It was a nice restaurant, modern without being brash, with appealing décor and an extensive wine list. When he had suggested it, she had worried that she didn't have anything suitable to wear, but it appeared to be a smart/casual kind of establishment and so a pair of dark denims and a white blouse didn't mark her as being too out of place. As last-minute ideas went, it was a good choice. It was busy, not unusual for a summer evening, and she couldn't help but look around at all the other couples dining there, wondering what their stories were. Her own probably sounded far fetched to those not in the know.
She watched him across the table as he perused the menu, and she couldn't help feeling nothing but pure luck that he seemed to care so much for her. Not every man would have downed tools and travelled all the way to Brighton. Not every man would have devised some cunning untruth to tell their boss about why they wouldn't be in work the next day just so that he could be with her. Stewart certainly wouldn't have. As had happened so often of late, she found herself criticising the person she had been four years earlier when she had detested him so much. It seemed like another lifetime.
Orders given, he reached for her hands across the table. "You ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure?"
She shrugged, well aware that it was almost impossible by now to conceal anything from him. "I suppose I'm just worried about my dad."
"Well, that's only natural."
"Is it? I didn't see him or speak to him for years. What right do I have to feel anything…?" she trailed off and shook her head. Her emotions surrounding her dad were all over the place at times, mostly tinged with guilt.
"He's still your dad," he replied, squeezing her hands.
"Yeah, I know…" She took a deep breath and smiled. It was her birthday after all and the last thing she wanted to do was have yet another one marred by unhappy thoughts. "I'm glad you came down."
"Well, I couldn't leave you all alone in Brighton on your birthday, could I? No telling what you'd get up to."
She laughed, "What did you tell Meadows?"
"Bad case of the trots. Told him that I would be doing a disservice to the entire nick if I was to come in tomorrow and possibly pass it on. He agreed with me, or at least that's the impression he gave. So, I'm all yours."
"Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me. I'd do anything for you, you should know that by now."
"I do." She paused, thinking back to the decree absolute, still sat in its envelope on her kitchen table. She had looked at it and then stuffed it back inside, almost unwilling to believe what it truly represented; the death of one life and the birth of another. Despite the fact that she had been separated from Stewart for well over a year, the final, legal nail in the coffin still caused a shiver to run through her whenever she thought of it. There had been a time when she had thought she would always be Stewart Church's wife; a time when there would have been nothing else she would have wanted. "When was the last time you saw Julie?" The words were out of her mouth before she could give rational thought as to how wise they were, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"Julie?" he made a face and looked off into the distance. "I couldn't tell you. Must be…six, seven years."
"You didn't keep in touch then?"
"Well, there was no point, was there? Besides, I wasn't exactly her favourite person in the world at that time. Best to look forwards I always say, not back. Pat tried to keep up with her for a while, but I think she just wanted shot of the lot of us really."
"The Burnside family package."
"Something like that." It was his turn to pause. "Have you been speaking to Stewart's folks again?"
"No," she shook her head. "Not since his mother told me he didn't want to see me. Like you said, I suppose there isn't really much point. No looking back."
"Exactly."
He drew his hands back as their food arrived and the rest of the conversation was taken up with regular, mundane topics, those that couples who have been together for a period of time would engage in. It felt strange. In some ways, she felt as though they had been close for so long and, in others, it felt like only yesterday that they had confessed how they felt. If only she had known that December night what had been to come.
The meal finished and the wine consumed, they left the restaurant and made their way slowly down onto the promenade for the walk back to her father's flat. It wasn't exactly the most romantic or salubrious of locations, but at the time it had seemed somewhat churlish to come and visit and refuse to stay. The sun was starting to set, the waves crashing against the rocks, the breeze whipping her hair around her face. There were times when she might have thought moving to Brighton would have been nice but, deep down, she knew she would miss the smog of London.
After a moment, she turned to look back at him, conscious that he had stopped walking and found him staring at her. "What?"
"Nothing." They walked on again, and he reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers and suddenly stopping once more, forcing her to do the same. "No, it's not nothing."
"What is it?"
"I love you," he replied, moving closer to her, cupping her face with his hand and kissing her.
"I love you too," she said.
"I thought I'd feel all right about doing this but, well, now the moment's here I don't mind telling you I'm a bit nervous."
"Nervous about what? What's 'the moment?'" She frowned as he stepped back slightly and then reached into his pocket. In that instance, she knew what was about to happen and felt a flutter in her stomach the origins of which she wasn't quite sure she could identify. "Frank…"
"Let me say my bit, please." He looked at her earnestly and she felt herself nodding as her gaze flitted between his and the small black box in his hand. "I know that things haven't always been easy and, well, we've had our share of ups and downs but, like I said, I love you. I love you more than anything, something that, well, I suppose I didn't think was possible. I figured, after my divorce, that I was better off on my own and that, well, that I didn't have anything to offer another woman other than the obvious but, that moment, when I kissed you in the car that day…I just knew. I knew that we were meant to be together, somehow, and…and I know I'm not always good at saying how I feel…"
His expression, his demeanour, the way he looked at her and then down at the ring box as though almost afraid it would fly out of his hand…in that moment, she felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of love for him. A love that she knew she had never felt, nor wanted to feel, for anyone else. Stepping forwards, she slid her arms around his waist. "You are good at saying how you feel."
He met her gaze again. "I can't lose you. Ever."
"You won't."
"If I didn't have you…"
"You do have me."
"Then…will you marry me?"
The doubt she thought she would feel, the trepidation, the anxiety, the fear that she had always associated with this raw moment suddenly seemed to fly away, carried away from them by the wind, leaving only the one true desire she knew she had; to be with him. "Yes."
He looked at her for a moment, as though he couldn't quite believe the answer. "You will?"
"Yes, I will."
"You haven't even seen the ring yet."
"I'm sure it's beautiful." She felt a heaviness in her chest, as though it could be true that a person's heart could actually swell and, as she stepped back and he opened the box, she knew that it wouldn't matter what was there, nothing could spoil the moment. The ring itself was, indeed, beautiful. The single diamond solitaire with a diamond encrusted band sparkled in the fading light and she felt her breath catch in her throat as he removed it from the safety of its velvet cushion and slid it onto her finger.
"Thank Christ it fits."
"Is that what you were more worried about?" she laughed. "It fitting rather than me saying yes?"
"I was worried about both actually," he admitted. "To be honest, I wasn't sure what you would say. I hoped you would say yes but…well…I sometimes wondered if it was what you wanted."
She looked down at her hand and then met his gaze again. "Sometimes I wondered too but…this feels right. You and I feel right." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her before she could say anything else and the strength and warmth of his arms around her made her feel safe and protected, the ring a promise that she would always feel that way for the rest of her life. "There's just one thing."
"What?"
"Well…we don't have to get married straight away, do we? I mean, I literally have only been divorced for a couple of days and, well, it would be nice just to breathe again before taking the next step." She eyed him nervously, wondering if he would be angry that she was giving with one hand and yet taking with the other. But he merely wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her close.
"We can do whatever you want, darling. I don't care so long as you're mine."
The propriety of his words didn't irk her for once and as they continued their walk back to the flat, she felt nothing but complete and utter happiness.
XXXX
"Should we have another drink?" she said when they got inside. "I doubt Dad's got any champagne but I'm pretty sure there will be some whiskey and vodka somewhere."
"Yeah, why not?" he followed her into the kitchen and watched as she opened cupboards and drawers, procuring alcohol and glasses and eventually pouring them both vodka and tonics. "Cheers," he clinked his glass with hers. "To us."
"To us," she echoed, taking a mouthful and then wandering back into the living room. "Mr and Mrs Burnside…who would have thought it?" She sat down on the couch and looked up at him. "I mean, there were times when I would rather have killed you than married you."
"Yeah, well the feeling was mutual," he sat down beside her. "Funny how things change."
She didn't say anything for a long moment, then turned slightly to look at him again. "You do mean it, don't you?"
"Mean what?"
"Well, that you love me, want to marry me…forsake all others, that sort of thing."
"I wouldn't have asked you to marry me if I didn't. I wouldn't have forked out for that," he gestured to her left hand. "You'll have to hide it at work."
"Mmmm…I might be better just leaving it at home," she waved her hand in front of her face, admiring the ring from all angles. "Saves any awkward questions."
"You are sure, aren't you?"
"Yes, of course I'm sure."
"Then why ask me if I mean it?"
"I'm sorry," she sighed, "I suppose I just…I don't know…want this to be the last time I get married." She laughed shortly. "Does that sound ridiculous?"
"No, I want this to be the last time I get married too," he replied. "Quite frankly, short of some kind of disaster, I don't see why it wouldn't be." Her gaze flickered across his face, and he could tell what she was thinking. Part of him felt hurt, though he knew that he had only brought the reputation on himself. "If you're worried about me being faithful…"
"No…"
"All right, I was unfaithful to Julie, I've never made any secret about that. But I told you a long time ago that it was because I wasn't happy, because I didn't love her the way that I love you." Reaching over, he pushed her hair behind her ear. "It's different with you. Everything's different with you."
"I just want to be happy," she said, her voice growing slightly thick and her eyes reddening. "That's all I want, Frank. All those years when I thought I was and, in reality, I wasn't."
"And I promise, I'm going to make you happy."
It felt as though everything was falling into place, as though everything was as it should be as she rose from the couch, held out her hand and led him to the small bedroom down the corridor. Four years earlier he would never, could never, have imagined it would be like this between them. That she would be the most important person in his life.
They removed each other's clothes slowly, skin fizzing with static desire as they touched, his entire concentration on her as they lay on the bed together and she took him carefully in her mouth. Sweeping her hair to one side, he watched as she fellated him, her gaze occasionally drifting to meet his and he heard his inner voice telling him, "You're a lucky bastard Frank Burnside. Don't screw this up." In time, he returned the favour, so intently aroused by the look on her face as he pleasured her, that by the time he was eventually inside her, he wasn't sure that he could make it last any decent length of time.
"This might not take long," he warned.
"Maybe we should buy one of those tantric sex books," she joked, her face flushed from her own exertions. "Find lots of weird and wonderful ways to make it last longer."
"Well, I wouldn't say no to that…" Pulling her legs tighter around his waist, he unleashed inside her, pressing down into her, his mind and vision blank save only for the exquisite, delightful agony that she was putting his body through as he came.
"I feel like a teenager having had naughty sex in my parents' house," she said later, lying as she was with her body pressed against his. "I half expect my dad to come bursting through the door."
"Did you and Stewart have sex at your house?"
"A few times, yeah, but only when we knew we wouldn't get caught. In any event, we were only sixteen or so, so it wasn't exactly romantic. More like a fumble." Craning her neck back, she looked up at him. "Nothing like this."
"I'm glad to hear it," he kissed her nose. "If I have a daughter, there would be no way she would be dating until she was at least thirty. Too many bad apples out there. Too many men like me."
"You're not a bad apple."
"I've had my moments." Regret flooded through him at the thought of the years past. Yes, he'd had a lot of fun, there was no denying that, but it had all been rather empty and soulless. Nothing like what he felt when he was with her.
"Well, you'll be able to spot them a mile off then, won't you? You'll be able to warn her."
He looked down into her eyes again, his mind flying off into the beyond, thinking of how a daughter, a combination of them both, would look or act. He would hope she would be pretty, like her mother, maybe with a bit of his steel inside. There would be no stopping a girl like that.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked after a long moment's silence.
"Nothing," he replied, squeezing her gently. "Nothing at all."
17 June
"Well, that's a beauty right enough," Bill said, admiring the ring the following morning from his hospital bed. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," she said. "I wanted you to be the first to know."
"So, you're planning on telling people then?"
"Well…" she trailed off, well aware that there would be so few people they could tell, at the moment anyway. "Just family, really."
"I'm pleased for you Goldilocks, I really am." He looked at Frank. "And you're a lucky bloke."
"You don't have to tell me that," he replied.
"You hurt her, and I'll kill you."
"Dad…"
"What? He knows I'm joking. Well, half joking at any rate. I might not have been able to do anything about the first one, but I'd damned sure I could do something about this one."
"All right…" she laughed, desperate to change the tone of the conversation. "Don't get yourself all worked up. What have the doctors said?"
"That I can get out later this morning. The social worker came to see me last night and said they're going to be sending care in twice a day. To keep an eye on me, make sure I'm eating and not drinking too much."
She glanced at Frank and then back at her father again. "Look, maybe we should think again about me…"
"No."
"But…"
"I said no, Goldilocks," he insisted. "You just got engaged. You've got a whole new life ahead of you that doesn't involve moving down here to care for a sick man like me. Tell her Frank."
"Well…" Frank looked at her and she found herself trying to communicate a thousand thoughts to him with one look. "I mean, whatever Chris wanted to do, I would support her."
She felt the rush of love for him again, for saying it at least even if he didn't really mean it. She knew the last thing he would want was for her to come down to Brighton full time.
"Well, it's not up to Chris, is it?" Bill said, looking at her again. "It's up to me and I say, not on your life."
She sighed heavily, only too well aware of how stubborn he could be. "Well, at least let us stay and make sure you get home and settled all right."
"No, I want you both to head on back to London. I'll be absolutely fine. Hospital transport will see me right and then I can look forward to my first visit this evening from the carers. I mean it," he fixed her with a steely look. "I'm not on my last legs yet and you've had enough of your birthday spoilt."
"Stubborn old bastard, your dad," Frank commented as they made their way down the stairs and out through the main hospital entrance.
"He knows his own mind anyway," she agreed. "What am I supposed to do? Just leave him down here?"
"That seems to be what he wants."
"Yes, but…I feel guilty. I feel as though people are going to judge me for going back to London."
"What people?" he turned her to face him. "I certainly don't judge you and nobody else who knows you will either. You're 32 years old with a job and a life. Nobody is going to expect you to put all that on hold for however long your dad has left for you to nurse him."
"But…"
"No buts." He paused. "Listen, I didn't want to bring this up earlier because I heard what you said about waiting but…"
"What?"
"Well…if you wanted to make sure your dad was at our wedding, we'd be better getting hitched sooner rather than later, don't you think?"
She stared at him, his words penetrating her brain, making her realise that she hadn't even considered what he was saying. Hadn't even really given any thought to the actual wedding itself, rather than the ensuing marriage that would come afterwards. She didn't even know what kind of wedding she would want. A big, white church affair or a registry office? In agreeing to become engaged, but keeping the wedding itself in the future, she had allowed herself not to think about the practicalities, but what he was saying was correct; her dad only had perhaps three or four months left to live. Did she want to be married before he died? And why was Frank mentioning it now? Was it some sort of plan to try to get her to go back on what she had said about waiting?
"You don't have to make a decision about it now," he said, breaking into her thoughts again. "But it is a factor."
"Yeah, all right."
"All right what?"
"I'll think about it."
"Good." He slid his arm around her waist as they made their way back to the car and began heading north again. The sun was warm though the windows and as they grew nearer to home, she felt her spirits lift again, as though her father was out of sight, out of mind, even if that didn't entirely sit right with her.
It was early afternoon by the time they arrived back at her flat and, pushing open the door, she was greeted with a flurry of mail. As she lifted it and walked into the living room, her gaze fell on the franking stamp at the top right-hand side of the envelope, and she felt her heart thud in her chest. She stood staring at it, almost afraid to look inside at its contents.
"What is it?" Frank asked, coming up behind her and looking over her shoulder. "Oh."
"It's early," she said. "The last time, it took about three weeks for them to notify me."
"Well, that was three years ago. Perhaps they've increased their productivity since then." He paused. "Aren't you going to open it?"
Her stomach churned and, for a moment, she thought she might be physically sick. If it was bad news, she wasn't quite how she would react. Another failure wouldn't look good on her record, especially not now. "I'm not sure that I can."
"Do you want me to do it?" Nodding, she passed him the envelope and then walked away from him over to the other side of the room, keeping her back turned as she heard the rip and then rustle of paper. She waited, but he said nothing and so, eventually, she turned back to face him and immediately felt dismayed by his serious expression.
"No…" she sighed. "I thought I might have been in with a chance this time. I mean, I studied so hard and…"
His face broke into a sudden smile, "Congratulations, Sergeant Lewis."
She froze, staring at him, unsure she could quite believe what she had heard. "What?"
"You passed!"
He held the letter out towards her, and she took it with shaking fingers, her eyes flitting over the type confirming that she had, indeed, passed. "Oh my God…"
"I knew you could do it! I told you that you'd smash it!"
"I…I passed…" she could barely believe it. "I actually passed…" He pulled her into him, squeezing her tightly before pulling back and kissing her. "I can't believe I passed…"
"Well believe it, because you have! I can't wait to see the others faces when you tell them, not to mention Brownlow and Conway's. I only wish Reid was still about so you could show her that you didn't need her to climb the ladder!"
His enthusiasm washed over as she read the letter over and over again, still unable to believe that she, Christina Lewis, was now a sergeant. After everything that had happened, she had done it.
"Right, come on, we're going out for champagne," he said decisively. "We need to celebrate. Your birthday, our engagement and your promotion all in the space of two days! If that isn't worth celebrating, I don't know what is. I know just the place. Can I borrow your phone?" Before she could reply, he crossed the living room and lifted the receiver and she left him, wandering back into the kitchen and sitting down at the table, the letter still in her hand.
Her gaze suddenly fell on the other brown envelope sitting in front of her, her name neatly typed on the front, and she lifted it out, carefully sliding out the document within before getting to her feet and moving back into the living room just as he hung up the phone.
"Right, I got us a reservation with Charlie, so we'll go and have some drinks first and then head over later, all right?" He paused and looked at her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
He gestured to the document in her hand. "What's that?"
Moving over to the sideboard, she opened the top drawer, the one full of papers that she always thought might be important enough to keep but had no desire to organise into anything resembling order. Lifting them up, she slid the decree absolute in beneath them and then closed the drawer again firmly. "Nothing," she replied, turning back to face him with a smile. "Absolutely nothing."
