Thanks again for all your lovely reviews- I'm so chuffed! hopefully some of your questions will be answered now, happy reading!

As always thanks to my beta Eleantris :D Would love to hear what you all think xxx

'Wash hands before entering'.

'Strictly NO smoking'.


'Breast is best'.









Purple. Red. Green. Blue

PurpleRed. GreenBlue.


PurpleRedGreenBluePurpleRedG reenBluePurpleRedGreenBluebrriiiiinnnnggggggggggg.

"Ms Drake?"

Snap. Back to reality. Focus. Focus on something, anything. Hard plastic chairs, swollen ankles, backache. Twenty-two weeks. Don't forget to smile, Alex. For fuck's sake, you're happy!

Scan two - less scary than scan one perhaps, but still lonely. Nobody was there to hold her hand or whisper sweet nothings in her ear or hold her hair or massage her feet, or make her believe even for just one day that she wouldn't be a shitty mother.

More families there this time; couples, brothers, sisters, mummies and daddies cooing and aw-ing at their treasure to be.

But none for Drakey. No. None for Bolly-tart-Knickers, for Madame-slut-Cake or Lady Whore. She didn't deserve it. Bitch. She knew it; he knew it. The bastard. The whole bloody station knew. The whole of East London probably knew. The GMP, the entire population of the fucking metropolitan police probably knew.

Scan one was shit. Or rather, the aftermath of. Silly Drake. Silly naïve little Drakey. So caught up in a new found love of an array of black and white blobs. She had thought he might be too. All the other Dads were, with their grins and their manly tears and their cuddles. But not him. Bastard. God no. Jesus fucking Christ no. Sneaking the photo among the files for it to be later found smashed and damp in a mug; full of whisky stains and fag ends.

It was then that Alex Drake had shed her single tear. A tear for that blob, that little ball of cells growing inside her. Twelve weeks. 12cm; she'd measured it on a ruler. Tiny.

It was odd how something so small could cause such a big mess. Nuclear fission, a single bullet, a tiny fracture, the Falklands.

Alex Drake would not cry for herself, nor would she ask for pity, but for her baby, Alex Drake would put her life on the line. It wasn't its fault its mother was so stupid.

So she found herself back in that waiting room. Probably the last time before delivery. Before the baby was here. Wow. It was almost exciting. Almost.

It was hard to be excited when you're scared witless every single day.

But you carried on; you had to. So there was a big fat stupid grin on your face as you tried to engage in polite conversation. Still twiddling that cheap ring around your finger. Wrapping yourself round your web of lies.

'My husband's in the Army'.

'Yes, he really wanted to be here. This one's our first'.

'He's so romantic'.

Then you slapped the black widow on top.

'He was over the moon when I told him'.

'Hewasoverthemoonwhenitoldhim '.

'He was over the moon when I told him'.


It didn't matter how she put it, what words she put emphasis on, whether it was said happily, angrily or otherwise. It was still a big fat lie. A porky. A tale, or any of the other stupid names they were called at school.


There was that word again. Stupid

That's you Alex. Stupid.

'Alex is stupid, Alex is thick. Tie her up and throw her in the nick'.

They were singing, dancing, shouting. She didn't recognise them. It was like the room was spinning, their t-shirts becoming a blur of colour. Purple, red, green and blue.

Someone dropped something; you didn't know what, you didn't care. You didn't really care about anything anymore. But it helped. It brought you back. Back from the cage of your mind. Back to what was real. What was really real.

He wasn't over the moon when he found out. Hell, he wasn't even on the moon. He was so far under the moon it could have been funny. Ha.

But no. Nothing was funny about that night.

It wasn't funny in the slightest to see the person you love, and who is supposed to love you back, suddenly unleash his hidden Mr Hyde. To see those beautiful, silvery eyes darken in menace and rage. That beautiful scarred face turning red and blue as his screams echo around the CID paradise. And those lips. Those stardust lips that cherished and protected. Perfect lips now twisted and contorted with pain from every syllable. Pain at you, Alex Drake. The night that unleashed hell.

Nobody knew. That was their turmoil. The fault in their master plan.

Maybe to an outsider, the shift in their relationship was obvious. Their stares, their smiles, the casual brushing of hands and complete lack of personal space. But to everyone else, it was just their way; it was just the Guv and Ma'am.

Was. The operative word. The significance. It was all just a distant memory now. After that night.

That night. The explosion where the world had swallowed paradise.

Even after all this time, his speech was engraved in her mind, an indelible scar. The clown, the rose...and now him.

She knew she was in trouble from his bellow of 'Bolly. Outside, NOW.'

She had followed him cautiously, until his patience wore out and he pulled her round a corner roughly by the elbow. Her mind was a whir as his harsh words ran rings around her head.

"Tell me it's all bullshit, Alex... Tell me"

"Well, Alex? Answer me. Now, Alex."

She could only nod. Words failed her. His expression had changed; there was no longer panic...just anger, maybe fear, but he covered it well. Then he went blank and just said, "No."

Everything after that passed in a flicker. A spark. A flash.

"What...what are you talking about, Gene? Please..."

"Is it mine?"

"What? How can you be so -"


"Yes it fucking is yours-who else's would it be?!"

"Oh I don't know; why don't we go inside and ask?!"

Ask? What on Earth was he on about? Where was her Gene, the real Gene? The Gene that whispered sweet nothings in her ear, who danced around the kitchen with her? Who spoke with such passion and meaning, who kissed...

Her thoughts were interrupted now, as she once again found herself being roughly manoeuvred by him again. Him. This was not him. What had gone on? Why were they asking people?

His next words were a curse. A series of insults and lies. Screams of what he believed to be true. Of his anguish, his torment.

Mr Hyde certainly had a good pair of lungs.

The seed that had been planted grew and bloomed in front of her in rage...transforming her into that girl again, the girl they picked on, that nobody would believe, that, that...that just wanted to be loved.


"Let's assume you're lying eh, Bolls? You're good at that right? Oh very skilled. Ray and Chris here think some twat you were shagging got you up the duff; you thought you'd fob it off to me, hmmm?"

No. This was all wrong. None of it was true. She tried her best to explain. But he was in full flow now. It was as futile as trying to stop a train.


"Or do I believe Viv? You only did it to get back at your ex. He really that much of a bastard, hmm? Why don't you share with the class? How much of a manipulating poisonous bitch you really are."

He had punctuated every monstrosity with a step towards her. The seed rapidly fed off the anger that fuelled it. She tried again, to reach out, to stop, to tell him it was all lies, to go back to square one.

"Don't you bloody dare touch me. I haven't finished yet," he said, tearing away from her. "Bammo and Terry have an interesting view as well. You really that desperate for a kiddie, Alex, you fancy a new start after that daughter you abandoned? There's a thing called adoption, you might want to look it up, love? When were you planning on disappearing eh? Couple of the weeks down the line? 'Ooh by the way, Guv I'm off- it was nice knowing you' yeah very good, Alex, very clever."

He had almost shouted himself blue; nobody would approach him in his unpredictable state, you could tell they were itching to leave, but a sudden movement could cause an uproar. So they stayed, frozen.

"And last but not least, Shaz, she's heard some really interesting stuff from the WPCs. You thought you could change me eh, Bolly? Stop some other bird from turning my you really have that little trust in me?"

She was willing to do anything now, too stunned to fight back, a rabbit in headlights.

"I thought so," was his retort. "Don't you DARE think about buggering off now. You had better be at work at eight on the dot or there WILL be consequences."

He threw his chaser at the wall to illustrate, orange tears trickling down the memorial, shattered memories of what used to be whole.

"It's all bullshit, Bolls."

His weakness phrase, she'd heard it more frequently lately. It was that moment she knew, her precious Gene was gone.

He had left and the whole room stared. She wanted to run, to escape to hide; her legs wouldn't work. She looked back, exposed, forced into unwanted limelight. Her world was nothing now.

How the world found out she didn't know; it still plagued her to this day...there must have been something she could have done better, maybe it was something she said, her smile? It didn't matter now. Nothing did.

Purple. Red. Green. Blue.