A/N: Wow! I'm overwhelmed by the response to this fic. I was extremely nervous about posting because of the subject matter and because it's my first attempt at a modern AU, so your reviews mean the world. Special thanks to those guest reviewers to whom I can't personally reply. Thanks as well to olehistorian - you are a Godsend!
I should add a note of caution here - please don't take the fact that I've posted 2 chapters in 2 days as a precedence for what will follow. I think I can safely say that I won't be able to keep up that frequency of updates!
Chapter 2
After she has calmed down, she adds the garlic bread to the oven, before making her way into the living room to find Charles. He's sat on the sofa with Grace curled against his side, reading her reading book. She stands silently in the doorway and watches them for a few minutes, marvelling at how good he is with her daughter.
Her moment of reverie is broken when Grace looks up and smiles at her. Charles doesn't turn but his shoulders stiffen, Elsie can tell that he knows she's there.
"Dinner won't be long Charles. It's nothing fancy; just a tomato pasta bake and garlic bread. Would you choose a wine to go with it?" Despite working at Crawley's for ten years, she still defers to Charles when it comes to making decision about wine. "I'll just take Grace up to bed and be down in a moment. Grace, say good night to Uncle Charlie."
Grace looks like she is about to protest, but a stern look from her mother makes her think again. She gives Charles a hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering, "Good night Uncle Charlie."
"Good night Gracie," he replies, returning her hug. "Sweet dreams."
Grace obediently follows Elsie up the stairs, leaving Charles alone. He sits quietly for a few moments, thinking about his disagreement [RF1] with Elsie. It had all gone downhill when he had mentioned Grace's father… or lack thereof. Charles didn't know what he had been thinking. Everyone knew that the topic of Grace's father was off-limits, although only he, Beryl, Anna and Sybil Crawley, who had been on duty at the hospital that night, knew the reason why. He feels the bile rise up as he thinks about that horrible event; even 6 years on, they are still incredibly vivid…
He'd been sat at the restaurant waiting for her; they'd been set up by Beryl, although she'd never admit it, but Elsie was late. At first, he didn't worry too much, while tardiness was out of character, she had told him she'd had errands to run, so he assumed she'd just got caught up with one of them. But as five minutes turned to ten and half an hour dragged closer to an hour, without so much as a text to say she'd be late, he'd begun to feel like a fool, thinking she hadn't shown up because she had realised what Beryl was up to and didn't feel that way about him. He paid for the two drinks he'd had and left; feeling hurt and upset. He'd been in a taxi on his way home when Beryl had phoned but, being in no mood to talk to her, he'd let it go to voicemail and shut his phone off. It was only when he arrived home to several frantic messages on his answering machine did her realise what an idiot he had been.
The first three or four messages had just been Beryl asking Charles to ring her, her tone getting more and more worried each time, but he'll never forget the fifth one; Beryl had been in tears. "Charles Carson where the hell are you? I called the restaurant but they said… they said you'd left. Oh why aren't you answering your bloody phone?! S-s-something's happened… it's Elsie… she's… she's been… attacked. We're at St Mary's. Please ring me as soon as you get this."
Charles had acted on autopilot, picking up his car keys despite the two large glasses of wine he'd drank at the restaurant. He had driven straight to St Mary's, breaking every speed limit and running every light her could to get there… he'd been lucky not to be pulled over by the police. He'd tried ringing Beryl from the car, but couldn't get through. It had gone straight to voicemail. Not being able to find a parking space, he'd left his car in a drop off zone and rushed into Accident & Emergency. He'd looked around franticly for several moments, before spotting Beryl in the corner, crying softly.
"Beryl?"
"Where the bloody hell have you been?"
"Never mind that. What happened?"
"She was attacked. Walking through the park."
"What on earth was she doing in the park at that time of night?"
"Taking a shortcut."
He'd run his hand through his hair, asking the question he had been dreading since hearing Beryl's message. "And when you say attacked?"
"She was…"
"Beryl?" he'd pressed.
"I can hardly manage to say the word…"
In the end she hadn't needed to. Her reluctance to utter the word had confirmed Charles' worst fears and he had sunk into the chair next to Beryl and dropped his head into his hands.
Charles shakes his head to rid himself of the memories and goes to the kitchen to get select a bottle of wine to accompany their meal. He chooses a nice, full-bodied merlot and pours them both a glass before lifting the pasta bake and garlic bread out of the oven and plating it up.
"You didn't have to do that," Elsie says, as she enters.
"I don't mind. Did she go down alright?" he enquires as they sit.
"She did. Being back at school is certainly tiring her out." Elsie sips her wine. "Mmm, that's lovely Charles."
"You always sound so surprised. It is what I do. If the wine is lovely, then it complements the food well."
"Don't tell Beryl, but the sauce is from a jar," she confesses.
He smiles conspiratorially as he takes another forkful. "Your secret is safe with me. Speaking of Beryl… I want to apologise for earlier."
"You don't have to Charles. I'm the one who should be sorry. She had set me on edge and I let it get the better of me. You, as usual, were trying to keep the peace. Thank you." She extends her hand and lays it atop his on the table; a peace offering.
"Has something happened?" he asks, the warmth of her hand making him feel more at ease. He's known Elsie a long time and while Beryl can get under her skin, it's doesn't usually have this effect. "Other than Beryl being… well, Beryl?"
Elsie places her fork on the edge of her plate and takes a large sip of her wine. "Grace came home from school the other day asking why she doesn't have a Dad."
