23 February 1991

Twelve hours later, he still felt numb.

The feeling had started the moment that she had said the words. Disbelief and then…numbness, like he had never experienced before. As though he couldn't hear, see or think about anything else other than what she had said, what she had thrown at him.

Rape.

She would have accused him of rape.

After being with her, after sex or lovemaking or whatever you wanted to call it, she would have turned round and accused him of rape. All because he wanted her to stay with him, all because he loved her, all because he didn't care what anyone thought or what happened to his career. After all that they had done, all that they had meant to one another, she would have done…that.

He wasn't sure when night had become day, the contents of the minibar rapidly consumed as he had battled to attach some meaning, some understanding to what she had said and, when that had failed, he had called down to room service and ordered more and more scotch until the numbness became oblivion and he didn't have to think about it anymore. He couldn't help but wonder, as he poured the liquid down his throat, whether this was what had driven Stewart Church, the numbness.

He hadn't bothered to draw the curtains and so it was the first pallor of morning light that woke him, his eyes struggling to adjust, his head beginning a low throb at the front of his skull and yet, the numbness remained. For a moment, he forgot where he was and what had happened, but then it all came flooding back and he felt his body shut down.

He couldn't help but wonder if that's what happened to men who were formally accused of rape. Not the ones who had done it, for they could have no conscious feeling about it, but the ones who hadn't; the ones who were innocent. He'd always assumed that they would feel angry but maybe they just felt numb.

Dragging himself back to the shower, he stood under the spray, his gaze locked on the glass, seeing in his minds eye her pressed up against it, her eyes closed, her mouth open, hearing her groaning under his touch and calling out his name. That wasn't rape. None of it had been rape. She had wanted it, been desperate for it. Suddenly disgusted, he scrubbed at himself, desperate to remove any trace of her from his body, not in an attempt to hide anything, but to try and rid himself of her and bring some feeling back into his extremities. Then he dressed, went down for breakfast and found himself scanning the other people there to see if anyone was watching him. Had any of them witnessed what had happened between him and Christina the previous night? Had any of them been in the restaurant when they had argued, or outside when they had kissed?

"Stop it," he said to himself as the waiter brought him coffee. "You didn't rape her, and she isn't going to report anything." The hot liquid burned his throat and, ever so slightly, he felt the numbness start to recede, draw back like the peeling of an orange. One layer discarded and another one taking its place.

Anger.

She didn't get to do this. She didn't get to come to his room, make love with him and then threaten him. After everything he had done for her, all the times he had been there for her…she didn't get to do this. She wasn't going to hold that over his head, not if he had anything to do about it. If she wanted to play that game, then he could play it too. If he wanted to, he could do exactly as he had pretended he would; spread the rumours about her, about the little slag in CID who tried to sleep her way to an easy life. By the time he had finished, everyone would think she had deserved to get stabbed.

Although he was booked to stay until Monday, there seemed little point in remaining, not now. He'd be far better going back to London, visiting some regular haunts, maybe giving good old Fiona a bell. She'd never accuse him of anything so vile. First though, first he had to pay her a visit. She had left him speechless the previous night, but he wasn't speechless now. No, he was going to tell her exactly what he thought about her and about how hard her life was going to be from now on. She was going to wish she had never laid eyes on him.

The walk to her father's flat seemed to take less time than it had before, but the pulsating anger coursing through him spurred him on quicker than the hesitant hopeful expectation of the previous day had. As he reached the block of flats he paused, well aware that her father probably wouldn't let him in and not really wanting him privy to what he had to say in any event. Although, maybe he could get him nicked for something. That might help make him feel a bit better.

He waited around the corner, his collar turned up against the breeze, watching the door and hoping that she would keep to the routine she had mentioned about spending her days walking. He'd wait all day if he had to, despite the temperature. There was no way he was walking away without having his say.

Half an hour later, he was finally rewarded. The main door of the block opened and…there she was, casually dressed and with her coat buttoned up to her neck, but it was her and he felt his anger sink and then rise rapidly again. Christ, he had loved her, did love her. Why was she doing this?

"Off for your morning stroll?" He stepped out in front of her, almost gratified by the lock of shock that crossed her face. "Not always wise to be a creature of habit, you know."

She glanced behind herself quickly before looking back at him again, "What are you doing here?"

"Did you really think I was going to let you stand there and say you would accuse me of raping you and not confront you about it? Did you really think that?"

"I…"

"Is that what you really think happened last night, Christina? Did I force your head down? Did I force myself between your legs? Were you screaming at me to stop?"

"No."

"All because I wanted you to stay. All because I didn't want you to walk away from me."

"Frank…"

"I would never have thought you'd be capable of something like that. Do you have any idea, any idea, what a false allegation of rape does to a person? You're a police officer, for Christ's sake! You've seen the fallout from something like that!"

"I was never going to say that you raped me!" she exclaimed. "I just…"

"Just what?"

"I just needed you to let me out of the room."

"I would have let you out of the room if you'd been sensible about it! If you'd agreed to have a conversation with me, rather than just throwing on your clothes, bolting for the door and then threatening to make up wild accusations about me!"

"That's the point! I can't have a conversation with you! You don't listen!"

"Oh, I listened all right. I listened to what you said last night, and I heard you say that you would accuse me of rape! Of forcing myself on you against your will!" He shuddered. "You know as well as I do that what we did last night was anything but rape! We made love, like we always do! You think I'm going to let you get away with throwing an accusation like that at me, whether you would have reported it or not?"

She paused, "What do you mean?"

"I mean…" he stepped closer to her. "That you've cooked your goose now as far as I'm concerned, darling. No-one says that about me, no-one. Not even you. You're dangerous. If you were a bloke, I'd have laid you out by now."

"Frank…please…" she put up her hands and revulsion coursed through him.

"I'm not going to hit you, you stupid cow! I don't hit women, especially not the one I'm in love with, though God knows why I've got any feelings left for you after last night!" He stepped away from her, unable to fully suppress the need and longing that surged through him whenever she was close to him. Distance was his friend right now. "So, you and I are done. Over. Finished. But then I'm guessing that's what you wanted to hear given that you're adamant you don't feel anything for me. Might take me a bit of time to get to that point, but I'll get there. I'll get you out of my head and my heart, don't you worry. And we won't have to be concerned about any misunderstandings in the future, either, because I'm never going to touch you again, so you'll never get the chance to accuse me of something like that again, ever. You understand me?"

She nodded mutely.

"Well, I suppose I should let you get on with enjoying the rest of your sick leave. I'll be heading back to London now, seeing as I suppose I got what I came for. Funny, I never thought I'd like to be in a position to say I had something in common with your husband but given we're the only two men in the world who have been inside you, I guess I'll take that."

"So, is that what you're going to do then?" she asked.

"What?"

"Tell everyone that you've been to bed with me? Make me out to be a slag, just like you said last night?"

He paused, well aware that, deep down, he had no intention of doing any such thing. How could he, when she still meant so much to him? And yet, the hurt, the anger, the pain almost threatened to overwhelm him. "Aren't you? You dropped your knickers quick enough for me. If Tosh hadn't come into my office that night you would have let me fuck you right there." She inhaled sharply and he ploughed on before he could change his mind. "Well, I guess you'll never know what I might say, will you, unless the rumours start."

"I'm sorry!" she called out as he made to turn away. "I'm…I'm sorry…"

"I don't need your sorrow," he sniped back. "All I want from you now is hard graft, and you can bet your life I'm going to get it. You want to stay at Sun Hill so badly, you can stay, but I'm not going to make it easy for you, mark my words, Constable."

He kept walking that time, despite the fact that he could hear her saying something to him, carried away as it was by the wind, despite the fact that he wanted to do nothing more than take every word back…he put his head down against the force of the gusts and kept walking, back along the seafront until he reached the hotel and the sanctity of his room, whereupon all the pent-up emotion left him in a rush and all he felt able to do was collapse onto the bed.

They'd really done it now. She had said she didn't love him and had thrown one of the worst accusations a woman could at him as a threat. He had responded in kind and made it clear they would be nothing to each other beyond the bounds of their professional employment.

It was over. There was no going back.

XXXX

"Bloody hell, are you all right?"

"I'm…I'm fine…" she closed the door behind her and walked into the living room, feeling more chilled than the cold winter air could ever have been responsible for.

"You've only been gone ten minutes, what happened?"

"Nothing," she replied. "Nothing, I just…thought it was too cold to walk after all." Shedding her coat, she sat down in the chair next to the radiator running her hands up and down her arms to try and increase the blood flow and stop the shivering that had come upon her as Frank had walked away.

For a moment, Bill said nothing, then he came over and sat down opposite her. "Anything to do with last night?"

She met his gaze but said nothing. Her composure had returned by the time she had got back to the flat after being with Frank, her brain still slightly disbelieving at the words she had let come out of her mouth. When he had asked how things had gone, she had given him a muted answer, nothing to suggest that anything further would come of their meeting, but also nothing to suggest the true reality of what had happened. She had lain in the dark in her bedroom, listening to the wind whistling and wondered if she had done the right thing.

His reaction that morning only proved that she had. She had been successful in turning him against her, his bitter, crude words evidence of that. He might have said that he still cared for her but that would soon go once he thought more on it. It wouldn't take him long to rid himself of every loving thought he ever held for her.

She was a coward, she knew that. Suggesting that she would report him for rape had been a cheap shot, designed to end a situation that she hadn't been able to control. If she had looked at him, if she had engaged with him, if she had talked with him, she knew that she would have been back in his bed within seconds, and they would have been right back where they started. As painful as it was, this was the right way forward, but she only wished she could have gone about it differently.

"He wasn't going to let me out of the room," she heard herself say. "I told him I'd report him for rape if he didn't."

Bill didn't say anything for a long moment, merely looked at her and blinked slowly. "But he didn't rape you?" She shook her head. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! I went to his room willingly. I slept with him willingly. I just…I needed something to make him turn against me…to make him not care about me."

"Well, you certainly picked the worst thing you could, didn't you?" She nodded. "So…what just happened?"

"He was waiting for me outside, confronted me about what I said, told me it was over between us, just as I wanted."

"Seems a bit extreme."

"He said he would leave the Met!"

"So?"

"So…" she got her feet and moved to the window, feeling her back protest slightly. "I couldn't let him do that, Dad. The Met is Frank's life. He'd be giving it up for all the wrong reasons."

"And rather than explain that to him, rationally, you thought the best course of action was to threaten to report him for rape?"

"I said it in the heat of the moment."

"It's a pretty vile thing to say, even in the heat of the moment."

"Whose side are you on?" she turned to face him again.

"Right now, I don't know."

Getting to his feet, he walked away from her into the kitchen, and, after a moment's pause, she followed him. "What do you mean, you don't know? I'm your daughter!"

"And you've just stood there and told me you threatened to report an innocent man, a man you're supposed to be in love with, for a rape that never happened." He shook his head. "Old Bill tactics right enough, eh?"

She blinked, "What?"

"Fitting folk up. I suppose it's only to be expected."

"I've never fitted anyone up in my life!" she exclaimed. "How dare you suggest that I would!"

"You're a copper," he shrugged. "Don't tell me it doesn't happen. You're all at it, just so as you can get what you want. You've as good as admitted it here."

Her chest tightened as she took in what he was saying and suddenly realised, horribly, that nothing had changed. Yes, he had welcomed her into his home and given her somewhere to stay, but he still thought of her as the enemy, still thought her capable of underhand tactics, and even though she knew what she had said to Frank was wrong, it still hurt that her father would latch onto his old prejudices. "Well, if that's what you think, I'm surprised you let me stay here at all."

"Oh, come on Goldilocks, don't be like that," he sighed as she turned back towards her bedroom. "I'm only telling you how I feel. The police force is rotten to the core!"

"That's not true! I'm a good officer, Frank is a good officer! There are thousands of good officers out there doing a very difficult job!" She pulled her bags out from under her bed. "I'm not going to stay here and have you accuse me of things like that!"

"Christ, you'd think I'd suggested you were bent!"

"Oh, and that would be worse would it than you suggesting that I fit people up?!" She started tossing her clothes into the bags.

"What would you have done if Frank hadn't let you out the room?" he asked pointedly. "Would you really have cried rape?" She kept moving, unwilling to answer his question only because she knew the truth and it only made the whole situation seem even more ludicrous. "Well?"

"No…I…no."

"So, you might have?"

"I said no, didn't I? Anyway, it didn't come to that."

"I don't think you're right in the head."

She paused then, remembering what Frank had said to her in the hospital when she had first told him she didn't love him, when he had told her that she wasn't well. "Maybe I'm not," she said softly. "Can someone go through what I've been through and not be affected by it?"

"Yeah, well I can't answer that, can I?" Bill paused. "Oh, for heaven's sake, you're not really going, are you?"

"I think it's best if I do."

"So, we can't agree to disagree about anything?"

"I just…I'm sorry…" tears pooled in her eyes. "I think it might just be best if I went home." The prospect of being alone, no judgment, no-one to think about but herself seemed like the most welcome course of action at that moment.

"Well, you do what you have to do," Bill said. "But I reckon you need to take a long hard look at yourself. Most sane people wouldn't suggest making up a rape allegation to deliberately turn their boyfriend against them."

"No," she agreed as he walked away. "I suppose they wouldn't."

XXXX

"Well, well, well, you're the last person I was expecting to hear from. How are you, Frank?"

"I'm great," he lied. "You?"

"Oh fine, fine. What have you been up to? I've not heard from you for weeks now."

"Yeah well, you know how it is. Busy with work and all that."

"You work too hard."

"Probably. Listen, you free?"

"Tonight?"

"Now. Well, in a couple of hours or so."

"Oh…" Fiona chuckled, "it's like that, is it? If I say yes, am I guaranteed a better performance than last time?"

Frank gripped the receiver in his hand. "I'm pretty sure you won't be disappointed."

"Well, as it happens, I don't have anything else on this afternoon. I'll away and change the sheets."

"You do that." He put the phone down and let out a long breath before finishing putting the rest of his things back in his bag and letting himself out of the room. Before he did so, he took one last look around it, committing how nice it was to memory, along with everything that had been said and done there, good and bad.

"Sorry to see you go," the receptionist said as he explained he wanted to check out earlier than anticipated. "I hope there was nothing wrong with the room?"

"No, it was fine," he replied shortly, not wanting to get into a conversation with her about it. Twenty minutes later, he was heading for the outskirts of Brighton and the road that would take him home to London. All he could think about was her, about the things she had said, the look on her face and the fact that, going forwards, she would mean nothing to him. He could only hope that she elected to take her full entitlement to sick leave. Another five weeks or so of not having to see her was likely the only thing that was going to keep him sane.

He made good time and drove straight to Fiona's flat, where she answered the door wearing very little, exactly as he had hoped. If she had expected flowers, hearts and soppy sentiments, she was left disappointed. There was only one thing he wanted, one thing he needed, and, within the bounds of consent, that was what he was going to get.

"My, my!" she gasped as they fell onto the bed together. "You are keen!"

Although he had slept with her many times before, she felt different somehow, tasted different, sounded different. At first, he couldn't work out why and then it struck him that it was because he was comparing her to someone else entirely, someone he would never go to bed with again, someone he needed to get out of his head. She didn't complain that he was perhaps a little rough with her, indeed she seemed to welcome it, and though he was anxious not to come too quickly, he also didn't want it to last any longer than was absolutely necessary. She came first, quivering and mewing under him whilst he thrust inside her, closed his eyes and tried to make his mind go blank until his own release came.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked as they lay side by side afterwards, looking at the ceiling.

"Talk about what?"

"Whatever it is that's bothering you. Whatever it is that's brought you to me on a rainy Saturday afternoon."

"Boredom?"

"Well, thanks very much. At least when we were hooking up last year you had a bit of charm about you."

"Sorry," he checked himself, well aware that none of this was her fault, "that was unfair."

"So…do you want to talk about it or not?"

"Not really."

"Fine by me." She lit a cigarette. "I'm guessing you've been with someone else since I last saw you."

"What makes you say that?"

"Women's intuition. I was watching you, but you weren't watching me. I reckon you were thinking about somebody else."

"Maybe."

"And?"

"And nothing. It's over. Finished. It didn't mean anything anyway. Just sex." Even as he said the words, he felt his heart contract.

"Like this, you mean."

"No, not like this."

Fiona blew smoke towards the ceiling and then rolled onto her side to look at him. "Was it her then?"

"Her who?"

"The one from the pub, the ginger one." He didn't say anything. "You don't have to say it; it's coming off you in waves. Reject you, did she?"

"Not exactly."

"Not…exactly?"

"I love her. At least I did…I do." He didn't know why he was telling her this and yet, there was almost something comforting about confiding in someone. Someone out with the job, someone who wouldn't necessarily judge him.

"Well, either you do, or you don't." She paused. "I thought she was married?"

"She is…was…well, she's getting divorced."

"Dear me, you can't make up your mind about much, can you? Is it definitely over, whatever it was?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry." She reached over and stroked his arm gently. "I told you before that you were a pretty decent bloke."

"A pretty decent bloke…" he echoed, wondering what that even meant. There he was, still in love with Christina and yet using Fiona for sex. Maybe he was some sort of sex fiend, even if not quite the one she had threatened to label him as. Suddenly, he felt slightly sick. "I should go."

"Oh, thank you very much. Just leave the money on the nightstand, will you?"

"I'm sorry," he lifted his shirt from the floor. "I didn't mean it like that but coming here was a mistake. I'm not…I'm not like that."

"You're not a man who wants sex? Please." She sat up and watched him. "I like you, Frank. I'm not saying I don't get a lot of male attention, because I do, but I'm not really up for settling down or anything. Footloose and fancy free; a bit like how I always considered you to be. My point is," she said as he turned to face her. "I'm always available if you need an outlet."

He looked at her, at her pretty face, long blonde hair, mouth-watering chest and couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness. She was twenty-five for Christ's sake. She should be having fun with blokes her own age or finding someone who cared enough about her to make a commitment to her, not letting wounded forty-somethings come and use her for sex. The bile rose in his throat again. "I'll see you."

"Anytime, you know that."

He let himself out of her flat, the nausea dropping in the fresh air and, as he got back into the car, he had a sudden urge to go back the way he had come, go back to Brighton and tell Christina it was all a huge mistake. Then he remembered what she had said, what she had threatened and how it had made him feel. How could he ever trust her? How could he ever be with her knowing that was the kind of thing that came into her mind when she didn't get her own way? No, it was better this way. Distance. Professionalism. Authority. He was her boss after all, and the biggest mistake of his life had been to ever imagine it could be anything else.