Thank you to Jess, for your reviews and kind words!

Andrea hadn't quite managed to follow through with her intention of staying awake. She sat up gingerly on the sofa, rubbing her arm, dead where she'd slept on it. For a minute she told herself she'd dreamt last night, dreamt Kit, dreamt it all, but there on the table, was the phone number he'd given her the previous night. She picked it up, fiddling with the card, biting her lip. Now what? He was alive and though she was pretty sure he'd been responsible for the attack on Bruce, she had no proof of that, and that would be the bare minimum she'd need for anyone at Sun Hill to take her seriously. She got up from the sofa and went into her room to get changed. She was still thinking about Kirsty. She'd told her they'd found Kit's body; she'd sworn it was over, that he was dead. Why would she do that? Andrea wanted an answer to that question, but not just yet. She couldn't face her so soon after Kit. Picking up her hairbrush, she ran it through her curls, looking in the mirror. Kit had loved her curly hair; he'd touched it at every opportunity he could, he'd touched her all the time; an arm around her waist, clutching her hand, arms around her shoulders. She hadn't minded at first, actually she'd quite liked it. Then it began to just feel wrong. She thought back to when she'd first met Kit.

She and Kirsty had finished their A-levels and though she was still thirsty for education, the wanderlust was stronger. Her parents had quite a good living as an engineer and a nurse, her maternal grandparents had left her a generous amount in their will and she'd saved a fair amount working part time in a local clothes shop as she studied. Kirsty had wanted to come too, and though she'd had to work more to do it as she had four siblings, and her parents couldn't contribute as much as hers could, but she'd managed it. They'd started in Europe, first Paris, then to Belgium, and from there Sydney, catching an early morning flight. They'd stopped in Dubai for the night halfway, taking a chance to take in the impressive architecture. They'd stayed in Sydney for three weeks, hiring a car and taking a road trip around the country. From there, they'd moved on to New Zealand, repeating the same activities, driving around, taking in the views, experiencing the nightlife, enjoying their youth, then they'd gone to the USA. Whilst in California, she'd seen an advert in a newspaper; work opportunities in Brazil, South America, helping students there learn English. It was a six week programme and had many perks, with the inclusion of accommodation and food, though it was voluntary, and so they'd need jobs. But it was too good a chance to miss and a chance to travel more. What could possibly go wrong?

Andrea let her lips twist into a bitter smile. At first, it had been great. With the golden-sanded beaches, the dense forests and decorative arts, it had been a tropical paradise. She'd enjoyed the voluntary work too, teaching the students and had even learned some Portuguese herself. Kirsty hadn't been as thrilled with that part of the travels, but she'd never been as academically inclined as Andrea, and had sworn she was done with education after college. They'd only been needed a few days a week, and the rest of the time was theirs. It was on one of the nights they'd gone to a beachfront club that she'd first met Kit.

She'd first seen him at the bar, where he'd been standing alone, drinking a beer. He'd given her a glance, then looked back down at his phone, but she'd felt eyes on her as she and Kirsty walked away with their drinks. Then she'd noticed him watching her on the dancefloor, his hair falling in front of his eyes, giving him an enduring air of mysteriousness. When he caught her eye again, he'd finished his drink and almost glided over until he was dancing right beside her. She saw his mouth form words, but over the music, she couldn't hear a thing. She pointed to her ears and shook her head, smiling. He cupped a hand around his mouth and raised his voice, and that time, even though she didn't hear it all, she caught she jist of it; he was asking her name.

Kit had reminisced last night about the journal she'd always carried around with her; and though she'd not had it that night, she did have a pen, so she could scribble things she wanted to remember later. That night, she'd kept it in her hair, pulling it out to write her name on her palm, which she showed him. He held out his hand for the pen, which she gave him and he wrote his own name on his palm, then below it, 'drink?'

Accepting that offer was the biggest regret of her life, because even though worse things had happened, that was the gateway into her life, and no matter how calm he'd seemed last night, she somehow doubted he'd only came back to find out if she'd had their baby. She pushed that thought away. She wasn't thinking about that. Even though she'd done what she thought was right for her at the time, it didn't stop her feeling guilty. Andrea braided her hair and dressed. She'd go to the hospital, and see how Bruce was, then she'd try and think some more about Kit.

Andrea had half-expected to find one of her former Sun Hill colleagues hanging around the intensive care unit, but it seemed not. She sanitised her hands and pressed the buzzer. Someone pressed the button to unlock the door and she went in, standing silently by the desk, waiting for the nurse behind it to stop what she was doing. You didn't just barge through a ward like the ICU.

"I'll be with you in a minute," she said, not looking up, her tone abrupt, but not overly rude. Just that of an overworked, underpaid and unappreciated nurse. She finally finished the paperwork, pushed it away with a sigh and looked up. "Yes?"

"Bruce Malcolm. I'd like to see him. Please."

"Are you a relative?"

"No. A friend."

"We don't really allow anyone other than family visiting patients on this ward," she said, her tone still not rude, but Andrea thought she heard an underlying irritation that she should know that already.

"There isn't really any family. His parents are dead. He has a brother, but he's in Australia."

She wondered if anyone from Sun Hill had managed to contact Angus yet. The way Bruce had talked about him, she got the impression that Angus couldn't care less. The sadness of that fact hit her then and tears stung her eyes. She saw the nurse's eyes soften and she stood up.

"Yes, we did wonder. Mr Malcolm hadn't had any visitors, really, other than the police. He's in quite a bad way, you know."

She nodded.

"Yes, I know. The police came to see me already. They said it was bad."

"We're running various tests," the nurse said and gestured for Andrea to follow. "What's your name?"

She considered lying, but that wouldn't be very smart. "Andrea."

"Andrea. OK, you can have a few minutes. This way."

Gratefully, Andrea followed her down the ward, to the end, and showed her in to an open bay. The nurse pointed to the bed in the far corner, with curtains drawn.

"I'll be out here."

She went back to the nurse's station. Andrea stepped towards the curtains and parted them with shaking hands. She bit back what would have been a scream; it instead came out in a moan. She knew what had happened, Gina Gold had told her a piece of piping was thought to be the weapon, but somehow she hadn't imagined it to be this bad. She could barely recognise his face under the bruising, his hair was shaved on one side, and his head bandaged. His wrist was set in a heavy looking plaster, and various other cuts and bruises scattered his body. Andrea swallowed hard and went closer to Bruce's bed. She knew first-hand what Kit was capable of, but this was pure savagery.

"Bruce?" she said softly and touched his hand. "I'm so sorry."

She leapt a mile as an alarm sounded; she heard running footsteps and stumbled back from the bed, right into the surgical trolley, hands over her face. The curtains opened behind her.

"Andrea? Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry! The alarm…I just touched his hand, not the machines! I'm sorry!"

"No, no, it's okay," she said. "That was a crash call for another patient."

Her voice was much kinder. Andrea turned to her and saw the scatter of medical items on the floor which had fallen from the trolley. Her lip trembled.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't worry," she said, "it shouldn't have been there. Come on, come now."

The nurse put an arm around her shoulders and guided her away from the bedside in a way which was gentle, yet commanding. She led her to a quiet side room she supposed was meant for relatives and got her a cup of water.

"Thanks" Andrea said, and took a drink, grateful for something to moisten her dry throat.

The nurse sat down with her. "It can be a big shock. To see someone in ICU."

"The police told me what had happened," she said. "Somehow, I didn't expect it to be that bad. He's had some sort of brain surgery, hasn't he?"

"Yes. To relive the pressure. He is in a very serious condition."

"Yeah," Andrea said, and looked down at her lap. Tears dripped onto her jeans and the nurse handed her some tissues. "Thank you."

"He has a brother, you say?"

"Yes. Angus. I think the police are trying to contact him."

"Hopefully they'll be able to sooner rather than later. Are you and Bruce good friends?"

"Not really," she said and scrunched the tissue in her hand. "We had a bit of a falling out recently."

"Well, it was good of you to come and see him," she said, and got up. "I have to get back now, but you take your time here. You can call, if you'd like, though you know I can't say much without family's say-so. My name's Vicky."

"Thanks," she said and watched Vicky leave the room.

She finished her water quickly and threw the cup away. She had no intention of staying here much longer. She shouldn't have even come. Andrea left the ICU swiftly and rushed down the stairwell, her hand flying to her chest as she felt it tighten. She sank to the stair to sit, hyperventilating and gasping. A blur of blue obscured her vision and a face appeared in front of her, hands on her shoulders.

"You're okay," he said, and in a tone which suggested he was used to being obeyed, said; "come on. Take a deep breath."

He inhaled deeply and she mimicked him.

"That's good, really good. Keep going."

When the tightness in her chest eased enough for words to form in her mouth, she said; "thank you."

"That's all right," he said and slid his hands from her shoulders. "Does this happen to you much?"

"It hasn't," she said. "Not for a long time, but I've just come from seeing someone in the ICU, and…"

"Ah," he said. "Say no more. It's very overwhelming. I'm on my way there now. Who were you seeing? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Bruce Malcolm."

"Ah," he said again, and she guessed correctly from his tone it was Bruce he was on his way to see. "It must be a shock to see him like that."

"Yes," she said, and pulled herself up using the banister, standing on trembling legs. "Sorry. I'm keeping you."

"Not at all," he said. "If this keeps up, you might want to think about seeing your GP. They can offer you some treatments."

"Thanks. I'll do that."

She watched him go, taking the stairs two at a time. The last time she'd seen a doctor about her panic attacks, it hadn't helped. But maybe that had more to do with not telling them the whole truth about why they were happening. Andrea made her way out of the hospital, still holding her chest as if it would crumble if she let go. Home, that's where she needed to be now. She needed to get her head out of the sand and take a long overdue trip down memory lane.

At home, Andrea went straight into her bedroom and dug in the bottom of her wardrobe, where she found what she was looking for. A photo album, dusty and stiff. She hadn't looked through it for years. She'd had the urge to burn it after coming home from her travels, but had hung on to it because they were memories of her and Kirsty. Then she'd had the urge again when Kirsty had…nope, not going there. She pushed the thought away. That gate was closed; that lane could wait, but not for much longer. She sat on her bed and began to flip through the pictures; her and Kirsty's travel album, from the beginning until the end. Kit came into them about halfway through and she noticed that in each one that had them both in it, he always had to be near her, touching her, always in his sight. And that wasn't just in pictures. She stopped at a picture of her and Kirsty at Angel Falls in Venezuela. Kit had paid for that trip and he'd taken the picture. How stupid had she been, to never be more suspicious about where all his money had come from? She got to the end, and a loose picture fell out. She picked it up and blanched, remembering how she'd kept it out, so her parents wouldn't see, and shoved it back in once they'd had a look at the pictures. She wasn't even sure why she had kept it; all it served as was another reminder of what he was capable of. The doorbell rang and she jumped, putting the album on her bed. She went out into her hall open sitting room, staring at the door fearfully. Had he come back here? Had he been waiting for her to call, and grown impatient when she hadn't?

"Who is it?" she called, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Sam," came the reply of Sam Nixon's voice. "And Smithy."

Smithy? She went to the door and opened it, blinking at the pair, then stood back to let them in. She saw the hostility in Sam's eyes that her professional expression couldn't quite hide, but couldn't read Smithy's expression. It wasn't anger, it wasn't hatred but it wasn't affection either. She closed the door behind them, fighting the urge to secure the chain.

"We came by earlier," said Sam. "There was no answer."

"No. I haven't been back long." She considered lying, just saying she'd gone for a walk, but they'd probably find out anyway. "I went to see Bruce."

Oh God, no. The overwhelming panic threatened her again, and she felt the blood rushing to her ears. Smithy saw her grow rigid and put a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to the sofa.

"Sit down," he said, not unkindly. "I'll make some tea. Sam?"

"Thanks," she said, sitting down with Andrea. "No sugar. How is he?"

Andrea shrugged. "They wouldn't really say. I wasn't supposed to be allowed, but the nurse let me."

She remembered again his brutalised face and put a hand to her mouth. Sam waited until Smithy brought three mugs over before speaking again

"Look, Andrea, I know you didn't attack Bruce, okay? But when I came to see you yesterday, I got the feeling you weren't telling us everything."

Sam was the worst person to try to lie to, but Andrea had plenty of practice in the art of lying. She took a sip of the tea, nearly gagged at the sweetness and looked at Smithy. He knew she didn't take sugar.

"It's good for the shock," he said and leant forwards, elbows on his knees. "Andrea, look, if you know who did it, you need to tell us."

Lying to him was worse, but for a minute, she imagined him in Bruce's place; beaten and hanging between life and death.

"I don't," she denied, and took another drink of her tea. "I was feeling guilty. That was all."

"About what?" His voice was soft.

"About what I'd said to him that day. That he'd annoy the wrong person. It was in the car park. I didn't know that there had been threats."

The three started at a blur of black and white. Hugo jumped onto Smithy's lap, yawned, and curled up, purring. Sam gave him a curious look and he shrugged, scratching the cat's ears.

"Old friends," he said.

Sam's pale eyebrows rose and she turned back to Andrea. "Go on."

"Anyone could have heard me say what I said. And I didn't mean that I wanted someone to attack him, I really didn't. Just…if someone had been hanging around and heard me say that, and they took it out of context…"

It was a small truth, but hid a bigger lie. He sat back, searching her face with those green eyes.

"And you're sure, are you, that's all it is?"

"Look, I know what you think of me right now, but I took my job as a police officer seriously. Do you really think I'd sit here playing games with you if I knew who did it?"

The doubt in his eyes cleared slightly and he exchanged a look with Sam. Andrea finished her tea and put her mug on the table.

"Did you see anyone around when you left that day?"

"Jen and Logan were both there. They'd followed us outside. I take it they were your eyewitnesses. There may have been other people around, but I don't remember any details. I wasn't paying much attention."

She certainly hadn't seen Kit, but he always was very good at creeping around. The three sat in quiet for a moment before she spoke again.

"Did you get in touch with Angus?"

"Yes," Sam said. "He got in touch early this morning. He's very worried and trying to get here as soon as he can. Obviously it isn't easy to fly halfway around the world at short notice."

"No. Of course not."

"What'll they do at the news office?" Smithy said. "I mean, with him being the editor and all."

Andrea shrugged. "I expect they'll have to find someone to stand in until they find a successor. I don't think they'll be short of people willing."

"Are you sure none of them…"

"No," she said firmly. "You have to draw the line somewhere, even journalists. Beating someone half to death just so you can have their job? Come on." She thought, then straightened up. "What about CCTV? Wasn't there any?"

"Yes. But not in the area where his car was parked, it appears that was in a blind spot. Your altercation with him though…" He raised an eyebrow at her. "That looked pretty aggressive to me, Andrea."

There was an underlying anger in his voice and she thought how violence against women, especially from men, always angered him more than anything. But, then, he had told her things about his dad she couldn't have even imagined, and she was sure he'd not told anyone else.

"Maybe," she said. "If it hurt, I was too angry for it to even register. Anyway, compared to what happened to him, I don't have much to complain about, do I?"

"I guess not," he said and sat back, giving her a searching look. "Anything else you'd like to tell us?"

Plenty

"No."

"Right," said and gently shooed Hugo off his lap. "Well if you think of anything…"

"Yeah. I'll let you know."

"We'll see ourselves out," Sam said, and the two rose and left. She waited until Smithy had shut the door behind them. "Well?"

"She's not saying something," he said, glancing back at the house.

Sam picked up on the tone, hurt that she wouldn't open up to him as he'd hoped.

"You think she knows who did it?"

"I don't know," he said, opening the car door and getting in behind the wheel. "I think you're right. I got the feeling she was scared of something."

"Well, maybe so would I be if I thought someone might have intended to cave my head in with a metal bar."

"Hm," Smithy said, starting the car. "I'm not so sure it was that. Sam, no disrespect, but I think I might get more out of her if it was just me."

"You're going to come back?"

"Later. After shift."

He glanced in the rear-view mirror, watching her watching them and drove away getting not just a sense of fear, but danger as well.

Andrea watched them drive away, and let the curtain drop. Her hands clenched into fists. She'd wanted to tell them, wanted to tell him, so badly, but how could she say out loud what she'd spent years trying to forget ever happened? Took the three mugs and poured the remaining contents down the sink. From the drawer, she took out the card Kit had given her. She had nothing, no proof he'd attacked Bruce, nothing but her own insane tale. Not unless she could get it. Picking up her phone, she dialled, being sure to withhold her number.

"Kit?" she said. "It's me, Andrea."

"Yeah," he said, not surprised. "Hi. You okay?"

The voice sounded so different from the monster who had haunted her nightmares, and for a moment, all she could see was the carefree stranger who'd asked to buy her a drink all those years ago.

"Fine. Thank you. Can we meet?"

"Would tomorrow be okay? I have some things to do the rest of today."

And she could imagine what things. As if he'd read her mind down the phone he continued in an annoyed voice.

"Actual work. I told you, I've changed."

"Right. Yes. Tomorrow's fine."

"What about a drink?" he said. "Just like old times. There's a pub near where I'm staying. The Seven Bells?"

"I know it," she said woodenly, and she ought to. It had been a regular haunt on nights out with the Sun Hill team. "What time?"

"Say, five?"

"Okay," she said, her stomach twisting. "That's fine."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it."

Kit hung up without saying goodbye. Andrea lowered the phone, squeezing it until she heard the plastic groan. She replaced it on the cradle, staring as if worried it would self-destruct. Kit hadn't sounded as if he was looking forward to it, in fact, it sounded more like it was a threat. She looked over the card carefully. Just his name and his number; no details about what his 'work' might be. Not that she actually wanted to know. She picked up the bottle of Scotch whisky, poured herself a generous amount and downed it in one. Her meeting might not be until tomorrow, but she'd still need all the courage she could get.

Andrea was laying on the sofa, in a state halfway between sleep and tipsiness, flicking again through her travel photo album. She pulled one from the plastic sleeve, looking at it carefully. It was of her, taken by Kirsty, with Angel Falls in the background, standing with her hair billowing as the water splashed behind her, the smile on her face larger than life. Everything seemed so simple then. The bell ran again and she closed her eyes. She was getting sick and tired of unannounced visitors.

"Who is it?"

"Smithy."

For God's sake. Andrea got up, swaying slightly and opened the door, glass still in her hand.

"What are you doing here?"

"Are you drunk?"

His voice was shocked.

"A bit. And if I had my way, I'd be drunker."

She moved aside to let him in. He might be angry at her, but she knew she had nothing to fear from him.

"What's going on, Andrea?"

"I thought we'd established that; I'm drunk and plan on getting drunker. Want one?"

"No," he said, snatching the bottle from her. "And neither are you."

The sneering look on her face surprised him.

"Who are you, my father?"

Something was seriously wrong here. Police was a stressful enough job, certainly enough to drive anyone to drink, but he'd never known Andrea to be one of those. She was strong willed, focused, clever; not someone who turned to drink to cope. He supposed it hadn't been an ordinary type of stress recently.

"What's going on? Who attacked Bruce?

"How should I know?"

She brushed past him and went to sit down, looking again at the picture again. She wished she could go back there, wished she could go back to that first night at the club, and refused his drink offer. She wished she could wipe Kit out of her life altogether. The sofa sank down as Smithy sat beside her, taking an actual good look at her. She looked pale, and if he wasn't very much mistaken, she'd lost weight, her eyes seeming bulbous and cheekbones more prominent.

"You know more than you're saying. I know you do."

"You don't know anything."

He sighed and glanced at the table to see what she was staring at. He picked up the picture, taking in the beauty of the setting and its subject.

"Where's that?"

"Venezuela," she said and took it back. "Angel Falls."

"I didn't know you'd been there."

"Well like I just said, Smithy, you don't know anything," she said, and stood up. "Now if there's nothing else…"

"Hey," he said, rising and making to catch her arm, but drawing his hand back in shock when she flinched away from his touch. "What?"

Oh no, go away, go away.

She fought back against the panic, pushing it away and backed away from him.

"Nothing. It's nothing. Look Smithy, I don't know who attacked Bruce, okay? It's just like I told you and Sam earlier…what I said…"

"Even if you don't know, you suspect, don't you?"

"No," she said firmly. "I don't. I promise."

A sneer of his own crossed his face. "Yeah. You promise. That means a lot coming from you, doesn't it?"

The verbal dart still hit her as if it had been physical. She flinched again.

"Then why would you believe what I told you Smithy, when you don't believe me when I say I don't? Doesn't it cut both ways?"

"Fine," he said. "You play all the games you like, you be as selfish as you like, but when we find out who did it, and you had any involvement, directly or otherwise, believe me, I'll make sure the CPS come down on you like a tonne of bricks."

She watched him cross to the door and open it, turning back to her before leaving

"Go ahead. Carry on drinking, feeling sorry for yourself. I don't care."

She didn't even jump when she door slammed behind him. There it had been, the chance to share the burden, to break the silence of a decade, but she hadn't. All she could see was Bruce in that hospital bed, and in her mind's eye, his face changed to Smithy's. She jolted, as if snapping herself to reality and went to the bottle of scotch, pouring it away. Her dad would have had an aneurysm if he'd seen her doing that, he always said scotch was just as much part of their blood as the Scottish as the bagpipes or the Loch Ness Monster. She was seeing Kit tomorrow and needed a clear head and more than that, she needed a gamplan.