16 June 1989

"Happy birthday darling."

Christina looked up as Stewart swept into the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek. He had been sleeping when she had woken up and had remained so whilst she showered, dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast. If she had been hoping for a romantic morning meal with a single stemmed rose in a vase, she had been left wanting, but she did notice that he had a wrapped parcel in one hand and a card in the other.

"These are for you."

"Thank you," she said, taking them from him and slitting open the envelope. The card was appropriately gushing, and she found herself smiling somewhat at the crooked heart he had drawn beneath his name. The package, wrapped in shiny silver paper, revealed itself to be a silver necklace, with a drop pearl pendant, and matching earrings which, she had to admit, were beautiful.

"I knew you'd like them," Stewart said, beaming as he kissed her again. "Dinner tonight, yes? I booked that Italian place that you like, seven o'clock sharp."

"Yeah, sounds great, thanks." She tried to inject some energy into her tone but could quickly tell that she had failed. "I suppose this just isn't how I expected to be spending my birthday, giving evidence before the disciplinary committee."

"It'll be fine," Stewart replied, moving over to the sink and pouring some coffee into his travel mug. "I mean, there isn't really much you can say about Driscoll, is there?"

"No, I suppose not." She looked down at the remnants of cereal in her bowl. "I suppose the difficult stuff will come later."

"Yeah, well…he'll get what's coming to him, Ryan that is." Stewart shook his head. "Mental bastard. Anyone, I've got to go. I'll see you tonight." Before she could say anything else, he had kissed her one final time and disappeared from the kitchen, the sound of the front door slamming a clear indication that he considered his own day far more important than hers.

When Frank had called her into his office ten days earlier and told her that a disciplinary committee was being held to look into DI Driscoll's conduct regarding the Patterson enquiry, she had felt her heart sink. She had already given statements to MS15 about him and Ryan, not to mention a formal statement to the investigating team looking into what had happened to her at the club. Having to go through it all again wasn't something that she relished. But then, she knew her husband was right; there wasn't much she could say about Driscoll. The hardest part would come later.

In the aftermath of that night, she had told Stewart what Frank had said Driscoll had told him; that Ryan believed Stewart had not only stolen but also slept with his snout. Stewart had been furious and had ranted and raved that he was going to sue Ryan for defamation, seeming to fail to grasp the seriousness of what had actually happened to her that night. He had vehemently refuted the notion of any wrongdoing and seemed far more concerned about his own reputation than he was about the fact she had almost been raped by a psychopath. She had buried her disappointment over his reaction and filed it alongside his seeming pleasure at her failing the sergeant's exam. She wasn't sure exactly what either of those things meant, but they weren't incidents that she was likely to forget.

The CID office was quiet when she arrived, only Alistair talking in exasperated tones on the phone to goodness only knew who, but there was a card on her desk signed by all of them and, for some reason, it made her feel better than receiving her own husband's card.

"Happy birthday," Alistair said when he had hung up the phone.

"Thanks."

"Drinks tonight after the shift?"

"Stewart's taking me out for dinner, so I'll only manage a couple before I need to get home."

"Anywhere nice?"

"Luciano's, on the high street?"

"Lovely." He paused. "How you feeling about today?"

She sighed, "Anxious."

"You'll be fine. All you have to do is tell them what you know. Remember, they're not there to get at you. Driscoll's the one in the firing line."

"Yeah, I know." She lifted the papers out of her in-tray and spread them across her desk, hoping that the action made it clear that she didn't want to talk about it further. To his credit, Alistair turned back to his own work and the pair of them concentrated in silence until the sound of loud voices coming up the stairs interrupted them, and Jim and Frank appeared.

"There she is!" Jim exclaimed, bending to give her a kiss. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"You'll be having a drink after the shift?"

"Yeah, Alistair already said."

"Hubby not taking you out somewhere?" Frank asked, and she turned to look at him for the first time. "How very remiss of him."

"No, he is, but not until seven, so I've got time for one or two."

"Good," he headed towards his office. "Quick word, if you don't mind?"

"No, of course not." Rising from her chair, she followed him inside, closing the door behind her. "Guv?"

"Sit down," he looked at her meaningfully. "You feeling all right about today?"

"I suppose so, as much as I can be."

"You know what you're going to say?"

"What I said in my statement. I can't really add anything else to that. I don't know anything else."

"No, I guess not." He sat down opposite her. "I'm up tomorrow."

"I know, you told me. How are you feeling about it?"

"Well, it's never pleasant giving evidence against a fellow officer, especially not one you've worked with, been friendly with."

"No, I can imagine."

"Needs must though, that's how we have to look at it. We have to root out the bad apples and whilst he might not be one of the truly rotten ones, Driscoll does have some explaining to do about his involvement in what happened, or rather what he chose not to involve himself in." He paused. "How are you and Stewart doing?"

"Fine," she nodded. "He's still angry about what's been said about him…"

"I'm not surprised. Accused of sleeping with an informant, cheating on his wife…anyone with as much as ambition as he has would be quite right to be furious." He paused. "I take it he's still denying it."

"Of course he's denying it," she said, feeling anger rise within her. "It's not true, none of it!"

"You believe that when he tells you, do you?"

"Yes, I do!" She got to her feet. "My husband has never cheated on me, never once wanted to cheat on me! He's not…" she stopped herself, well aware that she had been about to say something that would be very hard to come back from.

Frank clearly had the same thought. "You mean, he's not me?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." He leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. "I only hope that you'll make it very clear in your evidence what part I had to play in your rescue."

"Yes Guv," she felt a smile creep across her face. "I'll be sure to tell the committee how you broke the door down and saved me all out of concern for my wellbeing, as well as my marriage."

"I couldn't give a toss about your marriage."

"No, well…" she grew serious again. "If I'm going to get any work done before I have to go then I'd better get back to it."

"Yeah, all right. Oh, and Chris?" She turned back to look at him. "Good luck."

XXXX

As the hands on the clock in Brownlow's office slipped to two o'clock, Frank found himself tuning out even more than he already had. It had to be one of the most boring meetings he had ever attended since becoming DI. Though there was clearly a place for the Met to take the views of community leaders regarding policing on the manor, having a succession of them trip in and out to air their gripes never really felt to him as achieving anything. But, once every eight weeks, he was co-opted into attending and at least attempting to pretend he was taking something from it. For the last ten minutes however, one of the local councillors had been waxing eloquently about the lack of police presence on the local estates something which he, as DI, felt had very little to do with him.

Christina would be giving her evidence at that point and he found his mind more on that than on what was actually going on around him. He wasn't particularly looking forward to his own appearance the following day but, in a way, he could rationalise it as being something expected of him due to the privilege of rank. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't something the ordinary constable should require to have to go through, especially not when she had been through the ringer herself. Given the nature of the criminal enquiry into Ryan's actions, the case had been handed over to Barton Street and when she had returned to Sun Hill after giving her statement to the inspector over there, he could tell that the experience of reliving what had happened had shook her up.

"Frank, what do you think about Councillor Hammond's proposal?" Brownlow's voice broke into his reverie and he suddenly found himself on the back foot.

"Which one sir?"

Brownlow frowned, "The one he's just made in relation to the appointment of a community officer to liaise with leaders on the estates."

"Well, I think that would have to be a decision taken at uniform level, sir," he replied. "I mean, they are at the grass roots."

"Yes, I'm sure we all appreciate that, but I am keen to hear your views."

"I suppose it can't hurt, so long as the appropriate time and resources were made available."

"Well, something has to be done about all the trouble that goes on down there," Hammond said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Quite frankly, it's a disgrace what those thugs are allowed to get away with."

"I'm sure that every effort is made to detect whatever crimes take place," Frank replied.

"Yes, but it's just not good enough, inspector, is it?"

The conclusion of the meeting couldn't come fast enough and, thankfully, ten minutes later Councillor Hammond was being shown out of the office with promises given that all suggestions would be taken on board. As the door closed behind him, Brownlow turned back to Frank. "I'm not entirely convinced you were with us for the duration of that meeting Frank."

"I'm sorry sir, I've got a lot on my mind today. WDC Lewis is giving evidence before the disciplinary committee dealing with DI Driscoll."

"Yes, I'm aware. She's a very competent young woman and I'm sure she'll do fine. I take it that all the necessary assistance has been offered to her?"

"Assistance?"

"Yes, counselling and the like," Brownlow moved back behind his desk. "I take it she's been pointed in all the right directions."

"Oh, well yes naturally," Frank replied, recalling the leaflet that he had surreptitiously left on her desk advertising a helpline and avenues to explore regarding talking to someone professionally.

"And has she taken any of them up?"

"I don't think so, sir."

"Hmmm, perhaps you could encourage her to do so. She did suffer a sexual assault. We don't want anything coming back to bite us later on in the game."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Area is always keen to avoid any complaints."

"Complaints?" Frank frowned.

"Yes, in as much as we didn't discharge our duty properly towards officers injured in the line of duty, especially female officers who are clearly more prone to suffering sexual violence. I would hate to think that WDC Lewis would think us to be remiss in this area."

"I don't believe she thinks that sir, but I will reiterate the benefit of what's on offer to her when I see her next."

"Good, see that you do."

As he made his way back round to his office, Frank once again found himself thinking just how self-serving Brownlow really was. It was clear from what he had said that he really didn't give a toss how Christina was faring after what had happened, only that nothing could possibly blow back on the station or himself. "Twat," he muttered, pushing open the door.

"Who's a twat?" Jim asked, coming through the other door holding an envelope.

"Never mind. What's that?"

"Collection for Chris's present. I'm going to pop out and get in."

"Oh, well…" he reached for his wallet, "stick a fiver in from me. What are you going to get her anyway?"

"A rape alarm."

Frank stared at him, "You what?"

"Well, it seems apt given the circumstances," Jim smiled.

"Are you out of your tree?"

"No…"

"She was assaulted James, very nearly actually raped. Do you really think she wants reminded of that, today of all days? What if it had been your girlfriend, or your sister?" He shook his head, the stupidity of some people never ceasing to amaze him. "Can't you think of something more appropriate, like flowers or chocolates?"

"Well, I just thought…"

"No, you didn't think, that's the problem. Whatever you get, do not get her a rape alarm. I thought you were supposed to be her friend."

"I am her friend," Jim replied indignantly. "It was just a joke!"

"Yeah, sometimes I wonder. Go on, get out. Some of us have got work to do." He watched as the younger man left the room and wandered back over to his desk, turning to talk to Tosh in a low tone of voice that he could tell meant he was the subject of the conversation. Shaking his head again, he could only hope that Tosh would at least talk some sense into him.

XXXX

Stepping outside the committee room, Christina let out a long breath and closed her eyes. Two hours. Two hours she had sat there answering questions almost as though she was the one at fault rather than Driscoll. He had been sat at the opposite end of the room, watching as she had recounted her entire involvement in the operation, from first being approached about it, to Ryan being dragged off of her in that room. When it had gotten to the serious details, the moment when he had attacked her, she realised she was grateful for being sat down, the memory of it all making her feel suddenly lightheaded. At least it was over or, at any rate, that part was over. She knew there would be more to come but, in some ways, only thinking about one step at a time was the simplest way to avoid becoming overwhelmed. There would be a criminal trial for Ryan not to mention a disciplinary too and the very thought of having to recount what had happened over and over again filled her with nothing but dread.

By the time she arrived back at the station, it was after four-thirty and she was greeted by the others who had clearly been waiting on her return before heading down the pub.

"How was it?" Mike asked as she checked the phone messages strewn across her desk.

"Fine," she replied, "it went as well as can be expected I suppose."

"Did Driscoll say anything?"

"No, he just sat there avoiding my gaze the entire time. Anyway," she smiled, keen to talk about something else. "Are we heading down the pub or not? I've only got an hour or so."

"Absolutely," Tosh replied, putting his arm around her shoulder. "It's not every day you turn twenty-nine, is it?"

"No, I guess not." She glanced towards Frank's office, noticing for the first time that it was empty "The DI not coming?"

"He said he'd meet us there," Tosh replied. "Some last-minute meeting or something."

She allowed them to propel her down the stairs and out of the station towards the high street where the local watering hole was located. Everyone appeared to be in a jocular mood and, eventually, she found herself joining in with the laughter, pushing everything else to the back of her mind. The pub was busy, but they managed to find two tables near the back and push them together before Mike offered to buy the first round. The talk turned to their latest cases, Tosh regaling everyone with a story about a one-legged car thief. Ten minutes later, Jim appeared, holding a wrapped package under his arm.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, handing it over to her. "Happy birthday, Chris."

"You didn't have to get me anything," she said, taking it from him, touched that they had gone to the trouble. "That's really kind."

"You haven't seen it yet," Tosh quipped.

"Am I going to be embarrassed to open this?" she asked, looking over at Jim.

"No, of course not! I just hope you like the colour, that's all."

"Not a sex toy, is it?" Mike asked.

"No, it is not!"

She pulled back the wrapping and opened the box to find a purple sweater nestled inside crepe paper. It was soft and fluffy, and she found herself momentarily shocked that Jim had made such a good choice. "Did you pick this?" she asked, taking it out and holding it against her.

"I might have done," Jim replied. "But I had a bit of help."

"Let's just say, I've been buying presents for women for a long time," Tosh nudged her gently.

"It's beautiful, thank you."

"Nice colour." She looked up in time to see Frank join them at the table. "You pick that yourself, James?"

"I helped, Guv," Tosh chimed in.

"Well at least you came to your senses."

"Came to his senses about what?" she asked, looking between them.

"Nothing," Jim said, reddening slightly. "Just a misunderstanding."

"I should say," Frank clapped his hands together. "Right, I'll get them in. What are you having?"

A flurry of orders shot across the table before he left and made his way over to the bar and she found herself making an excuse to go and join him. As she approached, he turned to look at her. "I'm sorry I wasn't in the office when you got back. How did you get on?"

"All right I suppose," she replied. "At times it felt as though they were trying to trip me up, goodness only knows why. I was only telling the truth."

"They've got to be robust," he replied, after giving the order to the barmaid. "Doesn't mean that they didn't believe you."

"No…" she mused. "Driscoll looked terrible."

"As well he might, stupid bastard. If he'd done his job properly it's possible that none of this would have happened. Anyway, on that note…" he turned to look at her. "Have you done anything about getting any counselling?"

"No," she replied, somewhat surprised by the question. "Why?"

"Because it's important. What happened isn't something to just be swept under the carpet you know."

"Two disciplinary tribunals and a possible criminal trial are hardly sweeping it under the carpet."

"I'm not talking about that," he said, handing over the money. "I'm talking about your mental wellbeing."

She looked away, somewhat reluctant to get into it with him, "My mental wellbeing is fine, Guv, really."

"If you're not getting the support from home…"

"Who said that?" she retorted, swinging around to face him. "I never said that. Stewart's been very supportive!"

"You said he was angry about how he'd come out of all of this. You never said anything about whether or not he was actually giving you any support."

She stared at him, trying to read his underlying meaning, trying to make sense of what he could possibly be getting at and, underneath it all, feeling herself angered by the insinuation that the man who loved her was being anything other than genuine. "He has given me support. Really, honestly, he has."

"Have you talked about what happened?"

"Yes, of course."

"I don't mean about what Patterson said or Ryan said or the operation. I mean, about what happened to you in that room. I mean, when Ryan was on top of you, attempting to rape you."

She swallowed hard, on the one hand desperately unwilling to relive it and, on the other, desperate to talk about it with someone who had at least been there and who might understand. Given everything, however, the first option seemed the safest. "I'd rather not talk about it, Guv, if you don't mind."

He paused and then slid a drink across the bar to her. "Fair enough." Lifting his own glass, he clinked it gently against hers. "Happy birthday."

"Yeah," she said, draining half the glass in one go. "Happy birthday."