The idea came for this ages ago. I want sap, but sap with bite, and—as ever—Christine and company are great for that. It's presented as WiP because that's potentially what it is if people really like it, but this can stand alone. Also, note that it takes place in an AU set some fifteen-plus years after Mulgrews of Waterloo Road: Autumn Term. This is deliberate as I didn't want to give away any plot points relating to Spring Term or Summer Term (yes, I'm very likely to make it a trilogy). As I say, it could be developed into more, but only if the level of interest warrants it—and possibly not for a while as I should finish Spring Term first at the very least!

**mega-sap/angst/sugar overload alert!**

PAYING THE PIPER

Christine's heart was heavy as she pushed open the front door of the home she'd shared with Tom for over fifteen years. The old door slammed shut as it always did and her husband shot out of the kitchen to welcome her.

'You took a while,' he commented as he relieved her of her coat and the bag bulging with papers relating to school and school affairs. 'I was starting to worry.'

She ignored that, choosing instead to kiss him and ask about the kids.

He grinned. 'It's a madhouse, Waterloo Road's a walk in the park in comparison to this place. Remind me again why we thought this grandkid-sitting lark was a good plan?'

She smiled. 'You don't fool me, you'd complain even more if it was just us. You'd get bored, don't pretend you wouldn't!'

'Come and have a drink,' he said, taking her arm and guiding her into the kitchen. 'Bubbly?'

It was years since the question had made her twitch, but now it did. Something must have shown in her expression, because Tom added, 'It's just Shloer, love.'

'I know.' It was an effort to keep the smile from wavering. 'Sure, bring it on. It's been a long day, this has been keeping me going.' When he handed her the glass she cradled it automatically, cherishing it. 'When are the others due?'

Tom placed a small bowl of nuts on the table before sitting down, armed with his own glass. 'Connor finished filming Teetotaller Chef at six, he said, but Imogen won't be done until after seven so he'll collect her before coming on. Last minute rehearsals, apparently.' He took a sip. 'What about Dynasty and Kevin?'

Christine's smile turned wry. 'I don't know about Kevin, but my deputy was putting the fear of herself into most of Year 10 when I left. Don't ask; something to do with a fracas in Sue Lowsley's lesson. You know,' she continued with another sip, 'Sue's been teaching longer than Dynasty and she still struggles to keep the kids in order. I can only justify keeping her because somehow she manages to pull the results out of the bag—right at the last possible moment.'

'Sue always did have nine lives,' Tom commented, rising from his seat. 'Where are those brats?' He went to the door to bellow, 'Kids! Nan's home!'

A rumble, a series of thumps, and a cacophony of yells indicated that the Charles-Mulgrew-Chalk horde was on the move.

'Brace yourself,' Tom hissed. 'They've been wound up all afternoon, must be all being together again.'

'Well, if your granddaughter can't keep them under control—'

'My granddaughter? It's your grandkids and adopted grandkids that are the hell-raisers!'

Christine was still gasping in pretend outrage when she was nearly knocked off her chair by her grandson, a slight almost-six year old with his mother's grey-green eyes and Connor's mannerisms.

'You're late,' he said reproachfully as he drew back after a tight squeeze. 'Grandad said you'd be home at six an' it's supposed to be his birfday.'

'I'm here now,' Christine pointed out, evading the issue of her lateness. 'Hi, Iz. You made it up OK?'

Tom's eldest granddaughter grinned as she entered, accompanied by a pair of tweenage girls. 'Yeah, although Dad fussed liked you wouldn't believe. Mum said she's sorry she couldn't come, but Mik's got her GCSEs on and went into a meltdown when it was suggested.'

'Mik's Chlo all over again,' Tom agreed as he swung the youngest of the children into his arms. 'Not like your Auntie Mika at all.'

'I want down!' the little girl protested with an indignant shake of her curly blonde head. 'Down, Granda! I'm not a baby!' She thrashed wildly in Tom's arms and Christine found that all at once the stresses and anxieties and fears of the day had slipped away.

'You'd better put her down before—ah, too late.' She switched on her headmistress voice. 'Imogen Chalk, what have you been told about kicking, young lady?'

The full lower lip pouted. 'Not to kick.'

'So what do you say?'

The small face turned scarlet. Everyone had learned very quickly that Kevin and Dynasty's younger daughter had a personality quite at odds with her tiny size—and a temper to match.

'Sorry.' It was a barely audible mumble.

Tom crouched down. 'What was that? You'll have to speak up, my ears don't work as well as yours.'

''M sorry!' Imogen shrieked at the top of healthy four-year-old lungs and Tom recoiled, blinking.

Christine laughed. 'Serves you right. Kevin, take your cousin to the bathroom to wash up, will you?'

Her grandson gave her a quizzical look that reminded her painfully of the young Connor. At least this little boy had never had to endure the hell she'd put Connor through… but he was just as grave and judicial as she could remember Connor being on occasion.

'She's not really my cousin, Nan. She's only my pretend cousin.'

Now small Imogen's lower lip was starting to wobble. Eager to avoid a tantrum, Christine gave Kevin a sharp jab with a finger and he caught on, taking the younger child's hand.

'But a pretend cousin's still a cousin, isn't it?'

Imogen beamed, nodding enthusiastically, and trotted off with Kevin happily enough while Christine turned her attention to the older girls. They were sitting in a huddle with Izzie, all three talking hard whilst munching through nuts and crisps at an astonishing rate.

She moved to deprive them of their crisps, causing a wave of protests. She held the bowl higher, taking advantage of the fact that they were all on the short side and she towered over them, with or without heels.

'Ah-ah. It's after seven and your dad will be home soon, Tina. What will he have to say about you stuffing yourself with rubbish?'

Her granddaughter's face fell and she subsided with a resentful flash of green eyes. The other young girl was less easily squashed, her lip turning up in the coquettish curve that already had half the lads in Waterloo Road's lower school making fools of themselves.

'That's easy, he'd blame you and Granda for puttin' 'em out in the first place!'

'Carol-Christine Chalk, apologise at once!' Dynasty Chalk sounded genuinely horrified, and Christine turned to face her newly-arrived deputy, her eyebrows raised. All things considered, that had been pretty mild…

The younger woman glanced at her quickly and her lips quivered; Christine knew she was dying to laugh, but there was no trace of it in the glare Dynasty shot her daughter. 'Well?'

Carol-Christine rolled her eyes. 'Mum, it was a joke!'

'It was cheeky,' Dynasty insisted inflexibly. 'You know better. Apologise to your nan!'

Once again the coquettish quirk came to the fore as Carol-Christine turned to Christine, bright blue eyes studying her from beneath thick lashes. 'You're not really mad, are you?'

'I haven't decided yet,' Christine told her seriously, taking her cue from Dynasty. 'Because this isn't the first time, is it? I've had to give you a stern talking-to a couple of times already this week.'

'That's not fair, that was at school,' Carol-Christine pleaded, sounding rather as though she considered school to be an entirely separate universe.

'It matters when you're as cheeky at school as you are at home,' her father remarked, coming up behind his wife. 'Christine, Tom, I think I've just heard Connor and Imogen drive up.'

Everyone cheered and headed for the front door, but Christine grabbed her young namesake's arm before the girl could do likewise. 'Listen, love. I know it's got to feel like we're always getting at you the moment, but you need to learn, CC. You can't behave at school like you do at home, it's not fair to the other kids… and if that means that me and your mum have to crack down on you at home until you do, well, that's just how it has to be.'

'I don't want that,' CC said quickly, sounding scared. 'Please, Nan, I'm dead sorry, I swear.'

Until next time, Christine thought ruefully as she gave her adopted granddaughter a quick hug and sent her on her way with a gentle shove. CC was always 'dead sorry'—and she didn't want to trigger another row between Dynasty and her elder daughter. The two were uncannily alike and friction was inevitable. Tonight was Tom's birthday; it was supposed to be happy night, a night for family… God knew she'd be putting enough of a dampener on it herself later.

She turned to stare unseeingly out of the window, her lips thinning as though to hold back the terror that threatened to flood through her every time she stopped to think.

'Chris?' Tom appeared behind her; she could see his reflection in the glass, his hair now faded almost as much as hers. At least he hadn't lost it—

She shut the thought down and made herself smile. 'Connor and Imogen?'

'Yeah, they're bringing their stuff in now.' Tom studied her, his gaze as knowing as it was loving. 'There's something you're not telling me.'

She scoffed. 'When would I get the chance?'

'Later?'

She swallowed hard and nodded, unwilling to meet his eyes. 'Yeah. Later.' Connor's entrance came as a welcome distraction and she leaned forward to brush a quick kiss on Tom's lips before moving to welcome her son and daughter-in-law.

They had become a striking couple. Connor's once-slender height had filled out, and he moved with purpose and and energy. As a boy he'd tended to speak softly, but years in the hurly-burly and racket of a professional kitchen had given his voice resonance and authority, and conversation tended to halt when he spoke. As for Imogen, she was still petite, but her acting training had given her the confidence and poise she'd lacked as a young woman.

'You're looking good, Mum,' Connor greeted now as he pulled back from their embrace. 'Hey, I like the hair.'

'Very distinguished,' Imogen added with a grin as Christine lifted a hand to touch the chignon she'd started to sweep her lengthening hair into. 'Good for keeping the kids on their toes, eh?'

'Who, me? Absolutely not, that's my deputy's job!' Christine nodded towards Dynasty and the younger woman smirked.

'She's better at it than me, that's for sure,' Tom declared as he pressed a glass of Shloer into the younger Mulgrews' hands. 'Bubbly?'

Imogen took a sip of hers. 'Does she go all Scouse on them? That'd be scary, right enough!'

'Oi!' Dynasty objected. 'I'm livin' here longer than you, sunshine!'

'Still Scouse though.' They exchanged a grin and clinked glasses, their friendship going strong even after all the years.

'Right then, what's for dinner?' Kevin asked, clapping a hand on Connor's back. 'We left it to you, mate. Grub's all in, isn't it Tom?' The older man nodded and Kevin clapped Connor's back a second time. 'So what're we waiting on, eh? I'm starving!'

His complaint was echoed by a chorus of agreement from the kids, and Connor laughed. 'Fine, I can take a hint. Where's the food?'

Tom pointed to the fridge.

Connor narrowed his eyes at his stepfather. 'Fresh? None of that frozen crap Mum buys?'

'Language, son, language,' Christine reprimanded jokingly and he rolled his eyes at her. 'Tom did the shopping this time, you can blame him if it's wrong.'

'Poor Tom.' Imogen cast a sparkling glance up at the older man. 'Is this the fruits of retirement?'

Dynasty snorted. 'Fruits of laziness, more like. I had to keep callin' him to ask him where he'd put things when I first took over, and I've lost track of the number of times he answered the phone with "Er, dunno, Dyn, you've woke us up"!'

Warmth stole through Christine as the adults laughed at this sally, banishing the hard lump of cold terror that had settled low in her belly. She'd forget about it for now, she resolved as Connor set everyone some task or other; Imogen, Izzie and Kevin were given interesting things to do whilst Christine found herself supervising Tina and CC as they chopped vegetables. Not that Tom was very much better off; he'd been banished to the living room with the little ones, and Christine's lips curved as she heard Dynasty chivvy the lot of them out. Even now, Dynasty could always make her smile.

Dinner was leisurely affair, well oiled by quality food, quality company, and lots of laughter. Eventually the children began to nod off and Izzie offered to bring them up; predictably, CC and Tina protested.

Connor cut his daughter off. 'We've got a long drive ahead of us in the morning. Say goodnight and go. Give Kevin a hand, he's half asleep!' He had to yell the last words after her as she tossed her dark head and stalked off after a perfunctory round of kisses.

CC lifted her chin and folded her arms, a miniature Dynasty as she'd been when Christine first knew her. 'I don't have a long drive tomorrow.'

'You have school,' her mother told her swiftly. 'And then we're going to Gran's. Aunt Kace is back tonight, remember. Of course, if you don't want your presents from America—'

'I'm going, I'm going,' CC said hurriedly, leaving on the word.

'Mercenary little witch,' Kevin observed without heat. 'Can't think where she gets that from.'

'Hey!' Dynasty thumped him. 'You badmouthing me again?'

He looked amused, the incongruous new lines at the corners of his eye bunching. 'If the cap fits—ouch! Keep your nails to yourself, woman. Is this any way to behave in front of your boss?'

'A boss who just happens to be practically family?' Tom demanded with a smirk that was definitely on the evil side. 'Poor Dyn, you're well screwed.'

Dynasty huffed and crossed her arms, looking exactly as CC had done not so very long before. Christine couldn't help it; she started to laugh and after a moment everyone joined in.

Quiet fell in the wake of their laughter and Christine's heart began to pound uncomfortably as Tom took her hand.

'Chris?' he prompted. 'Are you gonna tell us?'

She shook her head, her lips pressing as tried to still their trembling.

'Mum?' Connor, sounding concerned. Such an old, old concern…

She gasped.

'Was it the doctor's?' That was Dynasty. 'You had an appointment, didn't you. What did he say?'

Tom's hand tightened on hers, lending her warmth and strength as it had done every day for more than fifteen years, and she found the courage to lift her head and face her family.

'It—it wasn't g-good,' she stammered, squeezing so hard on Tom's fingers that she knew it had to hurt.

The little colour there was in her son's face drained away, leaving him almost corpse-like. 'Mum—'

She lifted a shaky hand to cover her eyes. 'I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry.' Her voice broke.

'Chris.' Tom's voice was rough. 'Love, what did the doctor say? You haven't said—'

'Is it from drinking?' Connor cut in, ahead as always when it came to her.

Christine closed her eyes as she gave a brief nod. 'Yeah.' She tried to draw a breath, and tried again. It hurt, but she had to nerve herself to pronounce this most dreaded word of all. 'It's cancer. Liver cancer.'

Connor rose so abruptly his wooden chair fell back against the island with a crash. A moment later and he was gone, followed closely by his wife.

'What's the prognosis?' Kevin demanded, but Christine was too stricken by Connor's departure to answer; she could only shake her head. 'Never mind,' he continued in a hard tone. 'I'll find out.' He whipped out his tablet and fingers began to fly.

Dynasty left her place to come to take Christine in a warm embrace. 'I'm so sorry to hear this,' she whispered in Christine's ear. 'Just remember, we're family. I'm here for you, at any time. I swear it, Chris.'

The abbreviation—so rarely used by anyone but Tom—was spoken with such love that Christine could not hold back; she wept held by Dynasty on one side and Tom on the other. Finally, they drew apart.

'Well?' Dynasty demanded of her husband as she dashed quickly at her own eyes. 'What's the verdict?'

Kevin's face was grey. 'It's wrong. It's got to be wrong.'

'What d'you mean?'

'It's not wrong,' Christine interjected tiredly. God, she was tired; bone tired of pretending that everything was OK when it wasn't. 'I'm going for chemo and they're hoping surgery will be possible, but with my history—' She shrugged and swallowed. 'If—if that doesn't work, a transplant's my only option. You remember Grantly, you know the chances there.' Once again her voice broke. 'I've probably got a year; more with chemo and surgery. I might even get to five if the transplant comes through, but that'll take a miracle.'

Tom put his hands on her face and forced her to look at him. 'A miracle, eh?'

She closed her eyes and nodded, lips once more compressed.

She opened them when he kissed her, hard. 'Tom—'

'No.' He pressed a finger to her lips, his eyes gleaming a very bright blue. 'I won't hear it, Chris. "All from nothing", remember? If a miracle's what it needs a miracle's what we'll bloody get!'

She allowed him to pull her close and rested her head against his shoulder. She was not religious; religion and faith were things she'd abandoned forever after her last disastrous visit to the parents who had disowned her. Yet Tom's fierce insistence lit a small flame of faith within her.

Believe, she told herself, repeating one of her son's old mantras. Mind over matter. Just believe.

So? Worth continuing at some point? This is so NOT what I usually do, but once I'd had the idea it wouldn't leave me alone and I thought it was worth floating, if nothing else.