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He keeps bloody well enough in touch to send our twelve year old a mobile phone for her birthday. What kind of twelve year old needs a mobile? Not ours, and he'd know that if he was the parent who dropped her off and picked her up at every shop, every school function, every bloody thing she's done for the past eleven and a half year whilst he's been off waltzing about with near-teenagers revisiting his youth or being an artist or whatever the hell it is he's doing this week.

How's that novel going, by the way, Pete? Yeah, you know that one. The one that doesn't bloody exist?

By the way, I had no idea he named her after a cat.

Little shit.





{{So, I've been reminded since this went up that it was Evan who gave Molly the blackberry, not Pete. But instead of editing it I'm just gonna leave it. Cos it makes me laugh.}}

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If I had a choice, I wouldn't have chosen the 1980s. Though perhaps, in a way, I did choose that decade, in the same way I chose those there who accompanied me. It's easy to blame it all on Sam Tyler, for influencing me, for putting in my head the idea of CID as he knew it, although the decade was mine.

My parents. I suppose it was their influence, my hope to change something that couldn't be changed. It's ironic to think my time in the 1980s rose from hope, for as horrible as it was at times.

And, to be fair, quite wonderful as it was at other times.

I don't expect Molly to believe that she did come with me, in a way. She was always with me, even if it wasn't her, even if it was just my mind reminding me what I had to fight for. Reminding me why I am so happy to finally be back. Yet, parts of that past still haunt me. Gene still haunts me.

But sometimes I remember what they say. That you can never really go home.