1. From May to December

He could not do it. Not just stand there and wait for Gene and Annie and Chris to die, not these people he cared about so much. Even if he made them up, he knew in that second that his feelings were more important to his sanity than what year it was, and he shot Leslie Johns dead. Then he stood there, motionless, but it was still 1973, and Sam did not feel any different, although somehow he knew he did the right thing.

Morgan yelled in his ears, screamed at him, off the deep end and howling obscenities and threats. It was wrong, just surreal and bizarre, and in that moment as Gene looked over at them in pain and surprise, Sam figured it out and without pausing to think any further about it, shot Morgan dead too.

When the bullet entered Morgan’s head, Sam’s awareness dissolved and everything looked fuzzy and he heard the damn hospital machines again, and for a brief moment he despaired of anything ever changing, at all.

“Sam? Oh god, oh god…Sam!” His mother’s voice rang out over him, loud and real and as present as her hands on his body, clutching at his arms. He could not see, could not even get his eyes fully open, and his world was out of focus. It was his world, though, 2006, and he was finally waking up. It was over, all of it, and he was home.

Throughout months of recovery, Sam missed everyone, desperately, and he knew he was desperate because he even missed Ray. He talked about it with his psychologist and delved into his emotions and despite the obvious insanity of the world he created in his head, it was clear to everyone that Sam changed profoundly because of it. He was, in the brief and approving words of his therapist, happier. It did not matter if it happened or not, he was a better man. Sam took refuge in that, even as he grieved.

As much as he missed them, though, he did not remember them well. Last names escaped him, other than Gene’s, and when he googled ‘Gene Hunt’ he got a lot of nothing. There was never an officer named Gene Hunt in the GMP, and that pretty much settled the matter for Sam. He made it up, clear and simple, and he had to live with that. He enjoyed fuzzy ‘memories’ of being in love with that pretty, smart girl Annie and so was rather relieved to discover that yes, Maya really broke up with him while he was ‘out’ (as he liked to refer to those months). She came around right after he was released from the hospital, tremendously guilty and expecting a guilt trip in return, but Sam hugged her instead, and told her she did the right thing. Shocked, she left as quickly as was polite, and Sam chuckled when his mother looked at him queerly about it.

“You don’t miss her?”

“I fell in love with Annie, Mother. So no, I don’t miss Maya. I think we’ll be good friends, eventually, but maybe that’s all we should have ever been.”

“Annie doesn’t exist, honey.” His mother frowned – it was his own frown, he realized, amused to know where he got it – and looked worried.

“I know, I know. Doesn’t change how I felt. Or feel. Emotions don’t have to make sense.”

His mother smiled in surprise. “I did not think I’d ever live to hear you admit that, my little constable.”

Sam grinned. “Rub it in. My therapist does.”

His mother chuckled and returned to reading the paper while Sam limped into the kitchen to make dinner, his left leg permanently three centimeters shorter now and his whole body not quite strong enough to compensate just yet. He moved in with his mother when he was discharged from the hospital, as she had no choice but to cancel his lease after his fourth month in a coma. His things were in storage, mostly, and he was back to sleeping on his old, lumpy single bed in what was now ‘the sewing room’ and experimenting in his mother’s kitchen again. But it was familiar, and comfortable, and he was simply enjoying the budding friendship that was forming between them too much to consider moving out just yet. He always loved her, but never really knew her well as an adult, and planned to take advantage of it now. Anyway, there was something oddly comforting about talking to a woman who lived through the 70s, although he was careful never to put his feelings in quite those terms. He was shocked to discover she was a ELO fan, sparking a week of Sam ripping music off the web to play for her in the evenings, much to her bemusement and his surprise, because she knew all the lyrics to every track on Bowie’s Hunky Dory.

When he was finally cleared for work, he immediately starting thinking about changing jobs. He wanted something more hands on, more intense, than fighting lawyers and protocol everyday. Fall out from ‘Gene,’ and he knew it, but it was who he was now and he was not going to apologize for it. He cast about, working diligently and carefully as the DCI in CID for Division ‘A’ while wondering about special units or quitting entirely or…something. He was in short order bored out of his mind.

His mother pushed the girlfriend angle, not being very subtle about the ‘grandchild’ angle. She admitted that when he was in a coma she despaired of both him and his progeny, and later when he talked to Maya about it she burst out giggling, unable to look at him.

“What?”

“Nuffin’…” She could barely talk and the giggles progressed to snorting, and DCI Tyler was standing in his office with his DI bent over in hysterics, nearly wailing with laughter and tears streaming down her face, while everyone in CID stared at them. In the past, he might have rung out sharp words and tried to berate Maya for unprofessionalism, but now he smiled and tried to keep from laughing himself, pushing her gently into a chair. He waved off everyone’s concerns and the entire room visibly relaxed. He wondered for a moment just how much of a hard ass he used to be, and decided it was best not to ask.

“Come on, what’s so funny, DI Roy?”

“Your mom…oohhhh…” Maya collapsed again for another two minutes – Sam timed it – before she continued. “She talked to me…asked me…” Maya leaned over and whispered, her face still wet from tears. “She asked me if I would be the mother of your child.”

“What?” Sam sat back in shock. “How?”

“Well the doctors offered to harvest…errr…” Maya stopped there and blushed, and so did Sam, seeing his mother in a whole new, and somewhat ruthless, light. Then it hit him.

“And what did you say to that?”

“I said yes, of course.” Maya shrugged, embarrassed, and Sam felt terrible.

“Oh god, you’d not ‘ave…not for me…”

“No, honestly, not for you, Sam. But for your mother…I could imagine being there, watching my only child die, and desperately trying to save something of him. I don’t think there is a woman in the world would say no to a request like that. I couldn’t, anyway.”

Sam hugged her, right in his office, and then channeled ‘Gene’ by telling her that he would personally rip out her ovaries if she ever mentioned it again. Startled, she looked him in surprise, and he grinned mischievously. She walked out, still giggling, and shaking her head.

“I do not want kids, mother.”

His mother looked at him angrily over dinner. “What brought this up?”

“You. Maya told me what you asked her to do.”

To her credit, she blushed in embarrassment.

“But I don’t want kids. And quite frankly, I’m not interested in dating.”

“It’s been six months since you woke up, you should at least consider…”

“No.”

“You still think you are in love with that girl.”

“Annie.”

“That girl you made up.” His mother threw the napkin down on the table and stomped out of the room. Sam rubbed his face and stared at the dinner, his appetite long gone now. It was true. He missed Gene and the adventurous life he ‘lived’ in his coma but he really despaired over Annie. He knew he was not much of a boyfriend to her and he could not recall ever taking her out for date, but then he might have. Or not. So much of that world was fading to dark now, and it was mostly faces and feelings and the odd name he remembered, and he once again distracted himself by trying to figure out why ‘Nelson’ was important. The following week he finally brought up with his therapist the depth of his feelings for Annie, and what, if anything, he could to do to fall out of love with a figment of his imagination. The therapist told him to start dating, and Sam speculated that he was on his mother’s payroll.

Later that week, he was impatiently waiting for another meeting to start, sitting in his office until the last possible second. If there was one huge aspect of 2006 that Sam never missed and would not miss now if it went away, it was the endless drudgery of departmental meetings. He flipped through his mail and went to throw The Brief in the trash because he never read the GMP’s newspaper anyway, when he decided that the rest of his mail was far worse. He thumbed through the paper and then stopped cold, his blood turning to ice and his mind shutting down completely.

D.Supt. Ann Cartwright of ‘K’ Division retired last week after nearly forty years with the GMP. A pioneer for women on the force in the 1970s, D.Supt. Cartwright started with the Women’s Department in Division ‘A’ and was the first female to make detective there. She was also the first female DCI, promoted to the position in 1988 when legendary D.Supt. Eugene Hunter (then DCI) was himself stepped up….

The picture was of Annie at her retirement dinner, certainly older but just as pretty and serene as he remembered her, although her hair was grey and long now, and tied back. It only made her features stand out more, and Sam stared, transfixed at the image. He finally broke and tore into his computer, researching her and ‘Eugene Hunter.’ Hunter was Hunt, absolutely no mistaking, and he was killed in the line of duty during a major hostage crisis in 1998, despite the fact that he was not even supposed to be on scene. Sam smiled as tears ran down his face, knowing that nothing on earth could keep Gene off the streets if he felt his city was in danger. He wondered if at some point he actually met Hunt – Hunter – way back then, if only in passing. Part of him really hoped so, and Sam covered his mouth and closed his eyes, letting himself cry for the man he probably, maybe, might have known.

“Sam?” Maya said in surprise, looking at him in worry as she stood in the door. He knew that he simply could not tell her, or anyone, about this. Not after nearly a year of insisting it was all in his mind. He shook his head and wiped his eyes as he logged out of his computer.

“Bad day. Bad…leg hurts. I’m out for the rest of the day. Just…can you handle that?” He stood up and gathered his things, including The Brief, trying to pull himself together and act like a DCI with a body held together by pins.

Maya nodded. “Nothing critical on the burner. If anything happens on the Marshall case, I’ll call you on your mobile.”

“Good. And let the DCI Perl know I’m out, he’s expecting me in some damn meeting…”

“You going to be okay?” Maya asked as he walked past. He nodded and patted her shoulder.

“Yeah.”

---

He had sources and was far more unscrupulous, these days, of using them when he needed to. A ‘friend’ in records broke the final security trip on Cartwright’s file and gave Sam her home address, and Sam sat in his car in the garage for twenty minutes debating what to do. He decided that he already decided what he was doing back when he first saw her photo, and he tore out into traffic. He tried not to think about what he was going to say, because she surely would not know him and might think he was crazy, a fact which he did not need to get back to anyone on the force, much less his mother.

He did the math in his head. In 1973 Annie Cartwright was just twenty five years old, so thirty-three years later and she was now fifty-eight. Two years younger than his own mother. He laughed, and wondered if the age he imagined for Annie Cartwright was actually the real age of D.Supt. Ann Cartwright, ret.

Almost an hour and a lot of heavy traffic later, he was on her street in Bolton. It was a nice row of townhouses full of nice gardens and well-kept cars. Her home was red brick and there were brocade drapes hanging in the front windows and it looked so charming, so peaceful, that Sam stalled on the pavement, staring at the door.

“Oh my god, Sam?”

He spun around and she stood there, the same face, the same figure, the same down-to-earth style that he remembered, staring back at him in shock.

“Annie?”

He hand went to her mouth, and she dropped the small bag of groceries she had obviously gone out to fetch. “No! No! You ran! You disappeared! You can’t…you haven’t aged a day! What!” Her eyes went wide and she swayed, and Sam jumped forward to catch her.

“No no no! I’m here, it’s me! Come on, let’s…let’s get you inside…” He did not really feel any more steady on his feet than she was as he guided her up the walk to her door. She pulled out her keys with shaking hands and he got her onto the couch in the front room. He stood up, unable to stop grinning, and looked around. It was tastefully decorated in red and brown and brass and dark wood, and along the mantel and on the walls were scores of photos. Family photos. Annie with someone he did not recognize, photos from the late 70s on up, and many with children. Some were shots of Annie’s promotion ceremonies, and one included Hunter.

“Gene…” Sam walked over and touched it.

“Oh god, it’s not possible…you can’t know him…you can’t! Who ARE you?”

He turned and sat down in a chair across from her, and she glared at him.

“It really is me, Annie. Sam Tyler. I’m a DCI in ‘A’ Division. I always was.”

“But…you know me…you know us…you can’t be more than thirty five…”

“Thanks, but I’m thirty eight now. When I was back with you and Gene I was thirty seven.”

She sat back and looked like she was deciding if he was crazy or not.

“You remember me, Annie. You KNOW it’s me. I told you I was in a coma, I TOLD you.”

“Sam Tyler, you cannot possibly expect a girl to believe…” She stopped, realizing she had fallen into their familiar banter again. The same talks they shared in the canteen, in his flat…it was all the same. She paled. “I am NOT going to faint.”

“I might.” Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

“You would.” She snorted.

“Gene really rubbed off on you.”

“I was his DI for six years.”

Sam looked at her. “You’re kidding.”

“No. Ray never made DI, and resigned, eventually. Went into private security. More money there anyway. And Gene…well, after you, he really ran through the DIs. No one could stand ‘im.” She grinned.

“You got it by default!” Sam laughed.

“’Ey! I earned that promotion!”

“Gene finally got smart about you.”

She nodded, a mischievous look in her eyes. Sam stared, because the wrinkles around her eyes and the worn-in, older skin gave her a patina of wisdom and experience that was nearly intoxicating. Annie, as he always knew she would be one day.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

She blushed. “Don’ think you mean that, Sam. I’m nearly sixty now.”

“Fifty-eight.”

She shrugged, disheartened. “Not the girl who fell in…who knew you back then.”

“Who is he?” Sam pointed at the photos.

“Kevin? I met him in ’76. He was a computer programmer, joined the force to start developing our database system. He was brilliant…reminded me of you.” She said the last part quietly, looking at the photos. “I lost him in 2003. Cancer. You would have liked him, Gene always said Kev was a picky arse just like you.”

“Maybe. I’m just jealous of ‘im, now.” Sam stared at the family photos full of a smiling, happy Annie, living a good and full life without him. “Glad he made you happy, though, Annie. Really. You deserve that.”

They sat in silence, a million words waiting to be spoken, then Annie stood up. “Tea?”

They sat in her kitchen as she puttered and put out biscuits and talked about her children. Two of them, boy and a girl, both in university.

“Harry is going for his doctorate, I don’ know why, keep telling him to get a job.” Annie sighed at the lost argument. “Susie doesn’t know what she wants. I ‘ad her late; she was the baby, so I think I spoiled her, and she still hasn’t recovered from Kevin’s death. She thinks she’s a performance artist.” Annie cringed.

“Kids these days.” Sam laughed.

“I could say the same about you, you know. I’ve promoted men older than you.” She sat down and sipped the tea.

“I know. It’s weird…to me, 1973 was about one year ago. To be honest I don’ remember a lot…who was Nelson?”

Annie laughed loudly, and when she told him, the pub came back into his mind in full glory. He felt himself zone out, remembering the look and the feel and the smells, then heard Annie’s voice.

“What do you remember?”

“You, an’ Gene. I could not remember your last name, and I thought Gene was ‘Hunt’ not ‘Hunter.’ So I couldn’t find either of you when I…got back.”

She put down the drink and pursed her lips. “…Sam, what happened?”

He explained, as best as he could, about the railway tunnel and his insight about Morgan being the mental block that was holding him back, tying him down with lies and tricks. He talked about waking up, and recovery, and Maya, and his mother.

“She’d be about my age.”

“Yes, she is. A few years older, and really looking for grandkids.” He smiled and explained about his mother’s plan for Maya, and Annie squealed.

“No!”

“Yeah, embarrassing. Especially since Maya is still my DI.”

“And how’s work, then?”

“Borin’ as ‘ell.”

Annie laughed. “Believe me, I’m glad I retired. It IS boring. Compared to…” She trailed off, lost in memories.

“Gene didn’t take it well, I imagine. All the change.”

“Oh, he took it great. Wadded up all that ‘change’ and threw it out the window. Don’ know how he got around being reprimanded or demoted.” Annie shook her head sadly. “He never figured out the computers. Refused. Made me do all the typin’. Then Chris.”

“God, Chris made DI?” Sam boggled.

“Aw, be nice.” She smiled coyly and Sam’s heart flipped. He tried to remind himself of the circumstances, and stared at his tea.

“I’m glad he got it together, then.”

“Still DI, out in ‘M’ Division, but he often floats when needed.”

“Oh.” Sam’s eyebrows went up.

“No, he’s happy about it; became a technology specialist, is a real whiz with the bugging and data mining. He’s always in demand.”

Sam shook his head. “I still can’t believe this.”

“Imagine how I feel!” Annie sat back. “You! On me doorstep! Now I think I’m in a coma!”

“No, it’s me.”

“….I know. Because you look the same.” She peered at him, the sadness creeping back into her eyes. “You shot Morgan and disappeared. Gene was convinced you ran, afraid of being up on murder charges. He was so mad at you, thinking that you didn’ trust him to protect you. You was ‘is DI, and he thought you ran out on him. Looked for you for years…then…” She squinted, surprised. “Oh my god, he knew!”

Sam frowned. “No, he couldn’t. No way he could.”

“No, no no. I remember…an accident. I remember it because he said…he said there was no point looking for you anymore. Didn’t say why. He just got back from a car accident where a young boy…” She looked at him, and Sam nodded in surprise.

“When I was twelve. Bad accident, mum was hurt and my arm broken. I don’ remember it…”

Annie just stared.

“You think he was there, saw me? I was just twelve.”

“He knew. He’d know the name of the accident victims, and if he saw you…he knew. I know he knew. He changed after that. Before we couldn’t even mention your name, but after that, he talked about you all the time. As if you were there. As if…”

They stared at each other, at a loss for words, but Sam was immensely relieved. Gene knew he did not run out on him, not like that, and maybe he still did not believe it but he did at least suspect that Sam was living his own life. He debated going back through his own records on the force, just to see if there was ever a time one D.Supt. Hunter took any kind of interest in an up-and-coming constable Tyler.

“You know, I don’t feel crazy anymore. I mean, it makes more sense if it were all in my mind, if I just made everything up, and time travel is impossible, and I know all of that but…somehow I’m glad I knew you. That I knew him. That…it was real.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, and it was warm and comforting and everything he remembered. She smiled, older but far more confident than he remembered, far more mature and wise and he gazed into her eyes, never wanting to leave those warm waters.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

She gently withdrew her hand. “I’m not twenty-five anymore.” She smiled at him as if he were an errant child and Sam flushed.

“Doesn’t change how I feel about you,” he snapped at her, angry. She stopped in surprise and he collected himself. “I’m sorry. To me it was all…recent. Not thirty-three years in the past. Just last year. Not long enough to get over.” He crossed his arms and stared at the wall, and her eyebrows shot up as she finally understood.

“Oh.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Sam, it is good to see you. But I’ve lived a whole life since you disappeared.”

“I know. I know that, okay? Don’ lecture me, Annie. I’ve got my own mum for that.” He stood up and she followed, grabbing his arm.

“Please, I’m sorry. It’s just…weird. Yeah? Give a girl a chance to adjust.”

“Give a bloke a chance to recover.” Sam snorted, smiling, threading his hand into hers. She looked at their interlocked fingers then back up at him, but did not move. He did it without thinking, without waiting for her at all, and kissed her on the lips. It was not deep or passionate, but it felt so marvelous that he could not stop, and reached out to drag her into him, feeling her lips part and respond to his tongue.

She shoved him back. “Sam, that’s just a bad idea.”

He stood there, ready to argue, then decided not to. “Dinner?”

“What?”

“Dinner. Tonight. Tomorrow. This weekend.”

“DCI Tyler, I am twenty years older than you. I’m a widow with grown children. You did not just ask me out on a date.”

“You are, and I did. Tomorrow?” He stepped closer and she laughed.

“Okay! Tomorrow. Dinner. Now step off.” She pushed him back again, laughing. “Dinner, for old times sake. That’s all! And you can tell me all about your life.”

Sam sailed home and kissed his mother on the cheek and whistled and bounced around the house. When his mother asked him if he had finally gone insane, he told her no, he had a date for the following night. Then she set his iPod to play David Bowie all evening and bounced around with him in the kitchen. When she asked him who his date was with, he told her ‘someone from ‘K’ division, you wouldn’t know her’ and carefully did not mention her name.

He found Gene’s obituary and printed it out the next day, and tacked it onto the wall behind his desk. He could not bring himself to read it, but he felt a great comfort to have Gene looking over his shoulder. Maya saw it, and frowned, but DCI Perl nodded.

“Good man. A little crazy though, rough talker. Definitely…different.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah.”

“Thought he was before your time.”

“I think he was.” Sam shrugged and did not explain it any further than that. He called his therapist and cancelled all future appointments, and when the day ran long due to new evidence coming in on a case, Sam nearly tapped his leg off in nervousness.

When he picked Annie up she was wearing a simple black dress, cut primly jut below the knee, long sleeved with a mild neckline. Her jewelry was sedate and mannered and her hair was pulled up in a chignon that flattered her jaw line and brow. She looked elegant and proper and stylish, and Sam said so.

“I’ve had a few years to pick up tricks from the magazines.” She giggled, trying not to, then sighed. “Oh Sam, this does feel like a date. It’s so stupid.”

“Why?”

“Well…because…” She looked out the front of the window as he ducked into traffic.

“Because you’re twenty years older?”

“Thanks for reminding me. You know how to flatter a girl.” She snarled good naturedly.

“When I was twelve years older, didn’ bother you much then.”

“Well that was different.”

“No, it isn’t,” Sam said strongly, and Annie shook her head in amusement.

The dinner was Thai and delicious, and they talked about everything and everyone. Annie felt very sorry for his mother, dealing with him in a coma and now having him about the house. As they walked back into Annie’s for an after-dinner glass of wine, which Sam invited himself in for, he tried to defend himself.

“Look, I cook for her all the time! And we’re really getting to know each other as people now. I’ve changed and…I’m a better person. Everyone says so, even mum.” He laughed as he sat down on the couch next to her, facing all of her family portraits.

“Sam, as a mother with two grown children, I can tell you that as much as I love having them visit, I’d rather chew me foot off than ‘ave them move back in. They got their own lives now.”

“Well, I don’t.” Sam shrugged, and then realized it was true. He sat staring at his wine.

“I figured that out. You got no one to talk about, other than your mother and your aunt Heather. And work. At least back then…well, you went to the pub. An’ hung out with us.” She smiled. “An’ you did invite me to a concert once, didn’t you?” She squinted, trying to remember.

“Roxy Music,” Sam said quietly, remembering it very well. “It was supposed to be the week after…”

“Oh yeah. I didn’ go.” Annie looked sad again, and it broke Sam’s heart. He put a hand on her arm.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’ be. You did the right thing, for us and for yourself.” She smiled but there was still hurt there, and Sam had to know.

“Did you…were you in love with me, Annie?” He put his wine on the coffee table.

She blinked and looked up at the ceiling, her profile as soft as ever, and Sam admired every line he saw, every trace of the years that had passed. “Yes, I did. I loved you so much, Sam, I…” She looked down, tears forming, and Sam drew her into a hug. They sat still, wrapped up together, and Sam kissed her gently graying hair.

“I still love you, Annie. I still do.”

She shook her head into his shoulder, sniffling. “Not…not possible, Sam, it’s jus’ not…”

“Do you still love me, Annie? Can you remember how that felt? Please…”

She began crying hard, and Sam pulled her into him.

“You asked me to stay, and I always wondered, if I had stayed that night…if maybe…” She clung to him, holding on as if she was afraid he would disappear again. He kissed her hair, and her forehead, down her nose and finally fought into her mouth. She kissed back, harder than he anticipated, and he laughed. She pushed off, ashamed.

“Sorry, sorry…I…”

He grabbed her and pulled her into him, locking a hand around the back of her head and forcing her into a deep, passionate kiss. He dipped his head back a little to break it and looked at her.

“Wouldn’t ‘ave made a difference, Annie. I ‘ad to go, it all ‘ad to happen just the way it did. Don’ hate yourself for that. You did what was right for you, and if you hadn’t, then you would’ve ‘ated yourself for having sex with someone who ran out on you. Please, don’t think you did the wrong thing.”

She rubbed a finger along the bottom of her eyes to wipe away the tears. “So who said anything about sex? You think you ‘ad it made?” She smiled at him waspishly and he grinned.

“Oh, I know I got it made.” He rolled his body against her as they kissed, pushing her down onto the couch and shifting to lay on top of her. She parted her legs just enough for him to rest between them and he pushed softly against her with his hips, pressing his erection down on her, and she gasped into his mouth. Their bodies began rolling together and he propped himself up, cursing his jigsawed shoulder and fused vertebrae. She looked at him, confused, as he cussed.

“Sorry, my body is in pieces. I aged twenty years in one car accident.” He dropped back down and rested his head into the nook of her shoulder, and began kissing her neck. “Not so flexible.”

“I know how you feel,” She said, giggling, running her hands over his back. His kisses became more intense and they began gently pushing again, feeling familiar bodies in unusual ways. He moved down her neck and began licking and nibbling her chest, above the neckline of her dress, and she shoved her body up against him, and soon they were lost in heated sensations, cooing and grunting at each other.

“Sam?” Annie gasped as his mouth roamed over her breasts, nibbling at the material of her dress. She had dragged out his shirt tail and her hands were on the raw skin of his back, and he did not want to stop. “Sam!” She slapped his back and he pulled up.

“What?”

“You know what you’re doing?”

“Oh for…I’m ‘ardly a virgin, Annie. I’m thirty-eight and been through a few girlfriends, an’…what?” He stopped, because she was laughing.

“No! I mean…well, you’re thirty-eight, and well…”

He sat up, but put his hands on her hips, laying across her, leaning into the back of the couch. “Give over, Annie. I don’ care about our ages an’ I don’ want you to either. Can we just be together? Have a relationship and love each other?”

She frowned. “Gene was right. You’re a girl.”

He slapped her hip. “Oi! I can show you ‘ow manly I am, if you got a bed around ‘ere…” He looked around expectantly, and she slapped him back, lightly.

“Fresh!”

He leaned over, smiling, and kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around him as she sat up and pointed at the stairs. “That way, Romeo.”

They talked the whole time they made love, and Sam was surprised to discover that she had not had sex since her husband became very ill from the cancer. They went slowly together, exploring, and she spent a good deal of time giggling at his younger body. He pointed out all the scars from his multiple operations, which she kissed and licked until he was nearly screaming for release. When the passion finally took over he rode her hard and she came quietly, whispering his name, her eyes closed and her hands locked around his neck and he went mad in his need for her until he felt his mind go blank. He stayed the night and barely made it to work on time, calling his mother on the way in to let her know she would not see him until the evening, feeling like a teenager and hating it.

He managed to keep the affair a secret for a few weeks, but one evening over dinner with Annie in Bolton he faced facts.

“I love you.”

“Um…” Annie looked up from her salad.

“Well?”

“I love you too. You know that…”

“I can’t live here. It’s too far from my job.”

“You are not moving in with me.” Annie put down her fork.

“Yes, I am. No, actually, we are moving in together. We’re going to go look at flats this weekend.” Sam nodded, leaning back in the chair, as Annie stared at him.

“My kids will howl. Your mother will disown you. I am not getting married to a man twenty years younger than me. No.”

Sam pursed his lips. “I hadn’t asked you to marry me yet, but good idea.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Sam…you’ll be a laughing stock.”

He leaned forward and tapped the table. “I. Don’t. Care. Not a fuck. Mum will adjust, your kids got no say in how you live your life, and I am in love with you. I’m not goin’ to settle for shagging you on the weekends, Annie. You’re in this, or you’re not.” He folded his arms, glaring at her, and after far too long, Annie smiled, and nodded.

The following morning when he got home, he pulled out the newsletter with the article about Annie’s retirement and showed it to his mother. She stared at it, speechless, as Sam explained his new life, when he was moving out, and the date they set for the wedding. Hers was the first in a long line of incredulous looks from people, but the only opinion Sam cared about was that of a man who died ten years earlier. When he asked Annie about it, she laughed.

“Don’ matter. He sure got no right to fuss at me.”

“Yeah?” Sam squinted at her, confused. “The missus was the same age as he was, or close to it.”

Annie looked at him, surprised. “He divorced her in 1980.”

“Oh. Then what…?”

Annie snorted, then laughed, and went and pulled out a photo of Gene from some time in the 90s, older but enormously pleased, his arm slung casually over a younger man who looked surprisingly like Sam, thin and pale with dark hair and dark eyes and a shy, clever smile. Annie waved her hand over the picture.

“His boyfriend Cal, a reporter he met on a case in ’86. Seventeen years younger. They were together until Gene died.”

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