Author's Note: Thank you for all your support on this story.

You may notice the dates for December 2002 correspond to 2024. That's not for ease of writing—the two calendars truly correspond.

There's conflicting information available about NYPD survivor benefits. I chose to base my interpretation on information provided by the Office of New York Comptroller & the US Justice Department Bureau of Justice Statistics Annual Report from 1997 (the year of Joe's death). That report details statistical information including salaries and benefits for local jurisdictions (including New York City).

Housekeeping

I recently got a question on another site where I cross-post. I've added an addendum A/N on the Chapter 1 "preview" for clarity.

I also wanted to drop a message here to clear up any confusion. I assume if one person has a question—they aren't alone!

The first chapter (which previews how this tale ends) features three children, but only names two. You didn't miss anything! That's not an error. I've intentionally withheld revealing the name of the oldest boy until we reach that point in the story.

To clarify, the Eames-Goren clan includes:

- Oldest Son (14). Name withheld for now.

- Aiden (4)

- Frances "Frankie" (2)

- Lulu, the doggo

- Jasper, the cat

The Eames-Goren clan are a part of this story—but the main focus is on how they get there. We won't see much of the wee ones until later. I just wanted to offer a roadmap of where we're headed.

Onward we go!

Rockaways | Queens

Alex was sandwiched between her niece and nephew on the sofa. Ella was curled up against her hip. Joey was snug as a bug in a rug under his favourite fleece blanket.

They were both tuckered out from a long day at the park.

It was moments like that, when Alex could snuggle down with the kiddos and just relax when the thought of 'what if' tugged most at her heartstrings.

She was quick to remind herself that Joey had kicked her seat the whole car ride home. He would probably be up again before dawn—just as eager and loud as he had been that morning.

Ella had sobbed until she was catatonic because Joey pretended to snatch her nose. No matter what Aunt Alex said or did, she just couldn't prove to Ella her nose was, in fact, not gone forever.

Yes, Alex Eames was quick to remind herself that was very happy in her position as an aunt and not a parent. She would never have the time for her career in Major Case with children running around.

Or coffee with a hunky Canuck.

Alex chuckled and shook her head. She still wasn't sure what she'd been thinking.

She wondered if maybe it was time to put herself out there again. Perhaps Billy was new enough to the city not to be tainted yet by the New York dating scene?

Eames reminded herself that it was just coffee—and there was no indication that Billy was interested in anything remotely romantic.

If he even calls. She mused.

Ella started to nod off. She'd only taken a brief nap earlier. So, Alex carried her upstairs to sleep in her travel cot.

When she returned downstairs, she flopped down on the sofa next to Joey. The movie was nearly over.

"Do you want to help make supper?" Alex asked.

"Yes, please!"

Making dinner with a five-year-old was easier said than done.

"I do it," Joey insisted.

He gripped every ingredient, every measuring cup with the kind of unbreakable death-grip possessed only by young children.

Usually, Alex kept things simple when the kids came—fish fingers, cereal, sheet pan veg, sausage rolls.

But she knew Robert Goren was a foodie and Eames didn't want to serve him the likes of pizza bagels or dino nuggets.

She had just enough ingredients on hand for a hotdish. She figured that was respectable enough for Bobby and still within the realm of familiar for the kids.

"Don't eat that. We have to cook it first, okay?" Alex warned.

Joey nodded.

Eames stepped away for a moment to grab the seasonings. She turned just in time to watch Joey sneeze right over the bowl.

"Oops," he said.

Alex just flashed him a tight smile.

"How do you feel about a Chinese instead?" she asked.

Bobby arrived shortly after 7:30. He pulled into the drive and waited, keeping his hands on the wheel. Eames may have invited him over for dinner, but he still wasn't sure about interrupting her time with the kids.

Bobby took a breath to steady his nerves.

He already felt like a burden anytime he pulled Eames away from her family (which was often).

Bobby only had his mother left.

His junkie brother had long since vanished—after racking up a slew of gambling debt. Frank's last known whereabouts were in Atlantic City. Frank had never been able to hold down a job for long.

Bobby was as alone as one could get. It was why he poured himself into his work. He knew it was too late.

When he hit forty, he considered that it was time to accept that.

Any sense of normalcy, any possibility of a home or a stable relationship were gone. And Bobby felt guilty for stepping into Eames's life off-the-clock. He didn't want to ruin that for her.

A small pair of eyes appeared at the window, barely tall enough to peek outside. A moment later, a second set peered through the blinds and Bobby knew he was caught.

He couldn't back out now.

Alex poked her head out the door—two tiny kids followed. There was a boy who looked eager to meet their visitor and a little girl. She was still wearing her sleep sack and rubbed her eyes, scowling at the intrusion.

Eames planted her leg to stop a young boy from running out into the snow.

"Is the food here?" he shouted.

"Not yet, let's get inside."

Alex bent down and scooped up the girl. She gently nudged her brother back indoors.

"Come on in," Eames said, waving Bobby indoors.

Bobby kicked the snow off his boots. He hung his coat on the rack by the door and slipped his scarf overhead.

He could feel someone watching him.

Bobby turned and spied a young boy. He stared up at Bobby and blinked.

Bobby knelt down so he was closer in size to the boy. He knew his height could be intimidating.

"Hi. I'm Bobby," he said.

Bobby was struck by the resemblance to his partner—right down the sleek blond fringe that hung like a curtain over his eyes.

Alex stepped out from the sitting room. The little girl was resting on her shoulder. Eames brushed Joey's bangs back from his face.

"Would you like to say 'hello,' Joey?" she asked.

Joey.

Bobby flagged the name and filed it away into the back of his mind.

"Joey, huh?" Bobby said.

He nodded.

"And this is Ella," Eames said.

Ella groaned and buried her head against Alex. She was not very pleased to have been woken up for dinner.

"Hello, Ella. Are you sleepy?" Bobby asked.

She nodded and sniffled.

"We had a late nap," Alex advised.

"Oh, I see. Is that your tummy I hear rumbling?" Bobby asked.

Bobby felt a tug at the seam of his trousers.

"Did you bring the food?" Joey asked.

"Do… do you need me to—"

Bobby trailed off as he backed toward the door.

"No. It's on the way," Eames replied.

"I sneezed in it!" Joey announced proudly.

Bobby's eyebrows shot up.

"We're not eating that," Alex assured him.

"Gotcha," Goren replied.

Goren helped Eames set the table as she wrestled to get Ella into her seat.

"NO! UP!"

She wanted to be held.

Joey, eager as could be for dinner, rocked back and forth in his chair. He stumbled off when the doorbell rang.

"I'LL GO!" he shouted.

Eames moved to rush after him. Bobby put a hand up to stop her.

"I'll get it," Bobby offered.

As they settled into dinner, Eames felt bad the timing was off. She'd intended to already have the kids fed and in their pyjamas by the time Bobby arrived. But the late nap pushed the schedule back.

"Wait. It's hot," Alex said.

She set a plate down in front of Joey and then moved on to get Ella situated.

Joey poked at the broccoli with his plastic fork, pushing it back and forth.

"I need help!" he said.

"I'll be right there," Alex said. "Do you want to eat some rice first?"

Joey's face soured.

"Oh, can I cut that for you?" Bobby asked.

Bobby found himself on the receiving end of a sceptical glare. Joey had his Aunt's side-eye routine down to tee.

"Do you live here?" Joey asked cautiously.

Bobby chuckled.

"No. I work with your Aunt. I'm a policeman," Bobby answered.

Joey frowned.

"Alex isn't a police. She's a dee-tect-tor."

Bobby smirked, nodding along.

"You're right. That's very good."

"Would it be okay for Bobby to cut your food up?" Alex asked.

Ella was fussy and on the verge of a tantrum. Eames had to rely on her instincts to dodge a fresh round of blows from the overstimulated toddler.

Joey glanced over at Bobby and nodded.

"Is this okay?" Bobby asked, doing his best.

It wasn't exactly easy to cut through beef and broccoli with a children's fork and blunt knife. Joey didn't seem to mind. He stabbed at his meal and shovelled piece after piece of food into his mouth—pausing only long enough for an important question.

"Are you her boyfriend?"

"Erm… no," Bobby replied.

He caught Eames's eye. A knowing smirk passed between the partners. They'd heard that question dozens of times from suspects, unassuming witnesses, and the perpetual 1PP gossip chain.

There had never been anything between them but deep respect. Friendship. Trust. Even if Bobby wanted to, there was no way he was going to ruin that by making a move.

"We met a guy at the park earlier. But he wasn't her boyfriend either," Joey explained through a mouthful of food.

Bobby shot Eames a look.

"A guy at the park, huh?" he asked Joey.

"Uh huh."

"We let someone borrow our bench while they put their ice skates on," Eames said, hoping to downplay the events of the afternoon.

Bobby nodded in understanding.

"Just a stranger," Eames added.

Ella scowled and pushed away a piece of broccoli. She didn't want to eat that. She wanted the sugary donut in the middle of the table.

"He wasn't a stranger! You gave him your phone number!" Joey said.

"Well, you certainly are observant," Eames said in a tight voice.

The tell-tale flush in Eames's cheeks left Bobby feeling guilty for pressing the question. He wordlessly gestured, hoping to assuage her fears. After all, Bobby was her partner.

"The gossip doesn't leave the table," he assured her.

"I'm gonna tell dad," Joey said.

"Maybe we could just keep that between us? Okay?" Eames asked.

Joey looked confused.

"But I'm a-pposed to tell dad!" Joey insisted.

Eames's eyes narrowed.

"Are you? What did dad tell you?" she asked.

Eames kicked herself. She should have known it was all a setup. In hindsight, it should have been obvious.

Joey kicked his feet back and forth as he pushed the contents of his plate around.

"Dad says you need a boyfriend. He's really, really, really, really, worried!"

Eames visibly grimaced. She straightened her posture and was quick to end the conversation.

"Okay. Thank you, Joey. Why don't you eat up?"

"And he says that you're getting old," Joey went on.

The line of Alex's mouth went thin.

"And that if you don't find a boyfriend soon, you're gonna die alone like Grandpa. Or like that lady on the television with all the cats. Ryan at school said they ate her face."

"Okay. Enough. Eat," Eames ordered.

She offered her partner a nervous shrug.

"Kids," she said, laughing it off.

Eames may have played it cool, but Bobby could tell she was bothered—and rightfully so. It wasn't the first time he'd picked up on hints of her family's overbearing, intrusive attitude.

It was like nothing Alex did was ever good enough, that she wouldn't be whole in their eyes until she was married with children.

It was enough to make Bobby's blood boil.

"Joey, did you know that your Aunt is a really good Detective?" Bobby asked. "She helps take down bad guys and save people. Even kids like you."

Joey stared at Alex in awe.

Eames flashed her partner a wan smile.

Thanks.

Ella fidgeted, wriggling back and forth like a fish as Eames tried to clean her face.

"Almost done," Alex assured her.

Ella screamed like the very notion of a clean face was a war crime. Resolved it would have to be good enough, Eames put the wipe in the bin. Then she set Ella down to run off. She didn't want to be left out of story time.

From the door frame, Eames observed as Ella scampered off into the sitting room. She climbed up Bobby's leg and practically pushed her brother out of the way.

Bobby was a natural.

He didn't just read to the children. He put on an Obie-worthy performance with voices, mime, and song.

There was more than enough space for both children. But Joey didn't like the idea of sharing his newfound buddy.

"Move over, Ella!" he said, shoving his sister.

She whined and smacked her brother—refusing to give an inch of ground.

Joey did the unthinkable.

"I got your nose!"

He slipped down from Bobby's lap and raced off, laughing.

The tears came fast. Ella threw her head back and wailed. Bobby was at a loss why such a game had caused a meltdown.

"Don't ask," Eames said as she swept in to take Ella.

Ella was inconsolable.

"MY NOOOOOOOOSEEEE!"

Alex rubbed soothing circles on her back. She kept her voice calm as Ella screamed, red-faced and distraught over the loss of her nose.

"Yes, yes. It was very naughty," Eames agreed. "Shall we go get it back?"

"Ella? Would… would you like to have my nose?" Bobby offered. "You could keep it until Joey gives it back."

Bobby pretended to remove his own nose. Then he fumbled, acting like he dropped it on the floor.

"Oh no! Oh no! It's running away! Quick! Catch it!"

Ella bounced in Alex's arms. She went willingly to the ground. Her feet pounded on the wood floor as she thundered off to catch the runaway nose.

By 8:30 the kids were tuckered out.

Eames softly shut the door to the upstairs spare room. She shut the gate and snuck down the stairs.

"They adore you," Bobby said.

Eames blushed and waved him off.

"You're the natural. You're really good with them, you know?" Eames replied.

Bobby chuckled.

"What can I say? I'm a kid at heart," he replied.

He reached into his leather binder and pulled out the phone records in question. Goren wiggled his eyebrows.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, let's dig into them," Eames replied.

They nibbled on cold Chinese takeaway and sipped coffee as they poured through a year's worth of phone records.

It was almost like being at the office for a late-night shift.

"So erm… Joey. He's… he's five?" Bobby asked, checking the maths in his head. "And he's—"

"He's named after Joe. Yes," Eames answered, anticipating Bobby's question.

"Right. It's a nice way to honour—"

Eames shook her head.

"No, erm—"

She paused and pushed her hair back from her face. To his surprise, Alex smiled.

"Joey's mother, Steph. She erm… she was in a bad auto accident when she was pregnant with Joey. About sixteen weeks along. And my brother was out of town for a training. I was on duty. My dad, well…"

Alex shrugged. Johnny Eames had been in no condition to drive.

"Joe went with her to the hospital and stayed overnight with her. When Steph came out of surgery, Joe was erm… he was talking. You know, softly? Talking to the baby. Telling him that mum was going to be alright, and that his dad loved him and would be there soon and the like."

Joe was good like that. He confessed afterward to Eames that he didn't know what to say or do—he just wanted to keep Steph calm.

"And that was the first time Joey, well… he was really active. Responsive. They can—"

"They can hear voices in the womb," Bobby said, finishing her thought.

Alex grinned.

"Yeah," she said.

There was a lot of sorrow that hung over her when it came to Joe. But there was a lot of happiness too. And Bobby was one of the only people that didn't judge her for sharing those memories.

"They were going to name him after my brother, Liam. But then Joe died and—"

"It's… it's nice," Bobby said.

Alex nodded and dropped her attention back to her work.

Liam.

Bobby recalled the name.

In the fraught hours after the World Trade Centre attack when Eames couldn't reach her brother, Ollie, she had mentioned her late brother, Liam.

Bobby couldn't remember if it was Leukaemia or Lymphoma. All he knew was that Liam had died as a child in the 1970s in an era when the outlook for childhood cancers had been grim.

He didn't press the question. Bobby suspected it was still a tender spot for Alex.

He turned his attention back to his work. He'd been in Eames's home before on occasion. She lived at the edge of the city, out in Rockaway Beach.

She'd been to Bobby's place more frequently. He was in Brooklyn, right across from the city. And it was rare for Goren to come all the way to the edge of Queens.

During those few trips to her home, Bobby had noted the numerous photographs from her short-lived marriage to the late Joe Dutton.

It stood in such stark contrast to the Eames he knew from work.

Goren and Eames were first partnered when they joined Major Case in 1999. He'd never even known she'd been widowed until 2001.

During those first two years, Alex hadn't spoken a single word about her late husband.

Her self-depreciating jokes about her 'famously bad taste in men' and frustrations over the New York City dating scene seemed to be more about putting up distance than genuine complaints.

He knew she went out—and that she never let herself get too attached.

Bobby suspected that she was happy.

In a way.

Eames had told Bobby once (during those fraught hours in the wake of 9/11) that she had no desire to fall in love again.

I just can't imagine ever being with someone else. She'd shared.

She loved Joe. She always would. And she truly didn't believe she could find that ever again. Being with Joe didn't feel like magic.

It felt right.

It wasn't some sweeping, romantic love story.

It was comfortable.

Their marriage was built on mutual trust. Joe had a good heart. They were loyal to each other. They shared the same dreams. Joe made her laugh and Alex in turn was always equipped with a well-timed one-liner.

The banter worked. The sex was gratifying. They celebrated their success together and were present to offer support when things got tough.

Alex knew that kind of luck only came once in a lifetime.

"He's a sweet boy," Bobby said.

Alex smirked and shook her head.

"He can be. He can also be quite naughty," she said.

"Your niece is quite a character. She's adorable," Bobby added.

"I just hope she sleeps alright," Alex said, casting a wary eye to the ceiling.

"It's fortunate your house is so… equipped for the kids," Bobby said.

He'd observed that from the start—the safety covers, the gates, the locks on the cupboards.

"All the furniture's secured. The blinds don't have any chords," Bobby remarked.

Eames fell silent.

"You did all that when your brother had kids?" Bobby inquired.

"Erm… I'm going to grab some fresh coffee. Do you want a warm-up?" Eames offered, dodging the question.

"I'm sorry. I've made you uncomfortable," Bobby said.

Eames shrugged it off.

"It's fine."

Eames didn't need to spell it out. Bobby could read through the lines. She must have purchased those things with Joe before his death in anticipation of the family they would never have.

Little Joey's monologue at dinner only reaffirmed Bobby's suspicion that Eames's family couldn't accept that she was thriving on her own without the need for a husband or a child.

Bobby couldn't imagine that kind of pressure.

Goren was still lost in his own thoughts when the front door to Eames's house creaked open.

"Heeey—"

A tall, slender man crept into the house. He froze when he came around the corner and frowned at the sight of Detective Goren—almost like he'd been expecting to find someone else.

"Hi," he said in a stiff voice.

Bobby recognised the man's cropped dirty-blond hair and fire department shirt.

"Robert Goren," Bobby said, extending his hand.

"Oliver Eames," Ollie replied.

"Cute kids," Bobby said.

Ollie cast a sceptical eye over his sister's partner. Bobby's tailored suit and silver tie-clip couldn't have looked further from Ollie's working-class denim and steel-toed boots.

Everything about Ollie's stare read that he didn't trust a man in a suit. Bobby was briefly tempted to blurt out that his attire was no testament to his working-class Brooklyn upbringing or years spent in the Army.

It didn't help matters that there had long been a rivalry between the NYPD and the NYFD—especially for the Detectives at 1PP.

Alex emerged from the kitchen as the two men sized one another up.

"You're lucky I didn't shoot you," she said to her brother.

"I didn't want to wake the kids," Ollie said.

Ollie explained that he'd been released early from duty and didn't want to wait to pick up the kids.

"You can leave them," Eames said.

It would give Ollie a chance for a night alone with his wife.

Ollie waved her off.

"I'd miss them too much," he said.

Oliver and Alex carried the little ones out to the car. Ella slept the whole way down, but Joey woke up to bid farewell to his new friend.

"Bye, bye," he waved, hanging over his dad's shoulder.

"Bye, Joey," Bobby replied, waving back.

From his position at the table in the dining room, Bobby could overhear the conversation at the doorway.

Ollie shivered against the cold as the wind whipped past.

"It's a Saturday night. What are you doing working?" Ollie asked.

"We're just trying to wrap up some cases before the end of the year. You know how it is," Eames replied.

Ollie grumbled something indecipherable.

"Don't," Alex warned.

"You're not getting any younger, Allie. And you're not gonna find a husband spending your Saturday nights cooped up here with the G-man pouring over phone records," Ollie shot back.

Ouch.

"First weekend in January. I got tickets for the First Responders' Benefit," Ollie said.

"Great! Bring the kids here. Have fun with Steph that night," Alex said.

She was always happy to take the kids for a night.

Oliver shook his head.

"No, no, no. You don't get to wiggle out of this one. Elizabeth is gonna watch the kids that night. It's already arranged. And do you remember Kyle? He thought you really hit it off and—"

Alex put her hand up to stop him right there.

"I don't want to go, alright? Not with Kyle. Not with anybody, okay?" Eames insisted in a polite, but firm voice.

She was tired of being set up for dates she had no interest in. It was exhausting to have the same argument month after month.

"You're thirty-seven, Allie. If you don't make the time now—when will you? Huh?"

"That's… that's not any of your business," Alex said.

Ollie put his hand on his sister's shoulder.

"I worry about you. All alone out here," Ollie said.

"I can take care of myself, alright?" Eames retorted.

A pained expression crossed Oliver's face.

"You shouldn't have to," he said.

After bidding her brother a good night, Alex shut and locked the door.

She took a moment to compose herself before strolling back into the dining room. She had no doubt that her partner had overheard that embarrassing conversation.

"You want me to take my shirt off and come to the door next time?" Bobby teased.

That was enough to earn a smile from his partner.

"You're right. It's none of their business," Bobby said.

"Thanks," Eames replied.

She slipped in her seat across the table.

Bobby didn't press the issue, and they resumed their work. Goren turned one of the call sheets over and slid it in front of Eames.

"Here. It's the same number," Bobby said.

"Hang on. I saw that," Eames said.

She shuffled through a stack of calls from the month before.

"Ah ha! Right here. On the 27th," Alex replied triumphantly.

Eames handed the sheet to Goren.

"What do you think, Peterson's got a little something on the side?" Eames asked.

"That or an incessant need for pillow talk," Bobby replied.

A smile passed between the two. They were already on the same page, working together in perfect synchronicity.

"I'll leave a message for Carver in the morning," Eames said.

"And that's another case in the bag," Goren pointed out.

Alex raised her coffee cup to her partner.

"Sláinte."

"Prost," Bobby replied, lifting his glass.

Alex woke up late on Sunday. Well, late for Alexandra Eames.

It was only 6:00 but she was relieved to sleep in for a change.

The sky was grey. The wind whipped along Rockaway Beach. It would be a good day to snuggle up with a book in the back room.

Eames loved her home—even her family thought she was crazy for staying.

Eames shivered as she shrugged off her pyjamas. It was a chilly morning. The house was always cool early in the morning. At one time, Joe had great plans for the fireplace in the living room.

Alex never used it.

She kept the bedroom curtains closed as she stepped into the shower of the adjacent bathroom.

The windows on the house were original and over a hundred years old. They provided a beautiful view of the beach and the ocean beyond. They also drove up the heating costs.

Alex Eames was far too frugal for the luxury of warm feet.

Bobby called her 'miserly.' There was, perhaps, some truth in that.

Maintaining a house on a lone NYPD salary was no easy feat. Joe's survivor benefits paid out exactly 8.33% of his salary annually—or roughly $3,100 a year.

It didn't even cover the mortgage.

Alex had never envisioned being widowed and drowning under a mortgage and a car payment. She'd sold Joe's boat after his death. She simply couldn't afford to keep it. His truck went soon after.

Alex would gladly take the weight of all those financial obligations back along with the days of clipping coupons, pinching pennies, and overtime if it meant having Joe back.

They agreed to spend the early years of their marriage working hard in order to build a life for the future they pictured together.

They never imagined those early years would be the only years of their marriage.

Alex paused in front of the mirror to study her reflection.

She cupped her left breast and gently traced the tattoo below and to the side. Her fingers ghosted along the line of holly and ivy mixed with Bells of Ireland. A lone white rose.

There was no colour. They'd planned to add that later.

21 December 95

Rings were too risky in their line of work. They were both undercover. They couldn't take a chance of exposing any details about their personal lives.

In any case, Alex thought fine jewellery was a waste of money. The minimalist necklace Joe gave her that second Christmas made Alex happier than a fat diamond could have (certainly happier than the taser).

Sometimes a girl wanted to be more than her job.

Joe's mother had bemoaned their ink, warning that someday it would age and fade to nothing but wrinkles.

Joe had just looked at Alex and smiled—promising that he would love it even more then.

And Alex would take it, wrinkles and all, if it meant Joe got to grow old too.

She sighed and stepped into the shower, shivering under the hot water as her body adjusted to the temperature. That was one luxury Alex couldn't go without.

Eames was feeling nice and toasty when she stepped out of the water.

Alex slipped into her favourite cosy socks and an oversized jumper.

Once downstairs, she turned on the coffee and spoke with Polly until the percolator was ready.

"Hi, Bob! Hi, Bob!" Polly mused, scooting and weaving about.

"Do you want your show?" Eames asked.

"Hi, Bob!' Hi, Bob!"

Alex switched on the television set. Polly sang with delight when the Sunday morning news came on.

Eames snagged a fresh cup of coffee and settled down into the oversized wicker chair in the back room to watch the Atlantic ocean churn.

She pulled out her mobile and checked for any messages.

There was a text from her sister to coordinate for Christmas.

I'll bring the salad with the little marshmallows. Anything else you need?

Her father, Johnny Eames, had left a message asking if they could swing by the pub after Mass as if they didn't go every Sunday like clockwork.

There were no messages from the Canadian stranger, Billy Marczewski.

A snort of laughter escaped from Eames's lips as she clicked her mobile shut.

After Joey's comments during dinner, Eames wondered if her 'chance' run-in with Mr Marczewski really had been coordinated by her meddling brother and his wife.

Stephanie had been so quick to suggest moving to the bar only for Ollie to call and conveniently need her to dash off home.

And yet…

Billy hadn't called.

Eames had no doubt that he would have called if it was arranged (Ollie would be sure to see to that).

Alex didn't dwell on it. She had to get dressed and drive into the city. Johnny Eames didn't like to be late for Mass.