Thank you to Jess for your always wonderful reviews! Welcome back to the continuation of the story with chapter 11. And as for extra twists...well, you just know me so well, don't you? Any guesses as to what they are? :P

Andrea woke the next morning to heavy rain. She went to the window and looked out, barely able to see the street through the thick sheet of rain. Looks like it would be a day stuck in the hotel. With Kirsty. Great. Stretching, she went to get changed for the day. Down in the dining hall, she sat with tea in the too small mug and well done toast. A little too well done. As she kept half an eye on the door, Kirsty came in with Olly. He saw her first and waved cheerfully. She waved back, Kirsty caught her eye, saw the hostility and hurried him off with his coco pops to an empty table. Good. People said it was wrong to hold grudges, yes, but she could never quite forget walking in on her and Marc in bed together; the guilt on Marc's face as he struggled to cover himself, stumbling over his words that it wasn't what it looked like, and the gleam in Kirsty's eyes looking almost like triumph. From what Kirsty had said yesterday, he'd done the same to her as well, but somehow it didn't make her feel good. Maybe it was that it involved a child now; it seemed that even having that responsibility couldn't make Marc keep it in his pants. And it wasn't like she had a leg to stand on to talk about loyalty and honesty. This stealing money from Kit though…how did she think that would have ended any good way? Even if Kit really had been dead, the knowledge of stealing from a dead man would have eaten away at Kirsty, even if she'd claimed to enjoy it. At some point, the novelty of having all the things you never could must have worn off, especially when you were a single mother, struggling to make ends meet, working in a pub. The waitress came by, offering her a tea refill which she gratefully accepted and as she drank, she watched Kirsty pick at her own breakfast as Olly happily shovelled cereal into his mouth. He must think staying in a hotel was a real treat. It was a shame there was no swimming pool. If the weather kept up like this, he'd get bored stiff, there were only so many times you could play a Nintendo. She finished her tea, and on her way out, passed Kirsty who was taking Olly for another helping of cereal.

"There's a lounge on the other side of reception," she said. "I'll be in there."

Kirsty nodded and she went through to the lounge. There were armchairs, sofas and rows of books, as well as a little kiddies table in the corner with colouring and children's books. Hopefully that would keep Olly busy as she and Kirsty talked. Andrea drummed her hands on her thighs, suddenly feeling very nervous and a bit sick. Trying to occupy herself, she picked up a newspaper from the table and put it straight down when she saw it was the Daily News. Too soon. She wondered for a minute how they were getting on without Bruce, feeling a bit guilty that she hadn't thought about him much. She was still sure Kit was behind the attack, but she had no way of proving it. Maybe she should check on him, even though she was still furious with him. He hadn't deserved that.

"Andrea?"

She jumped and looked up. Kirsty stood above her and she looked around for Olly. He was seated at the table, his head buried in a book. Kirsty held up the Nintendo.

"I don't let him spend all his time on it. I'd like him to break a bit of a mental sweat, too. He likes the Mog books. Remember?"

She nodded. They'd used to read them together when they were little.

"I said your name a few times," Kirsty said tentatively. "You were gone there for a little bit."

"I was just thinking. I have a friend in hospital, it's not looking good for him."

"The one the Inspector mentioned?"

"Yes. Well he's not really a friend, actually, he was my boss at the Daily News."

She gestured to the paper on the table.

"I…saw," said Kirsty. "When the story first broke. I did think about getting in touch, but I thought it might do more harm than good. I always knew you'd go on to big things, but I wasn't expecting that."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't such a good thing," she said. "I lost a lot of good friends. People got hurt. Because of me."

"Why do you think Kit…?"

"It's just a hunch. We argued the same day he was attacked. He wanted my work to publish, I told him no. He'd broken our agreement be exposing me and I wasn't going to put good people through any more humiliation. Anyway, it was pretty public, and at one point he grabbed me, and…"

"You think Kit was watching?"

"I'm sure he was. When I first saw him, he said something that I'd said to Bruce earlier that day. He could have only known if he'd been there."

"But they have no proof it was Kit?"

"No, and Bruce hasn't exactly got many friends. That expose caused a lot of trouble. Pretty sure they even thought it was me at first."

"Oh, come on! Like you'd ever!"

"I know that. But how can they trust anything they ever knew about me?"

"Well, you never know! Maybe Bruce will wake up and tell them it was Kit, identify him."

"Like he would have done his own dirty work. He watched two of his thugs attack Smithy, I bet he did the same to Bruce."

"Smithy is…?"

Andrea felt a prickle of irritation and said more sharply than intended; "a friend."

Kirsty flushed and said; "I wouldn't do that to you, not again."

"Well he is. Just a friend. He wanted more. I told him no. I thought he'd get hurt less that way. Failed miserably. Not even sure he still is a friend."

"I'm sorry."

"My fault. Anyway. You're the one who said we should talk, Kirsty, what did you want to say?"

"No amount of apologies in the world would ever be enough," she said. "I know I didn't say it enough at first. But I am. Really sorry."

"You said history repeated itself. Who with?"

"Some girl at work," she muttered. "Barely nineteen. She can't handle kids, apparently, so he can't have Olly over."

"Scumbag," Andrea said quietly. "I'm sorry, Kirsty. Being a single mother can't be easy."

"Used to be fun," she said. "Marc made enough so I didn't have to work, but now he'd rather spend money on his floozy. And I make ends meet by serving leery old men in a pub. I should have done what you did, gone to university, made more of myself. As my parents kept on telling me."

Andrea shifted uncomfortably. Kirsty's parents had always been very proud of her achievements, almost like she was their own daughter. She'd been aware it had bothered Kirsty and had tried not to do any more than thank them politely and not talk about it in any great detail. Obviously, it still bothered her.

"Kirsty…"

"When?" Kirsty cut across her. "When did you find out he was alive?"

"It was something he sent," she said. "In the post. The necklace I gave him in Venezuela, the Celtic knot one. Remember?"

"He sent you that in the post?" Kirsty said, horrified. "Jesus that must have terrified you! Why didn't you call me then?"

Andrea shot her a small glance. Kirsty's eyes narrowed.

"You thought I did it?"

"It crossed my mind. At first. And it was the one I hoped had happened, because the alternative was that there was a dead man out walking somewhere. Then, the dead man himself turned up in my bedroom in the dead of night. Very much alive."

"Oh my God."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I said, just not so politely."

"What did he do? Did he hurt you?"

"No. He didn't touch me, not that time. He said he just wanted to talk. He wanted to know if I'd kept our baby."

"And when you told him you hadn't?"

"He…I don't know. He didn't even seem angry. Just flat. He was talking about being left for dead." She shot a look at Kirsty, who flushed. "I didn't really understand what he meant."

"I'm sorry. I should have gone to the police. I don't even know why I lied about it. Did he say? What happened when we left?"

"Not really. He said he'd hitched to the hospital, that he was framed for dealing drugs. Spent seven years in prison."

"So that's why it took him so long to come looking for you."

"Yeah. I told him I'd had the abortion because I felt unprepared and traumatised, and…he just seemed to accept it, left when I asked him to. He gave me his number and asked me to call when I felt ready to see him again."

"You saw him sooner than you wanted to though, right?"

"Yeah. I asked to. I wanted to see if I could get him to admit what he did to Bruce. it didn't quite go my way though. That time, he was angry. Got aggressive." She saw Kirsty's eyes widen and quickly said, "Oh nothing like what'd happened in Venezuela. That was when he started talking about wanting what was his. I thought he was talking about the baby, I said I couldn't give him it. He started yanking me around. Smithy saw."

"He was there?"

"He and some of the others. After work drinks. He's not the type of person to stand by and watch something like that, no matter what they'd done; to him or to anyone else. Anyway, he jumped right between us and shoved him away from me. Told him to try him for size if he wanted to knock someone about. Kit just gave him this…this smirk and left."

"Did he ask you what was going on? Smithy?"

"Yeah. I couldn't explain, how could I? I just told him it was someone bothered about what was in the paper. I don't think he really believed me, but he…well, he asked me if I was really surprised."

"Cold," Kirsty said softly.

"But justified," Andrea said. "Anyway, Kit didn't even leave it two days before he struck. He must have been following him, waiting for his chance. Got one of his thugs to lure him somewhere on his own. And they attacked him. They could have killed him, Kirsty."

Kirsty put a hand on her arm. "But they didn't."

"Probably not for want of trying."

"So that's when you told them?"

"Yes. They came looking for me. Smithy had glimpsed Kit during the attack and he'd realised there was more to it than a disgruntled Joe pubic. He asked the Inspector to make sure I was okay. I had to tell them, Kirsty."

"I know. I guess I always knew it would always come back to bite me. Just…in not such a catastrophic way. I really did think he was dead, Andrea. And I know, it doesn't justify it."

"I get it. I think. I just don't know how I didn't notice, that you had all that money."

"I kept it secret," she said. "I didn't shout about what I bought, just admired in secret. I moved out to live in that house share, remember, and you went to uni and…well…you were…preoccupied,"

That was one way of putting it. She'd barely been holding the cracks of her life together after the termination.

"Do you ever wish you'd had it?"

"You know it wasn't an option. How could I have brought a child into the world, knowing what'd happened to its father? And my parents, wouldn't they have just loved it?"

"They love you," Kirsty said. "They would have loved you, no matter what. And any child you had."

"Maybe," she said. "But I couldn't, Kirsty. I just couldn't."

"You didn't even tell me, not until afterwards."

"Seemed little point, once I'd made my mind up," Andrea said and got up, staring out of the window into the still falling rain. "It was cold in there. Even though they tried to keep me warm. Even though I couldn't really feel anything, I could hear, and thought I could still feel. I don't know if that makes sense. And even though I couldn't see anything, I…I still have nightmares."

She raised a hand to her mouth, her hand trembling. Kirsty jumped up and put an arm around her.

"Andrea, I'm sorry. I wish you'd told me. I would have been there for you."

"I thought you'd been through enough."

"So had you. That's why I thought, the cruise…I guess that's kind of ruined now."

"It was nice. At the time." Andrea gave Kirsty a watery smile. "And we saw the northern lights."

"I'm sorry. I didn't expect this to come back to bite us. Not after all this time."

"Some people can hold a grudge," Andrea said and glanced back at Olly. "I meant what I said yesterday, Kirsty. He'll use anything he can to get what he wants. Is there really nowhere else he can stay?"

"Well…my parents, I suppose, but then I'd have to explain. I guess it's high time I faced it. They live on the south coast now you know, Peacehaven. He loves it there."

"I can imagine," Andrea said and looked back out the window. "Send him there, Kirsty. Get him out of the way, somewhere safe. And I'll make a deal. You tell your parents the truth, and I'll tell mine."

Kirsty swallowed.

"Okay. I'd like to do it face to face though. They always said I needed to have the guts to admit when I'm wrong. They were really angry with me, you know. About Marc."

"Can we not go there? Please?"

"Okay. But we will have to. One day. You know that."

"Yeah. But I think this has been enough trips down memory lane, at least for one day."

"Okay. I'll go and give them a call, make my way there."

"In this?" Andrea said, pointing to the downpour outside.

"Well. Like you said. Olly should be out of the way sooner rather than later."

"Yeah," Andrea said. "Right. Just…get a cab to the station. And call me. Don't text. I need to know it's you and not him."

"Right, well, can I have your number then? Or did you block me?" Kirsty smiled sadly when Andrea turned to her. "I have tried to call. It's never gone through."

"I changed it," Andrea said and took the phone Kirsty held out. She put her number in and gave it back. "Let me know when you're at the station. And on the train. And when you get there. Put me on to your parents so I know."

"Okay," said Kirsty. "We might spend the night. Just so I can get Olly settled. He's a smart kid. If I just leave him and go, he'll suspect. I will come back. I promise."

"Right. Safe trip."

She pointedly turned back to looking outside. Kirsty recognised it as conversation over and went to get Olly from where he was reading. She heard her tell him they were going to nanny and granddads and Olly's excited squealing in response. Would she and Marc have had a child if Kirsty hadn't come between them? She wasn't sure she knew the answer to that. After aborting her baby, she'd felt as if she didn't want to ever be pregnant again. Sometimes, she still did. Well, if Kirsty was going to have the guts to tell her parents, and Andrea had no reason to disbelieve her as she seemed to really love Olly, she should too. She slid her phone from her pocket and scrolled down to the 'home' contact, her parents' landline. Her finger hovered over the call button and she stopped. She'd go upstairs to her room, this was a call she'd prefer to make in private.

Kirsty had called, just like she'd said; at the station, on the train, at Peacehaven, then at her parents'. Well, her parents had made the final call. And they'd assured her that they did know the story. That no, Kit hadn't followed her, and that Olly would be perfectly safe with them. Kirsty would be back on the train tomorrow. They still had some stuff to talk over. Andrea didn't think she needed to know what. Probably much the same as what she'd had with her parents. She lay on her bed, feeling as miserable as the weather outside. She hadn't gone down for lunch and was missing dinner, not because she wasn't hungry, in fact, her stomach was rumbling, but she couldn't face it, not with all those people. She was mulling over at least going to get some air when there was a knock at the door. She sat bolt upright. It was too late for housekeeping.

"Who is it?"

She barely recognised her voice; high with fright.

"It's me, Smithy."

He just couldn't keep away. Or wouldn't. Same difference, she supposed. She opened the door and he smiled at her, and held up a bag. The smell emitting from it made her mouth water.

"Dinner?"

His smile really was a killer, even though it must have hurt to do so, his poor face was still so bruised. She managed a weak smile back and let him in. He put the bag on the small table and took from within it foil containers of food. The smell was ever so familiar.

"Garlic chicken?" she said.

"That's right," he said, and took out a paper bag, turning back to her. "And the poppadoms. Can't forget those."

"Thanks. That's really nice of you."

"Just returning the favour," he said and sat down. She could see his face contort; he was still in obvious pain. He caught her expression. "It's getting better. I promise."

He pushed out the other chair with his foot and she sat down, picking up the container of garlic chicken curry. Her favourite. This closer, the smell almost make her drool. She picked up the useless plastic fork and began to eat. She took a poppadom and broke off a piece, dipping it into the warming sauce.

"How's Kirsty?" Smithy asked, through a mouthful of his own jalfrezi; way too hot for her own taste.

Andrea half shrugged, swallowed her own mouthful of food and said; "she's okay. She's gone to Peacehaven. To take Olly to her parents. We thought it'd be better for him to be out of the way."

"Probably the right decision," he said. "You didn't know about him? Olly?"

"No, I knew," Andrea said and stirred the curry sauce. "Mum told me Kirsty and Marc had a child together but I told her I didn't want to know anymore. I wasn't expecting such a resemblance."

"Where is he then? Marc?"

"Ran off with a nineteen year old floozy. Not my words." Andrea shot him a look. "Some people, huh?"

She finished her food quietly and put the empty container on the table.

"I told them. My parents. I called them this afternoon."

"Oh," said Smithy and put his own empty container down. "How did it go?"

The stinging tears sprung to Andrea's eyes and she said; "they cried. I was expecting anger or hurt or…anything but that. They asked why I hadn't let them be there for me."

"Why didn't you?"

It was asked kindly, not accusingly.

She shrugged; "I was used to being their perfect little girl. I'm not saying I was. Far from it. But they were together nearly fifteen years before they had me. They'd had some losses before. They never pushed me, never tried to be anything I didn't want, but…I always did know how much they wanted a child. I was always so scared of disappointing them."

"You told them about the baby, too?"

She nodded and the tears began to roll down her face. "They weren't even angry. They were just sad. Not that I'd done it. That I hadn't felt like I could come to them. That I went through it alone."

Smithy reached down and picked up a second plastic bag, from which he took a bottle of brandy and two plastic glasses. He poured a large amount into each and handed one to her.

"Sorry. No ice."

She choked out a laugh. "I think I'd take it boiling hot right now."

She took a sip, grateful for the warming sensation. She tensed when Smithy reached out, touching her hand, lying on her lap.

"Why not me, Andrea? All that time we spent together the last few months. I told you stuff about my dad. Why couldn't you tell me?"

"So I was supposed to tell you about all of my skeletons?"

The words were sharper than she meant, and he withdrew his hand, looking hurt.

"No. I didn't mean that. It's just…didn't you trust me?"

"Sorry," she mumbled and looked down at her drink. "Of course I trust you. I knew everything would come out about me eventually, and I've told you already, I didn't want you to feel any…obligation towards me."

He nodded, but still looked hurt and to her, as if he might cry.

"I was ashamed, Smithy. I still am. I couldn't bear people knowing about that, and to be honest, if Kit hadn't come back, it'd still be my dirty little secret. And you don't need to tell me how hypocritical that is after what I did over this last year."

She got up again to look outside. The rain had finally stopped but the chill in the air was still bitter. Or maybe that was just her. Then he was behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

"They're still angry," he said. "And yes, so am I. but that doesn't mean we're about to let this animal hurt you. Or Kirsty."

"And I appreciate it. I do," she said and looked at his reflection in the glass. "You should probably go."

"I don't want to."

"Nor do I. Which is why you should."

"Andrea, I don't understand. You feel something for me. I know you do. So why…"

"Smithy," she said, turning to him. "Please. I have a psycho ex-boyfriend out there determined to hurt me in any way that he can. He doesn't have to do anything to me to achieve that. I have no idea how I'm going to give him what he wants or if even him getting the money will mean he'll leave me and Kirsty alone. I can't think about someone else like that right now, even if it's you. It's not what I need."

"What about a friend, then?"

"I guess we could always use more of them," she said and gave him a weak smile.

He pulled her to him and this time, she let him. She breathed in the clean smell of his t-shirt and the smell of his aftershave.

"There is something you should know, though."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter about getting him his money. He won't be needing it," he said, feeling her tense in his arms. "Andrea, its Bruce Malcolm. They've completed the brain scans. They show no activity."

"Brain dead?" she said in a small voice.

"Yes," he said. "They've spoken to his brother, Angus. He's given them the go ahead to turn the machines off. I'm really sorry."

"There's no proof it was Kit."

"Not yet. We'll find it. You know we will."

"He wasn't always the nicest person, Smithy. But he didn't deserve that."

"I know," Smithy said. "But you're not responsible for what Kit did. Not to Bruce and not to me."

"When? When are they turning the machines off?"

"Later tonight," Smithy said. "Angus obviously can't get here all the way from Australia…"

"Can you take me to St Hugh's, then? Please?"

"Why?"

"Nobody deserves to die alone. Whoever they are."

"He won't know you're there."

"I'll know," she said and pulled from his hold, putting her coat on. "I can make my own way there."

"No, I'll take you. Of course I will." He cupped her face, stroking it with his thumb. "You are a good person, Andrea. Don't think I don't know that."

"Thanks," she said.

The room felt colder than outside. Andrea pulled her coat tighter around her as she pushed open the door to Bruce's room. It wasn't where she'd seen him before, but she supposed that dying in a bay full of other patients wouldn't be dignified. The man in the bed didn't even bear any resemblance to the one she remembered. Even though, like Smithy, the bruising was fading, the machines gave away the limbo he lay in between life and death. She lowered herself on shaky legs into the bedside chair. Smithy couldn't read her expression.

"I'm going to go and find the consultant," he said. "You be okay?"

She nodded and he left the room. She watched, counting the ticks of the clock, staring at the rise and fall of Bruce's chest. Eighty-five ticks went by.

"This would have made you a good story, Bruce," she said softly. "Better than anything you ever would have got out of Sun Hill."

She watched him intently, willing for any sign of life, any sign the doctors were wrong and that he would open his eyes. Another fifty-four ticks went by.

"He won't get away with it. That's what you never understood about the people at that station. They're good people and they do a good job. They weren't just people I was researching. They were more than that. And they'll get him for what he's done. You can be sure of that."

The door opened behind her and Smithy returned followed by the doctor she'd seen before, on the staircase the first time she'd come to see Bruce. He was accompanied by the nurse, Vicky, who gave her a smile.

"It was good of you to come," he said. "Mr Malcolm hasn't had many visitors."

"No," she said softly. "He always was that bit of a loner. Will he be in any pain?"

"No," he said gently. "Patients who are brain dead lose all senses. It will be quick and painless."

"It's time?" she asked.

"Yes. Even though there will be no suffering from Mr. Malcolm, not everyone can cope with being here. If you'd rather just say your goodbyes…"

He was probably thinking about the last time they'd met, that it would trigger another panic attack.

"No," she said, turning back to Bruce. "I'll stay."

The doctor looked at Smithy, who nodded and put his hands on Andrea's shoulders. She grasped at his hands gratefully; he could feel hers trembling. She kept her eyes on Bruce's face as the doctor and Vicky began the process. When the breathing tube was removed, the machine emitted a high-pitched wail which was silenced. Andrea's eyes drifted to the observation machine, on which the traces began to show flat lines. Smithy looked down at Andrea, who was dry-eyed and white faced as she watched the last rise and fall of Bruce's chest.