16 June 1991

"This is very, very good work. I'm very impressed."

"Oh, thank you Ma'am," Christina replied, her face colouring slightly at the compliment. "It's good of you to say so."

"No, I mean it. You've really worked hard on this, and you've laid it all out in these charts very clearly. I think Area will be very impressed and I'm confident they'll give us the go ahead for more in-depth investigations." Kim smiled at her. "In fact, I'd like you to come with me next week when I'm due to present the findings so far."

"Me?"

"Yes, I think it's important that hard work and initiative is recognised, don't you agree?"

"Well…yes I suppose so. Thank you, Ma'am."

"Not at all, you deserve it. But I would imagine you have an in-tray piled to the ceiling with other jobs that you've had to put on the back burner."

"Well, yes." She thought about the overflowing paperwork that lay on her desk, no let-up allowed simply because she had been working on something exclusively for the DCI. In the immediate aftermath of the Mick Whelan arrest, as though she had sensed a new wave of tension brewing in the department, Kim had commandeered her to work on a large-scale fraud investigation. It had been complex, involved a lot of reading and plotting of information that had occupied all of her attention in the last six weeks. But it had come at a good time and provided a good distraction from the overwhelming chill that hovered every time she and Frank were in a room together.

Despite the fact that it had been Kim's call, and that no-one else in the department had seen fit to alert him to what the plan was to trap Whelan, he appeared to have taken the view that the only person to blame for the fact that he had been kept in the dark was her. They had barely exchanged two words since that day, a familiar return to the behaviour he had displayed when she had returned from her sick leave; ignoring her completely rather than having it out with her.

This time, however, she had resolved to give as good as she got. Yes, it upset her that he was taking that attitude with her, but she told herself that she wasn't to blame and that if he wanted to be childish about it, that was up to him. So, the request from Kim to work on the fraud case and, as a result, be spared too much contact with Frank, had indeed been a blessing in disguise.

"How are things going personally?" Kim asked, looking at her curiously. "You've still be attending your counselling sessions?"

"Yes Ma'am, they're very helpful," she replied. Her weekly meetings with Rebecca had become less anxious as time had passed and they appeared to have built up a good rapport. She had slowly unwound the strands of her life with Stewart and, when she had reached the point of disclosing her affair with Frank, the other woman had barely batted an eyelid. She was more concerned about how she was going to explain how they had reached the point they were at now, particularly her ill-thought-out suggestion of crying rape.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. You know that you can come to me if you have any difficulties, any difficulties at all."

"Yes Ma'am," she replied, thinking that the breadcrumb trail was being laid to allow her to give voice to what was currently going on with Frank, but she elected to remain silent. Explaining why he felt the need to blame her solely for what had happened could only lead to unfortunate questions.

"How did you get on?" Jim asked, when she eventually wandered back into the office.

"Yeah, she was pleased. Wants me to go with her to Area next week."

"Oooh," he raised his eyebrows. "Teacher's pet, eh?"

"Hardly." She glanced briefly through the window into Frank's office before sitting back down at her desk and surveying the overflowing tray. "Means I've got to start dealing with all this lot though."

"Good luck with that. Pub tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"You suppose so?" he shook his head. "It's your birthday, Chris, not to mention the fact that you need to make up for last year, missing the big 3-0 and all that."

She smiled ruefully, thinking that he was right. This time last year she had been sat in the hospital with Stewart, wondering if he was going to be ok. It was crazy to think how much had changed in twelve short months, some things not for the better either. "You're not wrong," she said finally.

"Of course I'm not. So, drinks it is then?"

"Yeah, go on."

"Good."

He turned back to his own work and she tried to get her head around all of the tasks that lay before her, but she couldn't help the nagging thought in her brain that had started that morning, the one she had pushed to the back of her mind at the prospect of speaking with Kim about her work on the fraud case, the one she had tried to decide whether it was better to forget altogether. She glanced into Frank's office again and watched as he sat with his feet on the desk, talking into the phone. He never once looked in her direction, never once met her gaze and though he was the person she would have wanted to talk to most about what was concerning her, she knew there was no immediate prospect of that happening.

"Jim?" He looked up again. "Can I ask your opinion on something?"

"Yeah, sure."

She took a breath. "I got a call from Longmarsh this morning, before I left to come here."

His eyes widened, "Stewart?"

"Well, yes and no. It was his personal officer. He said that Stewart wanted to write to me, some sort of apology, but that they would only permit him to do it if I agreed that I wanted him to."

"But I thought he was pleading not guilty?"

"He is, at the moment."

"Well, would a letter of apology not undermine his defence, whatever that's going to be?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I wasn't really thinking about how it would affect his case, more about how it might affect me."

"Sorry, of course." He shifted in his seat. "Do you want to hear from him?"

She paused and shook her head. "I don't know. In some respects, what happened seems so long ago, and yet other times it seems like yesterday. Sometimes I think it might be good to hear his explanation, to try and understand what was going on in his head at the time but…I just don't know." It was something she would have liked to talk about with Rebecca, but her last appointment had been the day before and she wasn't due back until the following week.

"I'm not sure it's wise," Jim said finally. "You're the victim here and, regardless of what he might want to say, he probably shouldn't be contacting you at all. I'm surprised the prison are even entertaining him."

"Yeah…" she looked away. "There's been times when I've thought I might want to actually speak to him, you know, face to face."

"Well, that's a terrible idea."

"I know."

Jim paused, "Have you spoken to the DI about this?"

"Are you joking?" she laughed. "In case you hadn't noticed, he and I aren't exactly on the best of terms right now."

"Which I absolutely think is bang out of order. Why he thinks you should take the blame for what happened with Whelan is beyond me."

She turned back to the papers in front of her glad, and yet almost amazed, that he hadn't put two and two together and come to the realisation that Frank was acting the way he was because he expected more from her, because they had shared feelings, not to mention a bed, in the past and that any wounded professional pride was heightened because he felt she should have done more to prove she was on his firm. In the weeks that had passed she had thought about it, often incessantly, wondering if he was right, if she had owed him more and whether she had done the right thing by heeding Kim's warning and staying silent. If the shoe had been on the other foot, would she have expected him to tell her? In time, she had come to realise that she wouldn't, because he was her senior officer and therefore she wouldn't have been entitled to the information and she couldn't help but think back to the days following her stabbing when Kim had tried to explain to her all the ways she could be taken advantage of.

"So…" she said, keen to bring the conversation back to its original purpose. "Do you think I should let him write to me?"

"Well, it has to be your decision at the end of the day. If you think you'd be able to handle what he has to say, then go for it. Maybe it might give you, I don't know, some closure in a way that the court case won't, especially if he takes it to trial."

She nodded slowly, digesting his words. In reality, part of her was desperate to hear what her husband might have to say about what happened that day, but only if his letter was full of remorse and regret. If, instead, it simply taunted her about her relationship with Frank, then she knew there would be little point, ultimately doing more harm than good. "I'll think about it," she said finally.

"Maybe you could ask Burnside what he thinks," Jim added helpfully. "Might be a way to break the deadlock."

"Yeah," she mused, glancing into his office again. "I suppose you could be right."

XXXX

"Yeah, that's right, end of next week. Two passengers to Benidorm. And make sure it's a decent villa, none of your low rent nonsense. Yeah, that sounds good. No, I'll confirm over the next day or two once the lady's agreed. Yeah, of course she will, no problem. All right, cheers Charlie, I'll be in touch."

He put the phone down on the travel agent and smiled in satisfaction at the prospect of the trip ahead. It had come to him in the middle of the night when he had, once again, been unable to sleep as the perfect solution. Sun, sea, sangria and sex. What more could a man ask for? It had been ages since he'd last had a holiday and the thought of seeing Fiona in a bikini, not to mention out of it, was a not entirely unpleasant one. Now, he would just have to convince her to go, which he hoped wouldn't be too difficult. They had been spending quite a lot of time together over the last few weeks, more at his instigation than hers, but she certainly hadn't been complaining.

Glancing through the window of his office he watched as Christina sat, head bowed, at her desk, her hair catching the sun and making it burn like copper fire. She probably looked pretty good in a bikini too, he reasoned. She definitely looked good out of one, that he knew for a fact. But she wouldn't be the one going with him. No, she had burnt her bridges as far as that was concerned.

Any feeling that he might be being unreasonable in his severe opinion of her, he pushed to the back of his mind. She should have told him what Kim had had planned. She should have warned him, not just sat back and waited for him to be scared shitless when Whelan had put that gun to his head. And to think, the entire time, he had been thinking about her…he shook his head. She didn't love him at all. How could she? She wasn't even his friend. A friend wouldn't have done that to him.

As though she was aware he was thinking about her, she looked up suddenly and met his gaze before looking away. Seconds later, she got to her feet, moved around her desk and knocked on his door. For a fraction of a second, he considered ignoring her then, realising how petty that would seem, bade her entry.

"Have you got a moment?" she asked.

"Does it look like I have?" he fired back at her.

She blinked. "It's about this burglary that's been put on my desk."

"What about it?"

"Well, it's almost two weeks old."

"So?"

"So…surely someone should have been on it long before now."

"Everyone's been busy," he replied, "particularly given you've been unable to do any proper work for the last six weeks other than Her Majesty's pet project. Pleased with you, was she?"

"Yes, she wants me to go Area with her next week when she presents the findings so far."

"Lucky you."

"So, about this burglary…"

"All the information should be there."

"It is but…"

"But what?" he met her gaze again. "Can't handle being back in the thick of it?"

She paused, "No Guv, that's not it. I just think that someone should have done some follow up long before now."

"Well, you'd best get your skates on then, hadn't you? We don't want CPS on the blower causing merry hell because you've been lax with your timescales, do we?"

She held his gaze for a long moment, and he could see the hurt in her eyes. "Fine," she replied finally, turning for the door and then pausing. "I…wanted to ask you something else. It's about Stewart."

"What about him?" He replied, bristling slightly at the mention of the other man's name.

"I got a call from his personal officer this morning. He wants to write to me."

"His personal officer? You do pick them up, don't you?" She said nothing. "What does he want to say?"

"I don't know. Sorry, hopefully. The thing is…he said it was up to me whether they would allow it and…well…I wondered what you thought about it."

There were many things he thought about it, none of them good. Disbelief, at the gall of the man. Anger, at the memory of what he had done to her. Jealously, that he still didn't seem to realise that he had lost the game and forfeited the prize. But then, he reminded himself, he didn't want her. Not now. Not really. "I don't think anything," he replied finally. "It's up to you."

"You don't even have an opinion?" she asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"No, I don't."

"Fine," she nodded and stepped backwards. "Thanks anyway."

"You going to the pub tonight?" he asked casually as she made to close the door behind her. "It being your special day and all that?"

If she had recognised his sarcasm, she chose not to comment on it. "Yeah, I am as it happens. Are you coming?"

"No…" he shook his head as though the idea was ludicrous. "Hot date. I'm taking Fiona to Spain next week. Need to get her in the mood. I've got a reservation at a little tapas place in town tonight." He waited for a reaction, for a flash of jealously, a misty eye, anything.

Instead, she just nodded again, "Good for you Guv, have a night evening."

He tracked her movements as she left his office and made her way back to her desk, waiting until she had sat down again before lifting the phone and dialling Fiona's number. She answered on the third ring. "What are you up to, sexy?"

"Oh, it's you," she replied.

"Well, don't sound too excited, will you?"

"Sorry. Are you wanting to come round?"

"No," he replied, slightly put out that she might think the only thing he was calling for was to arrange for sex. "You and me, dinner tonight. Cubatas, on Cocker Lane."

"Cubatas? The Spanish place?"

"Yeah, you been before?"

"No. Always quite fancied it though."

"Right, I'll pick you up at seven. Wear something Spanish and sexy." He put the phone down again and leaned back in his chair, thinking on how he would present the holiday idea to her. A few days in the sun with a hot blonde was exactly what he needed. He tried to focus on it, tried to keep the idea in his mind, but as he continued to watch Christina at her desk, something else began to slither into his brain and, once more, he lifted the phone. "Yeah, is that Longmarsh? It's DI Frank Burnside here, from Sun Hill. I want to speak to the Governor."

XXXX

The request from the prison played on her mind all day, whilst she was sorting through her workload, whilst trying to make overdue enquiries on the burglary and whilst trying to navigate her feelings on what Frank had said. The causal way he had dropped into the conversation that he was taking Fiona to Spain…she hadn't realised it would affect her as much as it did, but she found herself visualising the two of them in her mind's eye swimming in the pool, sunbathing, having sex…it wasn't as though she had assumed he was celibate, but after they had agreed to just be friends she had taken it as read that there wouldn't be anyone else for either of them during that time. The fact that he had clearly been enjoying Fiona's company all along stung a little.

By the time the end of the day arrived, she had resolved that she would let Stewart write to her. After all, they had been together a long time and perhaps she owed him the opportunity to say what he felt. Besides, it made her feel slightly better to know that she might still mean something to someone.

Choosing a quiet moment where she knew she wouldn't be disturbed, she dialled the number Stewart's personal officer had given her and waited whilst it rang out, her heart pounding.

"Hello?"

"Oh…hello. Is that Martin Cook?"

"Speaking."

"Hello, it's Christina Lewis here…Stewart Church's wife." There was a silence at the other end of the phone. "You…called me this morning?"

"Ah yes, yes I did."

"You wanted to know if I would be ok with my husband writing to me."

"Yes…"

"I've thought about it and…I actually would like to receive a letter from him…if that's all right."

There was another long silence before Martin spoke again, his voice hesitant and his tone somewhat embarrassed. "Yes…thank you for getting back in touch but…well, I'm afraid there's been a change of plan."

She frowned, "Change of plan?"

"Yes…your husband has…um...withdrawn his request."

"I don't understand."

"He no longer wants to write to you. I'm sorry," Martin said. "I realise that it's a bit of an inconvenience for him to change his mind, especially when I'm sure you've been thinking about it all day but…well…there you are. We can't force them to write, unfortunately."

"No," she replied quietly. "No, I suppose you can't. Thank you." Slowly, she replaced the receiver, feeling her insides run cold. Why would he have asked to do it, only to change his mind a few hours later? It didn't make sense somehow and yet she couldn't help but think that perhaps he had done it just to mess with her head, make her believe that he wanted to express remorse but, in reality, only wanted to make her feel worse. She felt hot tears prick at the corners of her eyes and she willed them away. She'd done too much crying over that man, over all men.

"You all right?" Jim asked suddenly, causing her to jump.

"Yep, fine."

"You sure?"

"Mmm hmmm…" she blinked rapidly to push the emotion away and rubbed her nose. "We getting ready to go to the pub then?"

"Yeah, absolutely. I said to the others and they're going to meet us there."

"Good."

"Did you ask the DI?"

"What, to come to the pub?"

"Well yeah, and about Stewart's request."

She paused. "He's taking Fiona out to dinner tonight. They're going to Spain next week, apparently."

"All right for some. What about the letter?"

"Oh, well he said it was up to me really." She shrugged as she tidied her desk for the evening, moving papers back and forth with no real idea as to where they should be positioned or why.

"About as helpful as I was then."

"Well, you were both right. No-one else can make the decision but me." She met his gaze and smiled, somewhat unwilling to divulge the content of her call to the prison. Hopefully, in time, he and Frank would forget she had even asked their opinions. "Anyway, let's go." They made their way companionably to the pub and she tried hard to forget about all the other stresses going on in her life and instead focused on the fact that it was her birthday and that her friends wanted to celebrate it with her. They were all waiting of her, choruses of 'Happy Birthday' ringing around the crowded pub and a large box of smellies presented to her as a gift, for which she thanked them all profusely.

"I think I made a better job of it this year than the last time I was put in charge," Jim said in her ear.

"Why, what happened last time?"

"Well, two years ago, I was all set to buy you a rape alarm, as a joke, after what happened at Patterson's club."

"Brilliant," she rolled her eyes. "Very comical, Jim."

"Yeah well, luckily when I told Burnside, he hit the roof. That's how you ended up with that purple jumper courtesy of Tosh instead." He pointed his pint at her. "One thing I'll say about the man, he's got decent taste in women's clothing."

She tuned out the rest of Jim's drunken ramblings, focusing on what he had said about Frank. Two years earlier, long before they had declared themselves to one another, he had cared enough to stop her being given an inappropriate present. It made her think back to their earlier conversations about when they had started to experience feelings for one another, and she couldn't help but wonder if he had loved her even then. Whatever the answer, he certainly didn't seem to love her now.

"You fancy going to a club?" Viv asked as the bell rang for last orders.

"What, dressed like this?" she gestured to her blouse and skirt. "Don't be daft."

"We could nip home and change first."

"Viv, it's almost eleven o'clock!"

"So? It's your birthday and you're only thirty-one. Hardly over the hill yet. Come on!" she nudged her sharply. "It'll help take your mind off of things."

"What things? I'm fine."

"Oh yeah? Come on, I know there's things going on in your head right now. The best cure for that is to go drinking and dancing and get chatted up by other men. It'll be a laugh."

She paused, thinking on the wisdom of it when she was due back at work the next morning, and realising that Viv was right. She couldn't spend her time wallowing, thinking about one man who was in jail and another who was about to jet off to Spain with a big-breasted blonde. Besides, she was free to do what she liked with whomever she liked.

"Sounds ideal," she said, grinning at her friend. "And I've got just the dress I can wear."

XXXX

"What is this?" Fiona asked, spearing the food suspiciously with her fork. "Is it fish?"

"It's squid," Frank replied. "Calamari."

"Oh right." She took a nibble and then put it back down on her plate. "Not for me, I don't think."

"You do surprise me." Throughout the entire meal she had shown trepidation at trying any new kind of food, preferring stick to the chips and salad that they had ordered in homage to English cuisine.

"When we're in Benidorm, is it going to be all grub like this then?"

"I'm sure we can find you some chips," he shook his head, almost unable to believe that a woman who held down a job at an accountancy firm could be so uncultured. "But it's good to try new things."

"Not if it makes you run to the bog." She smiled at her over her wine glass. "I'm looking forward to next week."

"Me too." She had been suitably thrilled by his revelation that he wanted to take her away and had proceeded to reel off all the articles of clothing she intended taking. When he had told her that a couple of bikinis should be enough, she had laughed as though it was the funniest thing she had ever heard, and he couldn't help but wonder if she'd had a few drinks before he'd even picked her up.

"How's work anyway?" she asked suddenly, bringing him back to the moment.

"Fine, as far as it goes."

"Is that it? Just, fine?"

"I suppose so."

"No grisly murders?"

"Not this week, no."

"Shame…" she lifted a chip from the bowl and sucked on it, her eyes fixed on his. "How's the ginger?"

He paused momentarily, "She's fine."

"Off again then, is it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, come on Frank, I'm not as dumb as you probably like to think. You blow hot and cold on me and when you're blowing cold, I'm pretty sure it's because she's warming you up. Mind you, you've been hot for a good few weeks now." She blinked and looked at him. "So, are you going to tell me?"

"There's nothing going on," he replied, "and I don't know what you're talking about with all this hot and cold nonsense."

"Right then. So, it wasn't her you were intending on taking to Spain originally, was it? I haven't ended up on someone's sloppy seconds ticket, have I?"

"No, of course not. Anyway, I told her today that we were going to Spain."

"And?"

"And nothing. She said she hoped we had a good time."

"Hmmm…" Fiona sat back in her chair. "The whole thing's a bit weird, that's all. I mean, I know I said I didn't want anything serious with you and I'd like to think that when we're together I make you happy…"

"Oh, blissfully so," he replied, hoping he didn't sound overly sarcastic.

"But there's just something underneath…" she shook her head. "Something that makes me think that if she was to snap her fingers, I'd be dumped off that flight quicker than you can flush bog roll."

"Don't be stupid," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand. "We're just colleagues, that's all."

"Really? A few months ago, you told me that you loved her. How do you go from love to just being colleagues?"

"It's complicated."

"Yeah, I bet."

"Look," he felt himself start to grow irritated by her incessant questions, not least of all because he couldn't work out his feelings in his own mind. "Do you want to go to Spain or not?"

"Course I do."

"Well then." He took a long drink of wine and then checked his watch. It would be last orders at the pub, and he found himself wondering what sort of state she would be in. It was her birthday after all, her first one since leaving Stewart. Funny, he'd always imagined he'd be with her on her birthdays. He wondered if she'd called the prison back and what they had told her, in light of his own conversation with the Governor.

"Your place or mine then?" Fiona leaned across the table towards him, displaying the curve of her breasts to full effect stretched as they were over the fabric of her red dress.

Usually, they went to hers. There was something almost anonymous about that, as though keeping her from his own bed meant that it was still there for Christina, if he ever wanted her back in it, which was a difficult question to answer at that moment in time.

But perhaps that was the problem.

He signalled for the waiter to bring the bill.

"Mine."