Lonely This Christmas
by Manda

DISCLAIMER: All "The Bill" characters in this story are copyrighted to Pearson/Thames Television. The words of the song are copyrighted to the writer, the producer maybe and whoever sang them. I can't remember who but it's their song not mine.

"Thanks!" Claire smiled at the removal men as she slammed the door then breathed a long sigh of relief as she sank down behind it and stared helplessly at the chaos of boxes around her. At that moment she felt more alone than she ever had in her life. She dropped her head in her hands, swallowing hard to steady her emotions. Then she gritted her teeth, got up and turned to go into the kitchen. Leaning against the units she stared out of the window at the unfamiliar view. She was so tired she thought and she only just realised how final this move was. She had severed all physical ties with that section of her life. Only the emotional ones were left. And now she truly was alone.

She turned away from the cold outdoors and started digging in the box of food that she'd opened earlier to make the workmen a cup of tea. She was just looking for something to do; she couldn't face unpacking properly yet. Her fingers brushed the smooth glass of the bottle lightly and she paused for a moment before grasping it tightly and lifting it out of the box. The whisky gleamed in the light of the pale winter sun as she held it up in front of the window. It doesn't help she told herself, trying to resist it. Without warning, a picture of John sprang into her head. He was standing in the lounge of her old house, holding a glass and laughing slightly as he told her "No, it just makes things go a bit blurry." It hit her like she'd been punched in the stomach- she could almost see him. He was looking at her, looking straight into her eyes. She snatched the top off he bottle and poured as much of the burning liquid down her throat as she could stand. Blurry was better than this. The terrible dragging ache of emptiness inside her as she let the barriers down. She tipped the bottle back again. Anything was better than this.

Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

Claire jerked awake. A hand to her head she sat up slowly. Dazed, she looked around, wondering where she was. Then the memories came creeping back, one by one. Of earlier, of yesterday and all that had happened in the past few months. The alarm was still going. The sound, slightly muffled, was coming from one of the unpacked boxes. Ignoring it, Claire dropped her head in her hands and groaned. This was supposed to be a new start; new flat, new area and so on. So far it looked more like a dead end.

The beeping switched itself to the radio. Christmas carols? She hadn't even noticed it was nearly Christmas. Had she been that wrapped up in herself lately? Claire looked around her again. She'd woken up on the sofa in her new, undecorated lounge. Boxes piled unevenly around the room, the grimy old curtains drawn. She frowned, she didn't remember doing that. For a moment she panicked, think that someone was there, watching her. That somehow he'd come back and had managed to find her and get in. She knew he was capable of it. Terror gripped her. Her breathing came fast and hard as she stared round the room with frightened eyes. Then her gaze fell on the almost empty bottle of whisky on the table and the untouched glass beside it. She relaxed. She didn't feel guilty. All officers did it; John had done it.

The song on the radio died away. A softer, slower one started up, the words echoing off the bare walls as someone crooned: "Gonna be lonely this Christmas, Without you to hold. Gonna be lonely this Christmas, Lonely and cold."

Claire bit her lip at the irony in the lyrics. The alarm clock finally gave up its battle for attention and cut off, much to Claire's relief. The words were just a little too close to home. The room was left silence. Just the dull hum of traffic in the background. Idly, she wondered what time it was. The middle of the night obviously. It had got completely dark while she'd been asleep but she didn't want to switch the light on. She liked this darkness. Everything seemed a little less real. She could feel things better, but with a clear head, without losing control. For the first time she was able to admit how much she needed him. She wanted to feel him, with her; tried to see his face, hear his voice. For so long she hadn't been able to bear thinking too deeply about him although he'd never been out of her mind. She had concentrated on Beech first then getting away from Hodges. Focussing on other things to try to hide the pain, deny it. The emptiness inside her was always there but she'd been able to cover it up, pretend everything was OK, put up a front. As she'd always done. Now that was all over. She didn't know what came next?

The room seemed to have got even darker since she'd been sitting there, thinking. But it was a comforting kind of darkness with the orange glow of street lamps filtering softly through the grimy old curtains. She reached for the bottle of whisky and poured the last of it into the glass without getting up.

A strange sensation came over her as she picked up the glass. It was ridiculous. She didn't believe in ghosts. But just for that moment she really felt that he was there. She could sense John's presence, close to her. Just as she used to sense him coming into the office behind her, following her up the stairs or leaning over her desk. She couldn't say how or why. It only lasted those few seconds. But in those few seconds she felt completely safe. Like she hadn't felt since their last night together. And in those few seconds, she made up her mind.

The feeling of being totally alone swept over her again. But this time it made her strong. He had done this, all of it. And she wore she'd get him. Not just for what he'd done to John but for what he'd done to them all.

With steely eyes she raised the glass "Merry Christmas John" she spoke into the darkness. I'll get him. I promise you."

And the words of the song on the radio went around and around in her head. "Gonna be lonely this Christmas, Without you to hold."