebrows shot up. "So, you thought you might have been?"
"No…I mean…Viv said…"
"Viv?"
"Well, she suggested it might be a reason for why I was feeling the way I am, and I knew it was ridiculous but, well, I didn't think there was any harm in taking a test just to be sure. Anyway, the result was negative, thankfully."
"Thankfully?"
"Yes."
"You're sure. You're definitely not pregnant?"
"I'm definitely not pregnant."
"Ok." There was a long moment of silence, and she could tell he was working up the courage to say something more. So, she waited but, eventually, his expression cleared. "Well, I guess you should get back to work then."
"I guess I should." She got to her feet and tried hard to ignore the swaying feeling in her head. "I think you're right though; there's no way I could chase down Rory Evans today. Safest place for me is probably behind my desk." She smiled at him, but he didn't return it, instead he simply looked at her as though trying to arrange the thoughts in his head.
"If you were pregnant…" he started as she put her hand on the door handle, stopping suddenly as if he wasn't sure how to continue.
"Yeah?"
"I wouldn't have minded."
"Oh…" she paused, suddenly struck by having no idea what she was supposed to say in response. Yes, they had talked about children briefly in the past most memorably, she recalled, during sex shortly before Stewart had attacked her. But it had seemed like such a hypothetical notion at the time, part of a fantasy that in all likelihood wouldn't have come true, much like when he had asked her to marry him in the same breath. In some respects, she had assumed they'd both realised that it wouldn't be as easy as that. "You wouldn't have minded."
"No."
It wasn't exactly the most reassuring of responses. Not minding suggested being prepared to put up with a situation that a person had little control over. It was certainly a far cry from being pleased or delighted or excited, emotions she had always felt she would want to both experience and see in another when the time was right. It was almost a shock to realise that she had felt none of them, waiting for the result of the test and that whilst he might not have minded a positive result, she would have.
"I'd better get on," she said finally, opening the door and heading back to her desk where she found another canteen coffee waiting for her.
"I figured you needed fortification," Jim said from across the room. "Extra sugar."
"Thanks," she said, gratefully lifting it to her mouth and allowing the scalding liquid to flow down her throat. Her eyes strayed back to the office window where she could see Frank watching her from his desk. I love you, she told herself, I do, but…
But.
18 August
"So, the physical symptoms have stopped?"
"Yes, thankfully."
"But you still feel anxious?"
Christina looked up at Rebecca and nodded, "Yes, I do. I mean, I know what's going to happen to him; he's going to go to jail, go down as they say, and I suppose, well, I'm wondering if he'll take me with him."
"You mean in terms of your affair?" She nodded. "Do you think he will?"
"I don't know. I don't know how he feels about me. I don't know if he's angry or hurt or blaming himself…" she shook her head. "I thought, when he initially said he wanted to write to me, that I might find out, but then when he changed his mind…" she trailed off. "It just feels a little bit like I'm hurtling towards a wall, and I don't have any control over what happens when I get there."
Rebecca nodded slowly. "Could it be that it's not just what's going to happen with Stewart that's worrying you?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, once the case is over and he goes to jail as expected…what do you do then?"
"I suppose that depends on what, if anything, is said about me in court. My career could be affected by it…"
"I meant more in relation to Frank."
"Oh," she let out a long, slow breath, well aware of what the other woman had been alluding to, despite trying to pretend that she wasn't. It was the one thing that had kept her awake at night, long after sleep should have reasonably claimed her. It was all she thought about when she was in the station, sitting mere feet away from him, aware of his eyes on her. The last few days there had been a palpable tension there and not the familiar one based on their mutual attraction, but a different one altogether, one that she wasn't entirely sure how to characterise. "I love him."
"But?"
She looked down at her hands. "When I didn't feel well a few days ago, I took a pregnancy test, just in case. It was negative and…I was relieved."
"That's understandable."
"When he asked me about it, he said that if it had been positive, he wouldn't have minded, and I couldn't help but feel that…well…that I would have. Minded, that is and, in any event, shouldn't he have said something more…I don't know…enthusiastic?" She looked up again. "Maybe I'm being unreasonable. I just…I just can't help but think that maybe…"
"Maybe what?" Rebecca pressed.
"Maybe I don't love him as much as I thought I did. I mean, if I did, wouldn't I want to have his baby? Wouldn't I want to be with him?"
"And…you don't?"
"I…" she shook her head. "I don't know. Ever since I got the call about Stewart, it's just made it all seem so real and…and I know that you said before that I had to make decisions for my own life and not expect other people to make them for me but…I made a decision to leave Stewart, in part for Frank, and now I'm not sure…" She screwed her eyes shut. "A few weeks ago, we were sleeping together, and he was telling me that we needed to stop until after Stewart's case had been dealt with and I told him that I didn't care, that I wanted to be with him. I got angry with him for not agreeing and now…now I'm not sure I know what I want."
Driving back to the station, she had never felt so conflicted in her life, not even when she had still been with Stewart yet sleeping with Frank. One part of her wanted to be with him, wanted to start the life with him that they had talked about, to hell with what anyone in the Met said or how it affected their careers. One part of her wanted to marry him, wanted to have his children, wanted to be with him for the rest of her life…but another part of her, another part of her felt almost suffocated at the thought; at the thought of saying goodbye to one marriage and jumping straight into another, the thought of how being with him, officially, would be seen by everyone else assuming, that was, they could even be open about it; the thought of never fully appreciating what it was like to stand on her own two feet…
The loud honking of a horn snapped her back into reality and she slammed on the brakes realising, almost too late, that she had been about to crash into one of the uniform patrol cars coming out of the yard.
"Sorry," she said, as George manoeuvred and pulled up alongside her. "I was miles away."
"Sgt Peters would have had my head if we'd collided," he said. "You all right?"
"Fine, sorry. No harm done."
"Barry Stringer was looking for you."
"Me, what for?"
"Something about an old case? He's around custody somewhere."
"Ok, thanks." Moving forwards, she pulled into a vacant space and stopped the engine, letting out another long breath as she did so. There was a time to reflect on her personal situation and a time to be professional and now was the latter. Entering the custody area, she came face to face with Barry, who's face lit up when he saw her. "You were looking for me."
"Yeah, do you remember an old case from a few years back, possible marital rape and assault, victim by the name of Brennan?"
"Sophie Brennan?"
"That's the one."
"Yes, I remember her. She claimed her husband had raped her and then, when we couldn't do anything about it, said he had beaten her up."
"And then disappeared with her lover who was supposed to be on trial for assaulting her husband," Barry finished.
"That's right. Why are you asking me about this?"
"Because she's here. In the station."
"What, Sophie Brennan?" Barry nodded. "But…"
"Jack Porter, her boyfriend, he got lifted for having no licence or insurance and the outstanding warrant flagged up, so he's been taken to Stafford Row."
"So, what's she doing here then?"
"She said she wanted to talk to you."
"Me?" Barry nodded again. "Why me?"
"I don't know, maybe because you dealt with her last time? Anyway, she's in the front office. Good luck." Before she had the chance to say anything further, he loped away from her at speed and all she could do was make her way along the corridor and through the secure door whereupon she came face to face with the woman in question.
"Mrs Brennan?"
"That's right," Sophie got to her feet and surveyed her somewhat dubiously. "Do you remember me?"
"Yes, I remember you," she replied, gesturing to the front interview room. "Should we go in here?" Without waiting for an answer, she made her way into the room, holding the door open for the other woman and then closing it firmly behind her. Despite the fact that it had been almost three years since their last encounter, just seeing her again made her feel angry at all the wasted time spent on the case. "What can I do for you?"
"Jack's been arrested," Sophie said, putting her bag down on the table. "I was hoping you might be able to help me."
"With what? If you want to talk to someone about his status, you'll need to go to Stafford Row."
"No, it's just…" the other woman paused. "I don't know what's going to happen now, about Dennis."
"Well, in all likelihood, Jack will be held in custody until the CPS can fix a new trial at which Dennis will, again in all likelihood, give evidence against him for the assault."
"If Dennis knows I'm back, he'll go mad." Sophie's eyes darted around the room. "I haven't seen him since I left."
"Didn't he try to find you? You did take his kids."
"We've been in Wales. He wouldn't think to look there."
She knew what she was about to ask was controversial, and yet she couldn't stop herself. "Did he really rape you, Sophie, really beat you up?"
The other woman stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it seemed a pretty awful story at the time, but looking back it was all rather convenient, wasn't it? You come to us, telling us that Dennis assaulted you after you told him you had tried to report him for rape, so that we would lift him, meaning that he couldn't go to court to give evidence against Jack and you and he could run away together."
"You think I made it up?"
"Did you?"
"No!" Sophie glared her indignantly. "Do you really think I'm that good an actress? You think I just turned on all those tears, all that fear? He's a monster! I needed to get away from him!"
"You were having an affair; why didn't you just leave him?"
"Oh yeah…" Sophie sneered. "I remember how smug you looked when I first came in here. You with your perfect marriage and your husband who would never lay a finger on you! You had no idea then and you've got no idea now! You don't care about what happens to me, none of you do!" Lifting her bag, she made for the door, only for Christina to step in front of her.
"We do care, Sophie. I care. But I don't like being taken for a ride! And, for your information, I know more about being married to a bastard than you might think!" As she said the words, she remembered the fight she and Frank had had once Sophie and Jack had disappeared, how he had told her that not all marriages could be as perfect as hers seemed to be. If only she had known then what would happen in the future.
"I didn't take you for a ride! How dare you! You have no idea, none at all! I came to you for help!"
"And there's only so much we can do if you decide to skip town with your boyfriend!"
"What would you even know about it?!"
"Is there a problem in here?" the door suddenly opened, and Frank appeared. "Can hear the pair of you all the way to the front door." He paused. "I know you, don't I?"
"It's Sophie Brennan, Guv," Christina replied. "You remember, marital rape."
"Oh yes, took yourself off with your boyfriend," he said. "Left us all hanging a bit. So, what is it that's causing the pair of you to shriek at each other like banshees?"
"Mrs Brennan's worried about what might happen when her husband finds out that she's back."
"I see. Still afraid of him, love?"
"Of course I am, not that this cow here would understand," Sophie replied, tossing her hand towards Christina. "All but accused me of lying!"
"I did not!"
"All right, give us a minute, will you?" he opened the interview room door and gestured for Christina to follow him outside before closing it again behind him and fixing her with a steely look. "You're supposed to be a professional."
"I am a professional but…"
"You think she made it all up."
"Well, I don't know, do I? I believed her when she came in the first time. I wanted to nick her husband for raping her even when there's no law to allow me to do so."
"I remember. You gave me an earful about it at the time. So, what's changed?"
"I just…can't get over the fact of how convenient it all was, getting her husband nicked so he couldn't testify against the boyfriend. I don't know if I believe her and if she really did lie to us…" He looked at her for a long moment, causing her to pause. "What?"
"Go and see if you can find June and ask her to come along."
"What for?"
"To sit in with me."
"What about me?"
"I don't think you're in the right frame of mind for this one, do you?"
"What?" Indignation coursed through her. "There's nothing wrong with me!"
"Come off it, you've not been right since this whole thing with Stewart came up."
"Are you saying I can't do my job, sir?"
"I'm saying that maybe you should give this one a steer, that's all. She might be pulling a fast one on us, or she might be genuine, but after what happened to Lorraine, I'm inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt."
"And I'm not?"
His eyes danced over her face. "You're too close, see too much of yourself in her."
"That is not true! I…"
"I've said all I'm going to say on the matter," he cut her off. "So, get back upstairs and get on with some of the other work that's sitting in your tray. I'll take this one from here." Before she could say anything further, he stepped back into the interview room, leaving the door slightly ajar a reminder, if she needed one, that he was dismissing her in favour of June.
"Bastard," she muttered to herself, pushing open the security door. "Patronising bastard."