This was inspired by tonight's (well, yesterday's) storyline. I can't take it seriously so… this is pretty much crack. Quite a departure from my usual Christine stuff, but I've hugely enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Sons and Lovers

Music played softly in the background. Candles shed their gentle (and infinitely flattering) glow around Audrey's living room, turning the buttery walls to gold. On the sofa Christine Mulgrew and Marco D'Olivera were taking full advantage of Audrey's offer to absent herself should Christine desire some privacy and on this occasion Christine did desire, even if Audrey had been embarrassingly twinkly over it.

Christine knew she'd be expected to give full details later, but somehow the thought did not perturb her as much as it might once have done. After all, a woman who could produce a piece of full-blown erotica like The English Tutor was unlikely to be fazed by anything Marco could come up, sex-wise and thus far Marco's greatest virtue in that direction lay in the youthful stamina she'd already praised. Italian antecedents notwithstanding, he was decidedly average in other respects—and naively transparent in his eagerness to learn. English tutor, forsooth. It wasn't English she was teaching…

Yet Marco's attentions warmed her, soothing the wound left by Michael Byrne's rejection more than a year before. Marco was absurdly good looking (as evidenced by the girlish sighs that followed in his wake as he stalked Waterloo Road's corridors) even if he was almost—almost—young enough to be her son. What woman wouldn't be flattered? She'd carefully refrained from asking his exact age lest she discover that 'almost' was more solid than her vanity could bear. Audrey could joke about midlife crises all she wanted, but the reality was less amusing… or it had been, until now.

And in the meantime, her neck was developing a crick and her back was aching. Making out on the sofa at forty-five was less fun than it had been when she was younger, and she stroked the curly hair at Marco's neck to distract his attention.

'Mmmmmmmmh.' It was a long grumble of protest and Christine rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

'Marco, I … I need to move.'

His gaze was mournful, almost puppy-like. 'Why? Aren't you enjoying it?'

'I, uh…' She scratched at one corner of her mouth and tried to come up with an answer that would save his ego (and hers; no point in rubbing his face in the age difference, even if it did feel painfully tangible right at this moment). 'I need a drink.'

He beamed. 'Excellent thought!' He sat up, allowing her to move. 'Does Miss Mc—Audrey,' he corrected conscientiously, 'have anything stronger than fruit juice?'

She winced, pulling the edges of her blouse closed. 'Um, no.'

Marco's dark brows shot up. 'Ah. Bit of a teetotaller, is she?' His nose wrinkled as he looked about the living room. 'Why are you living with her, Christine? I understand you're friends and all that but she's such a fuddy-duddy—'

She laid a hand over his mouth, cutting him off. 'Oi, enough of that. She's not that bad!'

Her lips twitched as she pulled him up and towed him towards the kitchen; somehow Marco had managed to avoid the staff room furore about The English Tutor or 'fuddy-duddy' was the last word he'd use to describe the History teacher. Well, that was youth for you … he'd been too absorbed in his own problems to concern himself with any surrounding eddies.

'Here you go!' She flung open the fridge, revealing any amount of fruit juice, milk, Shloer, and several bottles of non-alcoholic wine. 'Choose your poison,' she offered, pulling out a previously opened bottle of sparkly for herself.

Marco's dark features twisted.

'Are you having us on? Is that seriously it?' His eyes roved Audrey's small kitchen, lit only by the strip lighting under the cabinets. 'Audrey strikes me as the spirits and liquors type. She must've hidden them somewhere. Old girl probably sneaks down at night for a wee nip, what d'you reckon?' His eyes sparkled as he nudged her and Christine glanced away, her lips pinching. She couldn't believe he didn't know.

'I'm—I'm sure she doesn't.' She tried a smile as he studied her. 'Oh, come on, why are we talking about Audrey? I thought you were here for some fun…' She put down her glass and manoeuvred him into the corner, sliding her hands up his arms. 'Because otherwise, Mr D'Olivera, there was no need to chase Audrey out and we could have been having a little threesome with our cocoa and Scrabble—' His eyes bugged and Christine threw back her head and laughed. 'God, your face. Now.' She switched to her classroom tone. 'Are you going to kiss me or not?'

His answer was decidedly and enthusiastically in the affirmative and Christine was happy to sink into it, grateful to have distracted him from the question of alcohol. She was reaching the stage of blissful unawareness of her surroundings (Marco could kiss, whatever his other failings, and it was a long time since she'd been with a man who was significantly taller than she was) when the door opened and the kitchen flooded with blinding light.

'Surpr—Mum?!'

Christine didn't know who was more shocked: herself, Marco, or her son and daughter-in-law. She tore herself away from Marco as the man spluttered, 'Mum?' while Imogen squealed and Connor demanded an explanation.

'Don't be such a div, it's perfectly obvious,' Imogen said and Christine lifted one hand to shade her eyes while the other desperately tried to pull the edges of her blouse together. Thank God this was a sheer one that necessitated some kind of vest underneath. This was mortifying enough as it was.

'Mum?' Marco was repeating incredulously. 'Mum?!'

His parroting was the last straw.

'Yes, Marco. Mum. A term of address used to one's mother which you do know, I imagine, as presumably you have one!' His face fell at the rebuke and she sighed. 'I'm sorry. Allow me.' She paused to dart a warning glare at the younger pair. 'This is my son Connor and my daughter-in-law Imogen. They live in London which is why—'

'But—but he's grown up!' Marco seemed thoroughly stymied.

Christine eyed him askance. 'How old did you think he was?'

'I dunno, I—I—'

'I think we broke him,' Connor said, not without a touch of malice. 'Sorry, Mum.' He didn't sound remotely sorry and Christine threw him a disgusted look.

'Don't take this the wrong way, son, but what are you doing here?'

'We got some time off. Thought we'd give you and my mum a surprise.' Imogen's face split in a grin. 'Guess we're the ones who got the surprise, eh?'

Christine tutted. 'What did you expect me to do, sit around and—and play Scrabble?'

Marco choked, his sallow complexion turning an alarming shade of purple. Imogen made concerned noises and came to thwack him in the back. That cured the chokes, but did nothing for the wild-eyed expression as he looked from Christine to the younger Mulgrews and back.

'To be honest, I forgot you had a kid,' he blurted. 'You never talk about him.'

'Really? Thanks, Mum!'

'It wasn't like that!' Christine defended. 'I was busy!'

'Yeah, we can see that,' Imogen quipped and Christine felt the heat rise in her cheeks as she glared at her daughter-in-law. 'Very busy it looks like.'

'And what about you two?' Christine snapped. 'Too busy to pick up the phone now and then?' They subsided, looking sheepish. 'Exactly!'

'I—I gotta go,' Marco stuttered, frantically trying to button up his shirt (wrongly, Christine noticed) as he backed towards the kitchen door. 'I'm intruding, I'll…Shit!'

He stumbled over the bin, bumped against the wall, and narrowly avoided stepping on the newly arrived Mitzi. Cat and man swore at each other anyway, just on general principles, and when he staggered down the hall towards the door Christine realised he was serious about leaving. She sent her sniggering son and daughter-in-law a dirty look and ran after him.

'This was crazy,' he hissed as she joined him. 'This isn't me, I don't go for older women—'

'Well I'm sorry, but what you see is what you get,' Christine retorted. Her lips twitched. 'If it makes you feel better, I don't usually go for cradle snatching either.'

A flush appeared, defining his cheekbones. 'I'm not that young.'

'And I'm not that old. Goodbye, Marco. I'll see you on Monday.'

'Yeah.' He gulped before producing a travesty of a smile. 'Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll see you.' A half-hearted wave and he was away, long legs eating up Audrey's driveway as fast as they could carry him.

Christine gave a muffled snort and closed the door, shaking her head. The whole thing had been so ridiculous that she couldn't be hurt or offended. When she turned she found her son waiting, looking positively judicial.

'Mum. What was that about? Who is he?'

'He's a new teacher at school,' she told him, taking him arm. 'He's been a bit lost. I felt sorry for him and tried to make him laugh and well…' He cringed and she squeezed his arm as they entered the kitchen. 'It's OK, son, I'm not gonna give you the gory details. It's all Audrey's fault anyway,' she added as Connor left her in search of the kettle. 'Between that book of hers and her talk of having a midlife crisis … I just wanted to have some fun, prove I'm not quite past it.'

'Neither's Audrey, judging from her book,' Imogen grinned. Connor looked faintly ill. 'Growing old disgracefully, eh?'

Christine lifted her chin. 'I think I'm going to ignore that.'

'Just do me a favour,' her son implored when he passed her tea. 'No more toyboys, I can't take it.'

'You'll have to get your midlife kicks somewhere else,' Imogen teased. 'Just to keep him happy.'

'H'mmmm.' Christine smiled into her mug. 'Audrey had a point. It's not that bad. Actually, it's rather fun.' Her smile turned dreamy. 'Perhaps… perhaps it's time to dump the Honda and start looking for a new car. Something like, oh, a totally inappropriate sports car—'

She was amused to see that Connor did not look noticeably reassured. But what the hell, wasn't that what it was all about!

FINIS

Just a quick bit of crack, but reviews still much appreciated!