The background story to this chapter is taken from the series 5 episode, 'Saturday Blues'. Frank's goddaughter (who he's also legal guardian of) takes an overdose. Frank blames her boyfriend, Terry Palmer, a drug dealer though it turns out, in the end that she had in fact taken her own life. Frank felt very guilty about not being there for Tracy and the episode ended with him contacting her parents in Australia to break the news.

18th February 1989

She was dead.

It didn't seem to matter how many times he said it to himself, over and over, it still hadn't quite sunk in. How could she be dead? How could her life be over? It just all seemed so...unreal. When he had last seen her, three months ago, she had been really happy. How could so much have changed in three months? How could she have gotten to the point that she did and, more importantly, how had he not seen it?

Frank looked down at the address book open on his desk in front of him displaying Kevin and Jackie's number in Australia. How was he supposed to tell them? How was he meant to find the words to explain what had happened to their daughter? His goddaughter...well he'd made a pig's ear of that. When Kevin had asked him, all those years ago, he had thought it was just something mates asked of each other. He hadn't known at the time that one day he would actually have some responsibility for a twenty-one-year-old. Even then, he hadn't lived up to the vow he had made.

It was probably a good thing he'd never had any kids of his own. He would have been a terrible father.

He poured some more of Ted's whisky into the glass and stared into the honey-coloured liquid. Her boyfriend Terry Palmer had been right. He hadn't been there for Tracy. She was just someone that occasionally came into his mind along with a quick reminder that he should check in on her. But she was also an adult. A young woman. What would she had wanted with a forty-something godfather breathing down her neck?

Where were you Burnside...?

He could hear Palmer's voice over and over in his mind, screeching at him as he'd been led away to the charge room. There was no answer to his question except...nowhere. He had been too busy, too involved in his career or with whichever woman happened to take his fancy that week. Now a young girl was dead, apparently at her own hand, and he knew he was at least partially to blame.

He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to make the call, but he knew that he owed it to her parents to be the one to tell them. As he steeled himself to lift the receiver and dial the number, there was a soft tap at the door and, looking up, he saw Christina on the other side. He was surprised to see her but, in a strange way, also relieved. Nodding to her, she pushed the door open and stepped into his office. "What are you still doing here? I thought you'd left hours ago."

"I had paperwork to catch up on from last week's car theft," she replied. "Besides, I ran into Ted and he told me about Tracy and, well, I just wanted to check if you were all right."

"I'm fine," he lied, knowing that she would see through the words anyway.

"Do you need anything?"

He shook his head, touched by her concern. "No, thanks." She nodded and turned back to the door. "Wait."

"Guv?"

He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit down." She did as he asked, and he slid the bottle over to her. "Drink?"

"No thanks. Whisky goes straight to my head. I'd be a mess inside ten minutes." She paused. "Have you thought about what you're going to say to her parents?"

"What can I say other than the truth," he replied despondently. "Their only child is dead and it's my fault."

"No Frank," she said hastily, sitting forwards. "It's not your fault. She took the drugs of her own free will. No-one forced her."

"I should have been there for her. That was the whole point of being her legal guardian after all, to be there for her. Ted told me Palmer said in interview that she had called me but that I'd been too busy to speak to her." He shook his head, hating himself even more. "I don't even remember the phone call."

"You don't know that she did phone you," Christina reasoned. "Palmer probably made that up just to salve his own conscience. If anyone's to blame for this, it's him, not you. He might not have given her the drugs, but he was responsible for her getting to the point where she felt she had to take them. He could have helped her, and he didn't. Her parents will see that, in time."

"Yeah..." he lifted the receiver and started dialling the number.

She gestured to the door. "Do you want me to...?"

"No, stay," he replied, suddenly desperate for the reassuring presence of another person whilst he made what would surely be the worst telephone call of his life. "I might need you." The phone starting ringing at the other end, a long sound that only emphasised that it was somewhere far away, and he couldn't help but hope that no-one would answer or at least, if they did, it would be Kevin and not Jackie. Neither prayer was answered however, as the receiver was suddenly lifted, and Jackie's voice floated down the line. "Hello Jackie?" he said, as brightly as he could. "It's Frank."

"Frank, hi!" She greeted him happily, in a way that only made his heart sink further. "How are you?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"What time is it there?"

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Nearly bedtime."

"Gosh, it's early here. Another lovely day, mind. We were just about to have some breakfast."

"Breakfast…then off to the beach?" He could picture the scene in his minds eye. "Lucky you."

"Yes, absolutely. What's it like there with you?"

"It's been raining here all week." He looked over at Christina again, at her silent encouragement and he knew he couldn't stall any longer. "Listen Jackie, can I speak to Kevin?"

"Oh sure, I'll just get him. Kevin! Kevin, it's Frank!"

He swallowed hard against the lump rapidly forming in his throat in the silence that ensued whilst the phone was passed from one to the other. He was about to shatter their entire world. Admittedly, it wasn't the first time in his career that he'd had to deliver bad news, but when it was a friend, it only made the situation a million times more difficult.

"Frank!" Kevin's voice rang in his ear. "This is a nice surprise. You working nightshift or something?"

"Something like that. I…um…I'm afraid I've got some bad news, Kevin. Some very bad news."

"Oh? What is it? It's not your mum is it?"

"No," he felt his insides start to chill. "No, it's…it's your Tracy."

"Tracy? What about her?"

"I'm afraid…I'm afraid that she's dead."

XXXX

Christina found that she had been holding her breath throughout Frank's entire phone conversation. Delivering bad news was always the worst part of the job, but over the phone, thousands of miles away, it had to be so much worse. She listened as the sound of raised voices came from the other end of the line and as Frank tried to explain what had happened. He clutched the receiver tightly and closed his eyes as the shouts continued, the questions coming thick and fast, one after the other without giving him the time to answer. Eventually, he held the receiver away from his ear and she instinctively got to her feet and took it from him, in time to hear a male voice shouting that he must know what happened. She did her best to placate him, eventually ascertaining that Tracy's parents would be catching the first flight home they could. Finally, when she put the receiver down, silence descended in the office.

"Thank you," Frank said, after a long moment.

"That's ok," she hovered at the other side of his desk, watching as he retreated inside himself and to the bottom of his glass. "Is there anything else that I can do?"

"No," he said, looking up and meeting her gaze. "No, you get off home. Stewart must be wondering where you've got to."

"I doubt that." She paused. "I'll see you in the morning then."

"Yeah," he lifted the whisky bottle again. "See you in the morning."

She felt awful leaving him, and yet she wasn't quite sure why. He was far more experienced than she was in these sorts of things, but Jackie and Kevin were like family to him, Tracy his goddaughter. It had to hurt, even someone like Frank, who tended to act as though he was incapable of being touched by anything or anyone. It was the first time she had felt or seen any real emotion from him. When she had spoken to Ted, he had said he had needed to stop Frank landing a punch on Palmer. That side of his character she could believe, but the painful side, the regretful side…the vulnerable side...that was something new entirely.

"Where the bloody hell have you been?" Stewart demanded when she walked through the door an hour later. "Do you know what time it is?"

Glancing at the clock on the wall she saw that it was past eleven. "Sorry, I got held up."

"And you didn't think about calling to let me know?"

"No actually, I didn't." She flopped down onto the couch and sighed. "It's been a long day, ok? Burnside's goddaughter took an overdose and..."

"Oh, I couldn't give a monkeys," Stewart waved his hand dismissively. "I do give a monkeys about not knowing where you are though."

"The last time I called you to tell you I was working late you bit my head off!" she reminded him. "And you never tell me if you're not going to be home on time. It should work both ways."

"Yeah, well it doesn't," he sulked. "Anything could have happened to you."

His concern touched her slightly though she couldn't help but think that, deep down, it was less genuine than she would have liked to believe. More a case of him being put out not to be kept in the loop than being worried for her welfare. "Well, it's nice to know you care."

"So…" he looked down at her, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "What happened to his goddaughter then?"

"I thought you weren't interested?"

"I'm not, but you might as well tell me now."

"She took an overdose of anti-depressants."

"What, deliberately?"

She sighed, "I don't suppose we'll ever know."

"Hmm…well, if you had a godfather like him, you'd probably want to kill yourself too."

His words brought her up sharply and she stared up at him, almost unable to believe that he could be so callous. "That is an awful thing to say, Stewart. How can you even think something like that?"

"What?" he shrugged. "Can you imagine having someone like him in such a position in your life?"

"It's not about me," she got to her feet. "It's about him and how…broken he is by it. How he blames himself…"

"Oh really? And why would he blame himself if he didn't feel somehow responsible?"

She shook her head, unable to believe they were even debating the merits of it all and thinking, not for the first time, what a lucky escape she'd had a few weeks earlier. "I'm not discussing this with you. I'm going to bed."

"Oh, come on…" he caught hold of her arm as she made to move past him. "We're not going to start a domestic over bloody Burnside, are we?"

"I'm not starting anything," she said, pulling away and regarding him coolly. "I'm finishing it. Good night." She turned away and headed for the stairs, ignoring her husband's mutterings and suddenly feeling overwhelmingly exhausted. As she undressed and climbed into bed, she wondered if Frank was still sitting at his desk, drowning his sorrows, or if he had gotten his act together and gone home. As she turned over and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come, she found herself hoping that he was all right.

XXXX

The flat was dark, not that he had really expected it to be any other way. Every night when he came home, he always said to himself that he should invest in some sort of timer so that there would be a lamp on once night fell. Every day he thought about it and every day he never followed through. It had become almost comforting, the familiarity of it. And yet, on days like today, it simply felt cold and uninviting.

As long as he lived, he would never forget the sound of Kevin's cry of pain at hearing the news or Jackie's screams in the background. Their world had collapsed around them with the strength of a few words, words he had delivered, and he felt responsible for that, even if he knew rationally that he wasn't to blame. Wandering to the fridge, he pulled out a beer and then slumped down onto the couch. He didn't need the alcohol; indeed, coffee might have been a better option, but the bitter taste of the liquid seemed soothing somehow and the bottle was empty before he realised. Contemplating a second, he moved back to the fridge and then paused. Getting pissed, even though it seemed like the obvious thing to do under the circumstances, would do him no favours in the long run, not when he was supposed to be having a meeting with Conway and Brownlow the following morning about crime figures. He needed to be on top of his game professionally, even if everything else seemed to be falling apart.

The bed was cold, just as he liked it, but as he lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, the thought of a warm body next to him filled his mind. The comfort, the pleasure of holding someone, even if it wasn't about sex, was too often underrated in his private opinion, not that he would ever express it publicly and, right at that moment, he could have done with someone. He thought about the little black book in his jacket pocket, the one that contained names and numbers given to him by flattered women who purred and smiled and melted just at the scent of a bit of attention. He knew that any one of them would most likely be more than willing to come and comfort him if he asked. He might not be the best-looking bloke in the world, but he had the market cornered when it came to charm and that was all some women needed.

His eyes grew heavy and, as he was contemplating who he might like to share his bed with that night, sleep claimed him.

25th February

Frank slammed his office door shut leaving Ted incredulous on the other side. Slowly, he turned back around to face the rest of the room. "What did I say?"

"It's not you," Mike said.

"Well, that's a relief. Just when I was beginning to think we were starting to get on..."

"It's the funeral tomorrow."

"I'm aware of that," Ted said. "And I know he's feeling shit about it but that doesn't mean..."

"Give it a rest, Ted," Christina piped up from her desk, shooting him a look. "Not today, yeah?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," he replied sarcastically. "I didn't realise we all had to make special dispensation, do forgive me." He sat back down at his desk. "It wouldn't be that if it was the other way around."

"Yes, it would, and you know it would," Christina replied. "He's helped you out a lot. You'd be up to your eyeballs in bankruptcy and most likely homeless if it wasn't for Burnside sorting things out with National Trust for you. Since when has that been a core element of the job description?" To her satisfaction, Ted didn't reply, choosing instead to light up a cigarette and blow smoke into the air. "Yeah, I thought as much."

"All right then Miss Perfect, do you want to speak to him?" Ted rounded on her again. "Whether he wants to talk about it or not, we still need an answer on whether or not the Kelly Larkin case should go to CPS."

Christina paused, thinking about the recent case of a woman who had stabbed her husband and was claiming self-defence. "Well, we don't need an answer today, do we?"

"Speak for yourself. I want it off my desk."

"Yes, because you're so diligent, aren't you Ted?"

"That's Sergeant Roach to you!"

"All right, all right, cool it, the pair of you!" Mike shook his head in disgust as he looked between them. "Arguing like a couple of overgrown schoolkids. Chris, maybe you should speak to him. You seem less likely of late to get his back up than Ted does."

"Oh, well thanks very much," Ted replied. "I'll have you know he thinks more of me than he does of her, and don't we all know it."

"I'll ignore that," Christina replied, getting to her feet and making her way over to Frank's office. Glancing through the window, she knocked once on the glass and waited for him to admit her entry. When he did, and she looked at him properly, she saw the dark circles under his eyes and immediately felt a pang of concern. "Guv?"

"What do you want?" he replied acerbically, his eyes on the paperwork on his desk. "You come to give me a hard time and all?"

"No, well…Ted and I do need an answer on the Kelly Larkin case but, I was just actually wondering if you were all right?"

He looked up and met her gaze, a frown marring his features. "How do you mean?"

"Well, just about Tracy and…"

"I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Ok, well I just…"

Frank let out a long breath and then threw his pen down. "I don't know. I don't know how I am right now."

"Well, I reckon that's understandable."

"I've got to go to this funeral tomorrow and face her parents…" he shook his head. "God only knows how that's going to go."

Though he hadn't offered, she took a seat opposite him. "Have you not seen them since they flew in from Australia?"

He shook his head. "Not for want of trying. I've called and left messages, but they haven't called me back. I'm guessing they don't want to see me and I suppose I can't blame them. I just hope, really hope, there isn't some kind of scene tomorrow. That's the last thing I want. For their sake and Tracy's."

"I'm sure they'll be too wrapped up in their grief to want to start any sort of argument with you. Besides, they haven't got a leg to stand on as far as blaming you is concerned."

He looked at her again. "You really think so?"

"Yes, I do." There was a pause then, an elongated moment of silence where he held her gaze and she held his, wondering what she was supposed to say next, what other comfort she should or could offer, or whether she should simply get up and go back to her desk.

"Part of me was thinking about not even bothering going."

"I think that would be a mistake."

"Why?"

"I just…" she fought for the right words. "I just think you would regret it, that's all, and you seem to be beating yourself up about enough at the moment."

"Yeah, maybe you're right." He sighed again and rubbed his hands over his face. "I don't suppose…"

"Don't suppose what?"

"Nothing."

"What?" she pressed.

"Well…you don't want to come with me, do you?"

"What, to the funeral?"

"No," he shook his head as though the very suggestion was ridiculous. "No, sorry I asked."

"No, hang on." He looked at her again. "If you want me to come, then I'll come."

"I mean, it doesn't have to be you. Anyone would do I suppose. Reckon it would just be better having someone in my corner, so to speak. If you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," she replied softly. He wanted someone there who knew what had really happened, who wasn't swayed by emotion, who could back him up if necessary. "Maybe Ted would be a better choice though? He was the one who dealt with Palmer."

"No," Frank glanced through the window at the other man. "He's a liability, especially right now. I'm better off with someone level-headed, like you."

"I'll take that as compliment, shall I Guv?" she smiled.

"Take it any way you like. You up for it then?"

"Of course," she replied. "Just let me know where and when."

"It's 11 o'clock down at St Martin's, then on to the cemetery."

"Fine."

"We can go from here together."

"Of course."

"Right then." He held her gaze again. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Getting to her feet she moved back over towards the door and then turned back to face him. "About Kelly Larkin…"

"Send the case file to CPS. Let them be the ones to make the final decision, it's what they get paid for."

"Right Guv, thanks." Closing the door behind her, she made her way back over to her desk, catching sight of Ted looking at her as she sat back down. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Teacher's pet," he muttered.

"Hardly," she replied, glancing back through the window into Frank's office where his head was, once more, bent at his work. "But it makes the atmosphere a bit more bearable."