What little colour was left drained
from Doyle’s features, and he looked
as if he might throw up on the spot.
"What do you see
when you look in the mirror,
Bodie?" obfuscated Doyle irritably
"And don’t give me all that guff about
being irresistible, I don’t give a damn.
What do you see?"
“Once you’re dead, why would
you give a damn about how you got there?
Only, thing is, Bodie – I ’m the one who cares.
Me, because if I didn’t, if I didn’t…"
"Look, let’s get out of here.
Find a pub somewhere,
drown our sorrows."
“I’m in no mood to play games,
Bodie" warned Cowley "Doyle’s not only a
valuable asset, he’s a vulnerable one."
The last known sighting of Ray Doyle.
Cocooned in their metal box the rain,
curtaining them from the outside world,
Bodie had talked unselfconsciously, assuming
Doyle would listen without judgement.
With Bodie he didn’t have to be the man he aspired to be,
with Bodie he was free to be the man he was
‘Never gonna survive like this’
Doyle berated himself, as the pain
of Bodie’s absence bit deeper
An intrusive vision
of the heavily pregnant
and abruptly widowed
June Cook filled his head
Bodie would come to terms with it
eventually, but Bodie never understood betrayal.
It would always be a tender wound.
His instincts never let him down.
They’d kept him going through the
dark days in uniform and
the eager, wary days in CI5
with his hair blowing in the breeze,
driving an open topped sports car
He had lost some weight and gained
a beard, the swings and roundabouts of life,
but he was finally satisfied with his lot.
“Yeah" said Bodie, stretching comfortably
“But days like this, makes you wonder if you’re doing the right thing."
“Don’t ever get old, Bodie"
“You wouldn’t like it a bit."
Like a couple of magnets,
they were never more than an argument away
from being pulled back together