The Professionals Circuit Archive - The Path Not Taken       The Path
Not Taken

 

by Rhianne 

 
 Bodie scowled, muttering darkly about mothers with pushchairs even as the
one who'd run over his foot apologised without looking at him and scurried
away, her mind already on more important things.

 Looking up from his abused toes, Bodie gazed despairingly around him at
the crowds of people fighting for position as they flocked up and down the
high street.

 "It's ten o'clock on a Thursday morning for Christ's sake." He protested.
"What are all these people doing here?"

 Doyle smothered a grin as Bodie began what had to be the twelfth tirade
about shoppers he'd heard that morning. Patiently, he started the same
explanation he'd used the first time.

 "It's Christmas, Bodie. That's what people do before Christmas. Shop."

 "It might be what you do, Doyle, but I have better things to occupy my
time."

 "Really." Doyle drawled, raising both eyebrows in disbelief. "Then
explain to me why you're following me round while I'm shopping, instead of
off doing these wonderfully exciting things, then?"

 "Pity." Bodie announced, airily.

 "On me?"

 "Nah. On the people you're buying for. I wouldn't want to inflict your
dodgy taste on anybody."

 "Oh, cheers." Shaking his head, Doyle wandered away from Bodie and into
Woolworths, searching for a suitable CD for his nephew.

 It was Christmas Eve, and Doyle was simply out doing some last minute
shopping, taking advantage of the late night opening hours and a shorter
day at work than he'd expected.

 As far as he could tell, Bodie had done nothing to prepare for Christmas.
They had been flat out at work for weeks, and any time off Doyle had spent
buying presents, usually with Bodie tagging along making derogatory
comments that would have been more suitable in A Christmas Carol.
Definitely, Doyle decided with a nod. With the mood Bodie had been in the
past few weeks, he would have made an ideal Ebenezer Scrooge.

 God knows what was wrong with the man. The usually cheerful,
devil-may-care William Bodie always became a little down at Christmas, but
never quite like this year. Every year he spent the weeks running up to
Christmas proclaiming his disdain for the traditions, but after the day
had been and gone, there was never any mention of it, and Bodie never
produced justification for his views from any kind of personal experience.

 Pulling the CD from the display cabinet, having been assured by his
sister that this was the latest album from the band his nephew Jason
listened to twenty-four hours a day, Doyle glanced back over his shoulder
as Bodie trudged over to him and they joined the queue to pay. Doyle was
grateful that he'd done most of his shopping weeks ago, being well aware
that Christmas Eve wasn't the best day to go shopping, but Jason had
reached the awkward teenage years when present buying was a nightmare, and
it was only yesterday that his sister had finally come up with something
he could buy.

 "So what are you doing Christmas day?"

 Bodie just shrugged. "Dunno."

 "Haven't you got anything planned? Seeing family or something?"

 "I don't have any family to see, Doyle." Bodie snapped back.

 Doyle faltered. "Oh, yeah. Sorry, Bodie."

 In fact, Doyle was pretty sure that Bodie did have family up North, but
he never spoke about them. From what little Doyle had been able to
decipher from cryptic comments over the years, some kind of family
argument had sent Bodie running off to sea at fourteen, and they'd not
spoken since.

 He'd always been curious to know exactly what had happened to break up
the Bodie family quite so badly, but had never pushed the issue. Some
things were private, and since Doyle had his own secrets, he respected
Bodie too much to stick his nose in where it didn't belong. Besides, the
few occasions when Bodie had mentioned them, there'd been an obvious hurt
in his words, proving that Bodie did, in fact, have feelings. Something
that quite a few of the squad would find difficult to believe, especially
in view of his partner's recent behaviour.

 The squad had been maniacally busy for weeks, and most of them were
running on adrenaline alone, sleep having been almost totally sacrificed
back in November. Still, he mused, there was light at the end of the
tunnel, thank God.

 Most of the major operations had been wound up over the past few weeks,
and all that was left was the mountains of paperwork that always followed.
Strangely enough, the usual complaints about working behind a desk for
weeks on end that usually circulated the Squad had been missing, just
lately. Doyle was quite prepared to believe that, like him, everyone else
was too exhausted to care about the paperwork, and just glad to be finally
given the chance to rest. Getting shot at when you were practically too
exhausted to see straight was not an experience he treasured.

 A resounding cheer had gone up in CI5 when Cowley had announced that most
of the Squad were on standby for the few days over and including
Christmas. While that meant they still had to be on call in case something
did come up, for most of the agents it meant Christmas at home with their
families - a precious commodity for everyone, but especially given a job
like theirs.

 The Doyle family Christmas was so steeped in tradition that it was almost
ritualistic, but a ritual that Raymond Doyle adored, nonetheless. His
mother's house in Derby on Christmas Eve, where all the family would
gather some time during the day. A horribly early start on Christmas
morning, though exactly when the day would start depended entirely on how
long the children could bear to wait before they absolutely had to find
out what Father Christmas had brought them.

 Doyle knew that particular tradition would last long past the time when
the children were told the truth about Santa. Every single member of the
family had a Christmas stocking, including him, and even though he knew
the gifts hadn't been wrapped by small elves and delivered by a jolly old
fat guy and some reindeer, that didn't make the tradition any less
precious than it had when he was a boy.

 The adults shared out responsibility for assembling the stockings; he
bought his sister's, his sister bought his mother's and so on, so that
money wasn't too much of a problem for any one person. While hardly
poverty-stricken, the Doyle's weren't the Royal Family, either.

 Every year the stockings were given out, then new presents were admired
and played with until lunchtime, when the Christmas Roast was devoured
during the Queen's speech, after which the main presents were unwrapped.
Sometime during the day his mother would bring up the subject of marriage,
which he would carefully avoid, and then she would quietly express concern
about his job. His family were all too well aware of exactly what Doyle's
job entailed, having visited him in hospital too many times over the
years.

 Even if they hadn't fully realised how dangerous it was, the phone call
from Cowley two years before informing Mrs Doyle that her son had been
shot twice and was critically ill in hospital had certainly brought the
reality home. In a strange way, Doyle had noticed a change in himself
after he had recovered, particularly around Christmas. It was as if the
day had become even more important to him, because it meant another year
had passed, and he was still here to celebrate it. He had come to cherish
time spent with family and friends, since he was all too aware of how
easily it could be lost, and very nearly had been.

 Either way, he treasured Christmas, and couldn't imagine the holiday
without his family around him.

 Bodie, on the other hand, had no family with which to celebrate
Christmas, and whilst he usually spent Christmas with some girlfriend or
other, Doyle was all too aware that Bodie was currently single, having
been present at the spectacularly nasty break up of his most recent
relationship.

 As they finally reached the end of the queue and he handed the CD to the
girl behind the counter, Doyle came to a decision.

 "You should spend Christmas with us."

 "Eh?"

 "Come up to Derby with me. Spend Christmas with me and my family."

 "No thanks, Doyle."

 "Why not? Had a better offer, have you?"

 "Something like that."

 Doyle grinned. "Come on then, spill. Who is she? Tall, blonde, and leggy,
right?"

 Bodie smiled, and said nothing, but it was a weak version of his usual
grin, and Doyle suddenly knew for certain that Bodie had received no other
offer.

 Part of him was hurt that Bodie had turned his nose up at his
hospitality, but he simply shrugged, saying nothing. If Bodie wanted to be
alone over Christmas, then so be it.

 "Well, the offer's there if you change your mind."

 With that he walked out of the shop, leaving Bodie to follow along
behind, scowling.

 ******

Three hours later, Bodie stalked into his flat, and even the black cloud
that had been gathering above his head winced as the door was slammed
shut.

 Throwing his keys on the sideboard, he poured himself a scotch and downed
it in one go, then poured himself another and sank gratefully into a
chair.

 Christmas.

 Bah humbug. Charles Dickens had had the right idea years back.

 Bodie had never seen the point of Christmas, not even when he was a kid.
Christmas was for families, a time for loved ones to be close together,
but that was something he'd never had. Oh, sure, he'd had a family, but
there was a great difference between blood relatives and the people with
whom you'd choose to spend time.

 As someone famous once said - though he couldn't remember that person's
name - you can't choose your family, but you can choose friends. The only
thing Christmas had ever meant to him was that he was forced to spend a
whole day indoors with his parents, rather than staying outside playing,
which was what he usually did when he wasn't being forced to go to school.

 Christmas had always been a poor excuse for a celebration in the house
where he'd lived with his parents - he'd never been able to bring himself
to call it home, Bodie had felt more at home in the African jungle - and
it was this time of year beyond any other that he'd learned to dread.

 Mainly because it was the one holiday he'd never quite been able to see
the point of.

 So a baby had been born in a stable. Well, yippee. So what? Babies were
being born every single day. Too many kids, as far as he was concerned,
and not enough people to care for them.

 And did it really make any difference that the baby was supposed to be
the son of God? As far as Bodie could see, the very fact that his job was
necessary proved that Jesus' birth had been one big disappointment. If, in
fact, it had happened at all. He still wasn't convinced of that one.

 Not that this was an opinion he'd be sharing with Cowley, or even Doyle,
any time soon. Cowley was devoutly religious, and, Bodie knew from bitter
experience, would happily tear strips off anyone he heard blaspheming.

 But with everything he'd seen in his life, everything he'd experienced,
Bodie simply couldn't bring himself to rejoice at the birth of a baby boy.
It wasn't as if it had really made that much of a difference. Drugs were
still sold, people still died, petty little wars broke out over stupid
things, and all in all, the world wasn't a wonderfully cheerful place to
live in.

 Draining his second drink, Bodie started on a third.

 When he'd first met Doyle, after he'd worked out that the man's
temperamental mood swings and idealism weren't going to change however
much he tried to bully him out of them, he'd secretly rejoiced.

 Surely, with all the soul searching Doyle did, and considering how much
he lamented at the state of society, this was one man who would share his
dislike of the Christmas period, seeing it for what it really was: a
commercialised, pitiful excuse for a holiday where people pretended to be
nice to others, with whom at any other time of year they wouldn't even
pass the time of day.

 And on top of that, all the promises made to children around Christmas
did nothing but cause big disappointment, when those children finally
realised that Christmas or no Christmas, life was hard, and resolutions of
'goodwill to all men' just lasted long enough to carve the turkey - if you
were lucky.

 At least, that was what Bodie had found.

 So he'd gleefully broached the topic with Doyle years before, after
McCabe's cheerful rendition of Merry Christmas and the rest of the squad's
enthusiastic discussions of who was doing what on 'The Day' had driven him
to distraction. He just couldn't understand how people could forget their
problems and pretend was all champagne and roses simply because the
calendar said you should.

 And Doyle had proved to be another big disappointment.

 Far from agreeing with Bodie's rant about the evils of Christmas, Doyle
had first stared at his partner in utter astonishment. After which, he
proceeded to tell Bodie in glorious detail, why Christmas was so utterly
wonderful, how much he looked forward to it every single year, and just
how much of a killjoy Bodie was if he couldn't see why Christmas was so
important.

 Bodie had never broached the subject again.

 But he had watched, and observed, and was amazed at the transformation he
could see in Doyle every year. His normally moody partner spent hours
traipsing round the shops buying presents for people that, as far as Bodie
could tell, he never saw throughout the rest of the year. In the weeks
surrounding Christmas, Doyle acted like an excited five year old at the
thought of opening his Christmas stocking on December 25th along with his
nephews and nieces. Bodie had laughed out loud the day he'd heard Doyle
talking about Father Christmas, at which point Doyle had lost his temper,
angrily informing Bodie that people's charity and simple enjoyment of the
day proved that despite what happened the rest of the year, Christmas was
a chance to forget all the bad things, and gather with family and friends
to celebrate what you did have. And if Bodie couldn't see that 'then he
deserved to spend Christmas alone.'

 At which point Bodie had sweetly asked why, if that was the case,
Christmas was the ambulance and emergency services' busiest day?

 But it was this, Bodie grudgingly admitted to himself, that was the main
problem. Christmas was a time when family gathered together to celebrate,
and Bodie didn't have a family to go to. So he usually spent Christmas
alone, or in the arms of his latest girlfriend. While a day in bed with a
woman was usually welcomed, it seemed an empty way to spend Christmas day,
which just emphasised to him exactly how lonely he was.

 Doyle had invited him to spend Christmas with the Doyle family, and Bodie
would have dearly loved to go, but he was all too well aware that being in
a room with lots of people he didn't really know would simply drive home
what he always spent Christmas trying to forget - that essentially, he
really was alone.

 Ray Doyle was his best friend, and Bodie knew that he did have friends,
but as Doyle had said, Christmas was a time for family. Whilst he would
never begrudge Doyle the time to spend with a family he was very obviously
close to, part of him still felt abandoned every time he woke up alone on
Christmas morning, left to open what few presents he had, on his own.

 And the more maudlin part of him wondered whether it would really matter
if he wasn't there, if anyone would really miss him. It was only at
Christmas that these thoughts actually occurred to him, since it was the
only true holiday where family was focused on - almost to the exclusion of
all else - and yet another reason to hate the winter holiday.

 Placing his half drunk glass on the table in front of him, Bodie realised
that while he had been lost in thought, the afternoon had worn on and it
was growing dark outside. His scotch bottle was almost empty, he and Doyle
having drunk a great deal of it when the recent CI5 Operations had
finished successfully.

 Well aware that, like most years, he was going to spend most of the next
few days getting quietly drunk on his own, and also aware that it was the
last bottle of scotch in the flat, Bodie picked up the keys to his
motorbike, and headed out into the fading light.

 Heading for the nearest off-licence, his mind was still lost in thought,
and it was only when he was halfway that he started wondering how he was
going to get the amount of alcohol he wanted to buy back to his flat on a
bike rather than a car.

 The basic truth was, Christmas reminded him of what a dead loss his
family had been, and that, apart from Doyle and maybe one or two others,
he had no-one close to share the holiday with.

 Again, he had to wonder whether anything would really be any different if
he died. Or if he'd never been around in the first place.

 Bodie shook his head as he approached a corner in the road; he was
getting as maudlin as Doyle.

 He didn't see the car that came out of a driveway to his right, and Bodie
was over the bonnet and landing in a crumpled heap in the road before he
even knew what was happening.

 The pain as he hit the ground was intense, and for a second his vision
failed. Then the pain was gone, and Bodie stood slowly, still trying to
register what had happened and noting with surprise that the pain had
gone.

 In fact, he felt fine.

 The visor of his crash helmet had shattered, as much as Perspex could,
and he removed the helmet carefully and shook his head.

 "You're an idiot, Billy."

 The voice came from behind him, and he turned round. Surely the driver of
the car had been in the other direction. And how on earth did he know his
name?

 What he saw made his blood run cold.

 "K…Keith?" He whispered. Keith Williams looked exactly like Bodie
remembered the last time he had seen him, which was barely three months
before Keith had been murdered by King Billy and his thugs.

 The figure walked towards Bodie, a sad smile on his face.

 "You've got a problem, mate." Keith told him.

 It was a few seconds before Bodie was able to form a sentence. "Aside
from the fact that I'm talking to a dead man, you mean?"

 He shrugged. "Well there is that, I suppose. But I'd say you've got an
even bigger problem." Keith pointed over Bodie's shoulder, and he turned
round just in time to see the driver of the car that had hit him, get out
and stumble over to a body lying motionless on the ground.

 His body.

 Bodie backed away from the scene in confusion, and Keith came to stand
next to him, putting a supporting arm on his shoulder.

 "What…?" he whispered.

 "Well let's see. You're talking to a ghost, you've been hit by a car and
you're looking down at yourself… At a rough guess, I'd say you were dead,
mate."

 There wasn't much Bodie could say to that. Instead he watched in stunned
silence as the car driver turned his body over, and a passer by ran up to
join the scene. The two people began CPR, but Bodie felt nothing.

 "So…I'm dead?"

 But Keith shook his head, becoming serious. "Not yet, Bodie. Almost, but
not yet."

 "So what's going on?"

 Keith gestured to the scene playing out in front of them. "This is what
you wanted, isn't it?"

 "Eh?"

 "Nobody would be bothered if you lived or died, right?"

 Then Bodie remembered his train of thought just before the accident.
"What, is this one of those near death experiences? Am I going to be
walking down a tunnel towards a bright light in a minute?"

 Keith shook his head. "If you get that far, nothing will bring you back.
But you do have to make a decision."

 "About what?"

 "Whether you want to live. Whether there's any point, whether you being
alive will make a difference to anyone. And there are no guarantees. It
might be too late anyway."

 Bodie wandered over to the side of the kerb and sat down wearily on the
edge of the pavement.

 "I've seen you down before, Bodie. Jesus, the mission you went on after
my death was something, but this is something different, isn't it. Part of
you really does believe that nothing you do makes a difference." Bodie
hesitated, and Keith continued. "Be honest, Bodie."

 Bodie shook his head. "Doyle's moods really have started to rub off on
me." He muttered. "Alright, yeah. Maybe some of me does wonder whether
there'll ever be a point to all of this. Especially at this time of year."

 Keith nodded. "You sound like a regular Scrooge."

 "You going to send three ghosts to me, then? Show me the error of my
ways."

 "Nah. There aren't enough of us to go round as it is, let alone sending
three to each person."

 "Each person?"

 "You think you're the only one to feel like this at Christmas, Bodie?
Because you're not. Christmas is a wonderful time of year, but to people
like us who never really settled down, it can also be one of the
loneliest. But you have to really believe, Bodie. No doubts. Otherwise
your life is going to end in a stupid bike accident. That's not how you're
meant to go, Bodie, but if you have even the slightest doubt, not even I
can do anything to help you."

 Bodie said nothing, just watched as the ambulance pulled up and the crew
raced over to his body. But none of them noticed the two figures sitting
five feet away on the pavement.

 "This is too weird." Bodie muttered. "You sure I'm not just dreaming?"

 Keith frowned. "We don't have time for this, Bodie. You never did believe
in stuff like this. Then again, neither did I until it was too late. I
didn't get a second chance, Bodie. But you do. Don't waste it."

 Bodie shook his head. "The Keith I knew would never say something as soft
as that. This isn't real."

 Keith stood up and ran a hand through his blond hair. "Then I'll prove it
to you. You want to be dead? Better still, you want to have never been
born? Fine." He clicked his fingers, and suddenly things changed. The car
that had hit him was halfway down the road, the ambulance disappeared, and
there was no sign of his body, or of the broken shell of the motorbike.

 "What have you done?"

 "Given you your wish, Bodie. You were never born."

 "Things don't look much different to me."

 "Don't they?"

 "No. Except for that car. Bloke won't have to claim on the Insurance,
now. Looks like I've done him a favour."

 Part of Bodie knew he was being ridiculous, even if this was all true and
not some bizarre alcohol induced dream, but he just couldn't shake the
feeling that he had never really achieved anything worthwhile in his life
- a feeling he often found himself wallowing in around Christmas time.

 "I think it's time for the ghost of Christmas Present, don't you?"

 Bodie rolled his eyes. "Oh, please."

 "Hey, I know it's a corny concept, but it's apt enough. Let's go pay Ray
Doyle a visit. Come on." With that, Keith turned and walked down the
street.

 "Aren't you supposed to have wings and a harp, Keith?"

 "Only at Halloween, Bodie, will you ever find me wearing wings and a
harp."

 Bodie laughed, but followed his old friend nonetheless. It looked like he
was going to be spending Christmas with Doyle after all.

 Turning the corner, Bodie suddenly found himself standing across the
street from a blue car. Four people were assembled by the car, and while
Bodie recognised the slim form of Doyle's mother, Catherine, he couldn't
see Doyle at all.

 "Welcome to Christmas in the Doyle family. This is what will happen
tomorrow."

 "Where's Doyle? Trust Ray to be late…"

 But Keith placed a hand on Bodie's arm, stopping him from finishing the
sentence, and ushered him into step behind the four people who had started
walking away from the car and through some gates…

 …into a graveyard.

 "Keith?" Bodie found himself whispering, his voice suddenly uncertain.

 "It's all right, they can't hear you."

 "What are we doing here?"

 "Visiting Doyle. At least, they are. This is the Doyle family Christmas,
Bodie."

 "But…" Keith hushed him again.

 The small procession came to a stop in front of a marble tombstone, where
the four members of the Doyle family stood silently.

 Stepping around them, Bodie drew in a sharp breath when he read the
inscription on the tombstone.

 'Raymond Doyle.
 Born 1948.
 Died 1981.
 Dearly Missed
 May he find peace.'

 "They visit his grave every Christmas morning. His mother never really
came to terms with his death."

 He whirled round to face Keith. "What happened?"

 "He died, Bodie."

 "I can bloody well see that!" Bodie yelled. "How? W…What happened?"

 "I'll show you."

 Bodie blinked, and found himself inside Doyle's old flat. Some of the
curtains were drawn, there were miniature soldiers laid out on a side
table, and Bodie and Keith were standing in the lounge, by the heavy
curtains.

 Classical music was playing, but it was obvious Doyle wasn't in the flat.
That didn't mean that they were alone there, though. As a young woman
fitted a silencer onto the end of a gun, Bodie groaned.

 "Mayli."

 "That's right."

 "But this has already happened. He pulled through!"

 "No. He didn't."

 There was the sound of a key scraping the door, and Bodie watched in
growing horror as Doyle stepped into his flat, laden down with grocery
bags.

 "Doyle!" Bodie started forward, but Keith grabbed him and held him back
even as Doyle noticed Mayli's presence and stepped into the room.

 "We're only observers here, Bodie. There's nothing you can do for him
now."

 "How did you get in here?"

 Bodie watched helplessly as the first two gunshots threw Doyle backwards
across the table, and his partner landed face down on the floor.

 As the phone fell from the broken table and landed near Doyle's body, the
milk from the broken bottles began to mix with the spreading pool of
blood.

 A final shot, and then Mayli left by the fire escape.

 Bodie fell to his knees beside Doyle's body, staring down at his partner
even as the man's breathing began to slow down. Doyle had never spoken
about what had happened the day he was shot, and even seeing it with his
own eyes, Bodie found it difficult to take in.

 He waited in silence, transfixed by what was happening, and expecting to
see himself coming in the fire escape at any moment. But time passed, and
nobody came. Finally he looked up at Keith, confused.

 "But…he pulled through. She activated the alarms when she ran. I found
him…" He trailed off as he began to realise what he was saying.

 "Exactly. You were only a few minutes away when the call came in. You
were on your way to see him, remember?"

 Bodie nodded absently. "I knew he was brooding over the two terrorists,
so I thought I'd drop by, make sure he was okay."

 "But you didn't. Because you were never born, remember? You never joined
CI5, and you never met Doyle."

 "Are you telling me they didn't send anyone to check the alarms?"

 "Oh, they sent someone. They sent Lucas. You never joined CI5, Bodie, and
Doyle was never partnered with anyone. Cowley was never able to find
anyone to team him up with. He was a good agent, but he never let anyone
get close to him. So the day he was killed, no-one realised he was
brooding, and no-one thought they'd drop in on him. Lucas was the closest
when the alarms went off, but he was still a good half hour away. By the
time Lucas got here and called for help, it was too late. Doyle was
already dead."

 Bodie looked back down at his partner's body, and could see that the man
was close to death, much worse than he had been when Bodie had come in
through the fire escape and found him.

 "Jesus." He whispered.

 "Don't you see, Bodie? You made a difference here. You saved his life.
And all those times you cheered him up, stopped him from brooding, nobody
else did that. Everything you do has an effect Bodie."

 Bodie nodded, finally beginning to understand.

 "It's not just him, either. All the people you've helped over the years;
the criminals you stopped, the wars you fought in. You made sure that my
murderers came to justice. Do you remember the Myer-Helmut terrorist
group? The ones you cornered in the vicarage? Six months after you didn't
stop them, they blew up an Underground station in London. 187 people died,
Bodie, including Murphy."

 "Murphy?"

 Keith nodded. "He was on their trail, but the bomb went off too early. Do
you get it now? Whether you think so or not, you're important to a lot of
people."

 Bodie stood slowly, painfully aware that his partner was no longer
breathing. He felt sick, and turned away.

 "Let's go." He said quietly.

 Keith nodded, and they walked out of the room and down the fire escape in
silence. Only when they reached the last few steps did Bodie realise he
wasn't outside Doyle's old apartment, but back in the road where he had
been killed.

 "So what happens now?"

 "That all depends on you, Bodie."

 Bodie sighed. "Enough with the cryptic rubbish, Keith. It's all very well
you showing me all this, but if I'm dead then it's come a bit fucking
late."

 "By rights you should be, Bodie. But you never know…" he trailed off,
grinning.

 "What?" Bodie snapped.

 "Miracles do happen, Bodie. It is Christmas, after all."

 "So what am I supposed to do? Click my heels three times and say 'there's
no place like home'?"

 "Not exactly. Like I said, it's up to you."

 Bodie's vision suddenly faded slightly, the way it had when the accident
had first occurred. As it cleared, Bodie realised he was back on his bike,
wearing his helmet and travelling towards the site of the accident all
over again.

 It took a few seconds before he worked out what was going on, then he
realised exactly what Keith had meant when he'd said that it was up to
him. He hit the brakes, and the bike skidded to a halt, the engine
protesting at the sudden stop. Less than a second later, the same driver
as before pulled out of the driveway without looking.

 Having reversed out into the road, the car drove off down the road as if
nothing had happened. Which, Bodie supposed, was because it hadn't.

 Checking his watch, Bodie saw that no time had passed since he had first
been hit by the car, and began to wonder if this had all been some kind of
hallucination after all. There was only one way to find out.

 Ignoring the strange looks given by a curious passer-by, Bodie wheeled
his bike down to where he knew there was a phone box, and dialled Doyle's
number with shaking hands.

 It was a few minutes before the number was picked up.

 "Doyle."

 Bodie breathed an intense sigh of relief at the sound of his voice, since
it was proof that Doyle was indeed alive and well.

 "Ray?"

 "Yeah, Bodie. What's up?"

 "Tell me something, Ray. Do you remember when Mayli Kuolo shot you?"

 There was a pause at the other end of the line. "It's not something I'm
likely to forget, Bodie." Doyle's voice was sharp, and a little confused.

 "What did you say to her?"

 "What?!"

 "When you went into your flat and saw her. What did you say?"

 "Something about how she'd got in, I think. Yeah, that was it. Why,
Bodie?"

 Bodie grinned. "Never mind. Listen, does that invitation to Christmas
dinner with the Doyle's still stand?"

 There was stunned silence from the other end of the line. "Erm…yeah,
course it does. What's going on, Bodie?"

 "It doesn't matter, Doyle. You're going up to Derby tonight, yeah?"

 "That's right."

 "Give me an hour, and I'll be over."

 "Alright, Bodie."

 Bodie hung up, and stared at the receiver thoughtfully, still trying to
absorb what had happened in the past hour. Finally he gave up and headed
back to his flat, keeping a careful look out for reversing cars as he did
so.

 Maybe it was time to see exactly what there was to all this fuss over
Christmas. After all like the man said, you might not choose your family,
but with close friends around, it really didn't matter.

 As he pushed the key to his flat into the front door, Bodie could have
sworn he heard Keith's quiet laughter in his ear.

 -- THE END --

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