22 June 1991
"I still think this is madness." Christina pushed her bag along the floor with her foot as they stood waiting at the check in line. "Not to mention the fact I keep thinking I'm going to turn around and see someone I recognise."
"Stop worrying about it," Frank replied. "In ten minutes, we'll be through security and into the departure lounge."
"Yeah, and what if DAC Hicks is sitting in there waiting to go on his own holidays?"
"Well, that would be unfortunate, but it's not against the law to travel to Spain." He paused. "Try and relax a bit. That's supposed to be what this trip is about."
"I know…" she jiggled around from foot to foot, unable to quell the anxiety within that had started when she had said goodbye to everyone on the pretext that she was taking a trip a few miles down the road to Brighton as opposed to a few thousand miles across the sea to Benidorm. Nobody had batted so much as an eyelid, not as far as she could tell anyway, at the fact that she and Frank were going to be on leave at the same time. If anyone thought it suspicious, they had kept it to themselves.
"What's the worst that could happen?"
"Someone we know could see us together and report us."
"Right, ok and if that happens, then what happens?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's not as if it would be startling news to anyone in authority now, would it? They already know we've been together."
"Yeah, and they think we're not now."
"We're not."
"You know what I mean." She sighed at his refusal to see the issue and glanced around again, scanning all the faces in the terminal. "All the stress, all the worry…it's just the same as it was before anyone found out about us, with all the same potential consequences."
"Last week you were angling for us to get back together," he reminded her as they moved closer to the desk.
"No, I wasn't."
"Yes, you were. I wasn't fooled by your little 'oh there's so many barriers in our way' speech and that, coupled with how you're behaving now, is just testament to the fact that we shouldn't be together."
"What are you talking about?"
"You're all over the place."
"No, I'm not!" she replied, indignantly, even though she knew there was at least a small grain of truth to what he was saying. At her last counselling session with Rebecca, she had got as far as talking about what had happened in Brighton and the terrible thing she had said. The other woman had barely reacted, merely asked her to consider why she had said it and what the purpose had been. It wasn't as though she hadn't thought about that herself and she relayed her reasoning to Rebecca, who had immediately asked her to consider why she had pushed the decision about their relationship onto Frank.
"I don't know what you mean," she had said, confused by the other woman's question.
"Well, by devising an elaborate scheme and saying what you said in the hope that he would be angry enough to walk away from you, you were forcing him to make the decision about your relationship rather than simply telling him that you thought it would be better just to be friends. Why did you not feel able to make that decision yourself?"
The question had left her pondering so many things and, to date, she still wasn't sure that she had an answer. She had made the decision eventually that they should just be friends despite their feelings for one another, but what he had said was also true. She had been angling for him to say he wanted to restart their relationship when he came to her flat. Perhaps, once again that was an example of her trying to push the decision onto him, wanting him to make the move when she should have just laid her cards on the table. Maybe, looking at it that way, she was all over the place.
"Look, let's not talk about it, ok?" he broke into her thoughts. "The purpose of this trip was specifically not to talk about our issues."
"Fine," she looked at him sideways. "So, what are we supposed to talk about for the next three days then? The weather? Football?"
"I'm sure we'll think of something." They reached the check-in desk, and the next few moments were taken up with the checking of passports and tickets before they were directed through security and into the departure lounge where the plane was due to depart in the next half hour. "Fancy a drink?"
"Yeah, why not? We are meant to be on holiday after all." Following him into the bar, she picked a high table and pulled herself up onto one of the stools watching as he stood waiting to order the drinks, wondering what she was supposed to say if a random person was to ask her who she was travelling with. "This is my friend, Frank," she muttered under her breath, as if the possibility of being confronted was real. "We're just friends." A few moments later, he turned and came back over towards her carrying a vodka tonic and a glass of wine and she couldn't help but wish, right at that moment, that they were more than friends.
"Cheers," he said, sliding into the seat opposite and holding his glass out towards her. "Here's to a good holiday."
"Cheers," she replied, sipping the crisp liquid. "It'll certainly be interesting if nothing else."
XXXX
He wished she hadn't worn a skirt. It was a white and blue, mid length, floaty number that she had teamed with a blue strappy top and a cardigan for the coolness of the plane. Seated close together as they were, in a window and middle seat, he couldn't help his eyes straying to her legs nor could he help the overwhelming desire he had to gently stroke her skin, run his hand up along her thigh and under the skirt to where he was pretty sure he would find her ready and willing.
Get a grip, he told himself sternly. This was your idea.
"Tea or coffee sir?" the air hostess interrupted his thoughts, and he was forced back onto more appropriate terrain.
"Coffee, thanks."
"Same for me, thanks," Christina said when the hostess turned to her.
"Anything exciting?" he asked, gesturing to the magazine she was reading.
"Not really," she replied. "Mostly stuff about Julia Roberts jilting Kiefer Sutherland for Jason Patric. They've fled to Ireland, apparently."
He looked over at the feature splashed on the page. "She's got too big a mouth."
"I would have thought that would be a turn on for some blokes."
"Depends on the size, I suppose."
"Works both ways then." She kept her eyes on the page, but her lips curved into a smile. "You want to read it once I'm done?"
"No, you're all right thanks. Newspaper does me." He turned back to the print in front of him but found his eyes going over and over the same few lines of text, taking in none of the content. Eventually, he folded it and stuffed it into the seat pocket in front of him, choosing instead to let his eyes wander around the plane, taking in the other passengers.
"How much longer?" she asked eventually.
"About an hour."
"And how far away from the airport is the villa?"
"About a twenty-minute drive, though we might have to wait a bit at the car hire. You know what these places are like. We should be there in time for a nightcap though."
"I did wonder what the purpose was of you buying all that vodka in the duty free."
"Shops will be shut until the morning."
"And, of course, we need alcohol before other essentials like bread and milk."
He looked over at her again. "You're starting to sound like a nagging wife."
"Sorry," she laughed. "That's the last thing you want, I know." Her tone was light, but he couldn't help but pick up a slight note behind it, almost challenging him. Once again, he chose to ignore it.
An hour later, they had arrived and, after a short wait to disembark, were making their way out of the terminal and towards the car hire. Not long afterwards, they were safely ensconced in a Fiat Polo, making their way along the roads towards where they would be staying.
"Are you sure you know where you're going?" she asked.
"Well, if you read the directions properly, we should be fine."
"Now you're starting to sound like an irritated husband."
"Oh yeah? Is this what happened when you and Stewart used to go on holiday together?"
"I used to just let him get on with it," she replied. "He always liked organising things, being in charge. I used to just go along for the ride most of the time. Not that we were exactly globetrotters." She paused. "What about you and Julie?"
He paused, thinking back on the litany of ill-fated trips he and Julie had taken over the course of their marriage. They had usually started well enough and then descended into fights and tears and ended, on at least one occasion, with him in another woman's bed. He winced slightly at the memory and suddenly found himself wondering if, all these years later, he owed his ex-wife some sort of apology. "None of our holidays are worth mentioning." They lapsed into silence and, ten minutes or so later, he pulled into the driveway of the villa. The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, but the air was still warm, the air-conditioning gently cooling the interior. He waited as she wandered through, examining all the rooms, before joining him again in the kitchen where he was already preparing two drinks. "So, what do you think?"
"Two bedrooms."
"That's right. I told you there would be two."
"But, if you were originally coming here with Fiona, why would you need two bedrooms? I'm guessing you were intending on sleeping with her."
He paused for a fraction of a second and then continued pouring the crisp vodka over the ice. "It was all they had available at the last minute. Not a problem, is it?" he handed her a glass.
"No," she replied, taking it from him and then making her way to the doors that led out onto the patio and the pool. After a moment, he followed her, the only noise coming from the crickets singing in the grass beyond. "It's lovely."
"Yeah, pretty idyllic," he agreed. "Great place to spend a few days recharging our batteries."
"Have you stayed here before?"
"Not this particular villa, but close by. It's a nice area. Just Spanish enough to make you feel less like a tourist, but not too far away from Benidorm if you fancy a proper English night out."
"What, getting pissed, throwing up in the street and getting a kebab and chips on the way home, that sort of proper English night out?"
"If you like." He watched as she sat down on one of the available sun loungers and followed suit onto the other. "You fancy going clubbing whilst you're here?"
"With you?" she grinned at him.
"I'm not exactly over the hill yet, darling."
"Not really my scene I don't think. Nice restaurants, wine bars, the pool, the beach…much more what I had in mind. But, if you fancy a raucous night out in the centre of the town, don't let me stop you."
"Well, I'm sure we can manage the restaurants, wine bars, the pool and the beach," he replied. "I want you to enjoy yourself."
She looked at him pointedly. "What's this trip really all about, Frank?"
"What do you mean?"
"The idea of the two of us coming out here for a 'friendly' holiday is, quite frankly, ludicrous. So, either you've lost your mind completely and become a new man, or you're intending to get my guard lowered and then pounce on me at the first available opportunity."
"Well, I'm not a rapist…" he replied, allowing the word to hang long enough in the air for her to look away. "So, I suppose I must be a new man. Why is it so hard for you to believe that I might want you to come out here with me to get away from all the stress I know you're under at home? Stress I know I've helped to contribute to?"
"So…this is a guilt trip then?"
"Maybe."
"It just doesn't seem like your style," she shrugged.
"Why, because I'm inherently selfish?" He leaned forwards towards her. "You know as well as I do that caring about someone, loving someone, doesn't just mean shagging them at every available opportunity. Maybe I haven't been very good at coming across this way in the past, but it's not just your body I'm interested in. If it was, I'd have bedded you last Christmas, pulled my trousers up and said, 'thank you very much.'"
"I know that."
"Good." He sat back. "But I mean it, Chris, I don't want this trip to be us talking about all our problems. I want you to use it to try and get your head straight, to think about what you want, about where you see yourself in the future, really think about it. You wanted to just be friends for a reason."
"Yeah, all right. I get your point." She sighed heavily. "It'll be nice to get some sun at least."
"Just remember, factor 50 all the way." She laughed and then lay back against the lounger, sipping her drink and looking up at the darkening sky and he could only hope that he was adequately conveying himself. After all, it wasn't just her that needed to think about their potential future; he did too.
23 June
She woke early the following morning, sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains that hung at the window, the heat in its rays already evident. She lay for a moment, slowly coming to and remembering the events of the previous evening. After they had finished their drinks, he had asked her to pick one of the rooms and he had, naturally, taken the other one. It had felt odd saying goodnight to one another and retiring separately, only a wall between them. Initially, she had found it hard to drift off and had contemplated sneaking into his room and surprising him, like the heroine in some terrible film. But then his words had come back to her, and she resisted temptation.
As she lay pondering the day ahead, she suddenly heard movement and the sound of the front door of the villa closing. Pushing off the duvet, she got to her feet and padded through into the main living area. "Frank?" Silence greeted her and she moved to the door to his bedroom, left ajar, the sheets on the bed still crumpled. Assuming he had gone to the nearest shop rather than completely abandon her, she moved across to the patio doors, pulling them open and stepping out into the sunshine that was already heating the pool. She dangled her feet in the water, enjoying the peace and quiet, and could almost forget that she had any cares at all.
"You're up early." She jumped at the sound of his voice and, turning, saw him standing at the doors, plastic bag in hand, dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. "I thought you'd still be in bed."
"I heard you go out," she replied, pulling herself to her feet, suddenly conscious about the long t-shirt she had chosen to wear in bed.
"Well, we don't want to starve, do we?" he replied, his eyes travelling down her legs and then back up to her face again. "Very nice." She made a face at him. "Toast?"
"Yeah, go on then." Following him back inside, she watched as he unloaded the contents of the bag. "Oh good, you got coffee." Lifting the jar, she moved around the counter to where the kettle was located.
"They only had instant, heathens."
"Coffee's coffee."
"True."
She leant back against the counter, watching as he placed the bread in the toaster. "I'm guessing it's hot out there already."
"Yeah, roasting. So, what do you want to do today?"
"I don't mind, whatever you want to do."
"Oh, you're not going to be like that, are you?" he grimaced at her.
"Like what?"
"Doing the whole, 'I don't mind, whatever you want' routine when, in reality, you know exactly what you want to do."
"I didn't think I was doing that."
"Do you want to stay here? Do you want to go to the beach? Do you want to go for a drive?"
"Beach might be nice."
"Right then, decision made. Beach it is. See, that wasn't so difficult, was it?"
"No, I suppose not," she replied, her mind suddenly going back once more to what Rebecca had said about forcing him to make all the choices. Perhaps it wasn't such a crazy notion after all.
Breakfast consumed, they gathered their belongings and headed out for the short walk down the beach, at least he had claimed it was short but after walking for ten minutes, she was beginning to doubt him. The sun was hot and though she was wearing a wide brimmed hat and sunglasses, she could feel the sweat starting to build up. When she chanced to glance at him, she couldn't help but once again feel how surreal the whole situation was. If things had been different, she might have considered reaching for his hand. As she was pondering what he might do if she did just that, they rounded a corner and the sea appeared before them, spread out like a sparkling blue carpet.
"Told you it wasn't far," he said, leading the way down a small path that eventually took them down onto the sand. Although it was early, the beach was already fairly busy and after paying for a couple of loungers and a parasol, they set up not too far away from the water. "This is for your benefit," he said, pointing at the parasol. "Me, I prefer just baking."
"Sure-fire way to get skin cancer."
"Nah, tough as old leather, me." He spread his towel on the lounger and took off his t-shirt whilst she reached into her bag for the sun cream. "Mind and be liberal with it. I think it might be raining in Brighton today."
She squeezed the creamy liquid into her hand and covered her arms, legs, face and neck before taking off her own t-shirt and protecting those areas of her body not covered by her bikini. It wasn't salacious by any standards, given that she didn't consider herself to have the body to carry any such thing off, but she could feel his eyes on her.
"Need me to do your back?" he offered suddenly.
"Yeah, if you wouldn't mind." He came over towards her, took the tube from her and, seconds later, she felt the coolness hit her back followed, almost immediately, by his hand. It was the most innocent thing in the world, or so she told herself, and yet she held her breath, afraid almost to move. He worked his way down her back and across the backs of her arms and shoulders then paused for a moment before lifting each bikini strap and sliding his hand underneath. It had been four months since they had been intimate, and she could feel her body react to him in a way she feared he wouldn't reciprocate.
"All done," he said after a moment, holding the tube out to her.
"Thanks," she replied, her voice coming out higher than intended. "Do you need me to do you?"
"No, like I said, tough as old leather. Besides, I'm officially in Spain so if I didn't have a tan, it would be commented on."
"I suppose so." She lay back on the lounger. "Frank?"
"What?"
"Didn't that…you know…do anything for you?"
He lifted his sunglasses and looked at her for a long moment. "What do you think?"
"Yeah, all right."
"Friends aren't supposed to go about shagging on sun loungers though."
Her belly turned over at the very idea. "No, I guess not."
"Right then."
She closed her eyes, a smile twitching the corner of her mouth. There may have been a lot of things for her to figure out in her mind, but whether or not he still physically wanted her clearly wasn't one of them.
XXXX
The problem with trying to pretend that you don't have an erection, is that pretending almost seems to make it worse. He found that the best solution was to turn over and lie on his stomach, but even that meant there was still some momentary discomfort. He'd fantasised before about being on holiday with her, back in the cold grip of winter when everything between them had been so raw and up in the air. He'd thought about being on a beach with her, making love to her, not caring about the sand…and now, here he was, in the optimum location, exercising exemplary self-control. Rubbing the sun cream on her back was the closest he'd been to her since their last night together in Brighton and the whole situation hadn't been helped by the fact she was wearing a very fetching blue bikini. He'd half hoped she'd turn up in some sort of full body suit, then there wouldn't have been anywhere to look. But as he peered at her out of the corner of his eye, hidden by his sunglasses, he couldn't help but linger on the curve of her breasts and her hips and pretty much any other part of her that he could currently see.
He was sorely tempted to throw everything he had said out of the window and turn this into the fantasy dirty weekend that he knew she wanted it to be, the one he himself wouldn't be averse to, but every time he considered it, he thought back over all that happened and reminded himself that he needed to be the sensible one for a change. Although he had been the one to say that they shouldn't discuss anything too intimate in nature, he found himself lifting his head and looking at her properly again. "I never asked you how you got on at Area the other day."
"What, with Reid?"
"Yeah. Were the great and the good of the establishment pleased with your efforts on the fraud case?"
"They seemed to be," she lifted her sunglasses. "I got introduced to DAC Hicks."
"What, Reid's benefactor? What's he like?"
"All right I suppose, nice enough. He said he'd heard a lot about me."
"Did he now?" he found himself irked by the remark. "Miss Reid's been talking you up then."
"I don't know about that, but he did say that she was a good role model to have and that the Met needed more women in senior positions."
"God help us." He rolled over onto his back. "Ted reckons she'll be the first female Commissioner one day."
"Ted's probably right."
"So, have you got a little crush then?"
"Don't be daft," she laughed. "I mean, I'm not saying it's not good to see a woman climb the ladder…"
"But?"
"You know what I'm going to say."
"That you're on my firm." She nodded. "Good to know, at any rate."
"As if it's ever been any different, even before. Even back when I thought you were a first-class bastard, I was still on your firm. I don't think anything could ever change that."
"Well, not unless you were working for some other first-class bastard. Then you'd have to be on his firm."
She hesitated. "You mean, if I wasn't at Sun Hill?" He nodded. "Am I going somewhere?"
"No, don't be daft."
"Is that what this trip's all about? You're going to tell me that I'm getting transferred?"
"No."
"Frank…"
"Chris, if I'd wanted to tell you that you were being transferred, I'd have called you into my office not flown you out to Spain." He paused. "Then again, I thought a transfer was what you wanted at one point. You even put in for one, remember?"
"Yeah, I know…but you made me change my mind and take it back."
"I know."
There was another long pause before she spoke again. "Are you trying to tell me something? Because, if you are, I'd rather you just said it. If you think I should ask for a transfer, say so."
"That's not what I'm saying."
"It would make things easier though, wouldn't it, if I left? We could be together."
"And you with a stain on your copybook because of me?" he shook his head. "Not happening."
She swung her legs over the lounger and sat forward. "So, what exactly are you trying to say, Frank? If I'm not allowed to transfer and you're not going to make any sort of move either, what options does that leave?"
"Look, stop thinking about it," he replied. "You're jumping ten steps ahead."
She shook her head in frustration, "What are you talking about?"
"You need to decide where you want things to go. You need to make the decision first; are we friends or are we more and…" he held up his hand as she opened her mouth to respond, "I don't think you can make that decision based solely on what you want physically, nor can you make it before you know what's going to happen with your husband and his trial."
"Fuck's sake, when did you become a therapist?!" she snapped, getting to her feet and lifting her bag. "I need a drink. Is there a bar anywhere near here?"
"Further down the beach. Thanks, I could murder a pint."
Muttering under her breath, she strode away from him, offering him a tantalising view of her angry, retreating buttocks as she did so and making him ever grateful for a large newspaper.
