by Hermaphrodité

INTRODUCTION: THE BILL is a popular weekly police series set in a police station in the fictional Sun Hill district of London. During its run the series has spawned such truly memorable characters as the fearsome DI Burnside, and manages to keep the balance between drama and humour very well. Its quality has remained constant over the years and has attracted many top-rate/cult tv writers and actors -- eg ROBIN OF SHERWOOD's Ray Winstone and Mark Ryan (twice!) and BABYLON 5's Jason Carter; while Simon Rouse, RoS's Siward in "Seven Poor Knights from Acre", plays DCI Meadows. However, one of the great strengths of this ensemble show is that no one character or guest actor is allowed to over-shadow anyone else, thus adding to the realistic feel of the series. Indeed, THE BILL is one show which the police themselves say is very close to reality; having worked for the police myself, I'd second that -- but the question *does* arise of whether life (or the more impressionable of police officers) is imitating art!

This story is also a semi-crossover with an original character thrown in, owing to the lack of any suitable canonical ones!

Detective Inspector Sally Johnson (Jaye Griffiths, now of BUGS) is young, attractive, bright and ambitious. Has been known to bend the rules in order to get what she wants. Quite likely that her career will always come before her personal life, but I liked the idea of doing a "What if". Unfortunately, I hit a snag due to the lack of suitable canonical characters. DS Chris Deakin once seemed attracted to her, but there was a strong suspicion that he had an ulterior motive; while women like WPC June Ackland, Jo Morgan (whose relationship with Johnson was probably not *quite* as cordial as is portrayed here) and Suzi Croft are all interesting in their own right, but I never felt that their relationships with Sally were warm and/or friendly enough to merit a story that I felt would be believable or, to be honest, I'd enjoy writing! All three women seemed very aware of Johnson's seniority to themselves, and the attendant distancing by lower ranks from a superior officer made a slash relationship with any of them even less likely or appealing. Hence the original character -- I hope readers will forgive me for this!

After the Lee Ruddick affair referred to in the story and certain other events, DI Johnson was moved sideways -- and effectively demoted. Stunning to look at and appealing and intriguing as a character, I always felt that it would be nice to give Sally a bit of fun...& like I say, she was always willing to bend, even *break* the rules in order to get what she wanted... The story grew out of a "What if?" fantasy which I felt worked well; in the circumstances, it made sense to write it like this. I should also ought point out that this story was written c1995/6, around the time when DI Johnson was being written out of , it)The Bill(-it, b) -- hence the references to John Major, and so on. This must be Mr Major's first -- perhaps only! -- appearance in a slash story... :-D

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Whatever's written in your heart,/That's all that matters..." -- Gerry Rafferty

It was not, in the last analysis, going to go down as one of the great weeks in Detective Inspector Sally Johnson's life.

Indeed, Sally was beginning to wonder if her entire *year* was going to be one that she'd sooner forget rather than look back on with any great fondness. Barely two months before she'd been tried in court on a manslaughter charge, accused of causing the death of the loathsome Lee Ruddick, a local crack dealer. But she'd been acquitted. It had been an appalling accident -- an unfortunate error -- that had caused Ruddick's death, no matter *what* his doting family and tart of a girlfriend might have insisted. Ruddick had died because he'd put several rocks of crack in his mouth so as to prevent anyone getting at them -- and had then collapsed because the stupid bastard had swallowed some of them.

His family had refused to accept this. For them there was no doubt that Ruddick's death had been due to police brutality, a belief encouraged by the fact that the officers present at the time had all told the same story in court. Ruddick's family and solicitor had claimed this was because Johnson, and the CID and uniformed officers who'd accompanied her, had chosen to close ranks and concocted a story they'd all stick to in order to protect one of their own.

In her darker moments, Sally had been tempted to agree with them. After all, wasn't it *absurd* that Ruddick should have hidden evidence in his mouth and later died in hospital of an overdose because she'd been unable to retrieve the crack he'd swallowed? *Far* easier to believe a tale of police corruption and to add Ruddick's name to the list of black martyrs who'd died in police custody.

Sally sighed. She'd been acquitted by a jury and her superiors had backed her to the hilt, but it was unlikely that she'd be allowed to forget the incident in a hurry. She didn't regret the death of one lousy crack dealer; but yet again she'd had the accusation of being a "white man's nigger" thrown at her. God knew there was racism in the police force, and Sally knew that she was doubly-burdened by being both mixed race and female. But she'd always insisted on fighting it by getting in there and proving that she could do the job and do it bloody well. Out on the streets, however, it was a different story.

Sally believed that the system could be changed from within, by educating the bigots (or, if possible, by removing them) and by encouraging the recruitment of more officers from the ethnic minorities. But too often she was regarded with suspicion by those in the Afro-Caribbean community who saw her as a traitor to her race -- and that hurt. Sally was ambitious and wanted to get on, but didn't see why it couldn't be on *her* terms and not those of people who saw *any* form of fraternization with whites as collusion with the enemy, an attitude which she found both depressing and deeply repugnant.

She found it particularly galling that Lee Ruddick's mother still maintained the saintliness of her "little boy", even though it had now been proved beyond doubt what kind of business he'd specialized in. Maternal instinct or no, people who were prepared to beatify some low-life drug-dealer at the expense of a cop who considered people like him to be a disgrace to their colour meant that Sally's job was never going to be easy.

...Which brought her thoughts back to events earlier in the day, when another raid on a crack house had gone disastrously wrong. Or rather hadn't "gone" at all, when it became all too clear that Sally's information had been -- in the colourful words of PC Reg Hollis -- "about as reliable as a fishnet condom". The crack house had turned out to be nothing more sinister (depending on your point of view) than the home of a prominent Left-wing local councillor well-known for his anti-police views and who, at the time of the incident, was celebrating his young daughter's fifth birthday with a party complete with balloons, streamers, jelly and ice-cream, and a conjuror. The screams of those little kids and the expressions on their pale, up-turned faces would live with her for some time, going hot and cold at the very thought of it. Not even reminding herself of the shocked look on the face of the normally child-loving Detective Constable Tosh Lines as he was being attacked with handfuls of Twiglets, or the reaction of the fastidious DC Rod Skase as terrified under-fives pelted him with food, leaving him with pink blancmange dripping hideously from his hair, could lighten the memories. Nor did the image of little Welsh WDC Suzi Croft being bitten by an hysterical little fat boy with huge, goggling eyes, spectacles held together with sticking-plaster, teeth like little needles and the crushing jaw-power of a crocodile. Or that horrible little symbol of "empathy with the grass-roots working-classes", a Jack Russell terrier, which had sunk its fangs to great effect into a portion of Detective Sergeant Chris Deakin's anatomy that Sally didn't care to dwell on. The whole scene might have been bloody funny if its consequences hadn't been so unbelievably grim.

It hadn't taken long for her to work out what had happened. Her usually reliable informant had been got at by one of Lee Ruddick's charming little mates, giving him information to feed her which would result in her going in with a pack of CID officers and uniformed coppers, all guns blazing, and ending up with Jumbo-size egg all over her face, thereby allowing Ruddick's friends and family to have a bloody good laugh at her expense. Oh yes, that would *really* amuse them, seeing another "coconut" getting stitched up in no uncertain manner.

What had made it worse was the attitude of her fellow officers when they all got back to Sun Hill. "Nice one, Sal," Tosh had said dryly. "I always like a good party, me." Or Reg Hollis advising Suzi Croft to get down to the Medical Officer for a tetanus jab. Or Rod Skase turning various shades of red as PCs Garfield, Stamp, McGann and Quinnan, WPCs Harris, Ackland and Datta, and Sergeants Steele and Boyden in turn took in his altered appearance when he went into the canteen, made "witty" comments, and then erupted into hoots of laughter which had pursued him as he'd slunk off back down the corridor with his mug of tea, cursing the fact that he'd had the misfortune to chose to go up to the canteen just when it was particularly busy.

Or Chief Inspector Philip Cato, wearing the kind of expression he normally reserved for a particularly low-life form of mugger, hissing: "We'll discuss this later, Johnson..." whilst DS Deakin, his expression world-weary and woebegone, carefully folded a blood-stained handkerchief. To say that Cato had well and truly chewed her out when he'd finally deigned to send for her was something of an understatement. By the time he'd finished with her Sally felt as though directing traffic was about all she was fit for; "torn off a strip" didn't even begin to come close.

Still, at least she'd had *some* sympathy -- even from gruff Chief Inspector Derek Conway, who'd fixed her with his disconcerting one hazel and one blue-grey eye and whispered: "Hard lines, Sally. Nasty business, that. *Very* nasty. Made the police look a right bunch of idiots, but still -- hard lines." "Bad luck, Sally," Chief Superintendent Brownlow had said, clamping a big, consoling, bear-like hand on her shoulder when he saw her passing his open office door. "Could happen to any of us..." Sally, despite herself, was genuinely grateful for their concern -- but felt she'd scream the place down if one more member of the male gender started proffering any more tea and sympathy...

"Better luck next time, eh guv?" Suzi Croft smiled sympathetically and without obvious malice as Sally trudged gloomily into the CID Office.

"Yeah," chortled PC Tony Stamp. "Maybe next time you can arrange it that the Jack Russell takes off 'is knackers or somethin', guv."

"Do I detect a certain note of antipathy towards DS Deakin there, Tone?" Sally enquired with a weary smile, as she took the case-file Stamp had been assigned to bring her.

"What *me*, guv?" Stamp opened his eyes wide and was now looking the picture of innocence -- no easy task at the best of times. "Harbour ill-feelin' towards our beloved DS?" He drew his breath in between his teeth. "Ooh no, not me, guv."

Croft grinned at Sally. "Don't they say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, guv?"

"If it is," said Sally, remembering the general tone and thrust of Chief Inspector Cato's remarks to her in his office, "I'd say that when it comes to wit and a sense of humour, Cato's is roughly on a level with a worm's belly."

"Oh! *That* bad, eh?" Stamp remarked.

"You could say that, Tone, yeah." Then she snorted. "*Luck*! Why does everyone keep on to me about *luck*? My run of luck couldn't possibly get any *worse*."

"You know what they say," Stamp observed. "If it wasn't for bad luck, you'd 'ave no luck at all."

"Too right," Sally agreed.

"It'll get better," Suzi soothed her, all Welsh calm and second-sight.

"Can I have that in writing?"

DCI Meadows stuck his head round the door of the CID office. "Sally -- a quick word in my office now, yeah?"

"Guv," nodded Sally.

"And Tony, should you still be 'ere? I thought you were wanted in the CAD room."

"On my way, guv," Stamp assured him, getting to his feet.

"Probably going to tell me I've been demoted to Traffic," Sally told Stamp and Croft gloomily, when Meadows' head had disappeared and she was sure he was out of earshot.

"'E wouldn't dare," Stamp assured her, picking up his cap. "'E's screwed up a few times as well, don't forget."

"Not at Ronnie Grant's little girl's birthday party, though, I bet," Sally sighed. "I know he's pulled a few stunts in his time, but he's never actually screwed up *that* badly." She paused. "*Has* 'e?" she asked, hopefully.

Sally needn't have worried. Meadows was all solicitousness and concern. Not for the first time did the thought cross Sally's mind that he had a crush on her, a thought she considered it best to dispose of quickly.

"Look, Sally, these things happen, okay? Now I think we can safely say that Lee Ruddick's mates 'ave got something to do with this little fiasco, right?"

"Right, guv."

"So in that case, you can afford to relax a bit. Okay, so we've all ended up looking stupid, but you're not the first person to be given duff information or led up the garden path by a snout. It's happened to all of us at some time or other."

"But guv, this is *serious*. Obviously one of Ruddick's chums has got to one of my snouts, so where do I take it from there?"

"Get a new snout," Meadows shrugged. "'Oo was it -- Delbert Masters?"

"Guv, I can't give you that kind of information -- you know that."

"Was it Delbert Masters?" Meadows persisted mildly.

Sally sighed. "Yes, guv."

"Well we'll pull 'im in then, 'ave a little chat with 'im. See if we can find out if this is just a one-off. Obviously you can't use friend Delbert again, but that's '*is* problem, not yours."

"*Guv*!"

"I know, you cultivate snouts an' it's the devil's own job replacin' 'em. But quite frankly, Sally, I think you're better off without a scumbag like Masters."

"What if he was threatened though, guv? He might still be a reliable snout."

Meadows merely shook his head and ran his hand through his dark blonde hair. "Is that a risk you want to take, Sal? Is it? *Really*?" He shuffled some papers on his desk. "You think about it, Sally. If you don't think you can rely on Masters in the future then you're better off without 'im. How do you know he isn't friendlier with Ruddick's chums than you think 'e is? What if they decide to set you up again when you least expect it?"

Sally thought for a while, and then nodded; a dodgy informant was the last thing she needed, and Meadows had spoken the very fear that was in her own mind. "You -- could have a point there, guv..."

"It's up to you, though, Sally. If you think that Masters is still worth the risk, then fair enough. But I personally would advise you to think *very* careful about retainin' 'is services."

"Right, guv. So what'll happen now?"

"Cato's already bawled you out, 'asn't 'e?"

"Yes, guv," replied Sally with feeling.

"Then most likely we're just goin' to 'ave to chalk this one up to experience. So long as we can soothe Ronnie Grant's ruffled feathers before 'e goes to the local rags -- chip in for some conciliatory Sindy doll or My Little Pony for his daughter as well -- we're all right. Per'aps Derek Conway'll go an' 'ave a chat with 'im, too."

"Yes, guv," said Sally ruefully.

"Sally, after what you've been through recently, no-one'll be comin' down on you too 'eavy just yet."

"But guv! Not everyone's that philanthropic! Besides," she added patiently, "I don't want anyone making allowances for me just because of the Lee Ruddick trial. I want to get back to the job, guv, and get back to it one hundred per cent. I'm not some feeble little girly who can't stand on her own two feet -- and I don't want anyone thinking I am."

"I don't think anyone would," Meadows replied dryly. "The last thing *you* are is some feeble little girly, Sally. A lot of people will be expectin' you to back off a bit for a while; you know that, I know that. But if you think you can cope with gettin' straight back on the job, then fair enough. All I'm sayin' is that you'll probably be allowed to make a few mistakes after the stress you've been under."

"But that's not how I want to play it, guv," Sally insisted. "I don't *want* any of this 'poor old Sally' stuff, for Christ's sake! Besides, with my reputation I don't think I'd get it. I've stepped on too many toes, and I know it. There are plenty of people just waiting for me to screw up again. But I'm a professional officer, and I've got a job to do."

"There's no need to tell *me*," Meadows grinned. "You're one of the best officers Sun 'Ill 'as got an' I'm not about to let talent like yours go to waste."

Sally flushed. "Nice of you to say so in the circumstances, guv."

"I mean it, Sal. Now -- it's Saturday, an' I think it's time you were off. Got anythin' planned for tonight?"

"No, guv. I thought I'd just get a takeaway and put my feet up in front of the telly."

"No. You get off out an' enjoy yourself, Sally. Get today off your mind an' out of your system. That's what *I'd* do."

Sally smiled. "Really, guv?" she asked teasingly.

"Listen, Sal, if I were in your shoes, the *last* thing as I'd want is to be sat with me feet up eatin' a takeaway in front of the tv watchin' BAYWATCH an' THE GENERATION GAME."

Sally put her tongue firmly in her cheek. "Really, guv? I'd've thought BAYWATCH was right up your street..."

"I'll pretend I didn't 'ear that. No, you do like I say. Get off out an' enjoy yourself. I'm sure there'll be enough shit 'ittin' the fan on Monday mornin' as it is without us worryin' about it over the weekend. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, guv." Sally grinned.

"Right. I'll see you sometime on Monday, then."

"Guv." She turned and went to open the door.

"Oh -- and Sally -- "

She turned back. "Yes, guv?"

"I 'ear that Deakin was bitten by Ronnie Grant's Jack Russell. Is that right?"

"Yes, guv."

"Pretty nasty, that. No doubt that'll require quite a bit of medical attention."

"Oh no, guv -- the MO's seen him and DS Deakin is perfectly all right -- "

Meadows gave a sly grin. "I didn't mean Deakin," he said. "I'm talkin' about the Jack Russell..."

* * * * * * * * *

She was still grinning when she bumped into WDS Jo Morgan in the corridor on the way out. "Well you look cheerful," Jo smiled. "Goin' to let me in on the joke?"

Sally pulled a wry face. "Have you heard about this afternoon's excitement?"

"The to-do at Ronnie Grant's house? Oh, you bet -- the talk in the canteen has been of nothin' else!"

"Oh God," sighed Sally. "What a way to make a comeback."

"Oh, I shouldn't worry too much, guv. We've all 'ad a snout do the dirty on 'em at some time in their careers. To be honest, I think there's a lot of people 'oo'd've given their right arms to be there. There aren't many in this station 'oo 'ave a lot of time for Ronnie Grant, and they'd all 'ave liked to see 'is face when you lot burst in."

"Tough on his kid, though. What a way to end your birthday."

"That's true. It'll be tough on *you* if 'e makes a complaint, but I think there are enough senior officers at Sun 'Ill 'oo'd like to see Ronnie Grant taken down a peg or two for them to stick by you if push comes to shove."

"I hope so, Jo."

"But I must say as seein' the state of Rod Skase an' 'earin' about Chris Deakin 'as prompted a lot of 'armless entertainment, guv. 'Specially Deakin gettin' bitten. To 'ear Reg 'Ollis talk you'd think it'd been a Rottweiler, not a Jack Russell. An' did you know that Garfield's opened a book on 'ow long the dog's got before food poisonin' sets in?" The two women laughed, then the Yorkshire woman continued: "So, guv. What've you got planned for tonight, then?"

The words were out of Sally's mouth before she'd even had time to think about what she was saying. "I'm going out on the town."

"Oh?"

"DCI Meadows' orders," Sally replied sheepishly.

"Oh, I see. 'E payin' for this, is 'e?" Jo enquired mischievously.

"No, *I* am."

"Well, enjoy yourself. You got anywhere particular in mind?"

Sally shrugged. "I hadn't really thought. Somewhere up-town, perhaps. Get myself all dolled up. Come to think of it, it's been *ages* since I had a bloody good night out. Yeah..." she said dreamily. "That's it. I'll find a damn good club. One where the music's wicked -- and I'll be out there really giving it loads."

"Even pull?"

"Who knows?" Sally chuckled. "Yeah, there's a thought -- it might be some bloke's lucky night tonight."

"Well, I'm next on duty on Tuesday. You can tell me all about it then, if it's not *too* x-rated."

"And if it *is*?"

Jo shrugged expansively as she headed towards the CID office. "Even better! 'Night, guv!"

"See you, Jo!" Sally called back.

As she reached the front office door, she heard Chris Deakin and Tosh Lines talking behind her. The afternoon's debacle wasn't mentioned, but they were discussing ways of taking revenge on Sally's snout. Well, that was fine by her; the little bastard deserved everything he got.

She opened the inner door and went out towards the front entrance and bid "goodnight" to Sgt Bob Cryer and PCs Quinnan and Garfield, who responded with genuine affability. However, as Bob Cryer responded to a telephone enquiry and Tosh Lines pushed open the door and entered the front office, PC McGann's voice could be heard solemnly intoning "You are now entering...the Twiglet Zone..." whilst the other two PCs giggled and Tosh glared at them. When Deakin followed him in, faint muffled barking, snarling and whining noises immediately broke out, apparently coming from nowhere but traceable to three innocent- looking young PCs.

Sally, a broad grin splitting her face, didn't stop to see what Deakin's reaction would be to this, but instead swept out through the front entrance and towards the car-park. It was only when she was sitting behind the wheel of her car that she finally gave in and her shoulders began to heave with laughter. Poor old Chris Deakin: for him a policeman's lot was most definitely *not* 'an 'appy one today...

* * * * * * * * *

Sally had a light supper whilst watching the early evening news; then, to the strains of Seal, showered and washed her hair before searching through her wardrobe to find something suitably knock-'em-dead to wear on her Big Night Out. It had been so long since she'd dressed up for a night on the town that she was at a loss as to the outfit most likely to achieve her objective of Having A Good Time.

Once out of the business-like tailoured suits, sensible shoes, neat hair-style and unobtrusive accessories that she favoured for work, Sally knew -- without the slightest trace of arrogance -- that with her figure and looks she had a great deal going for her; once she was fully "glammed-up" it wouldn't be difficult to render herself completely unrecognizable to her work-colleagues. At 31 she was tall, slender and leggy, and had the kind of coltish, curvaceous figure that many of her contemporaries would envy. Her milk- chocolate skin and wide, dark eyes were clear and flawless -- give or take the odd encroaching laughter-line -- and her features were even and pleasant. Her most distinctive features, however, were a dazzling, radiant smile -- at once both innocently girlish and flirtatious -- and a mane of thick, black, corkscrew curls that tumbled down over her shoulders and almost into the small of her back. Her looks had drawn plenty of admirers in her time, but she'd always put her career before relationships. This had meant some problems and heartbreaks, but Sally had never regretted her choice: at the back of her mind was always the thought that maybe, just maybe, she could be the first female -- and black -- Chief Commissioner of Police at the Met. Well, it never hurt to dream -- and dream large...

In the end Sally plumped for a black, spangled, sleeveless sheath dress that clung, though not too tightly, to her curves, and a pair of black stilettos. A pair of long black satin gloves, long, glittering earrings, and a jewelled hair-slide completed the ensemble. <I'll look like a bloody Christmas tree,> she thought wryly, <but what the hell...>

Then she decided that if she really *was* under orders to go out and enjoy herself, it wouldn't hurt to be a little outrageous, too -- and her laciest black underwear, plus sheer black stockings and suspenders, were quickly dug out of a drawer and put to one side. After slipping these on and then painting her face to emphasize her eyes and full lips, Sally couldn't help chuckling at the apparition that looked back at her from the mirror; she looked good, but felt somehow faintly ridiculous. "Talk about a sailor's dream," she giggled, admiring herself back and front and then striking absurdly exaggerated pin-up poses. "What *are* you thinking of, Sal? Whatever it is, I think you should be ashamed of yourself..."

There was also still the question of where to go. She'd bought copies of Time Out and The Evening Standard on her way home, but hadn't seen anything that fired her imagination. She'd tried ringing round her friends -- but even as she'd been speaking to them she'd realized that the *last* thing she wanted was to be amongst well-meaning friends who'd ply her with questions that she had no desire to answer. Sighing, Sally finished dressing and then flicked through the Time Out listings again until something finally caught her eye. It was an advertisement for a night-club called "The Metropolitan", which the copy described as "very new; very chic; *very* classy". It was also very expensive -- but it boasted a big-name DJ, a well-stocked bar and a sophisticated clientele. The latter fact made Sally smile: at least that meant there wouldn't be much chance of bumping into anyone from Sun Hill!

A little later the taxi she'd ordered arrived; snatching up her bag and a bright shawl to wrap around her shoulders for warmth, Sally locked up her flat and then ran down to the street outside, her heart feeling surprisingly light and expectant after the system-shocking events of the past few months.

* * * * * * * * *

Perhaps it was because she *hadn't* quite shaken off her memories of recent times and because he *was* so wonderfully entertaining that Sally hadn't paid much attention to the route being taken by the taxi-driver, a charming, favourite-uncle Greek-Cypriot with a fund of home-country stories told in gloriously fractured English. But when he finally drew to a halt outside a brightly-lit door, the fact that for such an up-market establishment there was only one doorman -- and a rather seedy-looking one at that -- gave Sally an ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Are you sure this is the right place?" she asked him. "I asked you to take me to the Metropolitan."

"*Sure* I iss sure," the driver smiled reassuringly. "I bring people here all da time. Iss very popoolar."

Sally shook her head. "It's not what I expected."

Her misgivings were understandable. The club was situated on the corner of two rows of dark, dilapidated buildings in an area she didn't know at all, and which looked shabby and run-down. The Metropolitan itself looked tatty and neglected, with half of its neon sign unlit; it certainly looked nothing like the glossy establishment she'd been led to expect from the Time Out ad.

"Where *are* we exactly?"

"Where you wanted, Madame," said the driver, with a cheery smile. "Iss place you asked to come. Iss ver' popoolar," he assured her earnestly, looking as though he thought this was all his fault and hoping that this would help to make her feel better.

Again Sally shook her head. "Like I said, it's not what I expected. How much do I owe you?"

She paid over her fare and tipped the driver handsomely -- after all, his stories of life back home in Cyprus had been worth every penny. Besides, just because a nightclub looked unpromising on the outside didn't mean anything -- nor did the fact that it was in such an insalubrious area. No doubt all the owners' money had gone on the interior rather than the exterior features. She hoped...

It was only when the taxi had driven off that Sally realized to her horror that she *wasn't* where she wanted to be. On closer inspection she found the club's neon sign not to be half-lit after all. Whether it was because the driver had misheard her, or she'd misunderstood his accent when he'd repeated her instructions she wasn't sure -- but where he'd left her wasn't the Metropolitan at all, but a bar called the Metro. Sally sighed. <Just when I thought things were on the up,> she mused gloomily. Well, there was nothing for it but to phone for another taxi and get it to take her where she *wanted* to go. She looked up again at the sign and then at the outside of the bar. Well, it didn't look *too* bad -- and maybe after she'd used the phone it wouldn't hurt to have a quick drink while she was waiting for her taxi.

Putting the thin strap of her shoulder bag around her neck and pulling her shawl closer, Sally squared her shoulders and then walked briskly to the bar's entrance.

* * * * * * * * *

Damn.

Damn, damn, damn, *damn*!

Sally slammed the heel of her hand against the handset and grunted in exasperation at the OUT OF ORDER -- DO NOT USE sign that mocked her from where it was sellotaped over the buttons on the pay-phone in the hall. Well, that was *that*.

The man on the door had turned out to be fairly congenial when she'd got there and had even tried to chat her up -- so *that* was a good sign -- but now that there wasn't a phone she could use she was starting to feel irritated. Perhaps it wasn't going to be such a great night after all.

She walked further down the hall, following the sound of music, and came to a pair of double doors, through the windows of which she could see what appeared to be a fairly dark, cramped room, showered with the multi-coloured flakes of light which fell from the spot-lit mirror-ball revolving slowly on the ceiling. A bright bar, tiled with blue ceramic squares was to her right, and a mass of tables and chairs surrounded a small dance floor.

As Sally pushed open the double doors, she could see away in the gloom a small raised platform on which an exotically beautiful girl dressed in a tight-fitting glittering red sheath with three-quarter length sleeves, and with curls piled up high on her head above an exquisitely made-up face lip-synched to Doris Day's "Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps". The girl's stylized performance was perfectly suited to the subtly erotic rhythms of the song, and she directed most of the lyrics in an impishly seductive fashion to a man with dark, scruffy hair who stood watching from the far side of the bar, a broad smile on his face. Beneath the mischief Sally could see the glow of pure adoration in the girl's eyes which mirrored the man's expression of quiet pride and love, and she found her heart melting at the obvious affection between them.

"Good evening, madam -- and what can I get you to drink?"

Sally whirled round to face the bar, startled by the voice that had broken into her thoughts. She saw a man, hands planted firmly on the bar counter, in what appeared to be pseudo-Edwardian dress, his shirt sleeves held up at the elbow by elasticated metal bands, and a bright clean apron protecting his clothes. He had cropped, dark hair, a neat beard, and a welcoming expression.

"I'm sorry, madam," the man said apologetically. His accent was northern, Sally noticed. "I didn't mean to startle you. What would you like to drink?"

"Well..."

"We have a wide range of the finest wines, spirits and ales here, madam," he told her with a grin. "Ask me for whatever it is that your heart may desire, and I am sure I can supply it. If not, you have my permission to beat me over the head with a wet bar towel whilst forcing me to drink the contents of the drip tray. Now is that a fair deal, or is that a fair deal?"

Sally giggled. "That's a fair deal!" She settled herself on a bar-stool with her back to the main body of the room. "Ah -- I think I'll have a G and T, please."

"Certainly, madam. Ice and lemon?"

"Please."

As the bar-tender got her drink, Sally turned back to look at the girl on the stage as she came to the end of the song; she joined in as the audience applauded, then waited expectantly as the introduction to "Fever" began sashaying out of the sound system and the girl prepared to perform again.

"You're new here, aren't you miss?" the bar-tender said, as he put the glass of gin on the bar-counter. "If you don't mind my saying so."

Sally sighed. "Strictly speaking I *shouldn't* be here."

The bar-tender took a bottle of tonic water, a lemon and a small knife from beneath the counter. "Oh? And why's that then, miss?"

Sally smiled. "I originally set out with the intention of going to the Metropolitan in town -- but owing to a slight misunderstanding with a taxi-driver I ended up here." She paused and then looked up hopefully at the bar-tender. "I don't suppose you've got a phone in here that I could use, have you? Only I'd really like to get a taxi to take me back up-town, and the phone in the hall's broken."

"Can't help you there, love, I'm afraid," the bar-tender said. "It's against regulations. Health and Safety. Besides, why schlep all the way across town to a tacky hole like the Metropolitan when you can enjoy yourself and have just as much fun here? We may be a touch more rough and ready, but the Metro has *far* more heart."

Grinning, Sally shrugged resignedly as she pulled off her gloves. "Well, I'll take your word for it."

"Believe me, you can," the bar-tender replied with a smile.

Sally leaned forward "Where *is* 'here' by the way?"

"This is Spitalfields, miss," the bar-tender informed her as he poured her tonic and then began slicing the lemon. "If you intended going to the Metropolitan you most certainly *are* well off-course." He patted her hand. "That said, miss, you're not missing out on much. At the Metro the drink's cheaper, the music's just as good -- and you'll find that we're *much* friendlier here." He handed Sally her drink, but refused payment. "On the house, miss," he smiled. "Just to say welcome to our happy gathering. If you want a top-up, just give me a shout. My name's Col, by the way. And just so that we keep it all friendly like, what do I call you?"

"Sally," she replied. "I'm Sally."

"Well, hello Sally, and welcome to the Metro." Col poured himself a drink from one of the optics and raised it in salute. "Your very good health," he said.

"Cheers," smiled Sally, returning the salute.

A tall, red-haired woman standing next to the tousle-haired man on the opposite side of the bar signalled to Col, who excused himself and then went off to serve them. He took two bottles of Guinness from beneath the counter, and then began chatting to the woman.

For her part, Sally decided that now she was here, she really wouldn't mind staying after all. The only drawback was that there didn't seem to be many men in the bar; indeed, for a Saturday night it was really rather quiet. Still, maybe that was better than trying to soothe herself in a bar full of rowdies. Neither did she feel any longer that she really wanted many men around -- the bawling out that Chief Inspector Cato had given her had brought to a head the niggle of disenchantment with men that she'd had for some time now. She *liked* men and was genuinely fond of most of those she worked with, and wouldn't've turned down Nigel Benn had he propositioned her -- but it would be really nice if some of them could actually grow up, for a start. She was coming round more and more to the opinion of the comedienne Jo Brand, who felt that men *were* wonderful -- as a concept...

She sipped at her drink and listened as the girl finished her song. Sally felt awkward sitting there alone, and for a moment regretted the fact that she'd given up smoking; at least having a cigarette would give her something to do with her hands. Instead she sat and looked down into her glass, then turned her attention to the people at right-angles to her on the opposite side of the bar.

The girl acknowledged the smattering of applause after her performance, then got down from the platform. Smiling beatifically, she made her way over to the dark-haired man, who greeted her with a hug and a kiss. "How was I, hon?" she asked him, voice husky, as she stroked his face. "Was I good?"

The man smiled back at her. "You were wonderful, Dil. As always." And he put his arms around her and hugged her more tightly. Sally noted his Northern Irish accent -- Belfast, she thought.

"I think that a drink is in order, don't you, Fergus?" Col grinned. "The usual, Dil?"

The dark girl nodded. "You know how to please me, Col," she replied, arching an eyebrow seductively. "A margarita, please -- and make it a large one, hon."

Sally didn't know why, but there was something about Dil that intrigued her -- nothing she could place, just -- *something*.

"Here you are, Dil," Col said, "one large margarita as requested."

"Thanks, hon," Dil smiled. "Cheers."

"Many more of those tonight an' you'll have me broke, Dil," her lover chided with a laugh.

"Darling, I need them for my throat."

"But you don't sing, you lip-synch."

She patted the top of her chest winsomely. "But when I open my mouth all that smoke gets into my throat." She reached into her bag and took out a packet of cigarettes. "Have you a light, hon?"

"Let me," said Col, doing the necessary.

"I give up," the Irishman sighed. "You don't like other people's smoke, but you don't mind your own..."

"Well, isn't that just women for you, Fergus," Col sighed theatrically. "Dear creatures. We never know *what* they want -- and bless 'em, half the time neither do they."

Dil threaded her arm through Fergus's and looked up at him lovingly. "*I* did, though. I knew what *I* wanted. And I *got* it!"

"Give over, Dil," Fergus replied bashfully.

"Ah," Col sighed again, turning to the red-haired woman. "Love's young dream, eh? Ah, ain't love grand, Frith?"

"I don't know, Col," the woman replied, shaking her head. "You tell me."

"God, darling -- you're such a cynic!" Dil retorted.

Frith laughed. "We don't all have your luck, Dil. Or your looks."

"It's all a beautiful illusion, hon."

"Cobblers. You turn heads with or without the slap -- *and* you know it."

Dil sighed grandly. "No, Frith, your luck will change one day. I promise you. Besides," she added, touching the other woman's face gently, "you're beautiful yourself."

Curious, Sally looked closer. The red-head was about the same age as herself, so far as she could tell, but much fuller and taller. In the light from the bar Sally could see that the woman's pale skin was covered in large freckles, while her eyes were dark, but not dark enough to be brown or hazel -- a greenish colour, Sally surmised -- and her hair, which fell in heavy, rippling waves around her face and down her shoulders, was a rich, deep, golden apricot colour. She *was* pretty, Sally thought; Dil was right about that.

Sally listened to the cheerful banter of the three friends, whilst Col was kept busy serving drinks. The bar still hadn't filled up much, but it was certainly fuller than it had been. "Is it normally this quiet on a Saturday night?" she asked a woman who was waiting for a tray of drinks at the bar.

The woman looked at her curiously. "You're new here, then?"

"Yes, you could say that."

The woman shrugged and smiled. "It'll probably pick up a bit later on," she said. "It usually does. It's still a bit early yet. Oh thanks, Col; put 'em on my slate, will you?"

"Will do, Connie."

"'Bye love," Connie said to Sally.

"'Bye," replied Sally politely, as Connie disappeared into the depths of the room with her tray of drinks.

Col nodded. "Nice woman, Connie. And she's right -- it usually picks up in here later on a Saturday night. Now. Can I get you another drink, Sally?"

Sally looked down and saw that her glass was nearly empty. She finished off her drink and nodded. "Please, Col. Same again."

"Right you are, Sally."

As Col got a clean glass and then went to the gin optic again, Sally heard Dil's dark, smoky voice. "Who's that then, Col? Got a new friend, have you?"

"New customer, Dil," Col replied affably. "First time here tonight. Came here by accident as a matter of fact."

Dil laughed huskily. "There's no such thing as an accident, Col. It's all part of the grand design."

"If you say so, Dil. Theology never *was* my forte."

"Are you keeping her all to yourself, Col?"

"Not *intentionally* so, Dil."

"And have you told her all about the delights of the Metro, Col?"

"Why don't *you* do that, Dil? It would sound better coming from you. *I* could be accused of displaying a certain amount of bias, speaking as an employee, like."

"*I* think she looks a bit like me, you know," Dil went on, turning to Fergus. "Don't you think so, hon?"

Sally felt her face grow hot under the sudden scrutiny, but tried to pretend that she hadn't heard.

"Or mebbes *you* look a bit like *her*," suggested Fergus. "You're both beautiful, that's for sure."

"Oh, well *played*, sir," Col declared. "*Touche*! Now. Anyone ready for another drink?"

"I am," Frith said at once. "A spritzer for me this time, I think."

"Another Guinness for you, Fergus? Yes? And another margarita for the lady?"

"Right." Fergus took a note from his wallet and went to hand it to Col -- but then waved it in Sally's direction. "An' whatever the *other* beautiful lady's drinkin'."

"Right you are, sir."

Fergus smiled and sighed happily. "What with Frith, Dil, an' your friend, Col, I'm *surrounded* by beautiful women."

"You're a lucky man indeed, sir," Col grinned. "The lady there is drinking a G and T, sir. Thank you, sir."

"An' have one for yersel' while you're at it, Col."

"Thank you sir, but no. Not while I'm on duty."

"Not while he's got some fabulous femme to talk to, anyway!" Dil said mischievously.

"Dil, you'll make the lady embarrassed. Fergus, your lady *is* in a particularly frisky mood this evening, is she not?"

"That's because I'm here with my friends and my lover and I'm *happy*."

"You're a lucky girl, Dil," Frith said sadly. "*Very* lucky."

Dil put her hand on Frith's. "I know, hon, I know," she smiled gently.

When Col brought over her gin and tonic, Sally raised her glass and smiled her thanks to Fergus, who smiled back at her. Dil and Frith smiled too. Frith, Sally thought, seemed rather startled when she saw her, and wondered why; she didn't *think* she recognized Frith, and presumed that Frith had mistaken her for someone else. But as the evening wore on and Sally sipped at her drink, she frequently felt eyes on her -- and every time she looked up she caught Frith staring at her, the latter colouring and dropping her gaze quickly when she was caught out. Strangely, Sally didn't mind. There was something about Frith that appealed to her very much, and she didn't find Frith's scrutiny either intimidating or unpleasant. With Fergus and Dil so obviously wrapped up in each other, Sally was sure that the poor girl felt as left out and as much of a wall- flower as she herself did.

Another girl got up to lip-synch to a tape, but she wasn't as good as Dil had been and Sally soon lost interest. "Col," she called, "can I have another G and T, please?"

"Make it a large one, Col," Dil's voice came over to her at once.

"I think that's rather up to the lady, Dil," Col replied.

"What's her name, Col?"

"I think that's *her* business, not yours, Dil."

"Keeping her to yourself, eh, Col?"

"Don't wind Col up, Dil," Fergus said. "That's not fair."

"I'd just like to know," giggled Dil. "I haven't seen Col give her a look, though, have you, Fergus? Not like the ones you used to give me."

"Want another drink, Dil?" Fergus said quickly.

"Just one last one, hon."

"Right, same again all round, Col," Fergus said. "I'll pay for the lady's, too. In fact," he added, looking across at Sally, "why don't you ask her if she'll come over an' join us?"

"Yes," agreed Dil. "Poor girl's been on her own all night. She'd have more fun with us."

"That's if she *wants* to join us," Frith added hastily, to no-one in particular.

"You know, she *does* look like me," Dil went on airily. "Fergus, would you fancy her if you didn't have me?"

Sally's cheeks grew hotter than before.

"Dil," Fergus said sternly, "that's not a thing that a lady would say."

"Sorry, hon. You know I didn't mean anything by it. Besides," she added wickedly, with a knowing look to her left, "I think someone has already expressed an interest, don't you, Col?"

"And who might *that* be, Dil?" Col enquired.

Dil gave another mischievous smile. "Someone close by with red hair and freckles?" she said, eyes deliberately wide.

"Dil!" Frith hissed.

"Dil," said Fergus mock-sternly, "don't tease Frith. She must get sick an' tired o' seein' us draped all over each other. If she's seen someone she'd like to have a wee bit o' *craic* with, then I don't blame 'er!"

Dil patted Frith's hand. "Sorry, hon," she said sympathetically. "No offence."

"None taken," Frith replied. "But don't keep waving your good fortune under my nose, Dil. Friends don't do that to each other. Not good, *true* friends, anyway."

"You're right, Frith," Dil agreed, stroking Frith's hand tenderly. "Dil knows who her real friends are. But you are interested?" she added eagerly.

"I'm saying nothing," an exasperated Frith replied, turning red. "On the grounds that I may incriminate myself..."

All of this passed over Sally's head because she'd started worrying about how she was going to get home that night if there wasn't a phone to hand. "Col, *couldn't* I use the phone back there?" she asked winsomely. "I don't know how I'm going to get home, otherwise."

"I'm sorry to be so awkward, miss, but I can't help you. Regulations, see. But I could phone for a taxi on your behalf," Col said helpfully. "Or you'll find that there are taxis passing up and down the road fairly regularly, miss. You shouldn't have any problem. Just let me know when you're ready."

"Thank you, Col," she smiled gratefully.

Col went away and began mixing drinks, then brought her a very large gin and tonic. He pointed to Fergus and the others. "Compliments of that gentleman there, miss."

"Oh!" Sally smiled bashfully. "Tell him thanks very much, Col."

Col grinned. "Why not thank him yourself, miss? The gentleman and his friends have asked me to ask you if you'd care to join them?"

Sally looked across at them. The red-head was looking shyly at her again. <Poor kid looks as though she needs someone to talk to,> she thought. "If they're sure, Col," she hedged.

Col coughed loudly. "Sir," he addressed Fergus, "I believe that you and your friends have expressed a wish that this young lady here might join you for a drink. Is that not so, sir?"

"It is," grinned Fergus. "Come an' join us, love. Be pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Thanks very much!" Sally smiled. "Oh -- and thanks for the drinks, too."

"You're very welcome!"

"This here is Sally," Col said as he took her gin and tonic and placed it on the opposite side of the bar, and Sally got off her bar-stool and went to join the three friends. "And as you know, she's new here -- so do be gentle with her, all right?"

"Hiya, Sally," Fergus smiled, shaking her hand before kissing it delicately. "I'm Fergus."

Sally liked him at once. He stood slighter shorter than she did in her high heels, and he was somewhat older; but with his black tousled hair, spaniel-like dark eyes and warm friendly grin, Sally couldn't deny that he had plenty of Gaelic charm. "Hello, Fergus," she replied. "Nice to meet you!"

Fergus turned to the dark girl beside him, who'd pointedly made space at the bar between herself and the red-head. "This is Dil, the love of my life," he said, a quiet warmth in his voice.

Dil held out her hand, her smile genuinely welcoming. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Same here, Dil."

There were no two ways about it. Dil was stunning. The tight red dress fitted her beautifully, and where her long, curling hair escaped from its top-knot it fell round an exquisitely made-up face which Sally felt would have looked just as beautiful stripped of its paint, if not more so. There was something almost childlike and innocent about Dil -- and yet at the same time Sally felt that she had a wisdom which was far beyond her years.

As Sally was pondering, Dil had already turned towards the red-haired girl. "And *this*," she continued, before Fergus could say anything, "is our sweet little wallflower, Frith. Say hello to Sally, Frith." Dil raised an eyebrow archly. "Don't worry, dear," she went on, just as the girl opened her mouth to speak, "Frith doesn't bite -- well -- not on a first date, anyway. You'll find that once you get to know her, she's quite friendly really."

"Give me a *break*, Dil," sighed Frith. "Hi, Sally."

"Hiya," Sally returned, feeling wry sympathy for the green-eyed woman.

"You must excuse Dil," Frith went on, as Dil lit a cigarette. "She *loves* to tease me; sometimes I think it's her whole raison d'etre. I bought her a wooden spoon last Christmas because she loves stirring things so much."

"Bitch!" Dil giggled and blew out a stream of smoke. "You love me really, darling."

"Who wouldn't?" Frith grinned back.

"She's right though, Dil," Fergus chided. "Leave Frith alone -- it's not fair to tease her."

Dil's mouth quirked impishly and she widened her eyes. "I only tease those I love," she said. "Isn't that true, hon?"

Frith nodded. "That's true," she admitted, looking shyly at Sally.

Frith was an extraordinary creature, Sally thought as she smiled back at her. Somehow Frith's deep green eyes, flaming hair, and pale skin almost translucent beneath its covering of dark freckles, made her look quite otherworldly. Yet her waistcoat, pale blue shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and jeans stuffed into knee-length scuffed suede boots and held up with a thick leather belt fastened with an ornate-looking buckle, made her look like a farm-labourer from a picture of rustic life in the nineteenth century. But the thick, carved, heavy bracelets on her wrists and the strange-looking devices that hung from wires through her ear-lobes put Sally more in mind of the Viking warriors she'd heard about at school. <Must be all that red hair,> she decided, grinning to herself.

"So this is your first time at the Metro then, eh Sally?" Fergus said.

"That's right. I wanted to go to a club up-town, but the cab-driver brought me here by mistake." She looked around the bar. "It's nice here, though," she added. "And Col's *much* nicer than most bar-men I've come across!"

"Aye, he is, fair play to him," grinned Fergus.

"I won't argue with that either," laughed Frith.

"Thank you kindly, Sally," Col called over. "A little appreciation never hurts."

"My pleasure. This place also has a *really* good atmosphere."

"It does, doesn't it," Fergus agreed. "An' the craic's good, too."

"So's the company, hon," Dil added, her dark eyes shining with mischief. "Another drink, anyone...?"

As the evening progressed, Dil, Fergus and Col made her feel very welcome, and soon she felt as though she'd known them for years. Frith, on the other hand, intrigued her. She liked all four of her new friends, but her response to the shy, Amazonian Frith was much stronger -- and stranger -- than the one she'd had to the other three. There was a soft, West Country burr to Frith's voice which Sally found very attractive, and she repeatedly found herself listening to or just watching Frith rather than any of the others. Each time she looked at Frith it was as though there were warm, powerful fists somewhere in her belly and solar plexus that were dragging her closer and closer to the other woman as though down some long dark tunnel formed by Frith's own body, yet without seeming to get any nearer. Each time she looked at Frith, Sally's throat grew dry and tight, while somewhere in her lower belly she was turning to water -- water that responded like the oceans to the moon of Frith's forest-green eyes. Every look, every smile, every word from the red-haired girl was setting up a reaction in Sally that was beginning to frighten her -- and yet that very fear was itself strangely exciting. Suddenly Sally was crossing her legs awkwardly, and the truth of it hit her: she was becoming sexually aroused. And yet she couldn't bring herself to admit that the reason was her over-powering response to the woman sitting next to her; Sally might find men irritating at present, but surely it was only *they* who aroused her like this?

At around 11.30, Fergus drank the last of his Guinness and then turned to Dil. "Well, I think I'm about ready to call it a day, Dil. Fancy a last dance an' then home, love?"

Dil slipped down from her bar-stool and took his hand. "Whatever you say, hon," she smiled.

As she watched the two of them move onto the dance-floor and hold each other close for a slow, smoochy dance, Sally rested her chin in her hand and smiled. "They look really good together, don't they," she said.

"They do," Frith agreed.

"It's such a joy to see two people looking so happy in each other's company, too. Have they been together long?"

"Long enough," replied Frith. "Fergus won't mind me telling *you*, but he's done time in prison. They let him out early, mind. Every visiting day Dil was there, without fail -- she never missed a single visit, even when she was ill."

"She loves him that much, right?"

Frith nodded. "And much more besides."

"What was he inside for?" asked Sally, curious, but not wanting to display an unhealthy interest.

Frith's face became guarded. "That depends," she said.

"On what?"

"On why you want to know."

"I just wondered. He doesn't seem the type to be a hardened criminal."

Frith's face relaxed. "Yes, he's a sweet boy," she grinned. "Typical paddy. A silver tongue and charm enough to fetch ducks off water. *Gorgeous*, too! Dil counted the days until he was out. Counted the hours, I shouldn't wonder. She had a lover before him -- this wanker called Dave who treated her really badly. God knows why she stayed with him; she didn't love him in the slightest. But he was kind to her once -- and -- well, that's Dil. The less said about Dave the better -- besides, I reckon she stuck with him because she was -- well -- on the rebound, I suppose you could say."

"Oh?"

Frith sighed deeply. "Before either Fergus or Dave she was with this bloke called Jody. *Great* guy. Gods love her, but she worshipped him, and he adored her. Until -- " her voice faltered -- " -- until..."

"What happened to him?" Sally asked gently.

"He was a soldier. He was killed. In Northern Ireland. He was on a tour of duty in South Armagh and he was kidnapped by the IRA and held hostage. But one of the terrorists got to like Jody and became his friend -- and he took care of him."

"But why did they want to keep him hostage?"

"The IRA wanted some of their own people released in exchange -- but one of these volunteers began to talk, so they sentenced poor Jody to death. Only the guy who was supposed to do it -- the guy he'd become friends with -- let him escape by accident. But the pity of it is that Jody was knocked down and killed by an army lorry. Crushed under the wheels like some broken toy. Talk about ironic. It would almost be funny if it hadn't been so bloody tragic. He was a brilliant bloke, Jody. Would do anything for Dil -- *anything*." Suddenly Frith had to wipe her eyes and nose with a handkerchief. "I loved him too. We *all* did." Then she smiled and sniffed, and wiped her eyes. "You couldn't *help* but love Jody, Sally. He was built like a brick privvy and he was a squaddie -- but he was the kindest, sweetest, gentlest man I've ever met. He had a heart as big as the ocean and as warm as the sun in Antigua, back where he came from. I still miss him -- he was one of a kind, Jody -- and he was very special."

Sally smiled and patted Frith's hand. "He *sounds* very special," she said. "Poor Dil."

"She has Fergus now," Frith said. "Good came from evil in the end."

Sally nodded and smiled. "That's very true."

"Well, now I can tell you. Remember that IRA volunteer who took care of Jody and was kind to him? That was Fergus."

Sally stared at her. "You're *joking*."

"No. Scout's honour."

"That's *amazing*."

"Fergus told us he was kind to Jody and we believe him. Fergus is genuine. He has a warm heart and that's why I believe him."

"So why did he come to London? How come he met up with Dil?"

Frith smiled. "He promised Jody that he'd come to London and look her up; to look for her and make sure that she was all right. And that's what he did. Like I said, Fergus is genuine; he's a kind man and his heart's warm."

"I can believe it."

It occurred to Sally that if she knew Fergus's surname she could probably look up his details and find out more -- but somehow this struck her as unbelievably callous, and she was appalled that she'd even contemplated the idea.

"It was a strange, strange time," Frith went on, suddenly grave and distant, "and a long, wild story that it would need Dil or Fergus to tell you. I wasn't here at the time -- I'd gone home to Bristol for a few months and it was all over by the time I got back..."

"How long was Fergus sent down for?"

"About six, seven years, I think. Of course, with the recent Republican and Loyalist ceasefires and the cessation of paramilitary violence in Ulster there've been quite a few Provos released from prisons here and in the Irish Republic. Fergus was considered a low-risk prisoner so, what with remission for good behaviour, he was out really early. And oh, how glad we were to have him back!" She smiled wanly. "He wasn't -- *isn't* -- a greatly political animal, our Fergus. He believes that the British army should get out of Ulster because it doesn't belong there, but that was about as far as it goes. Fergus is no soldier, God love him. But like I said, good came from evil in the end." Then she shook herself and wiped her eye with her thumb. "Well, to happier things. Let's talk about *you* now, Sally. What do you do?"

Sally hesitated; she'd been dreading this moment. "I -- er -- I work in Sun Hill."

"Doing what?"

She shrugged and smiled winsomely. "Nothing very interesting. I'm sure you'd find it very dull if I told you."

Frith's eyes darkened. "I thing you're underselling yourself," she smiled. "I'm sure I'd find it *very* interesting."

A frisson of guilty pleasure trickled down Sally's back and between her thighs. "I'm sorry, but I beg to differ," she said, her voice cracking slightly. She quickly took another swig at her drink to hide her agitation, but the glass banged traitorously against the bar-counter when she put it down again.

"Come on, Sally," Frith coaxed. "Don't be coy. Tell me!"

"Okay." Sally thought wildly and then said, "well, actually I work in an office."

"Doing what?"

She shrugged and grinned disarmingly. "Anything that *needs* doing, basically. Lots of paperwork, getting out to meet the public, that sort of thing."

Frith pulled a face. "I can't think of *any* job that fits that description."

"Well, let's just say that it's connected with -- er -- *pest* control. Keeping the streets clean, getting rid of vermin, that sort of thing."

"You're in the refuse business?"

"Um -- not exactly."

"Well, sort of sanitation, then -- or something like Rentokil?" Suddenly she laughed. "Back home there's this guy who runs a pest-control firm and he and his sidekick drive around in these customized Ford Escorts, one pink, one blue, with a huge cartoon of a rat on the side. I know it's a bit corny, but he calls himself *The Verminator*. Always makes me smile whenever I see one of his cars," Frith chuckled. "Well, at least it's a bit less ominous-sounding than Rentokil, don't you think?"

Sally giggled. "More user-friendly, *that's* for sure -- although not for the rats and vermin!"

She and Frith laughed, and then Frith said: "So that's the line of work you're in, then?"

"You might say that," smiled Sally, thinking that this was a safe enough bet. "*Now* do you see what I mean? Hardly exciting or rivetting, is it! So what about you? What do *you* do, Frith?"

Frith shrugged. "This and that -- sometimes I give Col a hand behind the bar, if he's busy. I work in a shop and I also design jewellery and posters which I sell in markets, at car-boot sales, craft fairs, that kind of thing." She indicated her bracelets and earrings. "These are mine," she said.

"Oh! Can I have a look?"

"Be my guest."

Frith took off the two heavy bracelets, then handed them to Sally. The metal was still warm from the heat of Frith's skin, and again Sally shivered slightly. Each bracelet was in two hinged halves, one hinge being a clasp. The first bracelet had curious, interlaced animals back and front, which began and ended either side of two roundels in the centre of each semi-circular piece of metal. On one roundel were two horizontal interlocking Vs, which made a shape which reminded Sally of a piece of barbed wire; the other roundel was like a spoked wheel, in the centre of which was a stylized representation of a boar. The other bracelet was made in the same fashion but in a different metal, and was plated on the inside. Again there were the interlacing animals, but this time one roundel bore linear C and M shapes, while the other bore a white disk against which sat a black cat.

"*Fabulous*," Sally said admiringly, as she handed them back. "They're *beautifully* made."

"Thank you," smiled Frith as she slid the bracelets back over her wrists and then took one of the loops from her earlobes. "I'm rather pleased with them myself!"

The earrings were just as well-made. The loop of metal that threaded through the ear was attached to a black cat made from a shiny black substance, and the cat was sitting in a bright saucer-shape. "I love these too," Sally said. "You're *very* talented, Frith. But what do these funny signs and symbols mean? The letters, for instance."

"They're runes, actually."

"Runes?"

"An ancient Nordic-Germanic magical alphabet that later came to be used for ordinary writing. Legend says that Woden hung on the World Tree for nine nights and sacrificed one of his eyes so that he could gain mastery of the runes and learn their secrets, but in truth no-one really knows where or how they originated. From the Etruscans, some say -- but on an esoteric level at least the story of Woden and the runes is true. That's my belief, anyway."

"How do you mean?"

Frith gave a wry grin and rested her head on her hand. "I'm a heathen," she replied. "Or, if you prefer, a *Wicce*."

"A what-er?"

"A *Wicce* -- a *wise one*. *Wicce* is an old Germanic word meaning *wise one* -- it's where *witch* comes from."

"I don't understand."

Frith sighed. "You know what a *witch* is, don't you?"

"Yes, but -- "

"Well, I'm a pagan, not a pointy hat and broomstick witch, but *wicce* is where the word *witch* comes from, you see. I practice Teutonic wicca -- as opposed to just about every other pagan and his or her dog who seems to be into the Celtic stuff. To hear them talk you'd think that theirs was the only pagan system in Britain and it really gets up my nose -- after all, both ways have their roots in the old Indo-Aryan culture, which makes us *kin*. Makes us kin with the Hindus too, by the way." Frith smiled wearily and toyed with her glass. "No, I shouldn't be spiteful; most of them genuinely feel that that's their path, which is wonderful, and fair play to them. But there are so many bloody *wannabes*. There are loads of people who really, desperately, *want* to be Celts, and are *really* pissed off that their parents came from Chipping Camden or Sheringham or Taunton or Coventry instead of Cardiff or the Shetlands or Truro or Connemara."

"A bit like all those people in the States who want to be Native Americans, you mean?"

Frith laughed. "Yeah, something like that. I mean, fair play and good luck to them and all that, but it does get on your tits after a while. Anyway, wiccans worship a central Goddess and a central God, or the Lady and the Lord, which in my faith means Freya and Frey -- but there are other deities, too. I won't bore you with any more details, but let's just say that I'm less of your dreamy Celtic Twilight and more of your Ride of the Valkyries. Still, it's horses for courses, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose it is!"

"And before you ask," Frith said, suddenly sitting up, "one, I don't worship Satan, two, I don't perform human or animal sacrifice, and three, I don't sexually abuse children. I just thought I ought to make that clear."

"Oh, I *believe* you," Sally said -- then shuddered as a wicked thought sent a hot pulse through her loins. <But honey, you could do what you *like* to *me*...>

"Some folks don't, though," Col's voice broke in on Sally's erotic reverie as he refilled their glasses. "Just like some of them think that Frith's a Nazi because Hitler and his lot were into all that business."

Frith nodded. "The swastika was a simple sun-wheel symbol until the Nazis took it and perverted it -- and they took the sun rune for the SS. They took the old religion and used it for their own ends. It back-fired on them in the end, of course, but people still feel uneasy when they see some of the symbols I wear -- though I suppose I'm doing my best to reclaim them!"

"...Which brings me back to your jewellery," Sally said eagerly. "Tell me what everything means."

"Okay. Well, as you can see, both bracelets have stylized carvings of interlaced animals -- that's knotwork, which was used for decoration. Now the rune on this first bracelet is Ing, which is another name for Frey; the symbols on the other side are his -- the sun and a boar. The bracelet's made of bronze because that's one of Frey's metals. The other bracelet's made of copper because that's one of Freya's metals -- though I had to plate it on the inside because copper turns my skin green! The runes are the rune of the craftsman -- and the other, the M shape, had equine significance for the Norsemen -- and the horse is one of Freya's animals. The Full Moon and the cat on the other side are also Her symbols."

"Wow, you didn't just *throw* these together, did you!" Sally exclaimed.

"You can say *that* again," Frith giggled. Then she pointed to her belt buckle. "See, there's the Uffington White Horse -- *Freya's* white horse -- and a sword. The earrings are Freya's cat and the moon rune. The cat's made from Whitby jet, the moon from silver. Pretty, don't you think?"

"God, Frith, they're gorgeous." Sally sighed. "You'll have to let me buy some from you -- they're so unusual."

"Be pleased to," Frith said softly. "But I'd rather make you a gift of some."

"I *couldn't*, really..."

"Yes you could," Frith replied as she hooked the earring back into her ear. A slow wicked smile crossed her lips. "Or aren't you *allowed* to accept gifts from strangers, little girl?"

"And what's that you have around your neck?" Sally interjected quickly.

"This?" Frith looked down. "A collar of Whitby jet beads and a steel Thunor's Hammer." She held up her hands. "And I have an amethyst ring and a sapphire ring, too. I think that covers everything. Seen enough?"

"I didn't mean to be rude, Frith."

"Sorry, neither did I! But I meant what I said -- if you want any of the jewellery I make, all you've got to do is ask."

"I couldn't possibly *accept* it," Sally insisted. "If it's how you make your living, you don't want to go around giving away your profits, do you?"

"Depends," Frith smiled. "I only give stuff away to people I like; Dil and Fergus wear my stuff -- so does Col. When he remembers!" The smile became catlike. "I only make gifts to those I love..."

Sally felt her face begin to burn. "You're very clever," she blundered on. "To make pieces as beautifully as this you must be very talented. Do you work from home?"

"No, I rent space at the shop where I work and sell it from there or at craft fairs, car boot sales, markets etc -- or I advertise in pagan magazines. I'm pleased to say that I make a comfortable living one way or another. Enough to pay for my materials and to let me indulge in my obsessions, anyway."

"And what might those be?"

Frith shrugged. "Books, travel, being with my friends, coming here to the Metro..." she paused and gave Sally another slow smile -- "...buying nice things for my lovers."

"I'll bet," Sally smiled, trying not to let her glass tremble as she lifted it to her lips. "You know, I thought you were such a shy, quiet, *reserved* little thing when I first saw you. Obviously I was wrong."

Frith laughed with delight. "I *am* with people I don't know, Sally. But I've got to know you a little now, so it's *hard* to feel shy with you. In fact," she added, suddenly lowering her voice and putting her hand over Sally's, "I was wondering if you were ready to call it quits for the evening?"

Sally looked round the bar. "Well," she sighed, "it's really nice here, Frith, but I think it's time I was going -- I must admit that I'm ready to move on. It's funny, but I'm really knackered -- I've had one *hell* of a day."

"Fair enough. Um..." Frith looked down and brushed the back of Sally's hand with her thumb. "I -- was just wondering. If you *have* had a lousy day, how would you like -- to come back to my place for a coffee or something, and then you can tell me all about it?"

For a moment Sally hesitated. The feelings of arousal of which she had become so painfully aware had lessened now, but Frith still unnerved her sexually. The touch of Frith's hand was gentle and innocuous enough, but to Sally the mere sensation of feeling the warmth of Frith's skin against her own was unsettling.

And then she decided. She was a big, grown-up girl now and she could think for herself. Just because she responded like this to Frith didn't mean that Frith felt the same way about *her*. Oh sure; certainly she'd occasionally seen something in Frith's eyes that had struck her as odd, but she didn't think for one moment that Frith was interested in her sexually. "All right," she said, "I will. Yes. Thank you, Frith. But first -- another drink, perhaps?"

* * * * * * * * *

"Another drink" turned into another two. By the time the two women had said goodnight to Col and stumbled out of the Metro and into the street they were both giggly and slightly uncoordinated. The cool night air hit them heavily, making their pleasantly inebriated state worse than it was; the weakest joke seemed like the funniest thing they'd ever heard, and every match-box philosophy seemed like the wisdom of the ages.

Sally linked her arm through Frith's. "Come on," she said, "let's go and hail a taxi."

"We've just missed one," Frith pointed out as a black cab passed them and disappeared into the darkness.

Sally drew herself up and pointed in the direction the cab had gone. "Driver," she said imperiously, "follow that car."

"There isn't a car there," Frith said.

"Damn. We've missed *that* one, too."

Thankfully, by the time another taxi came along the two women had sobered up and both felt pleasantly mellow. They climbed into the back of the black cab and Frith gave the driver her address, then sat back, brushing her hand through her tangle of apricot hair. "Soon be home," she told Sally softly. "Then I'll get the kettle on."

"Great," whispered Sally drowsily as she felt her head begin to slide towards Frith's shoulder. "God," she yawned. "It must be the combination of the night air and all those G and Ts -- I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel as though I could sleep for a week!"

Frith chuckled. "Well shut your eyes for a while then, Sal. I'll wake you when we get home."

"Fine by me," Sally replied, letting her head rest on Frith's shoulder.

Frith slid her arm around Sally's shoulders, pulling her closer. Sally instinctively nestled against the other woman and was about to close her eyes when she caught sight of the driver's reflection in the rear-view mirror. His lip was curled in disgust and there was a noticeable look of distaste on his face. <What's the matter with *him*?> Sally thought angrily. <Has he never seen a woman who's "tired and emotional" before?> For a few seconds she wanted to say something, but decided not to. She felt so comfortable and at peace that she didn't want to disrupt the moment by creating a fuss. The *last* thing she wanted to do was cause a scene -- and if the cab-driver wanted to be picky he could expect less of a tip at the end of the drive.

The cab finally drew up outside a terraced house and Frith shook her gently. As Sally stood yawning and shivering on the pavement, her shawl pulled tight around her shoulders, Frith was paying the driver when he muttered something and she glared at him and dropped only a few coins into the driver's hand as a tip. He looked down at the change in disbelief, then powered up the engine; "Fuckin' dykes!" he bellowed through the car window as he drove off, scattering the handful of change all over the road and then making an obscene gesture.

Frith responded in kind, then picked up the few bright coins that she could see in the light of the street lamp. "Wanker," she snorted, glowering in the driver's direction. "He could've put the tip towards a course at charm school."

"What did he mean, Frith?" Sally asked suddenly, rubbing her arms to keep them warm.

Frith shrugged. "My money's not good enough for him. Apparently. Why?"

"He called us dykes!" Sally said indignantly, looking rather hurt.

Frith patted Sally's shoulder and grinned at her with good-natured sympathy. "Don't take it personally, Sal. Anyway, forget him. Let's get on in. I'll put the kettle on and we'll have a nice night-cap in no time!"

* * * * * * * * *

After both paid much-needed visits to the bathroom, Frith went to make tea and then showed Sally around. Frith's flat was one of several in a converted Victorian terraced house. It was fairly spartan, but looked very comfortable. A kitchen led off the L-shaped main living area, the bathroom was next to it, and the bedroom was the horizontal stroke of the main room's L-shape. Part of the bedroom wall was low enough to have curtain rails fixed to it. From one rail hung floor-length dark blue, heavy velvet curtains ("To keep out the cold in winter and to make me feel cosy when I need it," Frith explained as she pulled off her boots and socks), which were now tied back to reveal that from two other rails hung two equally long net curtains. One was painted with a Victorian-style smiling moon and stars against a dark sky and dark blue clouds, whilst the other had a similar smiling sun and white, fluffy clouds, some of them slightly pink-tinged.

"Did you paint these?" Sally asked.

Frith nodded and grinned. "When I'm lying in bed I can imagine that I'm sailing up in the clouds. A familiar child-hood dream that I've finally been able to realize."

The sleeping half of the room was low-ceilinged and, Frith explained, because it looked out onto a large back garden and park-land beyond, had a country cottage feel.

"This is very nice, Frith," Sally commented, as she sipped the herbal tea Frith had brought her.

"The tea or the room?" Frith enquired, looking bemused.

"*Both*, now you come to mention it," Sally giggled. "God, I really must try and sober up," she added mournfully.

Frith took Sally's hand and led her back towards the living area. "You're just in high spirits," she told Sally kindly as she steered her into a sitting position on the settee.

"A bit like those spectators who started a riot during a boxing match at the NEC a while back?"

Frith laughed. "What was it Jeremy Handley called them? *Exuberant*, wasn't it?"

"I believe it was."

Frith chuckled. "Do you ever listen to *The News Huddlines*? They always portray Jeremy Handley as sounding like Eccles from *The Goon Show* -- or is it Bluebottle? I can never remember. Anyway, whichever one of them it is, it rather suits him. And they have him calling John and Norma Major -- " here Frith adopted a slightly high-pitched sing-song voice -- "Mr and Mrs Prime Minister, or My Captain and Mrs My Captain." Sally snorted and began to laugh, and Frith smiled. "Thought you'd like that," she said.

"It's very *silly*," Sally commented as she put down her mug of camomile tea and then peeled off her long gloves. "But it conjures up such a *wonderful* picture."

"Yeah, Cabinet meetings must be fun. Apart from anything else, have you ever noticed how much John Major sounds like Zippy from *Rainbow*?"

"He *does*, now you come to mention it. I find that rather frightening, personally."

"Oh I don't know, maybe we'd be better off if the country was run by glove-puppets."

"Basil Brush for Prime Minister, you mean?"

"Why not? He couldn't do any worse, could he?"

Sally chuckled. "No," she admitted ruefully. "He couldn't!" Then she looked up at the two framed posters hanging over the fire. "Are those your work?" she asked. "They look stunning."

"Yes, those are mine. Thanks for the compliment!"

Sally stood up and went to study them more closely. "They're *amazing*," she said as she took in the bright colours and vibrant tones. "What are they?"

Frith came and stood behind her, and rested one hand on Sally's shoulder. Sally felt herself tremble involuntarily at the close contact, yet welcomed it at the same time. "This one on the left," Frith began, "shows Ostara, the goddess of Spring -- from whose name we get both *Easter* and *Oestrogen*, incidentally." The picture showed a naked pale-haired woman wearing a garland of daffodils and crocuses riding on a white horse, ahead of which ran a brown hare. The horse straddled two landscapes -- one, where the horse had passed, was blue-skied and the land covered in grass, animals, and spring flowers; ahead of the horse was a landscape still in the grip of winter -- but where the horse's front hoof touched the earth, the snow and ice were beginning to thaw and melt and small buds and shoots poked up through the soil.

"And this one?" asked Sally, pointing to the picture of a powerfully-built, muscular, dark-haired and bearded man dressed in a metal byrnie, boots, leggings, a winged helmet, and sword belt. He was riding a white, eight-legged horse, two grey wolves running beside; a raven was perched on his shoulder and another soared above them in the sky.

"That's Woden, riding his eight-legged steed Sleipnir. He has with him his wolves, and Huginn and Muginn, his two ravens."

"*Nice*!" said Sally. "Very butch. Er -- am I allowed to *say* that?"

"Why not?" smiled Frith. "I'm sure Woden wouldn't mind being described as butch -- and that's the effect I was after, anyway."

"*Fabulous*. Could I have a look at some of this jewellery, now?"

Frith's hand moved to Sally's hair. "Not now," she said softly. "Later."

"Why later?"

"Let's sit down and talk a bit more."

"Okay," Sally said.

But Frith didn't move. Instead, she began to caress Sally's hair, rubbing the curls between her fingers. "You have the most *gorgeous* hair," she murmured. "I could play with it for hours and hours." She combed her fingers through the long strands, then twisted handfuls of it around her fists.

Sally felt her legs begin to buckle and fought to stay on her feet. "You can if you like," she heard herself say, her voice low and husky. It was as though someone else were speaking.

But Frith only laughed and gathered Sally's hair up in her hands, then let it fall. "It should really be Dil here instead of me. She's a hair-dresser. I bet she'd *love* to get her hands on all this."

"Why?"

"Oh, so that she could style it and do something dead outrageous with it. You're really lucky to have such wonderful hair."

Sally managed to turn to face Frith without falling over and even to smile casually. "*Yours* isn't so bad."

Frith pulled a face. "I hate the colour."

"Oh, *I* don't. It's very pretty."

"And so are you," Frith whispered, as Sally sat down on the settee again.

Sally's cheeks burned. "Flatterer."

Frith sat down beside her -- closer this time, Sally thought, an unexpected thrill of pleasure running through her body. "I mean it," Frith said gently, resting her elbow on the back of the settee and then settling her cheek in her palm.

Sally leaned back. It was time, she thought, to head for safer waters. "Let's get back to our conversation, shall we?" she smiled.

"Okay," Frith nodded. "But first, I've got a bottle of wine somewhere -- I'll just go and get it."

* * * * * * * * *

<I *like* Frith's attention and flattery,> Sally thought as they talked on. <Really like it!> She remembered her gradual awareness of her sexual response to Frith at the Metro, and realized that the feelings hadn't gone away. <Christ, I've *definitely* had too much to drink tonight -- I'm *really* out of my depth here...>

Or *was* she? What was wrong in enjoying a little mild flirtation? Why should she be feeling so guilty about it? <Because of what it might lead to,> she told herself. Which would be -- *what* exactly? Nothing, except a pleasant, innocent distraction for a few hours.

...Which, she then reflected, might have been true at the *start* of the evening, but certainly wasn't now. They'd only drunk half of Frith's bottle of wine, but as the wine had taken hold, so Sally had felt her inhibitions take flight.

As they talked and giggled, voices growing lower and more confidential, Sally and Frith gradually moved closer to each other until their heads were inches apart and their faces almost touching. The lighting in the room was subdued, it was warm and comfortable, and Sally was feeling very relaxed. She couldn't take her eyes off Frith's bright, animated face, which she found increasingly attractive. Frith's soft voice was hypnotic and gently seductive, and Sally found that she was listening less to the sense of her words than to the sound of them. She was being drawn deeper and deeper into Frith's warm eyes until nothing else seemed to have any importance -- nor indeed to even exist.

She found herself wondering how it would feel if Frith should lean just that little bit closer and kiss her; she was no longer horrified by the idea. Besides, no matter what her mind was saying, her body was relaying an entirely different set of messages; her skin was growing hotter and, from the way it was getting increasingly difficult to find a comfortable sitting position, she knew that between her thighs she was swollen and soaking wet. Somewhere at the back of her brain a small voice was telling her that all she wanted now was to feel Frith's mouth on hers and find out how it felt and tasted to be kissed by another woman -- and whenever Frith leaned closer to emphasize a point, the frisson of their lips almost touching made Sally's heart race and her throat tighten.

And then Frith was closer still, her arm resting along the back of the sofa and near enough to drop to Sally's shoulders. Sally found herself wetting her lips more frequently, aware that she was using the slow movements of her tongue as an open initiation to Frith for a kiss, just as she would've done with a man; it struck her forcefully then that when it came to attracting a lover, the same offers of temptation seemed appropriate irrespective of the sex of the prospective lover -- a fact now so obvious that she couldn't understand why it hadn't occurred to her before...

She almost purred when, as Frith leaned in to emphasize what she said, she gradually moved her head closer and closer, so that at every forward movement of her head her mouth brushed Sally's. As they talked on, Sally moved closer too, so that as they spoke, the movements of their mouths in speech brought their lips into contact -- and then each touch of Frith's mouth became a light kiss, her tongue running gently along Sally's upper lip. Sally, still unsure about showing her feelings, tried not to appear over-excited; but as the light kisses became harder and Frith's tongue traversed the whole circle of Sally's parted lips, Sally was unable to offer any further intelligible conversation; indeed, what she was saying sounded like pure gibberish in her ears -- and as she shyly responded to Frith's caresses, all conversation finally ceased and Sally found herself thinking that Frith had *far* more interesting ways of using her tongue...

When Frith's arm finally wound around Sally's shoulders and she was pulled closer, Sally put her hand on Frith's shoulder and opened her lips fully for Frith's kisses, trembling as Frith's deft tongue probed deeply into her mouth. She felt the other woman's breasts pressing against her own, and was surprised at how large and full they were; the delicious sensations sent a sharp stab of heat into her womb and her nipples hardened into rigid points. <This is what you wanted, Sally,> she reminded herself. She felt Frith's free hand stroke her face. <*God* how I want this...>

Sally's hand moved from Frith's shoulder to the back of her head, and she pressed her fingers into Frith's bright hair and pulled her face closer. Eyes shut tight, Sally relaxed and gave in to the glorious sensation of being kissed by a woman who knew *exactly* how to use her mouth to please.

But when she felt Frith's hand on her upper thigh, Sally suddenly panicked. <No -- *this* I can't handle...>. She pushed Frith's hand away and broke the kiss.

Frith released her at once, and sat staring at her, a look of abject contrition on her face. "I'm -- sorry, Sally. I didn't mean to push you too far too soon when we've only just met. Sorry, Sal."

Sally tried to smile and waved her hand. "No -- really -- it's not you, it's -- me. I -- I'm not used to this."

Frith frowned. "I didn't think I was coming on to you *that* strong," she said, sounding puzzled. Then she smiled, looking winsome and half-apologetic, half-impish. "Or maybe I *was*. I fancy you something rotten, Sally -- you're the sexiest woman I've met in I don't know *how* long." When Sally made no reply, Frith blushed and sighed. "Forgive me," she said. "That must sound awful. I'm -- not usually so forward. Honest I'm not. I'm -- pretty shy, really. But when I first saw you in the Metro I couldn't believe how beautiful you were -- and I couldn't believe my luck when you seemed to like me too. And I've been itching to get my hands on you all night -- I *know* that's not a very politically correct thing to say, but your smile just touches me all over, inside and out. I want to bury my face in your hair. And I can't *wait* to get you into bed -- I bet you taste just as good as you look... God, my mouth's running away with me again. Either that or a case of *in vino veritas*. I'm sorry."

Sally sat straight on the sofa, looked down at her hands, and then took a deep breath. "It's not *your* fault, Frith."

"Well, what is it, then?"

"I -- I think you should know that I'm -- I'm not gay, Frith."

"You're *straight*?"

Sally nodded, suddenly feeling unbelievably heartless. "I'm -- sorry."

Frith slumped back against the sofa. "What a time to tell me," she whispered. "When I'm as horny as hell." Then she looked at Sally curiously. "You did *know* I was gay, didn't you?"

"No."

"But you *must've* done!"

"I didn't."

"You didn't even *suspect*?"

"No."

"Not even when I asked you back here?"

"I just thought you were being friendly."

"*Friendly*?" Frith exclaimed with a brief laugh. "Christ, I must've been more subtle than usual. I thought you were getting my message loud and clear at the Metro, especially with some of the things that Dil was saying. I thought you *knew* I was coming on to you."

"Well I didn't. I just thought you were being *friendly*," Sally repeated.

"Well I *was*," Frith agreed, "but I was hoping that you fancied me as much as I fancied you." She looked at Sally closely. "And you're not like Dil either?"

It was Sally's turn to look puzzled. "Not like Dil?"

"You do know what I mean, don't you?"

"No."

Frith sighed. "You're not a boy."

Sally stared. "Dil's a *boy*?"

Frith nodded. "A beautiful boy. That's not you either, then?"

"No, I'm *all* woman." Sally was still trying to take all this in. "Fergus's girlfriend is a *boy*?"

Frith sighed again. "The Metro is a transvestite bar," she explained patiently. "I go there because I don't get hassled and because I like the atmosphere. Dil and I were already friends, so I started going with her."

"Fergus's lover is a *boy*?" Sally shook her head. She wasn't quite sure how to put her thoughts into words. "But Fergus is so -- "

"It's a long, long story," Frith said sadly. "A story where love sees not the body but looks instead with open eyes into the heart and soul."

"*Christ*." Sally shook her head. "This has really knocked me for six."

"Sally, does it really *matter* about Dil and Fergus?"

Sally thought about it. She'd thought earlier that there was something intriguing about Dil, and this explained everything. But it didn't in any way alter the fact that she'd liked -- *still* liked -- Fergus and Dil very much indeed. "No," she admitted. Then she smiled. She really meant what she'd said, and the unforced affirmation made her feel oddly relieved. "No," she repeated, her voice soft with reminiscence. "The first time I laid eyes on them I could see that Dil worships Fergus, and he clearly adores her. It seems to be so hard to find love at all these days that it would be churlish of me or anyone else to say that what they're doing is wrong. You have to follow your heart."

"Don't you just," Frith said.

"Good luck to Fergus and Dil, I say," Sally continued. "Why *shouldn't* they love each other?" She smiled and shook her head. "They suit each other so well, don't they? They're obviously happy together -- I don't see what's wrong with that."

Frith looked down at her hands. "Yes, you can say that again." Then she got to her feet. "Well," she sighed, ruffling her hair, "there's no point in sitting here chatting. I'd better go and call you a taxi."

Sally instinctively grabbed her hand. "Why?"

Frith stared at her. "Because you'll be wanting to go home, now."

"Who says?"

Frith looked puzzled. "Well you will, won't you?"

Sally squeezed Frith's hand. "Why?"

Frith gave a short, bitter laugh. "Because I'm a dyke and I obviously had an ulterior motive in inviting you back here -- namely to shag you senseless -- and because you're *not* a dyke, and so you won't even want to spend the night with me, let alone let me fuck you."

Sally groaned with pleasure at Frith's admission, then swallowed hard, got to her feet, and stared defiantly up into Frith's eyes. "Says who?"

But Frith shook her head and gave a brittle laugh. "Sorry, Sally. I don't do experimental sessions for straight girls who fancy screwing a woman to see what it's like to be a lesbian. I don't sleep with thrill-seekers or bored little girls looking for kicks."

"But I'm *neither* of those things," Sally protested. "Didn't my response to your kisses tell you anything?"

"That you were drunk?"

"*No*! I might be nominally straight, Frith, but you have *no* idea how you made me feel when we were in the Metro. Every time you looked or smiled at me -- every time you spoke -- I found myself getting more and more aroused. The longer we talked, the more you turned me on -- and I thought only a *man* could have that effect on me. When I was looking at your pictures and you were playing with my hair, I thought my legs would give way under me -- I was *sure* you'd noticed. When we sat on the sofa I *loved* you sitting so close to me." Sally began to stroke Frith's fingers. "I remembered how I'd begun to feel about you at the Metro and I knew that the feelings hadn't gone away."

"*So*?"

"So when we were sitting here, talking, I just couldn't help staring at you, thinking how beautiful you were, and wondering what it would feel like if you kissed me." She stared at Frith in desperation, knowing that she didn't want to be simply bundled unceremoniously into a taxi and dispatched home. She knew now that she wanted more than Frith's kisses, and would even beg her for sex if she had to; this wasn't a position Sally was used to being in, and yet the unfamiliarity didn't scare her. All she knew was that her feelings for Frith were stronger than those she'd ever had for any other human being -- and that the *last* thing they were inspired by was having too much to drink. If she was drunk at all then it was on her feelings of sexual arousal, Frith's beauty, and the willing kinship that she saw in those verdant eyes. She knew that she wanted Frith to make love to her -- and didn't know what she'd do if she was rejected. "Didn't you notice that I was tempting you to kiss me? And when you *did* kiss me," she went on softly, "it felt like I'd come home. I know that sounds nauseatingly trite and twee, but it's the only way I know to explain it. I was shocked at how good it felt being kissed by you -- and then it just didn't matter. If I was getting turned on by us kissing -- and I was -- it wasn't because I was being kissed by another *woman*, but simply because you kiss so *well*." As she spoke, Frith's eyes grew wider and wider, filling with disbelief and pleased surprise. The look of delight on Frith's face touched Sally deeply, and her body told her that if Frith *did* want to have sex with her, then she was more than willing to grant the other woman her wish. The knowledge amazed her, shook her, scared her -- and liberated her; her fear of stepping out into the unknown was tremendous, and yet the sensation of freedom it also granted was powerful and affirming. "Frith," Sally continued softly, "all I could think of was how wonderful your lips felt on mine and how much I liked the feel of your tongue in my mouth. And then when you told me just how much you wanted me -- well, that was the icing on the cake. I want you, Frith. Not just for kicks, not just for the thrill, but just because if making love to me will make you happy, then I *want* to make you happy -- and because if you *don't* make love to me tonight and teach me how to make love to you, I may be tempted to go out and screw the first living and breathing thing I see."

Frith gasped, and stared at her open-mouthed. "*What*?"

"You heard me. If it has a pulse, I'll screw it."

"Sally, do you know what you're saying?"

"I'm saying that at this precise moment, I'm feeling so horny that if you send me home I don't know *what* I'll do. When you put your hand on my thigh I didn't think I could handle it; I was scared of my reactions and of where it was all going to lead. But I'm not scared now. *Then* I panicked. *Now* I'd let you put your hand *wherever* you wanted."

"You don't know what you're saying, Sally," Frith repeated, voice low and husky. "We've only just met, you let me kiss you like you did, then you tell me you're straight, and now you tell me that you want to sleep with me. What if you change your mind again in the morning, or when we're in bed and you find you can't hack it? Don't play with my feelings, Sally -- and don't play games. It's the cruellest thing you could ever do to me."

"I'm not playing *any* kind of game," Sally replied calmly. "I know perfectly well what I'm doing, and playing games with your feelings is the *last* thing I want to do. You told me that you couldn't wait to get your hands on me, Frith; well, now I'm offering you the chance to do just that -- because believe me, Frith, I can't wait for you to put your hands on me."

"Do you *mean* that?" Frith's face was as bright as a child's.

"Yes," answered Sally, feeling the heat rising in her body as she contemplated Frith not only touching her, but kissing her. Learning about making love to this red-haired stranger who suddenly seemed too much like an old friend for her to be scared. She knew that the Sally Johnson in this room was very different to the sensible, hard-boiled, tough DI of Sun Hill. No-one there would recognize her now: she wasn't sure that she recogniz