She kissed his cheek; it felt cold and clammy. The pills were in a black leather shaving bag. She was surprised how many bottles of different prescriptions he had been given. After he'd taken two with a glass of wine (which she doubted was the best way to take them) the pain obviously lessened and when she served dinner, he ate hungrily and said it was the best dinner he'd had since he'd been injured. It was not until they had coffee (or she had onehe was still drinking) that he became quiet and serious.

It's not going to be easy, is it?' he said.

I never thought it would be, but then I never thought you'd be home this quickly. In fact, you just being here is a miracle.'

He smiled, and lifted his glass. To my sweet Anna!'

She blew him a kiss. Right, I'll going to clear up, and then we can watch TVor have an early night; maybe you should do that. It's been a big day for you and you don't want to tire yourself out.'

Let me tell you when I'm tired.'

Fine, just sit then. I won't be long.'

She had just wiped down the kitchen counters and had put the dishwasher on when she heard him calling her. She went over to him.

I can't get up,' he said quietly.

It wasn't easy getting him up onto his feet; he was like a dead weight. They had to walk very slowly towards the bedroom. He gasped for breath at each step; twice they had to pause whilst he gritted his teeth before being able to move another step forwards. He was embarrassed at being unable to take a piss without her helping him, but he was incapable of retaining his balance.

She helped him undress, ready to take a shower. He had grown silent; time and time again he winced with pain, but said nothing. She took his dirty clothes into the kitchen to put into the washing machine and to give him some privacy, but when she returned to the bedroom he was still sitting, naked apart from a towelling robe around his shoulders.

I can't stand up again,' he said, head bowed.

That's okay. For goodness' sake, it's your first day home.'

She leaned forwards to put her hands under his armpits to try and haul him up, but he was too heavy; she eventually managed it by letting him lean his weight forwards onto her and then very slowly standing.

He took the few steps towards the ensuite with one arm resting round her shoulders, his other hand groping the wall. He had lost a considerable amount of weight; his tall frame looked rake thin. Anna turned on the shower as he rested against the tiled sides, and she got a good soaking before she was able to help him stand beneath the water jets.

Only now had Anna the opportunity to see the terrible scars to his body. One ran from his right shoulder-blade, crossing his chest and reaching almost down to his waist. The other ran from the middle of his right thigh over his kneecap, almost down to his shinbone. He must have required hundreds of stitches.

Bit like a patchwork quilt, aren't I?' he joked, as she soaped his back and helped him wash his hair.

They had quite a struggle to get him back to the bedroom and into his pyjamas, and he then lay back exhausted. She felt such compassion and such love that she wanted to weep, but she kept up a bright and steady chatter, setting the alarm and preparing to take her make-up off.

By the time Anna was ready to get into bed, he was asleep on top of the duvet. She had to ease one side open and slide in. She turned the lights out, feeling exhausted herself.

Twice during the night he had to have some more painkillers before she had him finally tucked up beside her. He had hardly said another word, as if even talking pained him. She lay awake beside him for a long time, assessing just what she had taken on. She had always known that it wouldn't be easy; however, it had never really dawned on her exactly how difficult it was going to be.

This is going to put us to the test, isn't it?' he said softly, as if he knew what she was thinking. She was surprised; she had thought he was sleeping. He raised his arm for her to snuggle closer to him.

I suppose a fuck is out of the question?' he asked, and she could hear him smiling.

Right now it is, I'm too tiredbut you won't get away with it for too long.'

He laughed. I won't wait for long; I need to see if everything is in working order. At least the bastard missed my dick!'

The following morning, Anna helped him dress before she went to work. She left him sitting in the lounge, watching breakfast TV with a tray of eggs and bacon. He seemed in a better frame of mind and smiled as she waved a kiss goodbye.

I won't be late. Any special orders for dinner?'

Blow job would be nice.'

She pulled a face and walked out.

At the station, Harry Blunt was having an argument with Frank Brandon, as usual. This time, it was a bet on what had been the fastest trial from the time of arrest. Blunt insisted it was thirty-six days, but Brandon was adamant it was forty-seven. After a few phone calls, Blunt held out his hand for a twenty-pound note.

Murphy had pleaded guilty at the plea and directions hearing. He was still held at Wandsworth; the trial date had been set and counsel appointed to represent him. Harry, as usual, went into a fury at the waste of public money, but the full show had to continue: it was the law. A law, Harry felt, that should be reviewed. With all the evidence and the admission of guilt from Murphy, he reckoned Murphy should just go before a judge and receive his sentence there and then. Better still, give the son of a bitch a lethal injection! Get rid of the dross of humanity, instead of allowing them to clog up every prison.'

He was about to launch into another favourite topic of conversation, the prison system, when Brandon told him to shut up; they'd all heard it before.

How's Langton doing? I heard he's left Glebe House,' Brandon asked.

He'd be furious that news had got out already about his release, Anna thought. He's doing really well,' she said.

He's a bloody marvel,' Harry interrupted, and then went into another tirade. Do you know how much my pal got, for being knocked out and kicked like a football? Poor bastard, he was on full pay for just six months; then they cut it down to half pay for a further six months, and then the fuckers cut the pay off altogether! All he could claim was twenty quid per week from the Police Federation. Twenty quid! You can't buy a week's groceries with that. It's fucking disgusting. Poor bastard can't even remember his own name.'

Brandon noddedactually agreeing with Blunt! I've got private medical insurance, mate.'

Harry pursed his lips. Well, I bloody haven'tnot with two kids and a mortgage.' He turned to Anna. Has Langton got private insurance?'

I don't know.'

Well, I hope sohe's gonna be out for months. Will he be claiming disability pension?'

He's not disabled,' Anna said brusquely.

Brandon parked his backside on the edge of her desk. Friend of mine, he was a triathlete, right? Knocked off his motorbike, paralysed from the waist down. He went before the Chief Medical Officer. I mean, he was all right upstairs, understand? Just his legs got crushed. He's earning good if not better money now, doing a non-operational job over at Hammersmith.'

Anna chewed her lips; between the pair of them, she was beginning to get really furious. No way will he be disabled, nor, I can assure you, is he mentally screwed up either, so just shut up, the pair of you. You're like two old women.'

Brandon shrugged and returned to his own desk, but she caught the look between him and Harry, as if they knew she was lying.

Langton was sitting at the bar in the kitchen, as he found the high stool more comfortable. She had bought tuna steaks and microwave chips and was tossing the salad as he opened a bottle of wine.

Do you have medical insurance?' she asked.

Why do you ask?'

Just Harry Blunt was talking about some friend of his.'

What, hang-'em-all-Harry?' he said, grinning.

He was saying today that there shouldn't be a trial if someone has pleaded guilty and there is strong evidence to prove it.'

What, actually just hang them?' he said, taking out the cork.

She laughed. He's such a gossipkept on about disability pay and how little an officer gets.'

Talking about me, were you?'

She put down the salad tongs. Well, they asked how you were.'

Oh yeah, and what did you tell them?'

That you had made a remarkable recovery and no way would you be claiming any disability.'

It's going to be a few months, you know,' he said, pouring the wine.

She sat beside him. So, do you have medical insurance?'

Yes. I took it out after my first wife died, mainly because I loathed the bloody hospital she was taken to, though she didn't last long enough to see the place. I just thought to myself, if anything happened to me, no way was I going to end up in a bloody National Health ward; probably die of something I picked up from the floors.'

That's good.'

He turned towards her. Don't talk about me, Anna.'

I didn't; they just asked me how you were.'

And you come back with all these queries about private medical insurance and disability pensions!'

I just said that you were recovering!'

Don't even say that, okay?'

Yes, all right! So, you want salad?'

After dinner, they sat in the lounge and Langton brought out a notebook.

I've got a driver and a car at my disposal,' he began by saying, so it's not going to inconvenience you.'

I don't mind driving you around.'

Well, you can't when you're at work, so this is what I've organized so far.'

Anna looked down his list. He had a personal trainer booked for every other day. He'd apparently wanted a session every day, but had been told that he needed a day in between, so the muscles could acclimatize to the workout. He had therefore arranged physio sessions on the days between the workouts, plus a massage three times a week, as well as swimming, saunas and steam baths.

You are going to be doing all this every week?' she asked, astonished.

Yep. It's taken me all day on the phone arranging it.'

Good for you,' she said, and meant it. She was proud of him and said she would make sure he ate healthy foods to put some weight back on.

When she went into the bedroom, she had to step over a selection of weights and equipment. He'd evidently asked the delivery men to shift the furniture around and it made her bedroom look rather like a gymnasium. It irritated her slightly that he hadn't mentioned it to her, but she said nothing.

I've got a rowing machine coming in tomorrow,' he said, rubbing his knee with a foul-smelling liniment.

Where on earth are you going to put it?'

In the hallthe only place with enough space. The rowing action will build up my shoulders and the knee action will strengthen the ligaments. Sorry about this stuff; it stinks.'

She wrinkled up her nose. My dad used something like it on an injured shoulder.'

Yeah, it's good old-fashioned grease with a heat mix. The scars have healed well, but the skin is so taut around them and the muscles ache like hell on my knee.'

Do you want me to do that for you?' she asked.

Nope, better I do itI've got a very low pain threshold,' he joked.

Anna kissed his cheek; he hadn't shaved and it was like a bristle brush. Would you like me to shave you?'

No, I'm growing a beard. Day I shave it off is the day you know I'm back in shape.'

Oh.'

Does it bother you?'

No. You'll look a bit like Rasputin.'

He grinned. Yeah, look how many shots the assassins fired into him before they could kill him, mean bastard. They even tried to drown him, then poison him as well.'

I'm going to take a shower.'

Fine, go ahead.' He was wrapping an elastic bandage around his knee.

She couldn't help feeling as if he had taken over her entire flat, as well as her life. She opened the bathroom door and was taken aback to see a walking frame. She went back in and asked him what it was in there for.

Ah, it's just so you don't have to help me piss, or watch me crap. Makes me more independentbut it stays in there. I'm not using it anywhere else.'

Anna shut the door, easing herself around the bloody walking frame. Lined up in the bathroom were rows of vitamins, gels and tablets, crowding her make-up shelves. She couldn't find her toothbrush, and had to move his pills around to find it.

This won't last for long. It's just temporary, so stay calm,' she muttered to herself, but she felt as if the walls of the bathroom were closing in on her.

Anna had yet to bring up the situation with Sickert, though it still concerned her. It never seemed to be the right time, as they were settling down to quite an amicable partnership. The fact that she ran her life around him, cooked and laundered, and was a constant support as he grew stronger, made him less demanding. Langton constantly impressed her with his total dedication to regaining his strength. They also started making love again; he was, as he had been before, a generous and exciting lover. They didn't exactly swing from the rafters, but if he was in any discomfort, he never showed it. His knee injury was still very obvious and she knew he depended on his painkillers to continue the rigorous training programme he had set for himself. He also had moments of deep depression and anxiety. These times she knew to leave him alone; that was not easy if she was at home, as the flat was so small.

As far as she knew, Langton made no contact with anyone apart from his trainer. He now had quite long hair and a beard; not exactly Rasputin, but it altered his appearance totally. He mostly wore tracksuits and trainers, so that if he did venture out, she doubted anyone would have recognized him. He seemed to have no desire to either take in a movie or dinner at a restaurant, but he did make one trip: she returned home from work one day to find his bicycle propped up in the hall. She knew he had always used one to work out at the track in Maida Vale, but she had no idea how the hell he had got it into the flat. With the rowing machine, and now the bicycle, circumnavigating the hall was hazardous. The bike pedals always caught her ankle and she had tripped over the rowing machine so many times that she had a permanent bruise on her leg.

A stack of mail he must have collected from his flat, all unopened, took up almost the entire space on the coffee-table. This was another irritation to her: everywhere he went, he left a trail of trainers and tracksuit tops. Newspapers he would buy every morning, so she had a stack of them in the kitchen. She tried to throw them out, but he insisted she keep them, as there were some articles he was interested in. It would have been an ideal opportunity for her to discuss the cuttings she had discovered at his flat all those weeks ago, but they were interrupted when the doorbell rang. It was his physio, come for a morning session.

Sometimes, just when she felt it was all too much for her, he would do something that made her melt. He would often return from his workouts with a bunch of flowers. A few times, he cooked dinner and made such an effort it touched her heart, as he was so boyish and eager for her to compliment his culinary efforts. He rarely asked about her work and never spoke of Lewis or Barolliif Anna did refer to them, he would waft his hand as if to say don't go there'but he was eager to talk about vitamins and minerals and physical therapy. He was now having extra massages and treatment from an acupuncturist.

Langton was obsessed with his recovery: it was his sole occupation and he would allow nothing to disrupt his regime. Anna knew it must be costing a fortune, since his personal trainer alone was a hundred pounds an hour. But the results were really astonishing: already his frame had filled out and he was almost back to his original weight. He was very proud of his six-pack and often stood admiring himself in the wardrobe mirror. He would be up and out with his bicycle before she showered. He'd cycle to the Maida Vale bike track and do five miles, then cycle home for his porridge and mound of vitamins. He was still often in pain and had been warned by everyone on his training programme not to push it too much, but he refused to listen.

The trial of Murphy was a week away. Vernon Kramer had already been sentenced and sent back to Wandsworth prison, as he had requested to serve out his time close to family and friends.

This had caused Harry Blunt to deliver yet another tirade about the prison services. You know that bastard will be segregated on Rule 43 because he's a child molester; now he'll be back with his old cronies and probably swapping dirty pictures, the bastards! They don't call it that any moreRule 43: seems it offended some of the arseholes. Mind you, now they'll have keys to their own fucking cells!'

Brandon looked at Anna and gave her a half-smile. She had grown to like him, especially now he had dispensed with his cologne. He came over to her desk and passed a note.