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the dead leave us starving with mouths full of love. — anne michaels, memoriam
"Excuse me, I don't think anyone's allowed up here except for family."
Julie turns at the mousy voice at the top of the landing barring her entrance. She's about to tell whoever it is off — not allowed — when the girl recognizes her.
"Oh, sorry — you must be Julie? Gill's friend? The one in the pictures?" The girl fires off a series of rapid questions.
Julie is exhausted and she's not quite up to the task of remembering if she's supposed to be pleasant. "Yes, that's me. And you are?" She figures she’d be pegged as “the one on the news”, but that last bit surprises her, curls itself around her heart. Pictures of herself here and there alongside Gill and Sammy displayed in their home, to be shown off, almost as if she is part of their family.
She had come in late, Sammy's engagement party already in full swing, and had woven herself through the throng of people — coppers and teenage revellers — with one sole destination. She'd been in a hurry to see Gill, but now God only knows how long she's been hovering outside the bedroom door. She seems to have slipped into a state of trance, gathering her composure, hand poised to knock.
Another voice joins them in the upstairs hallway. "Orla — Aunt Jules?" Sammy makes his presence known. He hands off a thermos and glass of water to his — fiancé. Julie grimaces and gives the girl an apologetic smile, before Sammy's barrelling into her and engulfing her in a tight hug.
"Oh, hello you," Julie greets him, squeezing the young man in her arms. He feels like an extension of Gill the moment she's able to hold him. She remembers days gone by when she used to bend down on one knee and have him jump on her back as she carted him off to play. As he grew older the hugs became less frequent, but no less enthusiastic.
"I'm glad you could make it..." Sammy murmurs into the crook of her neck and pulls back to look at her sincerely. "I wanted to thank you in person, for saving me mum." Sammy steps out of the circle of her arms to rub his face with the back of his hands as tears well up.
Julie can only offer him a tight smile, wracking her brain for an appropriate response. Sammy's gratitude is easy enough to swallow, but there is something eerily wrong in taking pride in rescuing an officer at the expense of the life of a traumatised woman she had also fought to protect. Julie is dreading similar exchanges at work, thinks about issuing a department-wide email asking people to hold the commendation and praise. There was simply no other option than securing Gill’s safety, bringing her home. Not in a body bag, not fished out of the North Sea.
The thought of losing her own mother at a fairly young age lances through her like shrapnel. It had been just a few days shy of her 31st birthday when her mum passed away unexpectedly from a brain aneurism. Julie barely had any time to say goodbye. It was the sort of loss that dimmed the corners of her life. She doesn't know if she would have made it through the first few months if Gill hadn't been there to make sure she ate and bathed, and did all manner of things that kept a person alive. Bringing Gill home today feels as though she’s returned the favour, ensuring Sammy still had a mum at the end of the day.
"Don't mention it, kid. Besides, she’d never let me live it down if she were late for your engagement party. Your mum’s been buzzing about it all month, talking my ear off, lamenting about her only son being all grown up. I’d have air-lifted her out of Flamborough Head myself." Julie fumbles with her words, saying more than she really needed and reverting back to humour to take the edge off.
Sammy doesn’t seem to mind the off-the-cuff response. “So what’s your excuse then? Being late and all?”
“I’m always late, should be expected by now, love.” They both share a knowing grin. Julie is notoriously tardy, now more than ever with the pressure and importance of her job usually keeping her late for social gatherings. “Lots of things to sort out at HQ. But I’ve begged off the next couple of days, so I’ll be around.”
“I think Mum'll appreciate that.”
Julie hopes so. Perhaps she’s overstepping without having asked Gill, but she plans to be no more than a couple of rooms away for the next few days, taking care of things around the house — things she remembers Gill doing for her when she was in no fit state.
The girl who has been quietly observing their exchange nudges Sammy with her elbow, gives him a look that says she’s not to be forgotten. “Oi, aren’t you going to introduce us?” It’s the first time today that Julie has the urge to laugh. Orla is direct and astute, reminding Julie of someone else she knows.
Sammy quickly backtracks the conversation to make a well overdo introduction. “Sorry about that, Orla — my fiancé." His smile widens at the title. "She's studying to be a mechanic, helped me with a bit of a bind on the road once, so of course I asked her to marry me." He takes the thermos and glass of water from her hands and plants a kiss on her cheek, causing Orla to blush pink in the face. “And Julie, Mum's best friend — not actually my aunt, but I’ve known her all my life, so you could say the title’s honorary.” Orla shuffles forward to exchange firm handshakes with Julie.
Julie smiles at the couple fondly; she thinks they're absolutely mental getting married at their age, but who is she to put rules around love? Marriage wasn't ever for her, but she supposes she's been in love with Gill for nearly thirty years and hasn't done a thing about it, so she must be the mental one.
"That for your mum?" Julie asks.
"Yeah — a brew," Sammy nods, "I meant to check in on her after Janet and DC Bailey came out of her room. She was getting antsy at the hospital, managed to get discharged after five hours of observation and a psych eval — pulled some strings on that one, I suppose? On the condition that she come back again tomorrow."
Julie sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose.
She’s had years of training responding to domestic violence and documenting cases of strangulation. Julie is keenly aware that Gill ought to have stayed overnight at the hospital just to be certain everything checked out: circulation, nerves, all the things that could go wrong even hours after an attack like that. She’s probably overthinking it, but she'd hoped Gill would have had the good sense to take a bit more precaution with her health. Stubborn woman. But she gets it as well — understands why Gill, after a long impossible day, wanted to go forward with the party, put up an appearance to regain some semblance of control.
"I’m going to have a look in on Gill. Take it from here, if that’s alright? I’ve got a bit of experience with these things, as it stands." Julie makes the offer while cajoling the thermos of tea and water out of Sammy's hands, needing to feel useful and finally finding the courage to step inside Gill's bedroom. Ready to carry the baton for the rest of the night.
"Yeah, ‘course. Uh, she's been quiet, bit disoriented I think. Janet said they spoke at least.” Sammy offers his own observations. “To be honest, Orla and I have thought about cutting it short tonight, send people home early.” Orla nods her head in agreement.
Julie turns towards the young couple, puts on her stern but caring voice like she’s rallying her officers together to give them the reassurance they need. “I know it's been a rather eventful day — a bit off, really, so I completely understand if you want to call it a night. But I think Gill would want you to go on with it, to have fun and enjoy this with the rest of your friends and family. Celebrating your engagement doesn't negate what happened to Gill, it doesn't overshadow it.”
Sammy and Orla glance at each other, conversing silently. They don't need a lot of convincing. "You’re right, I suppose… She said as much,” Sammy concedes. “Even if she's not with us, she got all dressed up, didn't want us to cancel… Just text me if you need anything." Sammy's worried fumbling grounds her own, they've both been shaken by Gill's ordeal, but is resolved to channel their energy by being present for the woman inside the other room.
Sammy knocks on the door lightly before opening it for Julie.
"Gill?" Julie pushes the door open further, casting her eyes about the room for a thin, lithe figure, a flash of pale skin or ruffle of brunette hair, but finds the bed empty. She freezes on the spot, irrational panic crawling up her spine. “Gill!” She cries out.
Her stomach drops the moment she hears the sound of someone retching from the bedroom loo. Julie acts quickly, setting down the drinks in her hands and dropping her bag on the bed to rush towards the noise, announcing herself before going in: “Gill — it’s Julie — I’m coming in, alright?” Opening the door, Julie takes in the sight of her friend leaning over the toilet bowl, heaving the contents of her stomach until there’s nothing left. Julie maneuvers herself to kneel behind Gill, holding her hair out of the way, and rubbing soothing circles across her back until several seconds pass without incident.
“Fucking hell…” Gill manages to slur out before lurching back to lean against the bathtub and drop her head between her knees. Julie flushes the toilet and sits back, deliberately staying still, and waits for Gill to acknowledge her. After a moment, Gill lifts her head to glance up at Julie for the first time, blinking back a dazed look in her eyes. “Slap,” she croaks, her voice ragged and dry. Her eyes are rimmed red, the hair around her forehead is matted with sweat, and her neck is mottled in reddish-purple bruises. Fucking hell, indeed.
“Hiya.” Julie grins weakly. The stench of bile still in the air, assaulting her senses and making her feel queasy. She's barely holding it together as it is, hanging on in this bizarre emotional limbo, swinging between relief and crushing heaviness. "How are you feeling?" she asks, trying to suppress her discomfort in favour of keeping a watchful eye on Gill.
Gill groans, tilting her head downwards again. "Awful... Shit... Lightheaded." Gill's voice is muffled by her wool cardigan.
"You should lie down... That migraine is going to rear its ugly head anytime now. Have the doctors given you anything?" Julie probes carefully.
"A sedative, but I didn't take it... It's rubbish," Gill says.
Julie's training kicks in like muscle memory, cross-checks a list of things in her head, and hazards a guess that Gill prefered a drink (or several) to knock herself out with a little less finesse. "Alright, well, I can scrounge up something edible downstairs, or you can have a go at the cereal bar and banana in my bag. Something to keep your stomach down. Ran into Sammy and Orla outside your door; tea and water’s on your bedside. Painkillers?"
"In the cabinet." Gill keeps herself tucked into a tight ball and her breathing quickens and turns laboured, causing Julie's to do the same. "I'll be fine...just give me a minute..." Gill dismisses her.
Julie knows Gill well enough that she doesn’t take it personally. Gill has never been very good at asking for help. “Alright, I'll be in the other room, just shout if you need a hand." Julie hauls herself up to her feet. She flips open Gill’s cabinet for the bottle of paracetamol and places it on the counter before exiting the loo to give Gill space to compose herself.
Julie makes it to the bed before her legs give out, dumping the contents of her bag to rifle through for something edible as she promised.
Gill is alive. Safe. Home.
It's the mantra that kept her upright for the work that came after. After Gill. After Helen. In between meetings, calls and paperwork that needed to be overseen with almost robotic efficiency. There was no time to stop and just hole herself up in the loo and cry. People would have found her eventually. So she got it done, sorted, stamped and filed.
She clocked off hours later and headed towards Gill’s neighbourhood, circled the block three times while shaking like a leaf in the car. When her feet finally lead her up the walkway, she entered Gill’s home with her spare key without a single thought of how that would look, her mind not entirely present, until the loud music and crowds of people greeted her with the realisation that tonight was meant to be a celebration.
Gill is alive. Safe. Home. Alive.
She repeats the mantra now like a chant, keeping time with how fast her heart is beating. Julie chokes back a whimper as tears begin to blur her vision. She hunches over, elbows resting on her knees, as an overwhelming feeling of dread and relief washes over her like a wave threatening to engulf her.
She doesn't register the hand on her shoulder, or the soothing one running through her hair, until her face is pressed into Gill's torso. Julie’s arms go around Gill's waist, hand fisting around the fabric of her dress like Gill's the buoy keeping her head above the water.
Julie mutters half-formed apologies wracked with gut-wrenching sobs, battling through the terror that coils in her stomach and clams up her throat. It's the inability to decipher what she needs to be — to do — that terrifies her; to comfort or be comforted?
Gill doesn't offer her nonsensical words of solace — none that she can make out through her own wailing, at least. She’s just there, holding on just as fiercely. Holding on for what feels like hours, but is likely only a few minutes, until the shaking subsides and Julie feels able to speak again and pull herself back to look up at Gill.
Gill strains a little to stay within the circle of Julie’s arms, reaches out for the glass of water on the nightstand and hands it over to Julie wordlessly. Julie takes small, steady gulps before handing it back.
There is another apology on the tip of Julie'a tongue the moment she spots the wet patch on Gill's forest green dress, but she’s stopped short by Gill's movement. Gill drops her weight to the ground to kneel on the floor in between Julie's legs. Julie's hands flail about while she regains her bearings, and they settle on Gill's shoulders to give the woman a gentle squeeze.
God, she must look like a sight with her hair limp, her nose running and the lines around her face more pronounced — the last twelve hours clinging to her like second skin. She commanded the Red Centre on her feet hours ago without pause, and would have done it for however long Gill needed her. She had a professional obligation to Gill and a personal one. If people had doubts as to whether she could objectively handle the situation, she didn't hear them. But here she is now, all of her emotions too close to the surface and that thin veneer of stoicism crumbling in front of the one person she can't fool.
Julie sniffs, drops her hands from their place on Gill's shoulder to wipe at the lingering tear tracks on her face, and lets herself be less than strong.
"Julie... ” She hears her name drawn out, breaking the silence like thanks and desperation wrapped in one. She’s always assumed ‘Slap’ was the endearment, but Gill's terms of affection were rooted in precision — in the actuality of the thing. ‘Julie’ is her endearment. "You soppy cow," Gill teases gently, and Julie almost starts crying again at the reinstatement of their banter. “I see you’ve finally made it; party’s nearly done.”
Julie lets out a feeble laugh, sucks in a deep breath, letting it fill the corners of her lungs before she can reply. "Bloody hell, Gill. I was bit busy today, cut me some slack.” Julie affects a wounded puppy look; she finds it works rather effectively on Gill, that part of her charm. “Sammy has.”
Gill lifts a brow in her direction. “Did he now, let you off on being tardy? I suppose I won’t hold it against you, this time." Gill's nose rises up into the air, so bossy. Julie loves it.
“If not, I might need to invoke best friend privileges." As if that said everything. And it did.
"You've certainly lived up to the title. Janet and Rachel said you were rather magnificent today.” Gill's voice is quiet now, less playful and more serious, splaying her hands on Julie's thighs to anchor her for the moment, both of them content to share the same physical space while searching for the right words. "I had hoped you somehow knew I needed your help. You’ve always had an intuition about these things — couldn’t have asked for a better incident commander…” Gill’s voice cracks, fraying at the edges, fingers curling around her trousers. “And I know you'd rather not hear that 'thank you' tacked on the end, so I won't say it — but I'm bloody glad it was you." A lone tear escapes, dragging across Gill’s cheek, but she draws in a deep breath and swiftly wipes it away.
Julie just bobs her head, hoping it's enough to convey that she feels the same, since words seem to have evaded her again. There's a lull in their conversation after what is said, a stillness. It feels like an incredible weight has been lifted off Julie’s chest.
She’s been holding onto that grainy image of Gill on the monitor, standing by the edge of the cliffside, wind blowing in her hair, trembling wildly. Julie takes her first proper look at Gill now, wants to commit this Gill to memory, and store it for days to come. Julie’s eyes trace along her dear friend’s features, following well-earned crease lines that guide her like a map. She catalogues the contours of Gill’s face from her hairline to the high points of her cheekbones, from the slope of her nose to the sharpness of her jawline, replacing the grainy mental picture with the reality of Gill. Present, alive and tangible.
"Although, a bit dramatic for a missed call if you ask me." Julie tests the teasing for herself. "You didn't need to go to such lengths to get my attention, slap. A simple voicemail ought to have done." It sounds shaky and falls flat on her tongue, but she tries it anyway, gets the words out. And the mutual petname that she uses sparingly falls from her lips, like she's re-establishing their connection from all the tiny little components that make up their friendship. "Too soon?"
"For what? Rubbish jokes?" Gill snorts, her morose countenance cracking into a shaky but contagious smile. Her fingers sneak around to tickle behind Julie’s knees, making the other woman squirm. “From you? Never.”
Julie’s always fancied herself as someone who could draw all sorts of smiles from Gill, whether they were just a hint at the corner of her mouth, or hidden behind the telephone quirking impishly, or out in the open grinning from ear to ear — it’s an important job she takes rather seriously. They share a sense of humour, have done since they were girls in uniform flinging good-natured barbs at each other. Favouring gallows humour — bawdy and off-colour and not to everyone's taste — but Julie realises that she hadn't been sure of her footing before she'd tried it just now. Hadn't been sure whether there'd be space for their particular brand of humour with the trauma so fresh. But that smile — and the realisation that they're still on the same page after all — it feels a bit like the world righting itself.
“Are you good?” Gill asks, snapping Julie out of her musing.
“Am I good?” Julie repeats the question, feeling as though she should be on the other end of this conversation. “All cried out, you mean, yeah. Sorry about that.”
“Don't be silly. You looked like you needed it. Weepy mess, you.” Gill pats her knees.
Julie snorts at the statement. It’s hardly something she can deny, but she trades reassuring smiles with Gill. “If we're all sorted then, come sit down, your knees must be killing you.” She urges Gill off the floor.
Gill groans. “You’re right, help me up.” Julie grabs hold of Gill's hands, and the momentum causes them to rise together on their feet. Their knees bumping into each other as they shuffle from side to side, their coordination just off.
It’s Gill’s hands slipping under her suit jacket to lay at her hips that feels like everything around them has stopped, and like magnets they draw each other into another life-affirming hug.
It's the weight of Gill's head dropping on Julie's heart that surprises her. They’re not normally this physically affectionate with each other. They’re tender in different ways, and their similitudes often bring them closer together. But for as long as she’s known Gill, save for those rare moments of vulnerability, they often operated like two parallel lines always moving in the same direction. Tonight she feels as though they're crossing paths and weaving through each other like knots — entangling in the middle.
“I thought we were sitting.”
"In a bit, slap.”
"Okay…” Julie says, voice drowsy and low, a long yawn escaping her mouth. “I’m bloody knackered. You?" Gill catches it too, stifling it as she snuggles in closer. They rock gently, almost as if they're dancing, and not keeping each other upright at the brink of falling asleep. Julie's hand strokes along Gill's back, and she buries her face in the shorter woman's hair, breathing her in even as she feels her chest aching under the weight of the day. "God, what an awful day...Took years off my life.”
“Nearly mine.” Gill cracks. Julie doesn't know how to respond to that, their faces are hidden away from each other. “Too soon?” Gill follows up, voice sounding impassive, parroting her words.
Julie pulls back a fraction, her face an open book. She looks meaningfully at Gill and says, “I don't know, you get to set the boundaries tonight. You tell me.” A verbal negotiation of sorts, one Julie has made in the past, though never so explicitly with Gill.
"Stay," Gill utters, barely above a whisper — a command or a plea, she makes it sound like both. She buries her face into the crook of Julie’s neck and clings to Julie like her life depends on it. Julie would be inclined to say that it’s the other way around.
Julie slides her hands around Gill's waist, so small, she can't help but think, prolonging their hug — their dance, their idleness. “I can do that," Julie accepts the offer, "but I’ve got a bad back, so the floor’s out of the question,” she hints playfully, attempting to ease Gill back into familiar territory. “I presume the guest bedroom’s taken, house is a bit crowded— " As if on cue Julie is cut off by a loud thud outside Gill’s door, finishing the sentence for her.
Gill stiffens and flinches away from their embrace. Moment broken.
They hear Sammy's voice from the other side telling one of his mates the upstairs hallways are off limits. Everything gets sorted and the group shuffles away, and the music turns into an upbeat dance number. The rest of the noise filters in like a reminder of where they are, and just how many people are still in Gill's home.
Julie notices the change in Gill's demeanour immediately, the way her spine goes ramrod straight and the indent between her eyes deepens. Gill paces the room with anxious energy, taking in her environment like a wounded animal.
Julie remains still, hedges a glance in Gill's direction. "You alright?" she asks, the words out of her mouth before she can think of another way to phrase it.
Gill pulls her cardigan around her, closing herself off again. "I'm fine," she says unconvincingly, walking towards the window overlooking the street. The street lamps filter in through the blinds, casting horizontal bars of light and shadow on Gill’s form. “Well, no, not really; a woman died today because of me.”
“Gill, this wasn’t your fault— ” Julie is quick to defend, and for a brief moment the fear that set in overrides her sympathy for Helen and her anger slips. “Helen made the decision to abduct you — to put a bloody knife to your throat.”
“I know that! I had a belt around my fucking neck the entire time.” Gill raises her voice, and a hand flies towards the bruised flesh, but she pulls it back abruptly. “What I mean was — she,” Gill huffs and stops, struggling to get words across.
Julie is silent, shoulders dropping as she senses the air around them change, become heavy, almost impenetrable. The ghost of Helen Bartlett hangs over them like an overcast sky. And the unexpected sharpness in the tone of their voices remind her of their divisive stances weeks ago. They had disagreed so fundamentally on Helen's culpability, but Julie is just as confused now, at war with defending a traumatised woman — a dead woman. What happened on that car ride? What were Helen’s last words?
“You were the SIO. Did you ever for a moment stop to wonder why it had been me instead of you?" Gill throws her own rhetorical question at Julie like a curveball.
Julie’s head spins, mind too muddled with the events of the day to truly process Gill’s question. The idea of herself in Gill’s place had circumstances been different sounds terrifying and bone-chilling, but she can't quite come up with a scenario in which Helen would put her in that position — not that she thinks of herself above reproach, but she had truly believed in Helen’s innocence, and had every intention of honouring her cooperation. Julie doesn't have time to think further on it as Gill elaborates.
"Because I watched her being charged," Gill continues. "I went down there, had to see. You and Janet had been drilling it into me. Helen was innocent — she was a victim, a witness, but I just didn't believe it. And so I stood there while they read off the charge sheet, and I watched her face, and I was satisfied. I thought I'd won. I was too thick in the head to see what was really happening."
“Gill…”
“No — let me finish!” Gill cuts her off, straining to get through what she has to say. “I spent three bloody hours with Helen talking my head off. Took about that long for me to get it — really properly get it, slap. We let her down, we made her life a living hell… I’ve never actually seen someone die before, and I believe she could have killed me, but that wasn’t ever her purpose in all this. No… I’m alive because she wanted to make an example out of me — out of the bloody police.” Gill spits the last words out, chest heaving, balling her fist until her knuckles turn white.
Julie sighs with heavy resignation. Although Gill’s personal account of her encounter with Helen shines a light on the other woman’s motives, there is much that doesn’t sit well with Julie. It serves as reminder that they still need to take Gill's statement, to fill in the missing gaps of what transpired throughout the day. The cracks in the system did fail Helen Bartlett; despite the fact that she helped put her abusive father away, she’ll just be another grave, no different from all his other victims.
Julie approaches Gill cautiously, reaches out for her palm to twine their fingers together. It’s enough to still their agitation, preventing Gill from lashing out, or grabbing something to throw — the things from Julie's purse are still strewn across the bed, and God knows that Gill can aim.
"Sit,” Julie whispers, and tugs Gill towards the bed. When she has, Julie falls to her knees, a gesture that mirrors their earlier conversation, letting Gill be the taller one for once.
Gill is a lot quieter this time, more vulnerable than Julie’s ever seen. "I was thinking about Sammy on that drive, getting married and all…” Gill’s eyes are swimming, staring at some point beyond Julie's shoulder, but furrowing her brows to keep the tears at bay. “Maybe not in the immediate future, but soon enough, and soon enough he'll be packing his bags, joining the force after me — how mad is that?” Gill lets out a sad laugh. “I could have died today, missed seeing all that. Missed being part of his life, because I made such a terrible mistake, got so twisted up by the job that I thought a victim needed to be punished. And no matter what she did, how inexcusable it was, what does that make me? What would Sammy have remembered about me if I'd died today?" Gill sounds so small and defeated; it chokes Julie up to see her friend all wound up with doubt.
“Everything. Good things, not so good things. It makes you human…and you make mistakes. You’re not the first person to do that on the job and you won't be the last.” Julie does her best to allay Gill's fears, but she feels a bit rusty. It's not something they've done in awhile, not since Gill divorced Dave. “Sammy’s not five anymore, Gill. He’s not looking up to you to be perfect. You were brave today, he’ll remember that, remember that you came out of this alive.”
Gill bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. She doesn't pull their joined hands away from the place on her lap, but starts to fidget with the rings on Julie’s fingers. “He is a good lad, I know. I just want better for him, slap — for whatever family he has one day. Don't want him to become as cynical and twisted up as I am.”
"Don't be daft; Sammy's got more heart than he knows where to put it. But — look at me, Gill." Julie waits for Gill's downcast eyes to lift before taking a moment to say her piece. “But you did that. You made him the man he is. You are better. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Sammy — you’re his mum. And you’ve done a bang-up job raising him. He’s following after you for the right reasons. Trust him... He’ll make a fine officer one day.”
Gill laughs harshly, as if exasperated by her own reputation. Gill of all people who held her head high above it all, above Dave, and established a career with her brilliant deductions. “Well, then maybe he’ll be better at it than I am. Won’t make such a ruddy mess of everything — or be so callous...”
"You were born for this job, you said so yourself.”
Gill is inches away from her, so close that Julie can feel the other woman's breath splay across her face. "Julie, this bloody job is all we have," Gill says, gaze so piercing they're challenging her to refute the assertion.
Part of Julie wants to protest, but her brain feels like mush, can't recall a damn thing she's done recently that hasn't been work-related. She used to be better at it, having a life outside of work. But the promotion was an accumulation of thirty years of service, everything she fought tooth and nail to achieve. They'd climbed the ladder together, she and Gill. Julie isn't about to come off it anytime soon, and she doesn't really believe Gill is either. They're too alike in that regard, ambitious. Maybe she's being a bit selfish too, deliberately missing the underlying message in Gill's words for fear of examining it too closely, because the prospect of losing Gill in some other capacity feels too much to bear today.
"I would never have met you if it weren't for this job," Julie points out. "Today was absolute madness, that's for certain, but you're alive, with more days to spend with Sammy," her voice wavering on the edge, "— and that’s the most important thing I have ever done on this job." Her knees ache, her bones feel brittle, but she gets the next words across because they're important reminders not just for Gill but for herself. "This is going to take time, Gill. Give yourself permission to heal; you don’t have to shoulder all this blame."
And as if obligated by something beyond her conscious grasp, Julie presses a fervent kiss on Gill’s knuckles in absolution.
Gill's breath hitches and the air around them thickens.
Julie feels her cheeks heat, almost regretting the instinctive affection, even though she intended it as an innocent gesture. She sits back on her haunches, ready to pull away, but Gill untangles their hands, bringing trembling fingers up to cradle Julie's face, and leans forward to close the gap between them. Julie sees something brewing in Gill’s eyes she can’t quite discern, before her own flutter shut involuntarily. She tips her chin up ever so slightly as Gill places a gentle kiss on her lips — it too feels innocent, chaste, full of everything they can't quite put into words.
Julie's knees feel as though they’re glued to the ground in worship. She blinks rapidly, no quick quip, no witty one-liner; the kiss completely renders her mute. It’s the 'I love you' that gets caught in the back of her throat, it stays there lodged like it has been for years. Even now — even after everything. Julie closes her eyes briefly, bowing her head, afraid of the intimacies her eyes may reveal, and licks her parched lips. There's no clear division in how she loves Gill, she just does. But perhaps it's kinder not to speak those words now, evoke the implications that come with them — Julie can wait.
There are some things you can't say even when you know the words.
Gill has a peaceful glow about her when she pulls back, a bit more colour in her cheeks, and tucks a tendril of hair behind Julie's ear with such innocuous care that Julie feels like the fragile one. Maybe she is and maybe Gill is the strong one.
"You don't have to sleep on the floor, slap, there's a perfectly good bed right here." Gill is the first to speak, a statement guaranteed to coax a filthy response from Julie, to get them back to where they were before. To not make this awkward. To not overthink it for more than what it is: a kiss between friends. The thing is they've never been more than friends, yet they've always been more. Maybe they’ve both fancied the way the nature of their friendship has evolved into something undefined and inarticulate, because it gives them room — to be more of this, to be less of that — and they never were quite ready to commit to each other. They share the same hopes and fears under all these facades. It’s easy to forget that.
Julie musters up her best face forward, amps up the flirting to the tenth degree. "Oh, here we go," Julie drawls out. "What sort of depraved sexual favours have I got myself in for?"
"You wish!" Gill’s laughter is a welcome sound after a difficult conversation. Julie files away the kiss for another time, another discussion. Moves on, moves forward. This is their normal. "I'm going to go ahead and change out of this dress; make yourself comfortable.”
Gill stands and helps Julie off the floor. She walks towards the loo once more, surveying her surroundings, and clearly realising her bed's littered with Julie's bits and bobs. The silent judgement sits quite plainly on her face like a schoolmarm. “And clean up — your shit's on my side of the bed!"
"Yeah, will do, ma'am." Julie nods her head vigorously and calls out after Gill: "Mind if I find something to wear?"
"If you can," Gill throws over her shoulder, cheeky. "There might be an oversize shirt in the second drawer somewhere."
Julie chucks her things in her bag and wanders over to the dresser to look for something that could fit her frame and doesn't look like a bloody crop top on her. After some rummaging, she finds a jersey in the back that looks rather familiar. "This wouldn't happen to be mine, would it?" Julie shouts back, rolling her eyes. Thief.
She begins the process of shedding Superintendent Dodson. First, she shrugs off her blazer, starting a pile by her feet. She loosens her belt buckle, exhales out, and untucks her shirt. She unbuttons her top and unclips her bra, putting the day behind her, piece by piece. Julie flings everything to the floor and finally pulls the jersey over her head. Breathes in and out, just herself now, the day stripped away.
Gill walks out of the loo with a smirk, passing her by in a pyjama top — a loose fit around her neck — and comfortable bottoms. "That ratty old thing?" Gill plays dumb.
Julie isn't having it. “It was in perfect condition last I saw it — which was in 1999, Gill Murray.” It's got ‘DODSON’ written on the back in block lettering, an old team jersey from the Annual Manchester Police Football Tournaments. Julie thought she'd lost it in one of her moves. She would be pleased to know if Gill had ever worn it to bed.
Julie stands in the middle of Gill’s bedroom, hands on her hips, contemplating whether to relinquish her trousers, loath to wear them to bed.
Gill pipes up from her place on the bed. "Just take them off, slap. 'S not like I haven't seen your arse." She takes a sip from her tea, obviously practicing her mind-reading skills. It’s the only response Julie needs to kick off her trousers with the rest of her discarded clothing, bending forward to take her socks off too and wiggling her toes into the carpet. "They've receded," Gill offers a review of her arse she didn't need confirming, all the while peeling back a banana and observing Julie's form openly with a very cheeky smile on her face.
Julie straightens up, cheeks flushed with heat, and tugs at the hem of the jersey self-consciously. The brief-style knickers she put on that morning give her a bit of modesty, but the jersey clings more snugly to her curves than it ever used to. "Oh, sod off," Julie replies, glaring playfully at Gill, as she darts towards the loo to go about her nightly routine.
It isn't often she lets the other woman go without a jab of her own, but she'll let Gill have this one. At least her calves are in top shape — all that running about in heels chasing down officers — not that she'd bothered with a shave that morning. There was no way she could have predicted the events of the day, and, well, she wasn't exactly setting out to woo Gill anyway; the woman was already well acquainted with her flaws.
Julie returns and makes her way to the other side of the bed; Gill lifts the covers to let her in. Julie plops her head back against the pillow and shifts around to find a comfortable position, sighing as the smell of Gill's shampoo permeates her senses. No way of lying feels right until she finally settles on her side facing Gill.
Julie doesn't think they'll actually get much sleep despite how tired they are — they're both too wired and rattled from the events of the day. Gill’s presence helps to quiet the voice in Julie's head that hasn't quite registered that they're safe now, but unbidden thoughts still manage to break through. She tries her best to relax for Gill anyway, act as a natural sedative in place of the one Gill had refused. It's what Gill asked for, after all — tonight's invitation to stay the night feels very different from the other times they've shared a bed, mostly in their youth when it was a matter of convenience after a night of heavy drinking. Tonight it appears much more like Gill is asking for comfort, and Julie is determined to provide it, especially given how unusual it is for Gill to admit need in the first place.
Although Julie senses this ordeal will be harder to shake off than Gill is willing to yield, as Helen's ghost looms over her like a passenger on her soul.
Gill is quiet, staring off into the distance with sad, vacant eyes and a half-eaten banana in her hand. She seems to be in her own private world — doing what? Erecting walls, fighting back tears, bottling it all up inside? Whatever's subdued her, Julie thinks it can’t be good, not in the long run. She worries and for a moment wonders if it's her — if she should turn the other way to give Gill some measure of privacy. Despite their emotional reunion, they've never really been the soul-baring kind. It didn't make their friendship any less profound or enduring. And it didn’t mean they couldn’t start now, that she wouldn’t try whatever the hell Gill needed to let go, instead of letting it all fester inside.
"You alright?" Julie asks again, a question that could be for either of them. She's been saying it for years, well before Helen, but it's taking on new meaning now, and it's thick with layers of their past rolled into two words.
It’s enough to break Gill out of her reverie. "I will be," she answers monotonously, exhaustion sagging her frame. "Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but I will be." She says that last bit with a little more conviction, chucking the rest of the banana in the rubbish bin and flicking off the bedside lamp to shroud them in darkness. Gill scoots down to place her head on the pillow, turning on her side to mirror Julie, a hair’s breadth away.
"Take all the time you need, love. I’m not going anywhere." Julie murmurs soothingly in the dark, hand twisting outside of the covers to cradle Gill’s face in soft reverence. It feels like a small victory, but she’ll take it, spend everyday convincing Gill to keep moving forward.
She doesn’t see Gill’s tears begin to fall — she feels them like a dam breaking on her hands. Julie wipes away the tears with the pad of her thumb almost in vain, but with a sense of relief that Gill is allowing herself to grieve — to hurt. To let Julie to be the shoulders and the ears and the friend by her side.
Gill weeps silently, nothing at all like Julie’s loud sobs. They’re suppressed in a way that speaks to how Gill has always chosen to show sorrow — in private, trading borrowed breaths in between small spaces of silence.
Gill reaches for her, and they come together in the middle of the bed, pressed up against each other.
She can feel the tremors in Gill’s body passing through her and she bears them with ease, tucking Gill closer to her heart and holding her like a wound willing itself to heal.