His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he dialled Stan's number. In a few moments, he would know one way or the other whether his life was going to change forever and whether or not his whole future with Christina was going to be put in jeopardy by forces other than her ex-husband. The course of the next few minutes was going to be pivotal. Stan answered on the third ring, and he found he could barely form words to introduce himself.

"It's me," he choked out.

"Oh good, I was hoping you'd be quick. Listen, do you want to meet?"

"Meet?"

"Yeah, so I can tell you in person and so you've got it in black and white."

A cold fear swept over him. If Stan wanted to relay the results in person, and give him visual proof, then it could only mean one thing. "Can't you just tell me?"

"I'd rather see you in person. Tony's Café? Half an hour?"

"Fine." He put the phone down quickly and got to his feet again, almost smacking into Alistair as he made his way out of his office. "Sorry."

"You're leaving?" the other man queried. "You've only just got back!"

"Business."

"Yeah, but I need to speak to you about those burglaries…."

"Later."

"Guv…"

Alistair's words were mere mist behind him as he pounded down the stairs and out of the front door, circling back around to the yard to get to his car. He was only grateful that there was no sign of Christina. The last thing he wanted to do was face her before knowing the result one way or the other. If it turned out he was the baby's father, he would have to consider carefully how to tell her, how to make her understand that it changed nothing about their own future, nothing.

The café was busy, and he was grateful to see that Stan had managed to secure a table near the back. The less people that saw them, the better.

"Want a coffee?" Stan asked, gesturing to his own mug as Frank slid into the seat opposite.

"No." He took a deep breath. "Tell me."

"Brace yourself," Stan replied, reaching into the briefcase sat beside him and pulling out a sheet of paper. Pausing briefly to glance at it, he slid it across the table and Frank found himself pausing before lifting it and reading the simple text.

"'The test concluded that Frank Burnside is… not the father of the child subject. This result is to a certainty of 99.99 per cent…'" He heard and felt his breath rush from his body in one long exhalation, before catching on the one point. "99.99 per cent?"

"Well, we can never say 100 per cent, not if we don't want to be challenged. No science is ever that good." Stan smiled at him. "I figured you'd be pleased."

He wasn't sure that pleased was even the right word for it. His main emotion was one of relief; relief that he didn't need to tell Christina how being thrust into paternity was going to affect them; relief that he wouldn't be paying out, financially and emotionally, for a child he didn't want; relief that he wasn't going to be shackled to Fiona for the rest of his life…the relief dissipated relatively quickly, however, and he was left with an acute sense of anger. "That conniving bitch."

"Had you going for a while, didn't she?"

"Why on earth would she insist he was mine when she knew fine well that he wasn't?"

"Perhaps she genuinely thought he was yours, or that you were the most likely candidate. You know what they say about wrapping it up, Frank."

"Thank you for the lecture on safe sex, Stan, not that it's needed. I know how to use protection, thank you very much." He looked down at the paper again. "Can I keep this?"

"Of course. Frame it on your wall for all I care. I'm just glad I was able to give you the news I knew you were wanting. I'll send a copy out to her, just so as she's got it."

"Oh, don't worry, she'll get it all right."

He didn't wait around to exchange pleasantries or talk about the weather with the other man. No, he had other places to be, and he couldn't wait to see the look on that cow's face when he presented her with the truth. Parking at the kerbside, he made his way up the path towards her house, ringing the bell and banging on the door simultaneously.

"Don't be a dickhead!" Fiona exclaimed when she opened the door. "Stephen's sleeping!"

He ignored her. "So, would you like to explain to me what you thought this was all about?"

"What do you mean?" she frowned.

"I'm not your baby's father," he replied, waving the paper in front of her face. "To a certainty of 99.99 per cent. So…you're going to have to knock up some other bloke to try and bleed dry."

She snatched the paper from him, her eyes raking over the words. "But…"

"But what?" he snatched it back, folded it and secreted it back in his pocket. "You thought you could somehow fool the test? Get me to believe that he was mine and then shell out hand over fist for the next eighteen years? Sorry to disappoint you, darling." Her face suddenly crumbled and, surprisingly, a sliver of remorse crept in. Poor cow. "Come on, there's no point in crying over it. You rolled the dice and lost, simple as that." She turned her back on him and moved into the house, making no move to keep him out or force him to leave, and he found himself following her through into the living room, unchanged from his previous visit, except for the Moses basket by the window, concealing Stephen's tiny form. He stood by it, looking down at the little bundle, able to admire him without feeling anything more. He wasn't his, thank Christ. Fiona stood with her face in her hands, and he was almost tempted to physically comfort her, almost but not quite. "Look, you must have known what the result was going to be. You didn't honestly believe he was mine, did you?"

She pulled her hands away and rubbed her eyes viciously. "I thought there was as good a chance as any. I hoped he was yours."

"Why?"

"Because…" she shrugged. "Because, deep down, I reckon you're a decent bloke. I don't think, faced with your own flesh and blood, you'd walk away. It wasn't just about the money. I want him to have a father, a decent role model."

"Well, I'm sorry. So, if I'm not the father, who is?" She paused and shrugged. "Surely you must know. How many blokes were you knocking off this time last year?"

"Oh, it's all right for you men, isn't it?" she snapped. "It doesn't matter how many women you've got on the go, it's just what men do! A woman has a bit of fun and she's automatically a slag!"

"I've never said you were a slag," he replied. "You were the one who told me you were just looking for a bit of fun."

"Yeah, and you were happy to provide it."

"Course I was, what man wouldn't be? But this, a baby, that's altogether something different. So…who's the father?"

She sat down on the edge of the couch. "I don't know. All I know, is that I got pregnant at some point around the time whatsherface, Ginger, showed up at your flat that night we were together, before we were supposed to go to Spain. After you dumped me, I sort of…well…drowned my sorrows a bit. I think I slept with a couple of blokes around that time, but I'm not sure. I couldn't tell you names, I can barely remember faces, so finding out who Stephen's dad is, is pretty much impossible." She let out a long breath. "I really liked you, you know."

"You never said as much."

"If I had, would it have made a difference?"

He paused, thinking on the question. At one time, possibly it might have, but then deep down he knew the true answer. No-one would ever, could ever, have come close to what he'd always known he felt for Christina. Faced with her obvious distress, however, he decided to be charitable. "Maybe."

She shook her head. "You don't have to lie. I saw the way you looked at her that night you took me to the pub, the way you tossed me into a taxi but made sure she got home safe. Reckon I knew then that I didn't stand a chance. Oh, maybe for a while I did, every time you seemed to go through a bad patch, but then you always went back to her." She shrugged. "Some things are just not meant to be, I suppose."

"You're a good-looking girl," he said, "and you're young. There's plenty of blokes out there who'd be falling over themselves to be with you."

"Maybe at one time, but I've got a kid now. How many blokes want to take on somebody else's problem?" She sighed heavily and ran a hand over her face. "Look, I think you should go, Frank. There's not much point in you being here now, is there? You're not his dad. You don't owe him anything." He paused and then reached into his pocket for his wallet, causing a look of panic to cross her face. "No! I don't want your money. I don't need it."

He slid a fifty pound note out and placed it carefully into the Moses basket. "It's customary to give a gift to a new baby." She didn't say anything. "Take care of yourself, and the little one." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and made his way back towards the front door, before briefly turning back. "Stan said you'll get your own copy of the test result."

"I'm sorry," she said, the tracks of her tears still visible on her cheeks, making her look younger than he had ever thought she was.

"Yeah," he agreed for so many reasons as he opened the front door. "I am too."

XXXX

"So, what's going on with you and Viv then?" Jim pulled up at a set of lights and yanked on the handbrake.

"What do you mean?" Christina replied, glancing over at him. "Nothing's going on."

"Oh, come on. You've obviously had some sort of row. You can cut the atmosphere between you with a knife." He looked at her pointedly. "I thought you were mates."

"We are mates."

"So?"

"So…nothing." She turned back to look out of the window. "We're fine." It was the longest time she could remember that she and Viv hadn't been on speaking terms. Ever since the other woman had made much out of what she had told her about her engagement to Frank, there had seemed little point in trying to make amends. Viv had made her position pretty clear; she didn't approve and, more than that, she thought Frank was abusive…she felt herself shake her head at the memory of the words leaving her friend's mouth. It was ridiculous, completely ridiculous, and if it hadn't been for that alone, she knew she might have tried harder to reconcile. As it was, she wasn't sure she wanted to have someone who thought that about the person she loved as her friend. Not that it seemed Viv was altogether interested in patching things up either.

"I hope you haven't fallen out over a bloke."

"What?"

"I mean, you're both young, free and single," Jim explained, pulling away from the lights again. "I suppose it's not completely out of the realms of possibility that you might fancy the same man."

"Don't be daft."

"Well, what is it then?"

"You're like a dog with a bone, Jim. It's nothing, all right? Can we drop it?"

"Fine," he replied, in a tone that indicated it was anything but. "Not exactly a good management style though, is it, having issues with your subordinates. You've only got to look at the DI and Ted for that."

"Viv and I are not the DI and Ted."

"So…"

"So, nothing. Can we just get on with the job we're paid to do?" Thankfully, he elected not to reply, and the rest of the journey was undertaken in relative silence until they reached the affluent address in leafy Hanover Street where they were due to meet the potential victim of a fraud. She seemed a nice woman, Carol Wilkes, if a little dim, seemingly unable to fully comprehend why it was never a good idea to give out important financial information to door-to-door salesmen. But, given it was the third complaint in a month about the same thing, it was clearly worth investigating.

"He seemed so nice," she lamented, as Jim noted down details. "I mean, I had no reason to suspect he was a conman."

"Did he show you identification?" Christina asked.

"Yes, but I didn't really look at it. I mean, who does? It was only afterwards, when I was talking to my husband, that I realised I might have been a bit foolish."

"Do you a Jane Fellows, Mrs Wilkes," Jim asked. "Or Margery Yates?"

"No, sorry. Do you think I'll get my money back?"

"There's no way she's getting that money back," Jim said, as they made their way back to the car. "I mean, how stupid can some people be?"

"He's obviously picked his locations well," she commented, glancing around. "Nice area, plenty money floating about, and three addresses far enough apart not to arouse suspicions."

"Yes, but how did he know when he went to those doors that these women would fall for it? I mean, he must have tried other houses in between."

"True."

"Door-to-door?"

"I'd love to see Monroe's face when you ask for uniform to cover that."

"Well, you're the sergeant, shouldn't you ask? Better still, get the DI to do it. You know how well he and Monroe get along."

It was a humorous thought, and, for a moment, she forgot about Jim's earlier nosiness about her and Viv. Once back at the station, however, it came flooding back to her and she realised that if there was going to be any progress made, it would likely have to come from her. The CID office was empty, save for Frank sat at his desk and he leapt to his feet when he saw her.

"What's up?"

"Not here," he said, propelling her down the corridor and into Jack's, thankfully empty, office. "DCI left early. Something to do with his missus."

"So?"

"I heard from Stan today."

She felt herself hold her breath, "And?"

"I'm not the father."

Relief flooded through her, almost to the point of making her feel light-headed. Though she had tried to share in his certainty over what the result would be, it had worried her that it might have quite easily gone the other way. "Thank God for that." She paused. "So, who is?"

"Fiona doesn't know, apparently."

"You spoke to her?"

"I went to deliver the good news to her in person," he replied. "Felt a bit sorry for her, actually."

"What, after she falsely accused you? Brazenly tried to get money out of you?"

"She's clearly in over her head. She told me she slept with a few blokes this time last year, none of whom she can remember, so she's got no chance of ever finding out who Stephen's real dad is or getting any money out of him."

"You didn't…?"

"I gave her something, a one off," he insisted. "But that's it. The end. No more dealings with her or her kid."

"Well, that's something I suppose."

"Yeah…" he shuffled his feet slightly in that way she had come to recognise meant something else was coming. "Listen…"

"What?"

"I think we should tell Meadows about us."

The suggestion came so out of the blue that she found herself wondering if she had heard him correctly. "What are you talking about?"

"Meadows," he repeated, as though she would have no clue who he was referring to. "Our boss. I think we should tell him about us."

"Why?"

"Because I just think…" he paused, as though searching for a viable answer. "I just think he should know, that's all."

"You want us to tell Meadows, the same Meadows who told me there would be trouble if he got wind of anything happening between us again? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"No…"

"So, what's brought this on then?"

"I just…I just think it would be better if he knew, that's all."

A cold feeling swept over her, an insidious feeling that made her sense there was something important that he wasn't telling her. "Frank…you're scaring me here."

"Scaring you? Because I've suggested telling our boss that we're engaged? Don't be ridiculous. It was just a thought, that's all."

"You know we can't say anything. You know what it would mean; more investigations, more recriminations and then someone, probably me, out on their ear."

"Not necessarily."

"Not necessarily?"

"No, not if we told him that we're married."

"But we're not married."

"Not yet. But we could be. All we have to do is give twenty-eight days' notice for the registry office, find ourselves a couple of witnesses and Bob's your uncle. Done. Mr and Mrs Burnside." He looked at her expectantly. "We don't even need to know the witnesses. Could be anyone off the street. We don't need to tell anyone until it's all in the bag and then what can they do? Nothing. You were married to Stewart when you worked together."

"Yes, but he wasn't my boss."

"He was your sergeant, wasn't he, before he transferred to the Drugs Squad?"

"But we were already married before he became my sergeant and then he transferred not long after that…" she shook her head. "I don't understand why you're saying we should tell Meadows or get married right now."

His expression hardened slightly, "Don't you want to marry me?"

"Of course I do, you know I do…" She broke off as the office door suddenly opened and Tosh appeared.

"Oh, sorry Guv, I was looking for the DCI."

"Left early. Anything I can help with?"

"No, I don't think so." Tosh glanced between them. "Sorry to have interrupted."

"So, what's the problem?" Frank asked, once the door had closed behind the other man. "Your dad's not here anymore…what's there to gain by waiting?"

His casual dismissal of the end of her father's life irked her. "My dad's not even been buried yet, and you're talking about us getting married as though him being alive was some big obstacle that's now been removed!"

"That isn't what I meant…"

"No?"

"Of course not. Look…" he stepped forward and put his arms around her. "I want to be with you. I want to be your husband and I want you to be my wife. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," she replied. "But I don't get why, all of a sudden, you've decided that we need to do it right now." Pausing, she searched his face. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing."

"Is it to do with the promotion board?" He frowned. "When you go for DCI in October? Is it something to do with that?"

"Oh…that…well, erm…yeah, yeah it is," he replied, almost seeming relieved that she had guessed where his anxiety stemmed from. "I mean, who knows what's been written down about me or what the board would have access to. If they do somehow have information about us, wouldn't it be better if I could tell them that you were my wife as opposed to just my girlfriend? What if they decided not to promote me based on our relationship status alone?"

"They couldn't do that."

"But, what if they did? Imagine that was the reason they refused me?" he looked at her somewhat beseechingly, and she couldn't help but hear Viv's words in her head about manipulation and abuse. But it wasn't, it couldn't be. And yet, how would she feel if he was denied promotion simply because she'd refused to marry him before he went before the board?

"I think there's two issues here," she said, trying to think practically. "One is about us getting married and the other is about telling Meadows."

"Well, maybe we could get married first and then think about telling Meadows. I mean, once we're married, it's not like he could break us up, is it? And then, if I do get promoted, which I will, I'll be out of Sun Hill anyway and nobody will care."

She paused, thinking over his logic. It made sense, in a way. If they were married when he was promoted, it would solve a lot of issues. Yes, there might still be some disquiet, but there would be no direct manager link between them anymore, and nobody in the Met would want to stir up trouble for no reason… "Well, when were you thinking?"

"Like I said, we only have to give twenty-eight days' notice, assuming you're all right with doing it in a registry office, so we could be married by the middle of next month." He looked encouragingly at her. "What do you say?"

"Ok," she replied, finding herself suddenly pulled against him in his relief at her answer. It wasn't that she didn't want to marry him, but this sudden desperate desire to do it quickly unnerved her slightly, as did his suggestion that they tell Jack. That wasn't a conversation she was particularly looking forward to, even if it would be done once he was promoted and heading out the door. "Where did you get to this morning?"

He pulled back and looked at her. "How do you mean?"

"Well, first thing this morning. You weren't in until well after ten."

"Oh…that. I was seeing a snout. Yeah, he'd heard a whisper about some armed blaggers."

"Really? When? Where?"

He shook his head, "Nah, it's rubbish. I could see right through. He was just out to make a bit of money and leave egg on my face. Let's just say, he won't be trying that again. Anyway, you fancy dinner tonight, cooked by my own fair hand?"

"Uh…yeah, that sounds nice."

"Right, well give us half an hour and we can get out of here." Moving forwards, he kissed her quickly. "I love you."

"Yeah," she replied, as he disappeared out of the door. "I love you too."