Authors notes – This has spoilers for an upcoming storyline which has already got people talking. This could make it even worse… but.. enjoy!

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come

As shifts went it had definitely fallen into the category best defined as a day from hell, and as Connie viewed the overflowing paperwork filled mess that was her desk she was almost glad that she had somewhere to go, and didn't have to find an excuse not to stay and sort it all out. That said, there was final battle to be fought before she was free to go, as she discovered when she looked up and found Elle standing the doorway to her office, with a beaming grin on her face incongruous with the quite frankly appalling day they'd had.

"What do you have to be so cheerful about?" she asked, puzzled by her colleague's continued energy and exuberance.

The grin widened, "Connie, there's only one way to deal with a day like today." She offered up, and Connie's heart sank, as she had more than a vague suspicion of what was coming next.

She wasn't wrong.

"You and me. That tapas bar. The one with the cheap red, and tight arsed waiters. Let's go."

She shook head, knowing that Elle wasn't one to give up without a fight.

"Not tonight, Elle."

Elle's grin faded to obvious confusion, "I'm sorry. You're saying no to me. After the day we've had?" She held up her hand, ticking off the various facets of the last 12 atrocious hours, "The death in your precious trauma theatre. The Santa and elf punch up in reception. The family of 4 under 5s taken into care. The domestic violence case." She held up her thumb with near triumph, "The squashed cat in the car park. Come on Connie, you need this as much as I do."

It did, Connie had to admit, sound tempting. She'd eaten nothing since a slice of wholemeal toast at 5.30am so the tapas definitely appealed, and a glass or six of wine didn't go amiss as a concept either, but the simple fact of the matter was that she had somewhere else to be. She shook her head a second time,

"I can't. Sorry."

At her words, Elle threw herself down in the seat opposite Connie's, looking more like a truculent teen than a professional woman in her 50s.

"Connie. Have I done something to upset you? We've not been out in weeks. I feel like you're avoiding me."

Connie sighed, too exhausted to deal with the inquisition, "Elle, you've not upset me. I've just been busy." She hesitated, and then added, "I have plans tonight."

Elle's eyes narrowed, "Plans?" The earlier grin returned to her face, alongside a very definite hint of curiosity, "Are you dating, Mrs Beauchamp? Is that it?"

She groaned, "No. I'm not dating. It's just…" she suddenly felt awkward, although she knew she had no reason to. She looked up at Elle who was looking at her expectantly, and realised she'd gone too far not to offer something up. "I've been visiting the Fairheads."

"I see." Elle replied, suddenly understanding although she was clearly confused too, "I didn't realise. Jacob said they weren't keen on the idea of visitors."

It was true, and Connie had, had a tough time getting Charlie to agree to her visits, but she'd stood her ground and in true Connie style had made a point of getting her own way. She glanced at Elle, "You know me. I don't like the word no."

Elle smiled slightly, "Well this we know." She hesitated, obviously weighing up in her mind whether to ask the next question, "How is Duffy?"

Connie fiddled with a pen that lay in front of her, trying to avoid eye contact. It was one thing admitting to visiting Charlie and Duffy; it would be a whole other matter to start divulging details of the seriousness of their current situation. Instead she settled for a fairly ambiguous, "It's very hard on them both."

Elle nodded, "I can imagine. Horrible situation." She got to her feet, "Well, give them my love, and" she paused at the door, "don't stay there all night. You look exhausted. You need to give yourself a break too."

Connie watched her go, pondering her words. Considering where she was heading, giving herself a break was the least of her concerns. Other people needed that break more.

xx

Charlie was unpacking groceries when the doorbell rang, trying to work out whether quinoa was a breakfast food and if kale and butternut risotto was a side dish or a main. Luckily, when he went to the door he found the lady with all the answers standing there.

He smiled when he saw her. With everything going on his life she was a breath of fresh air. He'd resisted her visits at first, but the truth was, he was rapidly reaching the point where he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his head above water without them.

"You should be at home." He said, gently, chidingly. He knew she'd just come off a 12 hour shift and could see the exhaustion in her eyes, "Or the very least is some seedy gin joint with Dr Gardener."

She laughed, moving past him, heading into the kitchen, "No. Not tonight. I wanted to see you." He watched as she took over the job he'd been doing, busying herself with the wholemeal gnocchi and courgetti spaghetti, placing them in the fridge.

"You know you didn't have to do that." He said, indicating the shopping on the table, "You're a busy woman. You shouldn't be doing my online grocery orders for me."

She shrugged, nonchalantly, "You don't have the technical know how to do it, Charlie, and" she looked at him pointedly, "you're pretty busy yourself." She finished with the shopping, and reached for a bag she'd brought with her, pulling out a bottle of wine, which she opened before helping herself to two glasses from one of the kitchen cupboards and pouring it. She pushed one into his hand before asking the inevitable question.

"How's she doing?"

This was always the worst moment as far as Charlie was concerned. That bloody question. Sometimes, just rarely, Duffy had a good day and then he was happy to answer it. Pleased to in fact, but the rest of the time, the majority of the time, it just felt like adding to injury. He didn't just have to live the down points of his wife's illness; he then had to relive them all over again.

He sighed, "She's not been great today. She's sleeping now though."

Connie sipped her wine, a sympathetic look on her face, "Has she…?" she paused, and Charlie was grateful for it. He knew what she was asking, and was glad not to hear it put into words. He nodded, averting his eyes, suddenly finding the ceiling to be the most interesting thing in the world, not wanting Connie to see the tears he was powerless to fight. Nevertheless, knowing him so well, she moved to his side, took his hand and lead him into the living room, sitting him down and giving him chance to compose himself as she moved over to the iphone speaker in one corner of the room, putting her own phone into it and selecting a playlist before returning to sit bedside him on the sofa.

When she finally spoke, it was gently and he sensed she was choosing her words carefully.

"It was always the worst thing. With Dad." He felt her take his hand and he let her, glad of the physical comfort, "He used to call me Anna." She added, before explaining, "That was my mother. I think he just got lost in the past."

He laughed bitterly at her words, feeling them deep in his heart, "Well, I'd say that's pretty true in Duffy's case." He thought back to the moment, earlier in the day, as he'd been trying to encourage her to eat lunch.

"I don't want it, Andrew."

It had been bad enough two days previously, when she'd called it him for the first time, but at least then he'd been able to write it off as a one off. Second time round it wasn't so easy to stomach. This was it now, he felt. This was their future, being spelt out to him loud and clear. He felt like he was disappearing the same way she was, only he had a damn sight more insight into the fact it was happening.

He forced himself to look at Connie who was eyeing him with concern, and made a conscious decision to move the conversation on.

"How was work?" He watched as she opened her mouth and he could tell from the way that she hesitated that he wasn't about to get the true picture, and so cut her off, "Don't sugar-coat it. You look done in."

She sighed, "Charlie, I'm not here to talk about me. The shift was fine."

He looked closely at her, reading her face, and then smiled at her, "If your shift was fine, why have you cried your mascara off." She still looked reluctant so he gave her further encouragement, "Connie, dementia, Duffy… it's become my entire life. You can give me something more. You can tell me about your day." Seeing her still wrestling with her conscience he added the cherry on the cake of his argument, "You'd have wanted the same when your father was ill. I don't doubt it for one second."

xx

He had her there, and so she got comfortable, curling her tired legs up underneath her, and sinking into the comfortable sofa, picking up one of the cushions and cuddling it to her before looking at him and nodded.

"True." She took a deep breath, "It's been shit Charlie." She felt bad saying it, knowing that actually, even the worst day in the ED couldn't be as horrific as spending 24 hours straight alone a spouse with premature dementia, but she appreciated his point, and remembered all too well the little things she clung onto when caring for her father; phone calls from Sam talking about ground breaking surgery in the States, and evenings with Jac sharing CT stories over endless bottles of wine. They had been the things that kept her going.

Charlie reached out, placed his hand on her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze, "Go on, start from handover and don't miss out a single detail."

She did as he suggested, starting with being three members of staff down, and dropping Taylors coffee down her white shirt, before moving on to the emotionally draining cases that crossed her path, although breaking the mood at the midpoint by sharing the story of Santa knocked out by his Elf. She'd just reached the point where she received a call about an RTI involving a 5 year old boy, when a shout from upstairs broke into their quiet chat.

She saw Charlie start immediately, set to get to his feet and go and attend to Duffy but she reached out and held her hand up to him.

"Let me."

He opened his mouth to protest but she didn't give him chance, rising before he could and heading upstairs before he could argue.

This was another one she'd had to battle him over. When he'd first acquiesced and agreed to her visiting he had been clear that it was to give him company at most. He hadn't even wanted her to see Duffy in the first instance, only allowing her to visit a night when his wife was tucked up in bed and sleeping.

But then, one night, like tonight, Duffy had woken and stumbled into the living room, confused and disorientated. It had come as a massive shock to Connie, who in spite of all Charlie told her, had not fully grasped the damage the illness had done in the intervening months since she'd last seen her. But, when Duffy got distressed, and agitated by her presence, and refused to be calmed be Charlie, Connie had stepped in to help out, and since then she had, when allowed done what she could to help out with Duffy's nursing and care.

She made her way to the bedroom and knocked gently on the door, although she knew from experience that she wouldn't get a response, so pushed on in, finding Duffy sat on the bedroom floor, riffling through her bedside table.

"Duffy?" she knelt down bedside her, keeping her tone gentle, before reaching and slowly taking her hand, "What's wrong?"

The other woman looked at her momentarily, clearly puzzled by her presence.

"It's Connie." She prompted, "From work."

Duffy looked at her, as if she'd said the most ridiculous thing in the world, "I know. Why wouldn't I know?"

Connie let the question slide, knowing there wasn't a sufficient answer she could offer, and instead turned her attention to Duffy's endeavours. "What are you looking for?"

"My passport." The answer was snapped, and sharp, "I need my passport, Connie. I need my passport now." She upped her search a gear, pulling a photo album out of the bedside table, shaking it violently, before pulling at the pages, causing them to tear in the process of her search. As they fluttered to the floor and Connie saw the treasured wedding photos they held she cut in desperate to stop her doing any further damage,

"Its downstairs." She said firmly, taking the album from her and smoothing its remaining pages as she spoke, "It's downstairs, in your handbag. I can show you." She watched Duffy, sensing that she was gauging whether she could trust her. "Why don't you get into bed and I'll come straight back?" she reached for Duffy and gently guided her back to bed, "I promise."

To her relief Duffy climbed back into bed, calmed by the promise. Connie sat beside her and picked up a clock from the bedside table. It read 21:58. She handed it to Duffy, talking to her gently and soothingly, and disconcertingly as if she was a frightened child, "I'll be back before it says 22:00, OK?"

She made her way downstairs to where Charlie was waiting, looking concerned. "Is she OK?"

Connie smiled slightly, "Planning a trip I think. Do you have her passport? She's not going to settle until she's seen it."

Charlie got to his feet and moved over to a cabinet that stood at the side of the room and looked through the drawers until he found Duffy's passport and handed it over to Connie. As it passed between their hands, he looked at her sadly, "Where's she going? Australia? To find Andrew?"

The devastation in his voice nearly broke her heart, and in that moment she'd have done anything to take his pain away, but the simple fact of the matter was there was precious little she could do. She squeezed his hand and then let go, taking the passport from him.

"I'll be back as soon as I can."