Hi folks! Here we are again—with only two more episodes to go of WR on telly, but wasn't #EELive absolutely epic? Did anyone see that coming?

If anyone hasn't already seen it, I've done a piece of crack after last week's Christine/Marco craziness: Sons and Lovers. More feedback on that would be great—and don't worry, it's more fun that it is a serious attempt at exploring that relationship.

Thanks to the five who commented on the end of Spring Term: Paisley, Lori, Sparkles21, Naimhemilee and Jessiekat.

I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Lots of Tomstine and fluff ahoy–thought you deserved it! :)


Mulgrew Household, 7.30am


The bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft morning light filtering through the partially opened curtains and the single shaft pouring in from the hall. Christine's side was better lit than Tom's, and once he'd finished dressing he took advantage of it to hunker down and watch her sleep. After several months he knew better than to touch her; it had become a family joke that Christine could sleep through arguments, thunderstorms, and exploding kettles (that last courtesy of Dynasty one morning a fortnight before) but the gentlest brush of a finger on her skin would jerk her awake.

She looked well, he thought, despite the various alarums and excursions of the past five weeks. Asleep the delicate tracery of lines that had formed over the last two terms around eyes and mouth were softened, and after weeks of rest (much of it enforced) the dark circles had also vanished. She looked oddly young and vulnerable and very peaceful, and he hated to break it. Then again, he also hated to think what she'd do to him later if he left without saying goodbye. He'd learned that particular lesson the previous week.

He woke her by touching her nose and whispering, 'Time to get up, Mrs Mulgrew. Your lie-ins are over.'

A pause, an expelled breath, and a soft rustle was his immediate answer, followed by a raspy, 'Now that is just wrong, Mr Clarkson. Stepped into the nineteenth century, have we?'

'Pride and Prejudice does tend to have that effect on me,' he agreed gravely.

She huffed, opening her eyes slowly. 'Shame it's not Sense and Sensibility. You could do with it.'

He clasped a hand to his heart. 'I'm offended. You saying I'm lacking in sensibility?'

'Lacking in sense, you mean.' She yawned. 'Mmmm. Is it really time to get up?'

Tom grinned. 'It is if you plan on teaching your own lessons instead of skiving for another week.'

'And who insisted on the skiving?' she demanded indignantly as she bolted upright, her hair going every which way. 'I was perfectly happy to go back at the end of last week, but oh no, you and Simon weren't having it.'

Tom's grin turned evil. 'It is a truth universally acknowledged that Christine Mul—hey! Stop that!' He raised his arms to defend himself against the pillow she was brandishing. After a futile grab or two he managed to snatch it from her and threw it across the room, catching Connor in the face and prompting a startled squawk along with a small explosion of feathers.

'Bugger,' Tom muttered while Christine covered her mouth with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

'That's it, you can get your own breakfast in future,' Imogen scolded, manoeuvring her away around the feather-storm to give her mother-in-law the tray she was carrying. 'Nothing wrong with you. Back to porridge tomorrow—assuming you can make it, that is.'

Christine's smile was rueful. 'Trust me, I'm not daft enough to try. The last time I made porridge was when Connor was seven or eight. It didn't end well.'

'It was like that stupid Ladybird book, the one about the porridge pot,' Connor agreed, sitting on the end of his mother's bed. He was still plucking feathers from his hair. 'Gunk everywhere and a bust microwave. Definitely not Mum's finest hour. That's when I decided it'd be safer all round if I did the cooking.'

'And look at you now, planning on getting your first Michelin star,' Christine told him, cracking open her egg. 'So stop complaining.'

Tom pushed up from the floor, aware that time was passing and he should be making a move. These morning gatherings around Christine's bed had become part of their daily routine over the past weeks and he was almost sad to know they were coming to an end. As Imogen had said, by tomorrow they'd definitely all be back to porridge, in more ways than one.

Christine glanced up at him. 'Are you going in early?'

'Yeah, Simon sent a text to say he wants me in asap. Something about the council.'

She sighed. 'That doesn't sound good.'

'It never is,' he agreed, leaning down to kiss her. 'Oh well, guess we'll all find out soon enough. I'll see you at briefing?'

Christine's smile was soft. ''Course you will. Before, if we're lucky.'

'We're ready, it's up to you when we go,' Connor pointed out. 'Tom said I'm driving.'

'Well, don't leave it too late,' Tom cautioned, suddenly alarmed at the prospect of Connor being over-enthusiastic with the accelerator.

'Yes, because I'm not taking the rap for your speeding tickets, young man,' Christine added. 'You break the limit, you're on your own.'

'He won't, he's a careful driver.' As ever, Imogen jumped straight to her husband's defence and Tom exchanged an amused glance with his partner. Christine's daughter-in-law exemplified the spirit and letter of stand by your man better than any woman he'd ever known. All the same, he couldn't refrain from a further warning.

'See to it that you are. We don't want any accidents. I should think Inverclyde Royal are sick of us by now.'

'Believe me, they're not half as sick of me as I am of them.' Christine carefully slid her tray over to Tom's side of the bed and flung her covers back. 'I'll be delighted if I never step foot in that place again.'

Imogen smirked and Tom mentally winced in advance. He'd come to know that all-too-innocent look in the younger woman's green eyes by now. Sure enough, the smirk was followed by a deceptively sweet 'Should've thought of that before you got knocked up, shouldn't you?'

'Right! That's enough, daughter-in-law.' Christine pointed mock-sternly towards the door. 'Get out, the lot of you.' The kids obeyed but Tom lingered as she stood.

Her hands went to her hips. 'Are you still here?'

'I'm going, I'm going.' He leaned in for another kiss. 'I'm glad you're coming back. School hasn't been the same without you.'

'Hmmm. Let's see if you're still saying that at quarter past three!' She gave him a gentle shove. 'Go on, love—or Simon'll be doing his nut. I'll see you soon, I promise.'

Grinning at the uncharacteristic colloquialism, Tom took her advice, humming as he made his way to his car. It was a beautiful April morning, the sun was shining, and even the prospect of a tussle with the ever-officious council could almost be described as appealing.


Barry Household, 8.00am


Kacey sat poised on the edge of her bed, trying to find the inner strength to leave the safety of her room to join her mother and sister for breakfast. It was only her second morning at home since leaving the eating disorders unit, and she was struggling with the unexpected longing to be back there. Parts of it had been sheer hell, but there'd been a comfort in being with others as messed up as she was. People who really got it on the days when the voice in her head was extra-loud and she honestly believed she'd rather die than risk a single calorie, a single gram of fat. For all their love, all their worry, that remained untrue of her mum and Dynasty. They tried—tried so hard—but to Kacey the intensity of their effort was simply another twist of the poisoned knife of guilt.

'Kace?' Her mum appeared at the door, looking uncertain. That was another black mark against her, Kacey thought. She'd never seen Carol look so unsure of anything until now. 'Comin' for brekker, love?'

She ducked her head, allowing her hands to clench on the squishiness of her duvet. 'In a minute.'

There was a long pause. She fully expected her mother to leave, but instead she heard a sigh as Carol came to join her on the bed.

'Listen, love—'

She didn't want to hear it. She jerked to her feet.

'It's OK, Mum! I'm home, aren't I? I'm fine!'

'Don't treat me like I'm stupid,' Carol snapped. 'You're not fine, kid. I know it, you know it, hell, the people at the EDU know it. You're home on probation, remember? If you don't wanna go back there you need to tell us what's going on inside that head of yours.' Her voice shook. 'We know what happens when you keep it all bottled up, like.'

Frustration, guilt and simple fear closed Kacey's throat. Talking wouldn't help, didn't they understand that? Didn't they get that talking could make it worse? If she talked she might say the wrong thing and she'd never forgive herself if she did that. She'd hurt and worried them enough as it was. Why couldn't they just accept the facade it took so much energy to build?

'There's nothin' to talk about,' she managed at last. 'Honest.' She quirked her lips in what was almost a smile. 'There's nothin' special goin' on in me head. Just me, that's all.' The smile twisted into a near-grimace.

'We love you, babe,' Carol said hoarsely. 'We just wanna help—'

Kacey turned away, reaching for her slippers. How could they still love her when she'd taken up so much of their time, their emotions… so much space?

'Kace—'

'I thought we were gonna have breakfast,' she interrupted, anxious to put a stop to this conversation. Carol looked surprised and Kacey allowed a corner of her mouth to lift in a half-smile. 'Gotta have somethin', Mum. Can't take on Waterloo Road runnin' on empty, can I?'

'Too right you can't!' Carol bounded to her feet, the lines of worry smoothing almost magically. 'Dyn's got yours ready an' waitin' for you.' She took Kacey's hand and towed her down the stairs into the kitchen, where Dynasty was waiting.

'Hi, babes.' The tone was pure Dynasty, permeated with confidence. 'It's all ready, sit and get this down yer neck.' As Kacey obeyed Dynasty plonked a plate in front of her: two thick slices of generously-buttered toast, a rasher of bacon, and two eggs. 'An' here's your tea.' It was white—very white, the rich cream from the milk leaving a pearlescent gleam on top.

Kacey swallowed hard, her memory flashing back to the survival training day the term before. Then, Dynasty had brought her black tea and barely-there toast … The contrast was painful.

'I'm not eatin' this,' she croaked. 'It's too early, it's too much.'

'Yeah, you are.' Dynasty sat opposite. 'I'm not movin' from here til you do.'

Kacey shrugged. 'You'll be late. I tell yer, I'm not eatin' it.'

'Just a little bit, kiddo?' Carol implored. 'Just the eggs. They're poached, ain't they, Dyn?'

Dynasty's lips tightened and the hairs on the back of Kacey's neck lifted.

'You're lyin'! They're fried, I can see it!'

'They're poached,' Carol insisted through gritted teeth. 'I did them meself.'

'Then what's this?' Kacey picked up a fork and stabbed at the crispy frilled edge. 'Never seen a poached egg like this.'

Carol slammed her hands on the table, glaring across it at Dynasty. 'Did you go an' fry them after I said not to?'

'You bet I did!' Now Dynasty was on her feet, her stance mirroring her mother's. 'You 'eard what the therapist said, you can't pander to what's goin' on inside 'er head! You have to make her eat what she needs, not what she thinks she needs!'

'And who put you in charge? It's not like arguin' helps either!'

'Nothing else will help, Mum! She needs food, food's 'er medicine!'

'Stop it!' Kacey shrieked, sweeping the plates off the table with a single movement. She wanted to say more, scream it, but she couldn't, not when Dyn and her mum were still screaming at each other. The stranglehold was back at her throat and she slipped out, leaving them to it.

At least there was one good thing about the whole fracas. She knew she needed to eat, but this way she could eat on her own terms. She could eat something safe, something that wouldn't provoke another maelstrom of terror. All the same, as she made her way upstairs to get ready for school she was startled to find herself missing the EDU more than ever. If only there was someone at home who understood. Just one.

Understanding was what she needed–even more than food.


Car Park, 8.40am


Christine paused outside the handful of steps in front of Waterloo Road's main front door and exhaled a slow breath as she braced herself to enter. Kids streamed past on their own way in, several giving her a smile and a nod, but generally too engaged in their own affairs for more. Which was just fine, she thought as she blew out a second breath, tightened her grasp on her bag's strap, and mounted the steps into the crush hall.

'Miss!' A beaming Lenny Brown was at her side almost at once. 'Are you better now? Is this you coming back to teach?' His eagerness touched her and she smiled.

'It is. I hope you've been behaving?'

Lenny grinned. ''Course. Here, give us your bag.' He was already pulling it from her and she let it go. No point in making a fuss.

'Well, that's very good of you, Lenny. Bring it to my room, will you?' He hesitated and her eyebrows went up. 'Is there a problem?'

'Uh, no. No, 'course not.' He started backing away. 'It'll be on your desk.'

'You're a star!' she called after him and continued negotiating the crowded corridor on her way to Simon's office. Lenny really was a sweet kid; remarkable, really, when one considered how hard-edged Lisa could be …

She was still smiling when she pushed open the outer office door. Sonya glanced up, her frown of concentration melting as she spied the newcomer.

''Ello, stranger!' She tottered across the room to give Christine a quick hug and an enthusiastic smacker on the cheek; Christine could feel the slight tacky residue of the younger woman's lipstick when she pulled back. 'We 'aven't 'alf missed you—especially the chuckle brothers in there.' She jerked her head in the direction of the Simon's office and Christine had to struggle to keep her face straight at this unexpected nickname for Tom and their boss.

'The uh, "chuckle brothers"?'

Sonya smirked. 'Yeah, that's what George calls 'em. He meant it as an insult, you know George, but it caught on. Never mind 'im, tell us about you, eh?' She stepped back to give Christine a critical once-over. 'Gotta say, you're looking great, babe. Popped an' all!'

'Sonya! Do you mind?' But the corners of Christine's mouth quivered and the secretary's sheepish expression morphed into a unashamedly broad grin.

'True, innit? You've got a bump!'

'Just a little one.' Christine's tone was defensive as she automatically tried to pull the edges of her jacket together. 'I'm barely seventeen weeks.'

'We was dead worried when Tom told us you were back in hospital.' Sonya drew her towards a seat. 'But if you here it's all OK now, yeah?' Her eyes were anxious and Christine had to repress a shudder at the memory revived by her words.

After the fire she'd spent five days in hospital before being released to finish recovering at home; her burns were less serious than initially thought and could quite easily be cared for away from hospital. Two weeks of taking things easily at home had followed, but the weekend before school was due to start she'd had a return of pain and bleeding. Tom had wasted no time in getting her straight back to Inverclyde Royal and they'd promptly put her on complete bedrest ('as a precaution') for a further week. They'd finally let her go only on the condition that she was willing to take things gently for a few days before she considered going back to work—and in truth she'd been so frightened by the whole experience that she was glad to agree. All the same, by the time that fifth week drew to an end she was definitely suffering from cabin fever and absolutely itching to get back to her classroom.

'It was a bit scary but we're fine now,' she told Sonya firmly. The younger woman looked dubious and Christine's lips twitched. 'Honestly! I feel fantastic, I haven't felt this good for … well, for longer I can remember. In fact,' she leaned in closer, 'I'm raring to go. Nothing like a couple of weeks of having to stay in bed to make you appreciate your work.'

Sonya snorted. 'If you say so. Never found that meself.'

'Just keep it that way, h'mm?' Christine indicated the office. 'George to the contrary, they're not looking terribly happy just now.'

The younger woman scowled. 'Yeah, that's the council. Guaranteed to put you on a downer, them.'

'D' you know what it's about?' An indentation appeared between Christine's brows as she studied Simon and Tom through the window; Tom had his hands planted on the desk and was leaning on them to talk to Simon, while the other man's fingers were buried in his hair.

The secretary's shoulders lifted. 'I know as much as you, boss.' Her eyes went round at the slip. 'Oops. Habit, that.'

Christine tutted. 'Yeah, and it's one you'd better drop, pronto. You've already had a term. Simon's not that bad!'

'I know.' Sonya looked wistful. ''E's got the school's best interests at heart an' that, but … I miss 'aving you here, Christine. Him in there's good enough, but he ain't a patch on you.'

Christine looked at her. 'Thank you … I'm, I'm very touched. That's a lovely thing to say.'

'It's all true—'

Sonya broke off at the sound of raised voices coming through the door and a second glance told Christine that Tom's stance had changed to almost combative. Her lips pursed and she gave the secretary a quick nod before sweeping into the office as if was still hers.

'What's happening, boys?' She leaned on the door to close it. 'Thought I'd pop by to report and look at you—' She spread her hands, indicating the scene before her.

It was as if someone had hit a switch. The atmosphere lightened as Tom straightened while Simon left his desk and came to kiss her on the cheek.

'Welcome back!'

'It's great to be back—'

'So long as you don't go overboard, love,' Tom warned and she rolled her eyes.

'Speaking of going overboard—' Simon looked at Tom and Christine's eyes narrowed when the two men grinned at each other, their earlier tension forgotten. 'We've got a plan.'

'You do?' She looked from one to the other. 'Why do I think I'm not going to like this?'

Tom leaned forward. 'We've moved your classroom. Wait!' as she started to protest. 'Hear me out. I know you're feeling better but I'm worried about what'll happen if you take a dizzy spell—'

'Oh, for—' She caught his eye and subsided. He had a point; she'd turned slightly lightheaded only the day before when she'd stood up too quickly. Besides, after the previous term she owed him. She sighed. 'Right. And?'

'And… I'm not happy with your door being at the top of those stairs. So … we've moved you to my old room on the English corridor. I'll take yours and Rennie—you haven't met her yet—will take Grantly's.' Christine remained silent. 'Chris?'

'What do you want me to say? Sounds like you've got it all sorted!'

'It's just for now,' Simon promised. 'If you want your own room once you're back from maternity leave you can have it, no arguments, and the meantime it's safer for you and the kid if you get swoopy.' He twirled a finger in the air and Christine tilted her head, her annoyance fading as she tried not to laugh.

'"Swoopy"? And you call yourself an English teacher!'

Simon pointed at Tom. 'Don't blame me, he started it!'

'Thanks, mate.' Tom's tone dripped sarcasm. 'Landed me right in it with our HOD, you have.'

'Lucky I'm so understanding, isn't it?' Christine's tone matched Tom's and he grinned. She sighed. 'Look, tell me to get lost if you want. It's none of my business, but … What was that when I came in? I really thought Tom was gonna swing for Simon there!' The Head looked as if he was going to make a smart comment and Christine raised a finger. 'Like I said, you can tell me to get lost—but don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. I know what I saw.'

Simon collapsed onto the sofa behind him like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 'It's the council.'

''Course it is. And?' Christine leaned against the big desk, her arms folding as she watched him. Tom stood nearby, the set of his jaw so tight that she was certain it must hurt; the tension she'd noted earlier was back in full force. 'Come on, spit it out!'

'I was telling Tom—' Simon stopped to moisten his lips. 'I was telling him I—I can't do this anymore. Not after last term.' He nodded in the direction of the desk. 'They sent a circular. More demands, turning the screw, trying to squeeze us out of existence and it's all my fault…' When he raised his eyes to Christine's she flinched at the pain that lay there. He looked trapped. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm letting you down, I'm letting the school down, but that letter was the last straw. I'm resigning. Effectively immediately.'


TBC

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