"Where the bloody-hell did you get that?"

"You know, a person could be very hurt by your tongue, Raymond Doyle!"

Doyle smirked. "I don't think that'll ever be your claim to fame, Bodie."

"That's as maybe, but life isn't all sex, sex, sex, you know. My aesthetic side needs some attention from time to time."

"And it's satisfied by buying that?"

"That is a thing of beauty, that is!"

Doyle snorted. "They saw you comin' mate. How much?"

"Had a hell of a job getting it in the car."

"How much?"

"Fell off the back seat when I came round the roundabout by Sainsburys."

Doyle stood, hands on hips, waiting.

"Fifty quid."

"What!"

"It's off the Titanic that, it's got real curiosity value."

"For fifty quid, I'd want it to be off the bloody Ark! Why couldn't you just go and buy an ordinary mirror from that new DIY place, like everyone else?" Doyle demanded.

"Because this one has got character - history - soul - unlike some I could mention." Bodie replied, aiming a sideways look at his lover. "Pulled out of the water, it was, by one of the sailors on a rescue boat."

"Pity it didn't sink to the bottom with the ship. Why didn't it? Must weigh a ton." Doyle gave the mirror an experimental lift. "Christ, it does weigh a ton."

Bodie ran his hand over the carved wooden frame. The intricate leaf design was beautiful and he could not for the life of him understand why Doyle didn't agree. He'd fallen instantly in love with it the moment he'd spotted it in the window of the antique shop. The dealer had wanted seventy quid for it, but had seemed happy to take Bodie's lower offer. No skin off his nose, so he'd nabbed it, quick, before the bloke had time to change his mind.

"Where'd you want to put it then?" Doyle was still eying the thing , suspiciously.

"Thought it might look quite nice here in the bedroom." Bodie looked around them. "What about over the bed?"

Doyle leered. "Fancy admiring your technique, do you?"

His partner leaned close, wiggling his eyebrows. "Well, you know what they say! 'If you've got it, flaunt it!' "

"And you certainly do."

"Eh? I think the pot's calling the kettle black." Bodie ran an exploratory finger up Doyle's denim clad thigh and rubbed gently at the tight bulge at his crotch. "Not quite as tight as days of yore but not far short.

The imagination doesn't need to work all that much overtime."

"Depends whose imagination we're talking about. Do you want this thing up before we go out?"

"Yeah," Bodie smiled, suggestively, "I'd love it up before we go out."

He unzipped the blue-jeans of a million fantasies and pushed his own personal wet dream down onto the bed, a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face. Much later, buried deep in the world's most beautiful arse, it occurred to him that watching himself do this to Doyle, in the much maligned mirror, might be the turn-on of all turn-ons. After which, he ceased to think in any coherent fashion whatsoever.

Bodie hated Mondays. He turned the shower off reluctantly and stepped out into the chill air. He wrapped a bath towel around his waist and grabbing a second one, rubbed his dark hair dry.

He dangled the towel over his head and de-fogged a patch of the bathroom mirror with his hand. Peering into it, eyes bulging, he poked his tongue out at his reflection. Then he practised his cretin face, crossing his eyes and jutting out his lower jaw. Gave Ray the giggles every time that. One or two grey hairs beginning to appear, he noticed. Before you knew it they'd be singing "The Lambeth Walk" in some old folk's home.

What on earth was Doyle watching on the telly? He had it loud enough to raise the dead! All that screaming. Some disaster movie no doubt. Odd thing to be on, this early in the morning. His partner usually favoured the BBC's breakfast programme, all smart suits, weather reports and footsies, whatever they were.

He shrugged his towelling bath-robe on over broad shoulders, and unlocked the bathroom door. Stepping out onto the landing, he stopped to listen. Michael Fish reporting a heavy frost and warning against black ice. Bodie frowned. So what happened to the disaster movie? It wasn't like Doyle to be flicking the channels this early. He sighed deeply, decided it was too much to cope with on a Monday morning and trudged into the bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. Salty. It reminded him of childhood holidays at the seaside. It wasn't that he objected, but they were miles from the nearest beach, so it had to be seen as odd. He stood, bewildered, in the middle of the room, looking around.

"Lost something?" Doyle's voice made him jump.

"Can you smell anything?"

Doyle took an exaggerated sniff. "Mmmm. You've had a shower! Not your birthday is it?"

Bodie gave him a look of mock injury. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"Because you're besotted with me," his partner grinned.

A hand crept sneakily under his robe and pinched his backside.

"Ouch!" Bodie feigned indignation. "I'm not a sex object you know!"

"Right. Just a rumour then, is it?" Doyle winked. "So, what do you think of the mirror, do you like it now it's up? Hope it doesn't fall off the wall and brain us both when we're having one of our more athletic moments."

Bodie slid him knowing look and reached up to finger the carved frame. "It's nice. Really pleased with it."

"Long as you're happy, sunshine. Coffee's made, so hurry up and get something on. Might even be able to find some bacon lurking in the depths of the fridge."

Bodie didn't need telling twice.



"Wake-up Bodie, time to go to bed!"

Bodie sat up, yawning. The film had been less than riveting. After attending a day-long seminar on Equal Opportunities in Cowley's stead, he needed something more dynamic to keep him awake than a French yarn about a bloke with the hots for his mother-in-law.

"Did he marry her then?" he asked.

"Nah. She fell into the combine harvester."

"Bit corny."

Doyle grimaced. "Let's go to bed before you think of any more witticisms, shall we?"

Once upstairs, Ray went to undress and Bodie headed straight for the bathroom. Ablutions complete, he strolled into the bedroom and found his partner still fully clothed, kneeling on the bed.

"All right, where have you hidden it?"

Bodie stared at him, opened mouthed. "What?"

"The seaweed? Other people watch the weather forecast or bore people with their latest rheumatism reports. Why do you have to keep seaweed in the bedroom? You can look out of the window to see if it's raining, you know?"

"What are you on about? I sometimes wonder if all those knocks to the head have left you completely brainless," Bodie accused.

Doyle bounced off the bed and headed to the bathroom. Bodie began to remove his clothes. As he undid his shirt he stopped to think. Seaweed? Had Ray smelt the same smell that he'd noticed this morning? Odd. He sniffed. Nothing. He sighed and put it out of his mind, concentrating instead on the delights that would be his before they slept. It might even be possible to persuade Ray to....



Bodie gasped and sat bolt upright in bed. Breathing hard, his heart thumping, he looked frantically around the moonlit room.

"What was that? Was that you playing silly buggers, Ray? If so, it's not funny!"

"Mmmm?" The voice beside him was hardly even awake. "Whasmadder?"

Bodie struggled to regain control. "I felt a finger poking me in the back. If you're messing about..."

"Don't worry 'bout it, 's only Cowley. Sleepin's not allowed, you might be enjoyin' it. Ignore him."

He lay down again, heavily. Still shaken, he put a hand out to touch his partner for reassurance and Doyle turned over to cuddle him.

"'S okay," he reassured his partner, " I'll tell the old bugger in the morning - I'm the only one allowed to go pokin' you."

Bodie smirked in the darkness, sought a beautiful mouth for a single kiss and ended up with many.



"You okay?" Doyle looked worriedly at Bodie, who was shoving a piece of congealed egg listlessly around his breakfast plate.

"Think so."

"Come on, what's the matter? Tell Uncle Ray all about it."

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"Bodie!"

Sighing, Bodie tried to explain. "Last night..."

"Was lovely but shall we just be friends?" Doyle laughed out loud. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

Bodie smiled, despite himself. "As I was saying - light-of-my-life - last night was really odd."

"I know. You thought you felt someone poke you with a finger."

"No. I know I felt someone poke me, there's a difference, Ray. Not only that..."

"What?"

"When I finally got back to sleep..."

"Finally? Jog my memory here, who kissed who first?" Doyle inquired, innocently.

"All right, all right, I'll give you that one." Bodie admitted. " What I'm trying to say here, is that I had a pretty nasty nightmare."

Doyle folded his newspaper and leaned his arms on the table, ready to listen at last.

"Bad?"

"Yes."

"Tell me."

"We were on this op. Don't know where or why, just that there was a river or it could have been the sea, I'm not sure." He paused, staring down at his plate. "Somehow you fell in, went straight under and didn't come up again. I jumped in after you but couldn't find you. I was frantic, screaming - hysterical, like. Kept diving under in a complete panic."

"And what happened? Did you find me in the end?"

"No. Someone, I'm not sure who, Cowley I think, stopped me, said you were gone. I wouldn't believe him, kept yelling at him like a mad bugger. By that time we were standing on the bank, not sure how. I put my hand up to hit him and woke up with a start, sweating like a pig. Was bloody awful, Ray."

"Oi." Doyle spoke softly. "I'm here. It was just a dream. A nasty one, granted, but a dream all the same." He placed a hand on Bodie's arm and squeezed gently. "Love you."

"I know... I'll be fine... don't worry. We'd better get to work. Target practise for the new lot today isn't it? If you're not there, one of them will probably shoot himself in the foot."

"Himself? Equal Opportunities now Bodie, women get the chance to shoot their toes off too these days!"

"Except that they don't, do they? It's always the blokes who are the trigger-happy ones."

Doyle nodded in agreement and finished the rest of his coffee.

Bodie scraped most of his breakfast, cold and unappetising, into the bin... an extremely rare occurrence.



Doyle was right, this new thriller was terrific. Bodie turned over in bed to find another position, his right leg having gone to sleep on him. He tried to wedge the book into the bedclothes. Reading in bed was never as easy as it looked but he regarded it as one of life's little luxuries. He'd left his partner downstairs watching Question Time. The programme was more than Bodie could stomach. Bloody politicians, pontificating and trying to make people think they actually cared. But Doyle liked it, so Bodie came upstairs to read. No problem.

But staying awake was. Nice soft pillow, nice comfortable niche, subdued light - he was soon nodding. Floating in fact, looking up at the clouds as they scudded across blue sky. He looked around - ocean - as far as he could see in any direction. Funny, he couldn't remember how he got here. Oh well, never mind, lie back, relax. Just float. Very pleasant. Soothing. Let the water do all the work. Lovely.

What's that? Hands. Around his waist. Pulling him down. Stop it. Not funny. Might drown. Get off! Water closing over his head. Filling his mouth. Sinking. Oh God.

"Bodie! BODIE! What the hell? BODIE!"

Doyle was on top of him, except....what was going on? Why was he sitting up here like this, on top of the pillows with his back against the mirror?

"What the hell am I doing up here?"

Doyle sat astride him, panic very evident in his face. "I don't know, I came up to bed and found you like this, screaming your head off, pressed right up against this bloody thing."

"I was dreaming. Floating on the sea I think. Then suddenly there were these hands, pulling me down - trying to drown me. Christ, Ray."

Doyle looked thoughtfully at the mirror. "What have you brought into our home, Bodie?"

"Eh? Don't be daft. You don't believe in all that mumbo-jumbo do you?"

"I'm not gullible, if that's what you mean, no. But let's consider here. Strange smells, nightmares, now this."

"And screams."

"What?"

"The other morning I could hear screaming - lot of people in a terrible panic. Thought you were watching a disaster movie. But you weren't, it was Michael Fish, he hasn't caused a panic since he forgot to mention there was a hurricane comin'."

Doyle was still regarding the mirror with some scepticism. "I hate disaster movies," he muttered, distractedly. "It doesn't look like anything other than an old mirror. How much did it cost again?"

"It was a bargain. The price tag was seventy quid and he let me have it for fifty. Honestly Ray, you're not still goin' on about the cost!"

"Why?"

"Why what? Oh, why did he let me have it cheap? I dunno. Needed the space perhaps."

"Or glad to get shot of the bloody thing."

"Get on! You've been working for CI5 for too long, mate."

Doyle looked enigmatically at Bodie. "We'll see."

The two men slept very peacefully in the spare room that night.



They nabbed the last parking space in the High Street, the next morning.

"We're supposed to be on the way to relieve Murph. You know he hates doing the 'Love Thine Allies' talk to new recruits," Bodie reminded Doyle as he released his seat-belt.

"I know, I know, but this'll only take ten minutes," Ray assured him.

He joined Bodie on the pavement, grabbing his arm as he began to walk, zombie-like, in the direction of the delicious hot-pie aroma emanating from the bakers. Bodie looked back longingly as he was dragged off up the street by a determined Doyle.

"Later."

"Promise?"

Doyle sighed. "I don't know how you ever expect to make old bones."

"Well, personally I'm not that keen on doing the Lambeth Walk," Bodie told him.

"What?" Doyle asked, obviously confused.

"Never mind."

They had arrived in front of the Antique shop where Bodie had acquired the mirror.

"Let me do the talking." Doyle instructed.

"Right. But don't you need a Belgian accent and a funny little moustache? A few little grey cells might help too..."

"Have you ever thought, Bodie, that you might watch too much TV?" Doyle asked, concentrating on the door.

"No. Anyway, it's a series of books too, you know, as well as being on the telly."

"Is it? Never. Well I didn't know that!"

Bodie stood looking at his lover, eyes narrowed - though a certain twitching of his lips betrayed his amusement. "Rat-bag. I'm going to make you pay for that. "

"Promises, promises, always promises." Doyle emitted an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh. "Come on."

As he reached for the handle, Bodie's hand closed over his and positioning himself unnecessarily close behind him, Bodie whispered into his ear.

"Remind me. How does it go? 'Fuck me, Bodie! Harder! Yes! Oh God, yes! Fuck my bloody brains out!'" he mimicked. "Not sure... have I got that right, Ray?"

Only he witnessed the blush which crept from Doyle's neck to the roots of his greying, wavy hair.



The bell jangled noisily as they entered, reverberating around the whole shop. They looked around for several minutes while Bodie attempted to remove his grin.

Eventually the owner approached.

"Good morning gentlemen, is there something you're particularly interested in?"

Bodie judged the man to be in his late fifties, and, if he wasn't very much mistaken, very appreciative of Raymond Doyle. He smiled inwardly. Who could possibly blame him? At forty-five it seemed as though Doyle had 'grown into' his looks. Standing there in jeans, boots and an open, calf-length overcoat, he was, to put it mildly, a sight for sore eyes and the smarmy antiques dealer was busy feasting his.

Doyle smiled winningly and the shop-owner's eyes lit up. Bodie looked away to hide his amusement.

"Uh, yes. I don't know if you remember my friend here. He bought a mirror from you last week. Rather nice - it has a carved wooden frame - all leaves and such..."

"I don't give refunds," the man cut in sharply

His attitude had changed completely but it was irrelevant. In that one statement he'd told his two customers everything they needed to know. He had indeed been glad to get rid of the thing. So glad that he'd taken twenty pounds less than the asking price to see the back of it. Bodie's heart sank.

Doyle stood silently, staring at the owner. The man began to look distinctly uncomfortable.

That is," he tried to back-track, "of course, under certain circumstances - but the mirror was in perfect condition when it left here."

"My friend got a bargain then. Nice of you that. Twenty quid off. Taking up too much space was it? Had it too long? Liked his face - can't say 's I blame you..." he winked suggestively. "Or were the customers complaining?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about. Why should my customers complain?"

The man was looking positively edgy now. Antique dealers were a wily lot anyway, but this one was looking shiftier by the minute Bodie decided.

"Perhaps they didn't like the smell of seaweed? Or being prodded by persons unknown? You know what it's like, there's no pleasing some people."

"I don't know what you...."

"Where did you get it?" Doyle interrupted.

The man seemed to consider for a moment before settling for honesty. "From a dealer acquaintance. I gather he acquired it from a house in Kent. The owner died in odd circumstances, drowned in his own bath apparently."

"Drowned?" The word tumbled out of Bodie's mouth before he could stop it.

"Yes."

"And why don't you like the mirror?" Doyle persisted.

Bodie recognised Ray in interrogation mood and was happy to let him get on with it. The shop-owner was looking wary again.

"I don't think..."

"Come on! We didn't come down with the last shower and we haven't got a lot of time, so out with it."

"I live above the shop. Didn't much care for the voices I kept hearing at night, smells, that kind of thing, felt like someone was watching me."

"How did you know it was the mirror?"

"Process of elimination. I knew when it arrived and as things sold, I narrowed it down to that."

"Bet you were pleased when my friend here walked in. In more ways than one," he added ambiguously.

The dealer turned and let his gaze slowly encompass Bodie. It was obvious he liked what he saw and Bodie felt himself colour. Turning back to Doyle the owner opened his mouth to speak but Doyle beat him to it, silently mouthing the word 'mine'. They understood each other it seemed.



Out on the street once more, the two men strolled back towards the car.

"What now?" Bodie asked.

"I think a quick trawl around the archives of a few local Kentish newspapers, followed by a day-trip at the weekend. What do you reckon?"

"Is it worth it?"

"Aren't you curious?"

"Yes, but..."

"What?"

"I mean," Bodie speculated, "it's got to be complete and utter nonsense, hasn't it? What are we saying? That a mirror is haunted? Cowley would laugh us out of the office!"

"Yeah, though he ought to understand. Lot of experience of ghosts in his family - him being a direct descendant of Scrooge an' all," Doyle smirked.

They reached the car and Doyle started to unlock the door. Interrupting his task, he went to retrieve his mate from outside the baker's window, shepherding him back to the vehicle.

"You promised."

"I lied... and wipe that drool off your face it's not very appealing. I want to be seventy and still shagging you stupid, okay? Call me picky, but a blow-job from a corpse doesn't appeal."

"I expect to be bought an ice-cream if we're going down to Kent at the weekend." Bodie grumbled, settling himself in the front seat. "Strawberry - and there'd better be a flake in it too."

"It's winter. No-one eats ice-cream in the winter, Bodie."

As Doyle started the car, Bodie gave him a look which stated quite clearly - that's what you think.



There was no doubt about it, the house was beautiful. Nestling in acres of ground and surrounded by mature gardens, it was a gem. Its weathered, red brick exterior and rambling tendencies would have excited anyone with artistic leanings. Bodie tried to picture himself and Doyle ensconced in such a place but realised they would fall at the first hurdle entitled 'mortgage'.

They got out of the car and Bodie walked around to join his partner.

"What are we doing here, Doyle?"

"Thought we'd come and take a look."

"Ray, we can't just march up to the front door and demand all the gory details."

"The newspaper said that he had a sister who lived with him. So she must still be here."

"How do you know? They might have carted her off to the local old folks home. And what are we going to say? She's not going to let two strange men into her house, is she?"

"The elderly are very trusting."

"And you're planning to take advantage of that?" Bodie was seriously troubled.

"Look, we're not actually con-men, Bodie."

"No, but the next callers could be. Come on then," he sighed, "let's get it over with."

They climbed the steps and rang the bell. It was answered eventually, by a lady of considerable years.

Doyle spoke first. "Hello. Are you Miss Prowse? We're from the local paper, we're doing an article on unusual fireplaces... for our Home and Leisure section. I gather from a colleague that you have one here. We were wondering if we could feature it, perhaps come in and take a look?"

To Bodie's dismay she looked thrilled.

"Oh yes! Yes we have, it's quite unusual, you know? Do come in."

Bodie's heart sank as he followed Doyle inside. Smiling at her gently he introduced himself and his partner to her.

"I'm Bodie, Miss Prowse, and this is Raymond Doyle."

"Don't you have a first name?" she inquired.

"Uh yes, William, but no-one uses it...."

"Oh that's much nicer," she interrupted, "I'll call you William."

Bodie opened his mouth to protest but she was already walking away. "I'm sure you'd like some tea, I'll just go and put the kettle on. Do go in and sit down."

She pointed to an open door.

"Well come along, William." Doyle sauntered past, winking, unable to hide his wide grin.

"You know, it's about time you got a dentist to look at those front teeth of yours, Doyle. They might be the cause of that rather unattractive twitch you seem to have developed in your left eye. Amazin' what they can do these days - dentists. I might even volunteer to hold you down while he does it..."

They entered a room designed for comfort rather than show. Crammed full of furniture and bookcases overflowing with books, its French windows overlooked a delightful garden. They sank into a comfortable settee and awaited Miss Prowse's return.

She came bearing a tray fit to gladden Bodie's heart. A pot of tea, ensconced in a tea-cosy of the 'knitted for a garden-fete' variety, bone-china tea-cups and a wonderful victoria sandwich cake sat upon the inevitable embroidered tray-cloth. Bodie rose quickly to take it from her and placed it on the coffee table in front of them.

Cups of strong tea were handed round and she cut two pieces of cake big enough to feed a regiment.

"So nice to have hungry men in the house again," she enthused, "it's been quite a while."

"Do you live on your own?" Doyle asked her.

"Yes, since my brother died, about nine months ago. I do miss him, but there, life goes on as they say.

Now, if you gentlemen would like to tell me why you're really here, I'm sure I can accommodate you."

Bodie stared at her, astonished. "Um. What makes you think it's not to see your fireplace, Miss Prowse?"

"Because," she smiled at him, "it's right behind you and you haven't even mentioned it."

Doyle choked on his tea.

Gathering their wits, they looked behind and stared at the offending object.

"It's very nice," Bodie admitted.

"Yes," Doyle agreed. "It is."

"It's Elizabethan," Miss Prowse told them proudly, "quite unique."

"Really?" Bodie replied.

"Yes. But policemen aren't usually interested in antique fireplaces, so I won't bore you with it."

"Policemen?" Doyle ventured.

"Yes. My father was in the force - quite high ranking - our house was always swarming with them when we were young. I learnt very early on to recognise the type. You are policemen, are you not?"

Bodie sat, grinning, with his hand over his face.

Doyle enlightened her. "We're with CI5, not exactly police, but close. Though, to be frank, we're not here on official business."

"But I can obviously help you with something, or you wouldn't be here," she observed. "William, would you care for another slice of cake?"

Bodie's face lit up. "I don't mind if I do, thank you."

She handed it to him. "But not for you, I suspect, Raymond?"

Doyle grinned at her. "You wouldn't be related to a certain Miss Marple, would you Miss Prowse?"

"You know, Raymond, had I been born later I really think I would have liked to have been in the police force. Of course, father would probably have objected. I can almost hear him booming, 'No job for a woman!' But all the same..." She stopped and appeared to give herself a mental shake. "I taught at a girl's school you know. English Literature. The sort of occupation my father fully approved of. What he would never have approved of, had he known, is how much I encouraged my pupils not to stay within the boundaries set for them by polite society. Now, enough of me. You must tell me all about why you're here."

Bodie took a deep breath. "Well, it's like this. I bought a mirror from an antique shop a few weeks ago and to tell the truth, things haven't been the same since. We understand that the mirror came from this house. That it might have belonged to your brother and that he might have died rather strangely. Of course, if you'd rather not discuss it, then we would understand completely ... if it's painful for you."

She sat studying them with interest. "May I ask you something first?"

"Yes of course." Doyle replied readily.

"Would I be correct in assuming that you two nice gentlemen share a home?"

The question took Bodie by surprise and he answered warily. "Well, uh, yes, as a matter of fact."

"And that you would be, what I would politely describe, as "close"?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "My brother was all I had. It's difficult for those not sincerely attached to anyone to fully comprehend the sense of loss one experiences when deprived of a loved one. It's not for me to pry into the private lives of others but I sense that you both understand this."

Both men were silent. Doyle eventually answered, quietly. "I think it would safe to say that we would both be inconsolable should anything happen to the other."

She smiled gently. "Quite." Her smile faded. "You must dispose of that mirror. Whatever its cost, it's immaterial, get rid of the wretched thing."

Bodie was once again amazed. Miss Prowse was full of surprises. "Why?"

She frowned. "It's very hard, William, to put intuition, instinct - call it what you will - into words. My brother Tom inherited the mirror from an uncle of ours who died. I believe it had been in the family for quite a while and had many owners; our family is large and we don't always keep in touch as we should. Rumour has it the thing came originally from the Titanic, but you know rumours, it was probably on a ferry that sailed back and forth to the Isle of Wight."

The two men both laughed.

"So, did you have it here in this house after your uncle died?" Bodie asked.

"Unfortunately, yes. As you have no doubt observed, it's a pretty thing and my brother thought it would grace his bedroom rather well. And so it did. He hung it on the wall opposite his bed in fact, so he could see it when he was in bed. He was really rather pleased with it." She shuddered, a disturbed look in her eyes.

"What happened?" Doyle prompted.

"Well, not very much in the beginning; an odd smell, like being at sea - voices, that sort of thing. I thought at first that Tom was going deaf if he needed the radio that loud. And then he began to behave oddly, as though he was disturbed by something. He wouldn't say, of course, he never liked to bother me with things. But several times it seemed, in the morning, as though he had slept very poorly, something which was very untypical, believe you me," she laughed, obviously recalling memories of a much loved brother.

Bodie smiled but unease was creeping over him. The full picture was beginning to emerge and it sounded all too familiar. Almost afraid to ask, he voiced the question he knew both he and Doyle needed to know.

"How did your brother die, Miss Prowse?"

She visibly blanched. "He didn't come down one morning. So I went up and knocked on his door, positive he was having a lie-in, but nevertheless, troubled. Eventually I opened the door and found him in his bathroom, drowned in the bath."

Her voice caught and Bodie reached over and squeezed her arm.

"I'm sorry, we really shouldn't be putting you through this."

"No, I'm all right. You must know, it's important. I didn't at first connect Tom's death with that wretched mirror. And then one night I was on my way to bed and heard noises coming from his room. Alarmed I put my ear to the door and could hear what I can only describe as complete and utter panic, screaming, shouting, you name it. I opened the door quickly and that object," she almost spat the word out, "was literally a heaving mass of grey faces contorted into the most evil expressions imaginable. Unspeakably horrible. I knew then of course that it had some connection to what happened to Tom, but how does one tell the authorities that a mirror could have been instrumental in your brother's death? To tell the truth I did wonder, the next morning, if I'd dreamt it. The whole thing seemed so utterly bizarre and impossible. Where is it now?" she asked.

"Above our be... er, above the bed," he replied, embarrassed at what he was implying.

She looked alarmed. "Please move it, for your own sakes. You see... that is not the whole story. I took the time to investigate further. Contacting relatives I had not seen or spoken to in years. Of course, I was not able to discover its exact whereabouts in every case, but in three other instances its owner had succumbed to the same fate - death by drowning."

The silence which greeted this announcement was tangible. Both men were speechless.

"Unfortunately, by this time," she continued. "I had sold the mirror. In fact it was one of the first things I did, before I really considered the consequences. I'm so sorry that you have become embroiled in this. I should have destroyed it, I realise, but by the time I knew that it was too late."

"It's all right Miss Prowse," Doyle reassured her, "we'll see to that for you. Don't you worry." And he gave her a wink. She beamed at him and Bodie smiled inwardly. The old Doyle-charm. It never failed.



"So, what do you think?"

They were on their way home, much later than they had intended and it was already dark.

Doyle seemed to give it due consideration. "Interesting. Very, very interesting."

"Yeah. I've never given the paranormal very much thought before all of this, you know."

"I meant your sudden predilection for old dears."

"Eh? Now what are you on about?"

Doyle sniggered. " 'Have some more cake, William.' You've changed your tune. They used to have to be under fifty and come across. Now you're anyone's for a slice of homemade sponge-cake."

Bodie grinned. "That was before I saw the light. Can't be a bloody fool all your life. Anyway, good cake, that."

"Well you should know, you ate three slices of it."

"It'll be four as a matter of fact."

"What?"

"She wrapped a piece in cling-film and shoved it in my pocket when you went for a pee."

Doyle chuckled. "Dear God. You deserve to be haunted, you do."

"Scary... all that stuff she told us, Ray. Do you reckon there's anything in it?"

"I dunno, but that bloody thing isn't staying in the house one second longer than it has to."

"Hmmm. Agreed. So. Where is the nearest ice-cream van then?"

"You are jokin'?"

"Promised a strawberry ice-cream with a flake, I was."

"Bodie!"

"But I'll settle for a different sort of lick when circumstances dictate."

"Eh?"

Bodie grinned. "Keep your eyes on the road, sunshine."

They pulled into the drive and Bodie got out to open the garage door. He waited while Doyle reversed in and then nipped smartly around and got back into the car.

Doyle frowned. "What are you doing? Come on let's get inside, it's freezin' out here."

"Not so fast, you. A promise is a promise." He leaned over and whispered in Doyle's ear. "I'm sure your gear-stick would benefit from some close attention."

"What? Out here? You're joking."

"It's in all the sex manuals, mate," Bodie pointed out. "Find different places to make love - good for your sex-life."

"And this is certainly different," Doyle had to concur. "What next? In the bakery department in Tescos?"

"Certainly not!" Bodie was outraged. "You know I always go to Sainsburys..."

Doyle sniggered.

"Come on," Bodie insisted, "in the back."

Doyle relaxed in the back seat of the car with his lover astride him. Bodie was nothing if not thorough. He set out on a wet exploration of all the nooks and crannies of his lover's mouth and paid particular attention to both nipples and navel with his tongue. Doyle groaned quietly, as slowly, the zip on his tight jeans was pulled down, exposing a cock that was very hard and very ready.

"Christ, Bodie. Suck it for me."

Bodie chuckled deep in his throat.

"Like my tongue on your prick do you?"

"Yeah. Do it for me. Let me fuck your mouth."

Bodie loomed over him and pushed his tongue roughly into his mouth. He probed until Doyle whimpered with arousal, bucking his hips to emphasise his need. His cock actually seemed to be begging for Bodie's lips and when he gave it the attention it craved, Doyle threw back his head and gasped. Grasping the dark head, he thrust into it; soon out of control, his orgasm arrived quickly. His come hit the back of Bodie's throat as though it had been held back for years, each spurt accompanied by a guttural grunt of release.

Slowly, Doyle recovered.

"What would you like?" he whispered.

"Your arse," Bodie replied, hoarsely. "It won't take long, just show the dog the bone. I'm leaking like hell."

It didn't. Bodie lubricated the exquisite hole quickly, from a tube he kept hidden in the car and soon had his desperate prick impaled up to his balls and shafting for all it was worth. The tightness was intoxicating and he squeezed and kneaded Doyle's cheeks to increase the sensation. When he came, he felt the fluid leave his cock with such force that his yells must have been heard at the end of the street.

He collapsed in a heap into his lover's arms, spent.

"Fuck," he muttered some while later.

"You certainly did." Doyle grinned, nuzzling him. "Me. Into next week."

Bodie sniggered. "Sorry. Did I hurt you? Didn't actually mean that though."

"No. I'm okay. What then?"

"My cake. It got squashed in my enthusiasm. Bugger it."

Doyle gurgled with laughter. "Serves you bloody right! Ice-cream ...."

"My licking technique not to your taste then, Ray-mond?"

"Oh I wouldn't go so far as to say that."

"Neither would I, judging by the noises you were makin'."

"Merely showing proper appreciation."

"I don't think proper had much to do with it." Bodie countered.

"Nah, and thank god for that, eh?" Doyle replied, sighing contentedly.



Indoors, at last, Doyle motioned to Bodie to follow him upstairs.

Bodie's eyebrows shot up. "Again? Must be my lucky day," he leered. "Can I wear the negligee tonight, petal? It's my turn."

"You can dress up like Brunnhilde if you like but just help me get rid of this soddin' mirror first."

"Do you think the excitement might have gone out of our love-life, my sweet?" Bodie sighed, exaggeratedly.

"Shagging in the back of the car when we could have come indoors to a nice comfortable bed? I think there's life in us yet don't you? Anyway there might not be any love-life, if we don't get shot of this thing. Give us a hand."

Together they lifted the mirror off the wall and manhandled it down the stairs.

"Where shall we put it?" Bodie asked.

"Out in the garden. We'll take it to the tip tomorrow and make sure it's smashed to smithereens. Okay?"

"Just as long as it's not in the house," Bodie shuddered. "all that stuff she told us gave me the creeps."

"Me too. Unbelievable some of it. She's right though, how could you tell the police that? They'd have you locked up."

"....and throw away the key." Bodie finished. "Seems to me an interest in ghosts and stuff is only one step above bungee jumping or Elvis impersonators in the eyes of some people. I knew a girl once whose brother was into bus-stops. Used to go around taking photos of them - had a whole album full of pictures which he'd get out to show you, if you weren't quick on your feet. Stopped seeing her when I heard myself say one day, 'that's nice!' and realised I actually meant it."

"Bodie! When you've quite finished reliving the absurdities of your early love-life, could you open the bloody door?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry."

He slid open the patio-door and stepped out into the garden; Doyle followed on behind.

"All I'm saying," Bodie persevered, "is that as long as these people are harmless, we shouldn't be so quick to judge. Down here?" They deposited the mirror on the ground by the fish-pond and propped it against the fence.

Doyle straightened and regarded his partner. " So. It's ok to be potty but watch what nonsense you dish up cuz some people have a lot on their plate and it might not be their cup of tea? It's a good job I'm no mug," he chuckled, "or I might be completely bowled over!"

Bodie winced. "You know, you get worse. That was appalling, Ray, really terrible. Come on, it's cold out here and I'm freezin' me nuts off."

He grabbed hold of a cackling Doyle and hauled him inside, closing the door on the night.



Waking in the early hours, Bodie was thirsty. His own fault entirely, he realised, he shouldn't have had that bacon sarnie for supper. Nice as it was - smoked bacon, fresh bread and lots of HP sauce - he now had a raging thirst. It was like waking up with a full bladder. You had to decide how urgent the need was in relation to your reluctance to leave your nice warm bed. Ten minutes later, having prised his tongue off the roof of his mouth three times, he decided it was urgent enough.

Grudgingly he pushed back the bedclothes, grinning as they were grasped and pulled in tight by Doyle. His partner bored for England on Bodie's inclination to pinch the covers. Smiling to himself, he reflected that his lover wouldn't get half as much fun out of life if he couldn't find something to complain about.

Pulling on his dressing-gown, he went downstairs to get a drink. He switched on the kitchen light and fetched a tumbler from the cupboard. After two glasses of water his thirst was quenched but realising that if he didn't take another back up with him, he might have to make a return trip, he refilled it.

The remains of a packet of dark-chocolate digestives sat on the work- top. There were only two left and it was a shame to let them go to waste, so he leaned against the counter and finished them off. He was just licking his fingers when the loud mewing of a cat came to his attention. Next door's, probably. The one that kept digging up Ray's lettuce seeds. They say cats never soil their own garden and from his observations it appeared to be true. It certainly knew where to go to annoy Doyle, anyway.

Bodie had tried hard not to find it amusing, not entirely successfully, which of course had irritated the budding gardener even more. Not knowing when to stop he'd proceeded to imply that his lover was getting on a bit because he now stayed in to watch Gardener's World on Friday nights, instead of going out to the pubs and clubs. Ray had poked him in the stomach and sarcastically asked him if he didn't think he was a bit young to be developing middle-aged spread. It had all ended in giggles and scuffles and thence to some interesting tactical manoeuvres up against the kitchen sink. He grinned to himself, recalling the episode. All things considered - when all said and done - he thought himself one of life's luckier individuals.

The cat was still mewing. Very loudly in fact and Bodie was now curious to see what the matter was. Nothing probably, but all the same....

He wandered into the dining room and peered through the patio-doors into the dark. He wasn't exactly surprised to see nothing. As moggies went it was a pretty stupid one and was probably either stuck up something, stuck in something, or just chatting up the Persian two doors up. Still, it was curious, so he opened the door and stepped outside.

"Here puss!" He coaxed. What was it's name? Magnus? Audrey, next-door, was into Icelandic history.

Men in helmets with horns on, who went raping and pillaging in long- boats, he supposed, though admittedly he knew very little. But if she wanted to call her cat Magnus who was he to argue? Took all sorts. And she had never been anything other than very friendly towards them, even though she must know she had a gay couple living next door. Bodie had a lot of time for her. Audrey was dotty... but nice... and he would have felt guilty ever after, had he gone back to bed and ignored Magnus's plight.

Except that he couldn't see the wretched cat. Bodie offered up a silent prayer that it wasn't up in Ray's veggie patch digging up the onion sets he had meticulously put in a couple of weeks ago.

"Magnus! Here kitty, kitty, kitty."

Feeling pretty foolish peering into various conifers looking for a cat, he stood up. Something touched him on the back. He froze. Cold, clawing, numbing, fear. He was standing beside their newly made fish-pond and knew for a fact that they had left the mirror propped up not far from it. How could he have been so careless as to forget? He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to turn and confront the thing. It touched him again and he felt himself begin to shake. Get a grip.

Petrified almost beyond reason, Bodie took a deep breath and slowly turned to see what was touching him. He stared at it in utter fascination. A hand. Grey, claw-like, contorted almost out of all recognition; he simply could not decide how many fingers it had as it changed form and shape in front of him. It was quite the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

A voice in his head was telling him to look for its source. Reality seemed suddenly to be in slow motion but he began to trace the course of the snake-like arm, back to its origins. The mirror. He couldn't think. Why was it contorting like that? Who were those people? He stepped forward to see more clearly, mesmerised, and then stepped back in utter horror as the faces turned into the stuff of nightmares. Twisted, ugly caricatures - creatures from hell - shrieked and howled, reached out and took hold of him; sought to touch , to caress in the most hideous manner, until something inside snapped.

He screamed. Fighting frantically to free himself, he fell and water closed over his head. He remembered thinking, absurdly, that the pond was too shallow to drown in. That was before he realised that hands were holding his head under. No chance for one more breath, no chance to say good-bye to Doyle. He fought, but knew it was a losing battle. He would die like all the others before him. Oh Ray.

Bodie's mind was trying to work out why he was lying, face down, on cold concrete slabs with water pouring out of his mouth. Who was breaking the window? There was that cat again. Manfred. No, Marvin. That was it, Marvin the cat. And who was Bodie? Perhaps he was breaking the window?

Strong hands were turning him over. Hmmm. Nice looking, might ask him for a date later.... hope he's not always that miserable though.

"Bodie. Bodie! Oh Christ, Bodie, are you all right?"

An amply proportioned woman swum into his vision, brandishing a sword. Brunnhilde perhaps? Bloody foreign tourists got everywhere these days....

"Audrey! You're a nurse, take a look will you?"

Nurse Brunnhilde? He began to giggle and like magic his mind cleared.

"Ray?" he spluttered.

"He's all right," Audrey was saying to Doyle, "A bit confused that's all, you might want to call a Doctor but I think he'll be fine."

Ray sat back on the ground with a thump and Bodie watched as his face crumpled. He tried to sit up in order to comfort him but nothing worked properly. All he could do was touch his arm. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

" 'S all right, sunshine, I'm ok," he managed to force out.

Audrey patted Ray gently on the back as he fought back the tears. If Bodie had previously been unaware of how much he was loved, there could hardly be any doubt remaining now.

"Sorry," Doyle sniffed. "Bloody silly..."

"No, it's not," Audrey was telling him. "But I think we should get him inside before he catches a chill."

It wasn't easy but they managed it and eventually Bodie sat, wrapped in blankets, on the settee, clutching a steaming cup of tea.

"Is Marvin all right?" Bodie asked, concerned.

"Marvin who?" Doyle frowned.

"He was mewing, I thought he might have been hit by a car or something."

Doyle continued to look blank.

"The cat. Audrey's cat. Is it all right?"

Doyle sat down on the settee and stared at him; a smile slowly appeared. He propped his elbow on the back of the couch and covered his mouth with his hand. Bodie watched as his eyes filled up.

"Magnus." Doyle's voice caught. "The sodding thing is called Magnus. It does its business in my seed-beds and you nearly died because of it." He sniffed, hurriedly brushing the wetness from his face.

Audrey came in. "I've phoned the Doctor. He's out on a call at the moment but will be here as soon as possible. You two okay?"

Doyle was still trying to get a grip, so Bodie replied. "We'll live. Well I will, not so sure about him." He ruffled Doyle's hair. "Can I ask? Did I imagine you standing there with a bloody great sword? Must have been delirious I think."

"No, no, it's Kevin's. He uses it when we go off on our Viking re- enactments. It's quite valuable, I only hope I haven't ruined it."

"Ruined it?"

"Mmmm. It wasn't exactly designed for smashing mirrors but it was the first thing that came to hand."

"You destroyed the mirror?" Bodie was astounded.

"Yes. I managed to raise Ray and then ran to grab something to break it with. It's funny, you see all manner of inexplicable things when you're a nurse but I've never, ever, seen anything like that. And never want to again," she shuddered.

"But what were you doing out in the garden at this time of night?"

"What? Oh... looking for Magnus. Could hear him making a racket, thought he might be up in Ray's vegetable patch."

"So, after all that, where exactly was he?" Bodie asked.

"On the roof. Hoping that Persian, up the road, was coming out to play I think," she grinned, shamefaced.

The three of them looked towards the hearth-rug where the ginger-tom sat washing, oblivious to it all. He stopped briefly to regard them, mewed, and then returned to the more important task of licking himself clean.

"Good film."

"Mmmm. Over long and over-hyped but it passes the time," Doyle yawned.

"Load of rubbish, factually of course," Bodie pointed out.

"How come?"

"Well, they didn't even mention the mirror, did they?"

Doyle laughed. "It's probably like Miss Prowse said - she phoned by the way, sends her love to

William - it was on the Isle of Wight Ferry, not the Titanic."

"Nah. It came from the Titanic."

"How do you know that?"

"Just a theory."

"Which is?"

"That some objects have the ability to influence events around them."

"But you don't know if the person who owned the mirror on the Titanic - if it's so - lived or died."

"I know that."

"So?"

"Well, it's more likely isn't it, that it didn't belong to anyone but was part and parcel of the ship's furnishings?"

"Mmm. I dunno, Bodie, there's a lot of ifs and buts there. What are you getting at?"

"Well, if it did belong to the ship and not to a person then it would explain quite a lot, wouldn't it?"

"You've lost me."

"The Titanic hit an iceberg, Ray, in the middle of a beautiful, calm night. It shouldn't have done."

"So?"

"So... the mirror belonged to the ship - the ship went down - it did the equivalent of death by drowning."

"You can't seriously be suggesting.... My God, you are."

Bodie shrugged. "Doesn't matter, does it? I mean, what do you think would happen if I stood up and said that?"

"You'd be the latest in a long line of loonies with theories on gawd knows what - UFO's, Marilyn Monroe, Crop Circles - and why the Titanic went down."

"Precisely. And speaking purely personally, I quite like my life as it is. Our work is no longer quite the danger to life and limb that it was, I've got a few grey hairs and some jumpers from Marks and Sparks. I'm comfortable. Luckier than many - got the love of me life living with me, even if he does moan a lot and pinch the bedclothes..."

"Oi! It's you that pinches...." Doyle trailed off, grinning. "You don't fancy bein' a celebrity then, sunshine?"

"Nah. Don't think I'll buy any more antique mirrors either."

"Yeah. On reflection..."

"Doyle?"

"What?"

"Don't."

"Okay."

-- THE END --

Originall published in Third Priority A-3, IDP Press, 2001