Disclaimer: I do not own Emmerdale, its characters or any content created by ITV or its affiliates. This has been a collaboration work between jjscm01 and myself, writing alternate chapters. This is our own interpretation of Joe's disappearance and is not in any way representative of future storylines or the work of the Emmerdale storylining team.

Christmas Eve

Graham was halfway through his second bottle of whisky when the doorbell to Home Farm rang. Swearing, he put down his glass, managing not to drop it, and made for the door, a little unsteady.

He was expecting it to be Debbie, or maybe Cain, or perhaps Noah pestering him about his brother again. Instead he opened the door to a teenage girl that looked vaguely familiar but he couldn't quite place.

She simply stared back at him from dark brown eyes, her feet shuffling nervously as she avoided looking directly at the man in front of her.

"Oh, hello, um... I'm looking for Joseph Tate? He lives here?" She stumbled on her words, obviously feeling foolish.

She watched as the expression on the man's face darkened. He already looked rather bleary eyed, as though he was struggling to focus. By the state of his clothes and what could have been a fine tailored suit, he was just about coping.

"I... mean... Joe?" She drew out, hoping to spark some response.

"Joe's not here," said Graham, not sure whether to laugh or cry at the understatement. The girl's voice was also familiar, not unlike Joe's cut-glass tones, but with a slight twang. Australian? New Zealand? He closed his eyes as he tried to put the pieces together in his inebriated state.

"Oh, I see... well... where is he?" Jean asked, looking at him hopefully. "He said I could come and visit once he'd settled, I mean, yeah it's been like, ten months but even so..."

"Who are you?" asked Graham, a slight feeling of dread increasing as his subconscious mind began to make the connection. He'd thought that Noah and Zoe were Joe's only remaining blood relatives but of course... Zoe had a daughter.

"Jean Tate. Joe's cousin. You work for him, right?" She tucked her hair behind her ear shyly. "He's like my brother. I just want to see him. He said I could visit..."

"He's not here," Graham repeated. "He had to go away... on urgent business." He went to close the door in the young girl's face.

Jean, seeing his hesitation, stopped him by wedging her foot in between them.

"Oh yeah? And he's left you in charge? Making the most of his liquor cabinet, looks like." She frowned. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Graham Foster," said Graham, deciding against slamming her foot in the door. "Your mother made me Joe's guardian, and Joe left me in charge of his affairs." He tried to sound authoritative, but couldn't quite keep the slur out of his words.

"So... by the looks of it, I'd say that you're lying and that you bumped Joe off to claim his house?" She saw his expression grow even darker and smirked.

"I'm kidding, okay! Jeez? You look like you've had a skinful?" Her intonation went up at the end of each sentence. "So... you're not going to invite me in?"

"Does your mother know you're here?" he asked, playing his only hand. Hopefully he could get her shipped back down under ASAP.

"What does that matter to you? You're not family." Jean bit back testily. There was no way she was going to confide her problems to this weird stranger, even if he did know Joe.

"You'd better come in," said Graham, making a snap decision. This girl obviously wouldn't hesitate to make a scene.

Jean eyed him suspiciously as he opened the door, stepping into the contemporary styled grandeur of the hall.

"Wow. This is epic." She looked around, noting the little balconies and the staircase. "Wow. He's done well for himself. Mummy said he would. Just like Uncle Chris. I didn't know him, mind you..." She trailed off, noticing that Graham had headed into the kitchen and following suit.

"Do you want a drink? Coffee?" Graham asked. He needed an excuse to sober up.

"I'll have tea if you've got it. I know, Joe always drinks coffee. Or those weird protein shakes." Jean gave an exaggerated shudder.

Graham made the tea while Jean continued to talk. He wished she would stop. It occurred to him that his daughter would be about Jean's age now, if she had lived.

"This is the coolest house I've ever seen. I mean, it's so Joe!" she gushed. "But it's Christmas? What happened to celebrating the season of good will or whatever?" She looked around. "Where's the tree? The decs? The cards? Anyone would think Scrooge lived here?" She dragged her bag across the surface of the kitchen island, spoiling the immaculate surface.

"I know he's grown up now, but Joe loves Christmas. So what's the deal, eh?" Graham ignored her, handing her a cup. She trailed after him into the living room. "He have a falling out with Santa?"

"Maybe you don't know Joe that well any more," said Graham, who wasn't in the mood to acknowledge Christmas. "Anyway, technically this isn't his house, it's Kim's." He saw Jean's eyes widen at the mention of the name.

"Kim?" She stared at him. "But she left, years ago, Mummy told me. Joe bought this place." She faltered, her voice becoming higher. "I don't understand? Where the hell is he? He should be here!"

"Calm down," said Graham, gripping the back of the sofa to remain upright. "Kim bailed Joe out when he was in financial trouble. He bought this house with her money. And he had to leave because she wanted him to." It was as close to the truth as he could get.

"Why wouldn't he tell me? He always tells me everything. He said I could come and stay here, whenever I wanted? Why would he just take off? It doesn't make sense." She put her cup down on the coffee table, the tea still undrunk.

"I know it's hard to accept," said Graham, seeing Joe unconscious in the boot of his car in his mind's eye. "But Joe always looks out for number one. Kim wanted him gone, so he went. She'd have made his life hell otherwise."

"And what is Kim to you? Do you work for her now?" Jean's eyes widened. "Have you worked for her all along? Did Joe find out?" She continued to bombard him with questions. "Where did Joe go?"

"I don't know," Graham lied. "We agreed it was better if nobody knew where he was going. For his own safety."

"No. No, Joe's not a coward. He wouldn't just disappear!" She confronted him, rounding to block his path as he went to pour himself another drink. "You're a liar!" Her eyes flashed with anger, reminding Graham of Zoe when Joe was about to be expelled.

"Maybe I should call your mother." Graham's voice rose, too. "Ask her what your precious cousin's really like, if you don't believe me."

"I know Joe. He loves his family. He loves me! You won't convince me he doesn't!" She moved right up to him furiously. "And why should it matter whether Kim owns this place or not! Joe would never be scared off. So you'd better tell me the truth! Right now!" She moved the bottle he had reached for away.

"You want the truth?" Graham seized Jean by the shoulders, losing control. The last time he had felt this angry, he had beaten Joe to a pulp. "Joe is a selfish, spoilt child who couldn't manage his own money if his life depended on it! There's only one person he cares about, and that's Joe Tate. This is Kim's house, and I don't have time to pander to the delusions of a silly little girl. Now get out!" He made a lunge for the bottle behind her, this time grabbing it successfully.

"How Mummy could ever have thought that you were a suitable guardian for her nephew, I'll never know." Jean spat, a little shocked at the man's behaviour, but determined to stand her ground. "And Kim Tate, or whatever she is now? She'll ruin you. Like she ruins everyone," she warned.

"I'm going to find Joe. I am. When I do, he'll know how much we need him and love him." She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. When she got there, she turned around.

"This is Joe's home. My home. My Mum's home. You're nothing to us. Nothing to Kim. She's playing you." She paused, "Merry Christmas."

Graham listened to her footsteps retreating, until he heard the front door slam. He slumped against the drinks cabinet, trembling. His eyes caught the photograph that Joe kept on the nearby mantlepiece, himself as a baby, with his smiling parents in wedding clothes. Only Joe would give the wedding photograph of a couple who'd divorced long before they both died pride of place.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" he asked aloud. He wasn't sure who he was talking to.