Must admit, I was a bit disappointed that the last chapter didn't draw more 'silent' readers out of their holes. However, I loved the responses from the lovely people who did review so thank you for that. You're the best!

Paisley: *g* But everyone was happy all the time you'd get bored!

Niamhemilee: Aggh. Well, you can always try emailing me again and I'll send you a line when I update, if that helps. Must admit I wouldn't dream of going to Andalucia at this time of the year; even when we went it was breaching my tolerance levels, heat-wise, so you have my sympathy. LOL at your response, I knew that would have you hopping mad…

Mini Peacelet: I did wonder how 'Connor' turned into 'Connie'! I was very careful about what I said in the 'spoiler' section because I didn't want to give anything away, so I underplayed Christine's 'shock'. Glad it worked!

Lori: Thanks for reviewing straight away although I'd've been hugely disappointed if you hadn't as it would have meant the chapter didn't have the impact I wanted. Your response made my night/day!

Again, this leads straight on, near enough. I'm guessing you don't need reminding on what happened, though...:)

School Gates, 1.50pm

'Connor said to wait.'

Dynasty paused in her determined stride towards the school gates to shoot Eve a look over her shoulder. 'Yeah, an' it's nearly two. We've got P.E. next. This is your chance, babe! D'you really wanna go into that changin' room with Rhiannon and that right now?'

'But what if—'

The Head Girl stopped. 'What if nothin'. Come on, Eve! Man up, yeah? The others are at Grantly House, we've got a longer lunch'n'usual 'cos of this party thing. Mrs Mulgrew'll have—oi, watch it, you!' She yelled after the man who'd just burst between them with the force of a battering ram, sending Eve reeling against the railings.

'Who was that?' the other sixth former demanded, straightening. 'He's moving as if someone's after him!'

'Yeah.' Dynasty swallowed against the too-familiar bubbling of disquiet. 'Yeah, he is. Somethin' must've happened—' She broke away from Eve, darting across the car park to the steps.

'Dynasty!' she heard Eve call as she reached the door. 'Dynasty, this is stupid. If you think something's happened we should call for help!'

'Do what you like, but I'm goin' in!' She didn't wait for a reply, slipping into the foyer and moving on as quickly as her high heels and the treacherously polished hall floor would permit. Then she was in the crush hall and turning left into the corridor and any moisture left in her mouth evaporated altogether when she heard a voice—Christine's?—say, 'Wake up, come on. Wake up for me—'

Dynasty stopped between the staff room and the offices, her skin crawling, and quivering inside. Running away, summoning Tom, Imogen—the desire to shift this burden to someone else was overwhelming …until she heard a muffled, strangled sound that her dazed brain belatedly recognised as sobs. Love and loyalty and simple pride in herself as a Barry girded her spine and gave her the courage to march on.

Christine looked up as she entered.

'It was Joe,' she rasped in a voice Dynasty barely recognised. 'He came here and Connor—Connor—' She moved her hands and the younger woman's tummy somersaulted when she saw the blood. Memories fast forwarded behind her eyes, memories of black eyes burning with hatred, of the the crack of a gun shot … and an arc of blood spurting as Barry fell, dead before he hit the floor.

It's not like that, she told herself as she knelt beside Christine. Connor's not gonna die, he can't…

'I'll do this.' She moved to cover the leaking wound in Connors side with her own hands, allowing Christine to withdraw hers. 'Ambulance comin'?'

But the older woman did not seem to hear. She was staring at her son, lost within her own private hell and Dynasty felt panic surge. She needed Christine to keep it together, she couldn't do this alone.

'Christine!'

'You phone, I'll take over there,' Eve said, appearing at the door with startling suddenness. Dynasty gasped with relief. 'You need more pressure than that,' Eve continued, dislodging her hand to push a clenched fist into the wound.

Dynasty backed out of the way, unable to tear her eyes from the little rivulets of blood trickling past Eve's fist, and her gorge rose. What if they couldn't stop it?

'Dyn!' Eve snapped, sounding fiercer (and more like Miss Boston) than Dynasty had come to expect. 'Call 999 … like now or it'll be too late!'

She nodded and tried to grasp her phone to make the call, but her hands were slick from a combination of Connor's blood and her own clammy sweat. It took several attempts before she managed to get through and it was all she could do to speak calmly to the operator and answer his questions. The response to one answer in particular caused her to make a small sound and Eve glanced at her.

Dynasty swallowed. 'You have to Keep doin' that, diggin' in. He says you mustn't stop. Push as hard as you can, it's the only—' A whimper from Christine made her break off, dropping her mobile. The ambulance was on its way and it wasn't as if Eve needed to be told what to do … She rose to grab the soft throw from the sofa. Now that Connor was Eve's responsibility she was frightened for Christine—never to mention Squirt.

'C'mon.' She helped Christine up. 'Come'n sit—'

The older woman pulled back, resisting her efforts to steer her to the sofa. 'Connor—'

'He'll be fine,' Dynasty insisted, hoping it was true. 'Eve's keepin' him going, the ambulance is comin'. It's you I'm worried about now.'

'Me?' Christine's half laugh raised the hairs on her neck, making her shiver. 'Don't waste your time, this is all my fault.'

'Chris—'

'It's fine, Dyn.' The use of her nickname should have reassured her but it did not; not with her Headmistress looking and sounding like that. Nor was she comforted when Christine moved back to Connor, lowering herself awkwardly to the floor. At least she'd kept the blanket...

'Does Tom know?'

The older woman did not respond and Dynasty caught her lip in her teeth as she tried to force her shocked and fuzzy brain into action. There was something she should do, something important, but she couldn't stop thinking of Barry. All she wanted to do was find somewhere quiet to sit and grieve for her brother—

'Call him,' Eve advised and Dynasty blinked.

'What?'

'Clarkson. Isn't that—?'

'Oh. Yeah. I should, shouldn't I?' She pulled out her phone, her finger trembling as she aimed for Tom's name.

It rang and rang, each trill hardening the lump settling in her throat. When Tom finally answered she could not repress a sob.

'What's going on, Dyn? You shouldn't be calling from school—'

All at once she found her voice, but even then it was all she could do to get out three words: 'Come. Please come.'

Mulgrew Home, 1.45pm

Tom was already moving as he hung up, grabbing his coat and retaining just enough presence of mind to switch off the grill. Then he was pelting through the house, the teeth of his car keys biting deep into the palm of his hand. He welcomed the pain, it kept him focused as he persuaded his old car into life, thanking every god he'd ever heard of that the roads would be quiet at this hour.

Come. Please come.

His hands turned clammy on the wheel as he pressed hard on the accelerator, preferring to risk his license to delaying his arrival at school. He'd never heard Dynasty sound quite like that before and if she'd made the call that meant something was going on with Christine or Connor—or both. Imagination supplied plenty of possibilities, none of them good ...

He had to slow to accommodate an ambulance and swore, loudly and repetitively, as he was forced to tail the emergency vehicle along the coast road. Why the hell couldn't they get out of his way?

When it turned into Madeira Street his tummy swooped to his feet as realisation dawned, leaving him hollow; the perfect vacuum for fear to fill. He brought the car to a squealing stop outside the school gates and ran as fast his legs would carry him—not towards the main door, but to the side doors, the ones nearest Christine's office, pushing past kids and teachers as he did so. Someone—possibly Nikki—shouted after him; Tom ignored them, the sense of urgency so compelling that he could not have stopped if he'd wanted to.

Dynasty was waiting for him when he exploded through the external doors with small respect for rusting hinges and he came perforce to a trembling, unwilling halt. She was white, her eyes panda-ringed from crying, and now that the moment was at hand Tom could not find the voice or breath for the question he had to ask.

Dynasty's lower lip quivered. 'It's, it's Connor. He's, they're... ' She jerked her head back towards the office. Paramedics were running in and out, he could hear conversation and bustle and a positive overture of technological beeps.

It all pointed to the same thing. Whatever had occurred, it was serious. Connor might even—

He aborted the thought, refusing to finish it, refusing to lend it any semblance of credence. It must not happen, it was the one thing he knew Christine would not survive.

The garrotte eased just enough for him to bark, 'Where is she?' No need to explain, not to Dynasty.

'Sonya's office.' She grabbed his arm as he tried to brush past. 'She's...' She shook her head. 'It's like, the lights are on but no-one's home—' Her voice caught and he paused to give her a quick, fierce hug, partly to say 'thanks' and partly because … well, in truth he needed the comfort as much as she did—and something else.

'Will do something for me? For Christine?'

She drew back, nodding. ''Course.'

'Go to class. Say nothing to anyone till I text. Then you can take Imogen aside and tell her, but the fewer people we have milling around the better. Can you do that?'

There was a long pause as the girl's mouth worked and Tom felt ill at what he was asking, but Christine came first, even if that meant temporarily excluding Connor's wife. When Dynasty eventually gave a single jerky nod of assent he let out a breath in an explosive whoosh. She knew what he'd asked, he could tell from the way she veiled her eyes, and he sent her on her way with a second bone-crushingly tight hug.

Then it was time to move, more than time. A shadow was falling through the door and Tom's heart froze in his chest as the paramedics backed out with a gurney that was already festooned with oxygen and fluid bags. He pressed himself flat against the wall as they passed, forcing himself to look at the boy he'd come to consider a son. Connor was white beyond his usual pallor, his face almost entirely hidden by the oxygen mask. Tom wanted to ask how he was, to know something concrete, but the words wouldn't come while inside he was screaming.

A small sound tore his eyes from his stepson-to-be. It was the only thing that could; after all these months his mind and body were geared to the timbre of Christine's voice. Two steps brought him to where she stood, between an eerily calm Eve Boston on one side and a streaming and indignant Sonya on the other.

'What kept yer?' the secretary blurted but he ignored her and Eve, reaching to pull Christine into his arms. She did not soften against him and when she pulled back he realised Dynasty's concern. Her eyes were blank, devoid of recognition.

He squeezed her shoulders. 'Christine?' A slight shake. 'Come on, Chris, talk to me—'

A shudder ran through her and he was almost glad of it. 'Connor—'

He glared at the other two. 'Get.' They didn't need to be told twice and he returned to his fiancée. 'What the hell happened?'

She shook her head, her lips compressed into near invisibility. 'I need to go—' She stumbled down the corridor towards the door, one hand dragging the wall to brace herself and he jogged to catch up.

'Come on, take my arm. I'll get you to the ambulance.'

She didn't argue and that frightened him as much as anything else. The medics looked up as they arrived, pausing in the act of transferring Connor to the vehicle. One approached, his eyes kind, and Tom felt another shudder ripple through Christine.

Somehow, she found her voice. He wasn't sure he could.

'How—?'

'We've given fluids and he's stable for now. Can't say anything more until we've assessed the damage.' The paramedic—or doctor, Tom didn't know which—paused to gesture towards the ambulance's open doors. 'Sorry, just one o'yous—'

'He's my son, of course I'm coming,' Christine cut in, and Tom's hands tightened on her shoulders in encouragement. Her shoulders lifted as she took a breath, turning to face him. 'You'll follow?'

It was more of an order than a question but he nodded anyway, watching her climb in to bend over her son, one hand hovering as though she longed to touch him and feared to so. When she straightened her gaze found Tom's and he realised she'd slipped into her headmistress persona; perhaps it was the only way she could cope.

'Tell Simon,' she said as the green-and-gold clad emergency personnel bustled around them. She paused to collect herself before adding, 'And Imogen.'

He nodded and attempted to match her brisk tone. 'Will do.'

'And—and come soon.'

That little catch made him push through the wall of green-and-gold to jump in beside her, pulling her close and resting his chin on her head. He could feel her dissolve as his arms went round her—but it was fleeting. Almost at once she was stepping back and only the rigid set of her shoulders betrayed the effort it took. Tom's throat ached; stepping out of that ambulance and leaving her to journey alone with her critically ill son was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do.

He turned to the kindly paramedic. 'Look after 'em.'

The other man put a supportive hand on his shoulder. 'We will. Look after yourself too, mate; don't go breakin' speed limits to get to us, eh? Laddie's in good hands—and so's his mother.'

Tom expelled a breath that quivered and he tried to keep his voice light. 'I know. I, uh, I've stuff to do here first. You heard her!'

The paramedic slammed the double doors of the ambulance shut. 'Aye, I did. OK, man, we're ready!' He left with a wave and then the ambulance was rolling down the drive, the flashing light reminding Tom all over again of what was at stake.

He turned and studied the main front doors, responsibility dragging him down as never before. He couldn't be where he longed to be just yet; he had a job to do.

Inverclyde Royal, 3.45pm

Christine paced the family room near intensive care, nibbling a thumbnail and grasping her phone so tightly in the other hand it hurt. Watching the comings and goings through the big picture window provided a momentary distraction; she even stepped closer to peer at the approach road below, hoping that she'd be able to make out the familiar form of Tom's old car. Unless he'd taken her Honda, his three-door would be awkward later and the kids were always complaining bitterly over the contortions needed to get in and out of it.

Kids ….

She bit deep into her lip to prevent a sob from escaping. The doctors were very calm and reassuring but she couldn't dismiss the pernicious suspicion that they'd softened the truth out of consideration for her. The squeal of the hinges made her twist sharply, her heart pounding from anticipation and fear—but it wasn't a doctor, it was Tom. He stopped just inside to bend over, bracing his hands above his knees and breathing hard, and she surprised herself with a half-laugh.

'Did a bit of running, did you?'

He glanced up. 'Just a bit … whew.' He straightened. 'Any news?'

Her lower lip caught between her teeth as she shook her head.

'Where is he? Theatre?' She nodded. 'How long?'

Christine shrugged. 'I don't know. Probably not that long but it—' Now it was she who blew out a breath. 'It feels like forever.'

'Come on.' He took her hand and pulled her down onto the squishy sofa in one corner. 'What did they say?'

Now that he was here she began to shake, reaction setting in at last. 'He's … he's lost a lot of blood, he might need a transfusion…' Tom's hand tightened on hers, a warm link to sanity and safety. 'The wound needs fixing, that's why they brought him up—'

'Christine, what happened?'

She couldn't speak.

'Chris?'

'It … it was Joe.' She sank her face into her hands. 'I went back to school early from the party. It was too hot, I wanted to catch up with some work without Sonya popping in every five minutes. I left the doors open for a bit of air. Then he, he just showed up! And he started having a go and I was so startled I couldn't think straight and besides, I was sorry for him—'

'Sorry?' Tom questioned and a sob erupted.

'Connor told me earlier that Charlie … Charlie was worse. Not expected to live. I said I was sorry and he said that it was too late, Charlie was dead and he blamed me. He said—he said Charlie had died because of me, because I'd been lying… I told him to get out and he laughed and that was when Connor came in.'

'Furious, I bet,' Tom commented and she could hear the suppressed rage in his tone—and perhaps a touch of sympathy. It caught her on the raw.

'He should have minded his own business! He should have turned around and gone away again, I'd've coped. Joe's many things but he's not violent!'

Her partner raised his eyebrows. 'Right.'

Christine dropped her head in her hands again with a frustrated moan. 'Oh, I know. But he'd just lost his son, Tom. And … and they started fighting, they ended up rolling over my desk. Connor'd brought some food up, they sent that flying … Then I thought Connor was putting a stop to it, he had Joe in that hold you showed him, you know the one? With the arm under the chin?'

Tom nodded and she inhaled carefully. Just remembering what came next made her feel lightheaded and sick.

'Joe—he picked something up. Maybe the steak knife Connor brought, maybe it was something he had, I don't know, I couldn't see. All I saw was when … when Connor went reeling against the filing cabinet and there was this dark patch on his jumper. At first I thought he'd just spilled something but he went a funny colour and I went to him and touched the damp patch…' She stopped, her mouth twitching uncontrollably. 'It was like Barry all over again. My fingers dripping red and Connor turning whiter by the minute… And when I tried to help him, when I tried to get him to lie down he made a fuss because he was worried about Squirt—' She clasped her hands over her mouth. Not to suppress the sobs—that was futile at this point—but to prevent them from turning into near screams of fear and grief.

When Tom pulled her close she allowed it, her fingers twisting in his shirt as she clung to him, her shoulders heaving as she wept. At last she was able to sit back and meet his eyes, noting that the blue of them had turned dark.

'Tom?' He was pulling out his phone. 'What are you doing?'

'Calling the police.' His jaw was square and hard. 'To set them after Joe.'

A protest hovered on her lips. Joe had just lost his son. Despite everything, it hurt to think of the pain her ex-husband was experiencing—until she remembered her son as she'd last seen him, bewired and bemasked, white unto death and Joe legging it without a word of apology or remorse. Her lips pinched and she gave a short nod, sinking back into her mire of terror as Tom rose to make the call.

He'd just returned to her side when the door opened and he leapt to his feet, one hand resting on her shoulder as he barked, 'News?'

The white-coated doctor nodded and pulled up a straight chair while Christine reminded herself to breathe.

'For God's sake, don't keep up in suspense!' That was Tom again and the doctor glanced from him to Christine and back, his eyebrows forming a question of their own. She forced a smile.

'This is my fiancée.'

The other man's expression cleared. 'Ah. Well. Good news first, then.'

'He's—' She couldn't finish and the doctor softened.

'He's alive. However,' he went on as Christine's tummy flipped and twisted, like a gymnast in a competition. 'The wound was deeper than anticipated and there was significant blood loss. He's not gonna recover quickly and uh—.'

'What?' Tom demanded as Christine focused on the painful grip of his fingers on hers. Otherwise she feared she might float away altogether.

The doctor hesitated. 'He wasnae too responsive in recovery, even allowing for blood loss and GA.'

'For God's sake man, just give it to us straight!' To Christine, Tom's voice seemed to echo, bouncing off the satin-painted plaster that encircled them.

The doctor sighed. 'Coma's not uncommon with stab victims. It's not even a bad thing; we often induce it to give the body time to recover.'

'But you haven't induced it this time,' Christine croaked.

'No.' The doctor leaned forward. 'But let's not put the cart before the horse, eh?' He reached over to give her hand a paternal pat. 'Take it one day at a time. I know this is worrying but … it's important you keep it under control, Mrs Mulgrew. Gettin' all stressed oot isn't gonna help your son, you, or that bairn you're carrying.'

She closed her eyes in frustration. Connor should be everyone's concern right now—not herself or Squirt, especially when the latter was being unusually active, as if he or she could sense Christine's emotion.

'Chris?' Tom prompted and her eyes popped open.

'I heard.' She pushed herself upright. 'Now. I don't care if he's in a coma or not but I want to see my son!'

''Course. 'Course.' The doctor returned his chair to his original spot and brushed off imaginary flecks from his coat. 'I'll take you to him; he should be all settled by now.'

Tom took her arm and they followed the doctor from the room, walking down a long corridor and passing through a large, well-lit stairwell—where they were brought to an abrupt stop when Imogen stepped out in front of them, barring their way.

She was tear-strained and trembling and angrier than Christine had seen her since their encounter in Grantly House just before the fire.

'How dare you! I should have been told. I should have known as soon as it happened!'

Christine took a step back. 'Imogen—' she began as a nurse came forward.

'Mrs Mulgrew?'

Before Christine could say anything her daughter-in-law had stepped forward. 'I'm Mrs Mulgrew. I'm Connor's wife—and I don't want her anywhere near him!'

Next Time:

As Connor's condition remains dire, Christine and Tom struggle to hold themselves and the school together—and then there's Imogen...

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