"Tell me what happened."
"Nothing happened, not really."
He sat on the bed watching as she stood at the window looking out into the darkness. The rain had started, fat droplets running down the glass, and he was grateful it hadn't struck whilst he had been on route. At least he was here now, with her, and though she had seemed happy enough to see him, he couldn't help but think that there was something she wasn't telling him about the circumstances surrounding the end of her marriage.
"So, you just said, 'I'm leaving' and that was that?"
"In a nutshell, yes."
"Didn't he try to stop you?"
She turned back around to look at him, "Yes, but I managed to get away."
Her choice of words concerned him, "You managed to 'get away?'"
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, he didn't want me to go, obviously and…" she broke off.
"And?"
She let out a long breath and sat down in the chair next to the desk in the corner. "He'd been hinting all evening about having sex and when we got back to the house after the bells, well, it was clear that was what he wanted…and I said no. That's when I told him I was leaving."
He digested the information, "Then what happened?"
"I packed my stuff, we argued back and forth, he told me not to go…" she paused. "I managed to get out of the room and down the stairs to the front door and he tried to stop me from getting out. Fortunately, his brother talked him into letting me go."
"Did he hurt you?"
"No."
"What about when you said no to sex?"
"He didn't hurt me, Frank, I promise you. He wanted it, I said no, and that was it." She sat back in the chair and surveyed him. "You didn't have to come all the way up here."
"How could I not?" he sat forwards. "Do you know how long I've waited to hear you say that you'd left him?"
"A week or so?"
"A hell of a lot longer than that." He got to his feet and moved over towards her, taking her hands and pulling her up and out of the chair into his arms again. "I'm proud of you."
"Proud?" she frowned, "I'm not sure walking out on your marriage is something to be particularly proud about. Sorry," she sighed. "I shouldn't have said that. I wasn't casting any aspersions on you…"
"I know," he brushed his lips against hers. "But you can be proud. Walking away takes a lot of guts."
"I suppose. I just feel a bit shit about it, if I'm being honest."
He wanted her to be honest with him, and yet he couldn't help but wish she would be a bit more honest about how she felt about the future, rather than the effect she knew she'd had on her, hopefully, soon to be ex-husband. "I've really missed you, even if it has only been a week." He felt himself stir at her closeness. Now that she was his, really his, all he wanted to do was get into bed with her and satisfy the hunger that had been gnawing at him since she had driven away from him. "Shall we go to bed?"
She stiffened slightly and moved away from him. "I could really use a shower, if you don't mind."
The rejection felt like a slap in the face, but he recovered quickly and shot her a smile, "Of course not. I might join you." He waited for her to say that that would be all right, or that she would like if he did, but she didn't. She turned away towards the bathroom, unzipping the back of her dress. He couldn't help but watch and, as she let it fall to the floor and kicked it behind her, he suddenly noticed the ugly rips in her tights. "Hang on." She paused at the bathroom door and turned back to look at him. "What's that?"
"What's what?" she asked, following his gaze, her face flushing slightly as she realised what he was referring to. "I told you, it was clear what he wanted and, well, he got a little carried away."
"Carried away?" he moved over to her. "Actually ripping your clothes isn't getting a little carried away, Christina, it's committing an assault with intent to rape."
"Oh, don't start, please…" she sighed, closing her eyes. "He didn't assault me, and he didn't try to rape me. I'm his wife; he thought I was up for it. Besides, even if he had actually raped me, there's nothing any of us could have done about it, is there?" Before he could answer, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, locking it behind her. A few seconds later, he heard the water running in the shower and all he could do was sit on the bed, wait and try to remain calm.
She was right of course; husbands could rape their wives without impunity. They had both recognised that when Sophie Brennan had come into the station. But he had told her before that if that were to ever happen to her, he would only be unable to do anything to Stewart professionally. Personally, well, that was a whole different ball game. Ten minutes or so later, the water stopped, the door opened, and she emerged with a towel around her body, her hair wet.
"I'm sorry," she said, ruefully. "I know you're only concerned."
"Yeah, well…" he chose to let it lie. "What went on between the two of you doesn't really concern me, does it? All I'm interested in is where we go from here, you and me."
She walked back over to the chair and sat down. "I was thinking about that when I knew you were on your way up here. I probably should have tried to get some sleep but…I couldn't. My mind was too busy going over and over what I do now."
"Well, I'm here to help with that."
"I left the car at his parents' house."
"You want me to go and get it back?"
"No, I don't care about the car. He can drive it back if he wants. Can you take me back to London with you though?"
"Well, I was hardly going to leave you here. Assuming I'm allowed to stay, we can set off after breakfast. Should only take us a couple of hours to get back."
She smiled gently at him, "Of course you're allowed to stay. What kind of person would I be to let you drive all the way up here and then kick you out?" He didn't say anything. "You're disappointed I didn't rip your clothes off the minute you walked through the door?"
In light of what she had carefully told him about what had happened with Stewart, he didn't want to make light of her comment, but he knew he would be lying if he denied it. "Part of me was hoping you were as desperate to see me as I was to see you."
"I was…I am…you're all I've thought about this last week. If I didn't have you, I doubt I would have left him."
"I told you that you needed to leave him for you, not me."
"I know, but I also know that, deep down, you wanted me to leave him for you. And I suppose, deep down, I did. I just…I don't know…sex wasn't the very first thing that crossed my mind when I saw you."
"Oh yeah, what was?"
"Safety…security…care." She smiled sheepishly. "I suppose that sounds a bit pathetic."
"Of course it doesn't. Makes me feel good to hear you say those things about me. Not many women have, to be honest." Truthfully, he'd never really seen himself in that light. Maybe with Julie when they had first met, but more recently, he hadn't wanted to be seen that way, as it inevitably brought up feelings and emotions that, more often than not, he wasn't interested in experiencing. But with her, it was different. "So, what do you want to do if you don't want to have sex?"
"I suppose I should dry my hair," she replied, looking at herself in the mirror, "then get some sleep."
He watched as she unfurled the hairdryer from the drawer and then stood, blow-drying her hair at the mirror. His body felt exhausted, yet his mind was racing over all the possibilities that the future now held for them. 1991 was going to be a good year; he could feel it. When she had finished, she went into her bag and pulled out a nightshirt, dropping the towel and pulling it over her head. "I hope you don't mind," he said, unbuttoning his shirt, "but I left in a bit of a hurry."
"I don't mind," she replied, pulling back the covers of the bed and slipping inside. "It's nothing I've not seen before."
With a strange sense of dignity, he kept his underpants on as he joined her beneath the duvet, turning over to look at her. "Not how I imagined spending the first few hours of the new year."
"Not how I imagined it either," she looked into his eyes. "I've done the right thing, haven't I?"
The answer was obvious, as least to him, but he chose a more diplomatic response. "Only you can decide that."
"Thanks a lot."
"You know what I mean. You had to make the right decision for you and, for what it's worth, I think you have."
"Because you're benefitting from it."
"Well, I won't lie, you being separated does make things easier, in one sense."
She paused, "I told him I wanted a divorce. You should have seen the look on his face."
He shuffled closer to her, "You're not responsible for him, Chris, you can't be. He's made his choices and you've made yours on the back of it. Nobody can blame you for that."
"His family must hate me."
He watched as her eyes glistened with unshed tears, "That matters to you, does it?"
"Of course it does. They're the only family I've known for years. I owe them so much…"
"You don't owe them anything," he said firmly. "The only person you owe anything to is yourself."
"The world according to Frank Burnside?"
"If you like. Maybe you need to take a little bit of me on board and stop caring so much what other people think about you. It's just a waste of energy. His family don't matter, not anymore. Soon you'll be his ex-wife, consigned to the history books."
"I don't think it'll be as easy as that," she said, "not with our history."
"All right, so you were childhood sweethearts. People change. He certainly has, and you can't be expected to just carry on regardless. You're not the same person you were at sixteen. None of us are. You owe it to yourself to do what makes you happy, not what you think makes other people happy."
"You're right, I know you're right."
"Of course I'm right," he quipped, "I'm never wrong, remember?" She laughed. "That's more like it. I don't want to see you upset." He leaned over and kissed her. "Everything's going to be all right, I promise."
"I'm glad you're here," she whispered.
"I'm glad I'm here too," he replied, drawing her into him and resting his chin on top of her head.
Everything was going to change.
1 January 1991
Christina pushed the food around on her plate and suddenly realised that she wasn't hungry. Having eaten nothing since the meal the previous evening, she had expected to be ravenous, but her stomach felt as though it had a hard knot in it, preventing her from digesting even the simplest thing.
Sleep had claimed Frank quickly and for a while she had lain in the dark listening to his breathing, thinking about what was to come. At some point, however, she must have dozed off, jolted awake suddenly by light coming in through the window and Frank emerging from the bathroom, water dripping from his semi-naked form. In that instance, she had wanted nothing more than him and, recognising the desire in her eyes, he had come quickly to her, making love to her on top of the bed. As they had lain together in the breathless aftermath, she couldn't help but feel that it marked a change. It was the first time she had been intimate with anyone since leaving her marriage. The fact that she had left her marriage, should have made her feel better. After all, how could it be cheating if you were separated? And yet, as satisfying as it was, it had still left her feeling slightly numb.
"You need to eat something," Frank said, breaking into her thoughts and she looked back down at the cooked breakfast in front of her.
"I don't have much of an appetite," she replied, putting her cutlery down and pouring herself some more tea. "Maybe later, once we get back."
"Suit yourself," he replied, leaning over and spearing a sausage with his fork. "Waste not, want not."
"Help yourself." She watched him over the rim of her cup, well aware that there was a lightness about him that she couldn't quite join in with. He was clearly ecstatic that she had made the break away from Stewart and allowing him to make love to her that morning obviously compounded that feeling, but she couldn't help but think that his whole outlook on it was rather simplistic. Even taking Stewart out of the equation, there were so many other factors to consider.
"So, plan for today," he said somewhat decisively, looking over at her. "We'll get checked out, head back down the road and I'll take you to your place so you can get the rest of your stuff, then take you back to mine."
She paused, suddenly all too aware of what he was thinking, and realising she would need to disavow him of the notion. "I'm not coming to stay with you, Frank."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not, it…it wouldn't be right. I was thinking about it last night and I was hoping you could make a call to get me into a section house."
He looked at her as though she was insane. "A section house? You're not serious."
"I'm deadly serious."
"Christina, section houses are for losers like Reg Hollis, not women like you."
"Plenty of women stay there. Section houses are housing for police officers. I'm a police officer, and I need somewhere to stay."
"You've got somewhere to stay – with me."
"No."
"You're being ridiculous," he glared at her. "Where is the sense in you staying in a section house when…"
"No, you're the one being ridiculous," she interrupted him. "How can I possibly come and stay with you? How on earth would we ever be able to hide that?"
"Well, it wouldn't need to be that difficult. Leave at different times, make sure no-one saw us together…"
"Right, and what if someone sees us, or follows us?"
"Who's going to be following us?"
"Stewart might! And he if thinks for a minute that there's something going on between us and that that might have had a bearing on me leaving him, then he'll probably be straight round to Brownlow's office and then you and I are in the shit! We're not two random people who met one night and hooked up, you know!"
"I'm aware of that."
She sighed heavily and put her face in her hands. "I wonder what's going on at the house." He didn't say anything and when she eventually looked back over at him, saw that his expression was grim. "I mean, I wonder if any of them care that I left, or if they're wondering where I am and if I'm ok." Part of her had stupidly thought that Stewart would have tracked her down somehow and though the last thing she wanted was any kind of showdown, the fact that nothing seemed to have happened as a result of her leaving unnerved her slightly. "Maybe he went home, thinking I might have gone there."
"Another reason why you shouldn't go back there," he said. "Not without protection."
She laughed in spite of herself, "You're making him sound like some sort of gangster."
"Well, he did try to rape you."
A shiver ran through her, "No, he didn't. Don't say that."
"Fine, but I still don't think you should be going back to the house, not without me being there."
"I thought you said you would take me?"
"I did, but I was waiting for you to say that you wanted me to hide in a bush like some sort of peeping tom whilst you got your things."
"Well, if he is there, then we can't be seen together."
"Christina, if he is there, you're not going inside, and I'm not arguing with you about it," he added when she opened her mouth to protest. "I'm your DI and that's an order."
Despite his words, she could see the softness in his eyes and felt a sudden rush of feeling towards him. "Yes Guv."
"Right then," he leaned back in his chair, "and we're not leaving here until you've at least eaten something."
XXXX
"Hello, Ronnie? It's Frank Burnside, how are you? Oh, I'm fine thanks. Happy New Year to you." Frank cocked the phone receiver between his ear and his shoulder as he slipped his address book back in his pocket. He knew he could count on Ronnie Anderson being on duty at Newton Street. He had never been one for taking holidays. "Listen, I was hoping you might be able to do me a favour. I've got a WDC that needs accommodation. You got any spaces free at the moment?" Glancing over his shoulder, he looked over to where Christina was waiting by the hotel door. "Oh, you have? Brilliant. Listen, can I bring her over this afternoon? Ronnie, you're a star. Right, we'll see you later, then. Cheers, bye." Replacing the receiver, he walked over to meet her. "You're in luck. They've got space in Newton Street."
"Great, thanks."
"It's not the Ritz, but it's the best of a bad bunch. Ronnie Anderson's the warden there and he'll see you right."
"I appreciate it."
"I hope you do. Are we ready to go then?" She nodded and followed him out of the door towards the car park. She slid her bag into the back passenger seat and then paused before opening the passenger door, her eyes scanning the road behind them. He knew what she was looking for, but he elected to say nothing. "You can pick the music if you like," he said as he started the engine. "But no teeny-bopper nonsense, all right?"
"Teeny-bopper?" she wrinkled her nose. "How old do you think I am?"
"I think you're very young and very sexy," he replied, leaning over to kiss her, "and I'm a very lucky man."
"Fiona's younger than me."
"Fiona's too young. Who needs the hassle of a twenty-five-year-old, even if she has got good tits?" She laughed and he was pleased that his comment had the desired effect of lightening the mood. "I wonder if she'll be heartbroken if I just stop calling her?"
"Don't you at least owe her an explanation?"
"Do I?" he asked, pulling out onto the main road.
"Well, she was your girlfriend, sort of."
"Sort of nothing. I never made out it was that way at all. She knew the score, better than I gave her credit for actually."
"How do you mean?"
"She called me out on the fact that I fancied you. Reckoned it was obvious that night in the pub and she said she thought you fancied me too."
"Well, I guess she was right."
"Yeah…" he paused, wondering if he should mention it, given all that she had said so far about people finding out about them, and then resolved that it was better that she knew. "Listen…eh…I don't quite know how to say this but, well, Ted Roach."
"What about him?"
"He knows…about us." He waited for her to explode with anger or to at least start questioning him about how it had come about, but she said nothing. She kept her gaze fixed on the horizon in front of her and he suddenly wondered if she had heard him. "I said…"
"I know."
Her response took him by surprise, "How do you mean, you know?"
"He cornered me in the pub the same night you're referring to, started going on about June and Gordon and how bad it would be if it all came out. He was trying to send me a message, said he didn't want me to risk throwing everything away on…well…on someone who might not deserve it. I reckon he knew how I felt about you."
"Well, he certainly gets about a bit, our Ted," he muttered, seething inwardly at the implication that he wouldn't have been worth her making the decision to be with him. "He's made a few comments like that to me in the past too but…well, I mean he actually knows now. I told him about us." She looked over at him. "We were in the pub the other night and he knew there was something up with me and it just all came out." He paused. "I'm sorry."
"Frank…"
"I didn't mean for it to happen, honestly I didn't. Anyway, I told him…" he paused again, poised to tell her about his idea for a transfer out of Sun Hill that might alleviate the issue of them working together whilst having a relationship, but suddenly realising that it was likely neither the time nor the place. "I told him that he had to keep his mouth shut."
"What are the chances of that?" she scoffed.
"Ted's a good bloke and regardless of the relationship he and I have, he cares about you as a friend. I don't think he'd do anything to deliberately hurt you."
"No, maybe not." She sighed. "I know the truth is going to have to come out sometime, but I just want us to be able to control it, not Ted to get drunk one night and shoot his mouth off. The most important thing is that Stewart needs to hear it from me."
"You're going to tell him about us?"
"I suppose there's going to come a point when I don't have a choice, isn't there? And I owe him my honesty, at least."
He bit his tongue, desperate to say that she didn't owe the bastard anything, but once more realising that it probably wouldn't go down well. "Are you going to tell him we had an affair, or that it started after you left him?"
She shook her head, "I don't know yet."
