Pros Bingo! 2016 - Individual - Bodie 'Flu - Pt II

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Doyle regained his feet and stood, staring at his partner. It was okay, he kept telling himself. They might be on the edge of a cliff, deliberately cut off from landlines and radios, but they were only a panic stricken drive from the nearest call box or hospital and the car was in full working order. It was just the 'flu. Okay, maybe it looked like a bad bout, but just the 'flu. Keep him warm, keep him hydrated and let him sleep.

Only the thought of returning downstairs or going to bed and leaving Bodie to get on with it alone was more than Doyle could face.

Bodie had the smaller of the two bedrooms, sharing his side of the landing with the bathroom. Doyle's room was more spacious and had more furniture. A rocking chair to be precise. Doyle went across the landing and began flinging cushions from the rocking chair onto his bed.

Then he dragged the chair out of his room, across the landing and into Bodie's room. Setting it down at the side of his partner's bed furthest from where Bodie was sleeping. After which he went back to his own room and retrieved a couple of pillows and the duvet from his bed.

Bodie hadn't stirred through any of it.

''Sleeping here tonight'' Doyle informed his unconscious partner. ''If you think adders get me jittery, you should see what you being in that state does to me. Keep that to meself, though, eh sunshine? You stay here, I'm going to get some provisions. No need to be uncomfortable.''

Cursing himself for not bringing a thermos, Doyle rounded up his book, milk, sugar, a teapot, a tea cosy, a jug, some glasses, a couple of tea plates and a large tray. Then he busied himself making sandwiches, a pot of tea and filling the jug with water.

When he'd finished, he took the lot up to Bodie's room and placed it on the chest of drawers against the wall opposite the foot of Bodie's bed.

Dousing all the lights but the bedside lamp furthest from Bodie and closest to him, he poured himself a mug of tea and settled into the rocking chair with a couple of sandwiches and his book. His pillows stuffed behind him, his duvet swaddled round him and his legs propped up on Bodie's bed, he made himself comfortable and prepared to wait out the night.

He was asleep himself within the hour, dozing fitfully. He awoke not long after one o'clock, startled from a nightmarish dream in which Bodie had been bitten by an adder and he had been helpless to prevent the spread of poison in his partner's system.

Bodie was muttering to himself in his sleep, tangled phrases with no meaning. Glad to be awake and having no wish to return to the dream, Doyle got up and headed to the bathroom. He soaked a flannel in tepid water and wrung it nearly dry before returning to Bodie's room. Seating himself on the edge of the bed unencumbered by the rocking chair, he placed the cloth on his partner's forehead. It seemed to soothe Bodie immediately, he settled a little and seemed to drift into a deeper sleep.

''What have you got locked up in that noggin, eh sunshine?'' Doyle crooned as a lullaby to his partner ''Not all birds and hijinks, was it? Bet I don't know the half, do I?''

Doyle kept up his monologue as he turned and refolded the cloth until Bodie had leached all the comfort from it. Then he got up and took it back to the bathroom.

Bodie was still sleeping peacefully when he returned, so he settled himself back into the rocking chair and took up his book again.

He was beginning to wonder if Bodie's approach wasn't the right one. It seemed that any attempt he made to understand the fairer sex, not that he would ever be caught calling them that, was doomed to failure due to his lack of a womb. He oppressed womanhood by simply existing.

''It's not like I don't think they should be paid the same, is it?'' he asked his partner ''And when's the last time I objected to working with a woman?''

Bodie had nothing to say on the subject, lost in his dreams.

''It's polite to open doors'' complained Doyle ''What am I supposed to do, let it go in their faces?''

Bodie murmured something indistinct.

''Got an opinion on that one, do you mate?'' asked Doyle, casting a watchful glance over his partner.

Bodie mumbled indecipherably in response.

''Well, never make any sense when you're awake'' observed Doyle ''so can't expect much now, can I, sunshine?''

''Doyle?'' muttered Bodie.

''Hello, you awake again?'' asked Doyle, brightening considerably at the prospect.

''Sorry I'm ill'' apologised Bodie.

''Can't be helped, can it?'' said Doyle.

''Sorry I'm ill'' repeated Bodie.

'''S okay'' Doyle reassured his partner ''Can't be helped, we've got three days, you'll perk up.''

''Only you really want to go, don't you, sunshine? And I don't think I can make it.''

''Bodie?'' Doyle threw aside his duvet and got up, going round to the other side of the bed where he could get a clearer view of his partner.

''Not sure I can make it'' Bodie repeated.

''Bodie, what are you talking about?'' Doyle asked anxiously.

''Medic was right, damn Cowley.''

''Bodie, what medic? What are you talking about?'' Doyle shook his partner and Bodie's eyes flew open, clearly disorientated.

''Ray?''

''Bodie, what medic?'' insisted Doyle.

''What are you talking about?'' asked Bodie irritably, in an unwitting echo of his partner.

''I thought you were awake, you were rambling about some medic. What medic?''

''How the hell should I know?'' demanded Bodie.

''This is 'flu, isn't it?''

''No, it's bubonic plague'' snarled Bodie ''Of course it's bloody 'flu. What's wrong with you?''

Feeling relieved and not a little foolish, Doyle offered ''Want some tea?''

''Yeah, go on then'' Bodie accepted pugnaciously.

''Pot's cold, need to make some more'' observed Doyle.

''Off you trot then, or do you want me to make it?'' replied Bodie, with heavy sarcasm.

''Remind me never to play nursemaid to you again'' Doyle snapped peevishly in response, as he retrieved the teapot from the chest of drawers and headed downstairs.

His fit of temper dissipated as the kettle boiled and, as it ebbed, his mind began working. There had been a medic. The one that had forced the Old Man's hand over their leave, just days before they'd been given the job at the pied-à-terre.

He remembered Cowley's frustration at being told to take them off duty. No, that's not exactly what the report had said. Cowley had flung the file at him in disgust and he'd barely had a chance to digest it as he'd shuffled the papers back into the folder before Cowley had wanted them back. He'd been too busy dealing with Cowley to pay much attention at the time.

Cowley had been fuming at the thought of taking Bodie off his current assignment and had hauled Doyle into his office to find out if Doyle judged the situation to be that serious.

Still harbouring the guilt of having previously mistaken his step with a Bodie in meltdown, Doyle wasn't about to take any chances. If a medic was saying Bodie needed a break, Doyle intended to back that assessment.

It was this impudence which had impelled Cowley to throw the file at him. The recommendation had been for a complete rest from duty. The medic had been concerned that Bodie was being driven to exhaustion.

Cowley had pulled Bodie in from his assignment and Bodie had thrown the kind of tantrum Cowley expected of him. The report had also suggested a leave for Doyle, but a suggestion was a long way from a recommendation. Only Bodie had latched onto it, fighting his partner's corner and demanding Cowley accept the report in full.

Cowley had grudgingly acquiesced, but at the price of one more job, the pied-à-terre.

Doyle's mind ran back over the previous twenty-four hours. He'd accepted at face value Bodie's failure to answer the 'phone. His failure to ring Doyle and say he wasn't coming. The fact that he'd found Bodie in bed and alone.

As Doyle poured hot water into the teapot, the pieces began to slot into place.

Bodie must have been at the end of his rope, the reprieve from his assignment coming as a godsend. Only Bodie had already proven that he couldn't be trusted to admit he wasn't indestructible and the doctor had provided him with the perfect camouflage, the suggestion that Doyle needed a break too.

So, exhausted and ill, Bodie had pushed for leave for Doyle's sake. For the sake of the partnership, for the efficiency of the unit, for any reason but his own need.

And it had worked. For the price of fitting a few bugs in an empty pied-à-terre, Bodie would never have to admit that the assessment had been correct. Preserving for both man and master their Wagnerian fantasy of the ultimate warrior.

Only Doyle had no share in his partner's dreams of Valhalla, much less Cowley's. He was tired and off his game. He worked with Bodie every day, but couldn't remember the last uninterrupted conversation they'd had. The last time they'd got the job out of their heads. They'd been flat out for months. Then Bodie had been sent undercover. After that, they hadn't even been able to ring each other. He'd been lonely and miserable. Enough to badger Bodie into beginning their leave with a holiday, somewhere they couldn't be found. And Bodie had come through. Because Bodie always did.

Doyle headed back upstairs with the teapot.

Bodie had been in bed this morning because Bodie had been asleep. Doyle had rattled the kitchen window half off its hinges. He'd made enough racket to wake the dead, but he'd barely woken Bodie. Couldn't have, or Bodie would have been ready for him, for anyone trying to break into his flat. He'd been fooled by Bodie's ever present instinct for misdirection because he'd wanted to be fooled.

When he got back to the bedroom Bodie was out like a light again. Doyle poured two mugs of tea and prodded his partner awake, announcing succinctly ''Brew.''

Bodie rallied enough on his own to drink the tea without supervision and Doyle returned to the rocking chair.

Bodie eyed him dubiously ''Planning on staying there all night, Doyle?''

''Yeah, thought I would. Any objections?''

''Suit yourself'' shrugged Bodie and directed his energies towards finishing his tea. Once done, he put the empty mug on the night stand, snuggled into his bed, curled up comfortably and was out again within minutes.

Doyle made an attempt to resettle himself with his book, but it wasn't long before he was asleep too.

The first light of the coming dawn was vying with the gentle illumination of the bedside lamp when Doyle next awoke, unsure what had awoken him.

''Ray?''

''Yeah, I'm awake'' Doyle replied, still half asleep ''Go back to sleep.''

''Ray?''

''It's okay, Bodie. Go back to sleep'' ordered Doyle drowsily.

''Where are you?''

''Flying a kite on Hampstead Heath, where d'you think I am? Now, go back to sleep'' insisted Doyle.

''C'mon Ray, for the love of God, give me a clue. Where are you?''

''Bodie?'' demanded Doyle, abruptly alert. He disentangled himself from his duvet and scooted round to the uncluttered side of Bodie's bed ''Bodie?''

Bodie was shifting restlessly under his covers. Doyle put the back of his hand to his partner's forehead. Bodie was still very warm.

''Ray?''

''Yeah, sunshine. It's me'' confirmed Doyle ''Can you hear me? C'mon mate, say something that makes sense.''

''Missed you.''

Caught off guard by Bodie's timing even in this state, and unsure how aware his partner actually was, Doyle almost asphyxiated himself in his attempt to stifle his laughter and respond ''Yeah, me too.''

''Where are you?''

Still grinning, Doyle assured his partner ''Right here, sunshine.''

''Stay put, I'm coming to get you.''

Doyle's mirth faded into something more tender as he reiterated ''Bodie, I'm fine. Just do us both a favour and go back to sleep, eh mate?''

''4.5?''

''Go to sleep, Bodie'' urged Doyle once more ''Just, please...Go to sleep, eh mate?''

''Forget Cowley, you hurt Doyle and you'll answer to me. And I've never heard of the rules.''

''Who d'you say that to, eh sunshine?'' asked Doyle, smiling indulgently.

''Why d'you never listen, Doyle?''

''I'm listening now'' Doyle replied ''Not that you're making much sense, but I'm listening.''

''Never listen.''

''Maybe when you're awake we can talk about it, eh?'' coaxed Doyle ''Only now, how about you listening to me. Go to sleep, think you can manage that?''

''You gonna screw me over too, Doyle?''

''Bodie'' countered Doyle firmly ''If anything is penetrating right now, how about letting this percolate. I'm not letting you down, okay? Maybe I don't always get it right, maybe I didn't get it right this time, but I'm here, aren't I? Listening to this drivel. So get it straight, not letting you down.

''Should have me head read. Never learn.''

''Bodie'' Doyle repeated methodically ''You and me, we're a given, right? Can we get that through your thick skull, once and for all, and then maybe we can all get some sleep.''

''She was right.''

Doyle's eyebrows flew up in exasperation ''She who, Bodie? Who're you talking about?''

''You never listen.''

''Get some sleep, Bodie'' urged Doyle, frustrated and weary. Demoralised by not being able to get through to his partner ''Whatever this is, we can sort it out when you're back in the land of the living.''

''I saw an adder.''

''Okay, mate'' acknowledged Doyle irritably ''But it's not important right now, is it? Just try and get some sleep.''

''4.5, come in. Doyle? Where are you?''

''Right here, mate'' Doyle replied despondently ''Right here. You saw an adder. I never listen. Now can we all get some sleep?''

''Coppers, they're not all bad.''

''Yeah?'' queried Doyle, his frustration tempered by affection, stroking the damp hair clinging to his partner's head in an attempt to settle him ''Well I might have changed me mind about a few people too.''

''Never've seen it, if hadn't been for that copper.''

''What copper?'' asked Doyle, curiosity piqued.

''4.5? Come in, 4.5. You there, Doyle?''

''Yeah, 4.5 here'' Doyle tried experimentally ''What you got on that copper?''

''Don't worry Doyle, he didn't catch me.''

''How d'you lose him, 3.7?'' Doyle asked cautiously.

''Legs like bloody yours, but I dodged him. One bloody pasty, think it was the flaming crown jewels.''

''Where are you now, 3.7?'' asked Doyle.

''You never listen.''

''Yeah, we've done that bit. Location, 3.7?'' repeated Doyle.

''Dunno, some field.''

''See anything?'' Doyle prompted carefully.

''What d'you want, Doyle? It's a field. Lots of grass. Sod all else.''

''How about an adder?'' suggested Doyle.

''Saw an adder once.''

''Yeah, I know, mate'' Doyle acknowledged with a tender smile ''You still listening, 3.7?''

''What d'you want, 4.5?''

''Cowley says stand down'' replied Doyle ''Get some kip.''

'''Bout bloody time, 3.7 out.''

Bodie shuffled beneath his covers and settled into sleep. Doyle got up, rubbing the stiffness from his joints, and wondered if the copper had been real or just the figment of a feverish dreamscape.

''Never know with you old son, do we?'' Doyle informed his slumbering partner.

Doyle settled himself back into his rocking chair, remembered to turn off the bedside lamp, and drifted back into sleep.

He awoke a few hours later to blazing sunshine, illuminating the curtains and filling the room with a kaleidoscope of pastel hued colour.

He debated whether to draw them but Bodie was still very much asleep and Doyle was loathe to do anything to disturb that.

''Could you eat breakfast, if I made it?'' Doyle pondered aloud with rhetorical gentleness ''You'd be ready to fell an ox by now if things were normal. Not normal though, are they, sunshine? Just didn't see it, did I? Why d'you never say you're this close, eh? Why d'you never trust me with it? Or is it that you don't see it yourself? Not until too late? Knew how ill you were though, didn't you? And you let me drag you down here anyway. What am I going to do with you, eh? You great soft lummox.''

Bodie slept on and Doyle carefully got up and tidied his bedding away into his own room and then came back for the tray. He took it downstairs to wash up the crockery and replenish the stocks. He sniffed experimentally at the milk but, despite the little dots of cream the summer air had coaxed from the liquid, it still smelled fine.

He busied himself making a replica of the breakfast he had made the previous morning, nibbling on leftover stale sandwiches as he worked. His appetite compensating for his disturbed sleep.

When he'd finished, he loaded the tray back up again and headed upstairs. Bodie was still asleep so he made two mugs of tea and took one round to the unobstructed side of Bodie's bed. Crouching low, he ran his fingers through his partner's short fringe until Bodie stirred. ''Morning, sunshine'' he greeted Bodie ''How about some breakfast?''

Doyle proffered the tea mug and Bodie clumsily shuffled himself until he was propped against the headboard. Then he took the tea mug into his hands and sipped at the brew.

''Hitting the spot?'' enquired Doyle.

Bodie nodded without interrupting his drinking.

''I'll just get your breakfast'' said Doyle, rising to go to the chest of drawers where he'd placed the tray.

''Not hungry'' said Bodie.

''Bodie, you've got to eat something'' said Doyle, turning back to face his partner ''Starve a cold, feed a fever.''

''Can't you just leave it, Ray? I'm not hungry, just tired. I'll get some sleep and see how I feel.''

''Bodie'' remonstrated Doyle ''You've hardly eaten anything, you need something. Just give it a try, eh mate?'' Doyle hesitated a moment, then unleashed his secret weapon ''Please.''

''I'm not hungry, Doyle'' Bodie objected plaintively, but by the tone, Doyle knew he had him on the run.

''I'll just get a towel'' announced Doyle ''You can rest it on that.''

Doyle hurriedly retrieved a bath towel from the bathroom, which he folded and placed where he judged Bodie's bedspread and duvet ensconced lap to be. Then he picked up one of the breakfast laden plates and some cutlery and placed them on the makeshift place mat.

Bodie picked up a fork and prodded unenthusiastically at a fried mushroom.

''You don't have to eat the lot'' Doyle allowed ''but try and get some of it down you, eh sunshine?''

Doyle returned to the chest of drawers to pick up his own breakfast and then resumed his seat in the rocking chair. Propping his feet on Bodie's bed, he balanced the plate on his legs and tucked in with gusto. All the while, keeping a surreptitious eye on Bodie's progress.

Doyle was sure Bodie was not unaware of the scrutiny, but his partner seemed to have elected to ignore it. Bodie worked his way through the breakfast with methodical determination. Doyle would have preferred to see some evidence of his partner's usual enthusiasm for being fed, but anything was better than Bodie not eating at all.

Doyle finished quite a while before Bodie, but didn't move to put his plate away for fear of spooking Bodie's lacklustre appetite.

When his partner had finally cleared a reasonable amount from his plate, Doyle got up to tidy things away. Bodie had been struggling for the last ten minutes and, once relieved of the burden of his breakfast, he snuggled back down in the bed and was almost immediately asleep again.

Doyle took the towel back to the bathroom and put it in the laundry bin, fetching a new one from the airing cupboard to replace it. Then he took the dirty dishes downstairs and put them in the sink.

He felt less insecure about leaving Bodie alone now. Bodie had been sleeping peacefully for the most part since his somniloquist conversation of the night before, so Doyle washed, dressed and took himself into the garden to enjoy the warmth of the day.

It was a beautiful spot and he considered earmarking it as a getaway for his next conquest. It was the sort of place that always made women amenable. Then, abruptly, he knew he would never bring a woman here.

It would be too much like violating a trust. Bodie had been vulnerable here, it wasn't something he could share with a lightly passing stranger. Ann maybe, if she'd stayed. But he'd like to come back here with Bodie. Yes, he'd like to do that very much.

Doyle wandered over to the bench where he'd been reading the previous evening, before he'd realised just how spent Bodie really was, and sat down.

No longer maintained with clipped precision, the garden was slowly returning to nature. It was clear someone still made an effort to stop it becoming impassibly overgrown, but there was little incentive to invest in a garden that was doomed to fall into the sea. Yet the unkempt air wasn't one of melancholy, only one of peace. A quiet acceptance of the inevitable. Doyle's turbulent soul drank it in like a man thirsting in the desert.

Butterflies and insects flitted quietly between the flowers and through the shadows. Somewhere in the undergrowth he could hear a grasshopper and high overhead the incongruous racket of the seabirds sounded. And Bodie was missing all of it. A thought which sat uneasily with him.

He got up to explore his tiny green kingdom, eyes drawn repeatedly to the upper storey of the cottage. To the side of the building was a decaying wooden garden store. The weather worn planks, warmed by the sun, still retained a faint odour of creosote. A large metal padlock secured the two doors together. Doyle fished in his jacket, the cottage keys were still in his pocket. He pulled them out, a yale for the lock on the front door, a mortice for the lock on the back and a smaller key which looked about the right size. He tried it in the padlock. It opened easily, clearly better maintained than the doors it secured.

Inside was some metal framed folding furniture. Four chairs, two loungers and, at the back, what he took to be a table top. The legs probably folded neatly behind it. He moved the furniture about, disturbing several spiders, and pulled out one of the loungers.

Taking it over to the middle of the small lawn, lush with summer growth, he unfolded his prize. It seemed sturdy and clean enough. The orange and brown striped canvas appeared taut in its frame and untroubled by mildew. He cranked the head to a comfortable position to lounge against and settled himself down, reclining at full length, satisfying himself as to its soundness. Getting up again was a less elegant process, but he regained his feet and dashed into the cottage, taking the stairs at a run. He popped his head round Bodie's door, but Bodie was still dead to the world.

Entering his own room, he hauled his pillows and duvet from the folded heap he'd made of them on his bed and headed back downstairs. He dumped the bedding on the garden bench and returned upstairs in a stealthy, gleeful whirl for the tea tray. This he took downstairs to the kitchen. His next return to the upper floor of the cottage was more sober, uncertain as he was of Bodie's willingness or ability to co-operate with his plan.

Dropping to a crouch by Bodie's bed, he gently called his partner's name ''Bodie?''

Bodie didn't stir, so Doyle tried stroking the matted hair on his partner's head. If nothing else, Bodie's current state of ablution spoke volumes about his partner's wellbeing.

Bodie stirred slowly and dragged open his eyes. ''Doyle?'' he queried uncertainly, as if unsure of his bearings.

''How about a little fresh air treatment?'' suggested Doyle.

Bodie looked confused by this, finally coming up with ''It's just 'flu, Doyle.''

Doyle smiled indulgently, a sluggish Bodie was an endearing novelty ''Shame to waste a day like this, come and do your snoozing downstairs.''

Contrary to expectation, Bodie was not in love with the great outdoors. It was just the most conducive venue for most of the things he did enjoy. Bodie preferred the great indoors, particularly if it came with hedonistic luxury and free spirited female company.

Ruthlessly exploiting Bodie's sluggish pliability, Doyle tugged back Bodie's covers and cajoled him to his feet. Bodie had elected to go to bed in a pair of smart blue pyjama bottoms and not much else. The inviting expanse of pale skin would be insect bait long before it fried to lobster pink.

''Did you bring a dressing gown with you?'' asked Doyle.

''Holdall'' replied Bodie succinctly.

Doyle sat Bodie on the edge of the bed and cast about for the holdall.

''Bottom of the wardrobe'' supplied Bodie.

Doyle opened the wardrobe doors, rummaged in Bodie's holdall and came up with a full length smart cotton dressing gown complete with contrasting piping and monogram. It was still in its original packaging and therefore largely wrinkle free.

Holding up the exhibit in one hand Doyle asked ''Where did you get this?''

''Grateful admirer'' said Bodie.

''Who was it, the Queen Mother?'' sniffed Doyle disdainfully, although it was obvious that anyone built like Bodie was going to look like a matinee idol in it, whatever the prevailing fashions. Which had presumably been uppermost in the purchaser's mind. Doyle wondered which of Bodie's birds had been disappointed not to see him in it. ''Shall we get you in it, then?'' Doyle asked as he stripped the garment of its outer cellophane.

Bodie stood obediently to be dressed, but Doyle could see the exhaustion underpinning the sardonic tilt of Bodie's eyebrows.

''Come on, let's get you down the stairs before you fall down them'' said Doyle, helping Bodie to navigate from his room and down into the kitchen. Bodie was unsteady on his feet, more from weakness than lack of balance, and the stairs took quite a toll on him. Doyle did a quick mental calculation regarding the size of the settee and wondered whether it might not be easier to bed Bodie down in the living room rather than tackle the stairs again.

Bodie was leaning heavily on him by the time they got to the garden. Doyle eased Bodie's carcass down onto bench and then, shaking out the duvet to dislodge any opportunistic stowaways, he laid part of it across the lounger. He helped Bodie to settle himself onto the duvet covered canvas. Bodie sank back gratefully against the raised head support and was already half asleep again as Doyle propped the pillows behind his partner's head and tucked the rest of the duvet round him.

Just as Doyle prepared to leave his partner to fetch his book and the half bottle of wine left over from the previous day, Bodie announced '''S alright, this. Almost glad I came.''

Doyle grinned happily. That was the partner he knew. Things were definitely starting to look up.

Bodie dozed on peacefully for most of the day, Doyle was reassured by the lack of mutterings. Although the day was warm, the overgrown shrubbery and gentle sea breezes actually made the garden less stifling than Bodie's bedroom would have been. Doyle had taken a few minutes as the day warmed to open Bodie's bedroom window. Facing cliffward, as it did, the breezes were much stronger than those deflected by the house, blowing fresh air into the room on a flutter of curtains. Doyle trusted to the strength of the breeze to keep the insects at bay.

Bodie stirred again at about four o'clock, which Doyle took to be a positive sign, since this was usually the time in the afternoon that Bodie started thinking about his stomach.

''Hungry?'' asked Doyle, looking up from his book as Bodie's wakefulness became more pronounced.

Bodie stretched sleepily, looking about him with disinterested curiosity. For a moment Doyle's concern flared again as he thought his partner was about to ask where he was. But instead Bodie said ''Fresh air treatment, think I could be sold on this.''

''Hungry?'' repeated Doyle.

Bodie screwed his nose up regretfully and said ''Not really, just tired.''

''Suppose I make you something anyway?'' suggested Doyle ''Could be more hungry than you think.''

''I can't promise to eat it.''

''Okay'' said Doyle ''Only, I'm hungry meself. Might as well make for two.''

''Off you go then Fanny Cradock'' replied Bodie amiably.

''You gonna be alright out here on your own?''

Bodie blinked disdainfully at his partner for long moments.

''Right'' acknowledged Doyle ''Stupid question.''

''I'd say so, yes'' agreed Bodie.

Doyle removed himself to the kitchen, kicking himself for being what Ann had once called a goose. Something he'd teased her about mercilessly. The ensuing fight had ended up in giggles and in bed.

Doyle pulled a bag of rice from the provisions he'd bought. The little shop had sold spaghetti, but he hadn't bought any pasta for a while now. The associations no longer kind to his appetite.

He'd picked up a couple of cans of chilli con carne too. He preferred to cook from scratch because he could and he enjoyed it, but he wasn't immune to the lure of convenience. No one who worked his kind of job was.

But he did his best, making two bowls of chilli con carne with rice and decorating them with a sprig of leaves he'd found on a straggly parsley plant in the unkempt remnants of a herb garden growing under the kitchen windowsill.

He took a can of lager from the fridge and put the lot on a tray with some cutlery to take into the garden.

Bodie seemed to have perked up a bit and he handed his partner the tray and the lager and retired with his own bowl to the bench and the last of the white wine.

Neither of them felt particularly inclined to talk. These quiet lulls that needed no filling were as easy as the banter and to and fro of ideas when they worked. They simply meshed. It was no more complicated than that.

Whatever the state of Bodie's appetite, Doyle was hungry. He finished his meal and settled back with the last half glass of wine to watch his partner. Bodie wasn't eating with the studied determination of breakfast, he seemed to be enjoying his meal, but he wasn't making much progress. Then abruptly he dropped his cutlery and said ''That's it, Doyle.''

Doyle got up to take the tray, barely a third of the bowl was gone. Bodie must have been playing for time while Doyle finished his own meal, but there was a limit to how far Doyle could play the parent. Bodie would only tolerate so much.

''Finished with the lager too?'' asked Doyle.

Bodie nodded and Doyle picked the can up from the grass where Bodie had set it down. Doyle shook it experimentally, there were only a few drops left. So Bodie had voted with his stomach.

''You taken any of that stuff you got from Boots?'' asked Doyle.

''No point'' replied Bodie ''Not had any problems sleeping, have I?''

''If you say so'' muttered Doyle.

''If you've got something to say, Doyle...''

''You've been talking in your sleep'' Doyle informed his partner.

''Learn any pearls of wisdom?'' asked Bodie.

''Yeah'' announced Doyle ''Remind me never to buy a used car from you.''

''What's that supposed to mean?''

''It means never trust your partner to be straight with you when he's ill'' Doyle replied archly, then he softened his tone considerably and added ''You should have said something, Bodie.''

''Yeah, well, Goldilocks, couldn't stand the thought of your disappointed little face.''

''And that's another thing, mate. Will you stop calling me Goldilocks. Even Cowley does it.''

''Anything you say, Goldilocks'' grinned Bodie, irrepressibly unrepentant.

Doyle struggled, failing miserably to retain his dignity as, despite his every effort to the contrary, his face crumpled happily into a defeated grin. It was impossible to corral Bodie. And if the truth were known, Bodie's lunacy was sometimes the only thing that kept him sane. Had been, when Ann left.

That thought sobered him and he looked away.

''Still gets to you, doesn't it, sunshine?'' asked Bodie, recognising that particular brand of Doyle melancholy.

''Liked her'' admitted Doyle.

''I know, mate.''

''Bloody job'' said Doyle helplessly.

''You couldn't do anything else'' Bodie pointed out pragmatically.

''Think she'd've stuck around if I could?''

''Send yourself round the twist, thinking like that, mate'' advised Bodie.

''Should be like you, love 'em and leave 'em.''

''I didn't always leave 'em, Ray'' replied Bodie quietly '''s not always a choice.''

''Yeah, sorry Bodie'' Doyle apologised, then he sniffed manfully and added ''Look at the pair of us, we'll be getting the violins out next. Wanna go for a walk? Have a look at the cliffs?''

''I'm in my pyjamas'' objected Bodie.

''No one to see and in that get up they'll just think you're Noël Coward.''

''Oh cheers, mate.''

''Very popular, Noël Coward'' observed Doyle impishly.

''Not with me'' said Bodie sourly, but immediately relented with ''Oh, alright then, Goldilocks, let's see if we can't put a smile back on that pathetic little face of yours.''

Doyle grinned and said ''Just let me dump this stuff in the kitchen and I'll give you a hand getting up.''

''Not a bloody invalid, Doyle'' Bodie objected irrationally, against all the available evidence.

Doyle let it go. Although his partner was infamous for wallowing in minor complaints, particularly if it elicited feminine sympathy, Bodie was never happy being genuinely ill.

Bodie could be very susceptible to being mothered, delighting as much in the maternal attentions of the W.I. brigade as he did in the amorous affections of the dolly birds. Doyle doubted any school of feminist thinking was equipped to deal with Bodie's contradictory appeal. A testosterone driven stereotype with an instinctive sympathy for the condition of womanhood.

Perhaps it was just that Bodie wasn't stupid. CI5 didn't hire the feeble minded, but Bodie seemed to take perverse pains to disguise his nimble brain. As if it was a vulnerability.

With less schooling, he was as well read as Doyle. But whereas Doyle delighted in displaying the badges of his continuing self-education, Bodie played the clown. Doyle had come to gauge the stupidity of others by how much they underestimated his partner. A miscalculation of which Cowley had never been guilty.