Here's the last bit of Episode 9! It's a bit shorter than usual but one of the earlier parts of this episode was longer, so it evens out. I could have added more, but I thought that this says all that needs to be said … for now. *smirk* I hope you enjoy…

Niamhemiliee: Clues or red herrings? *G* I know, it's starting to look like there's going to be no Christine/George. My only consolation is that they must sort their friendship out if nothing else—did you see the interview with Laurie Brett where she was asked where she sees Christine five years from now? Answer: on a beach with George sipping non-alcoholic cocktails. I might actually write that. That could be fun.

Guest: Thank you! Hope you enjoy this chapter as much.

Paisley: How can I do this? Because it's fun. Well, not for Christine but it's certainly fun for me getting the outraged responses! Yeah, Vaughan has improved. I still don't like him but I mind him less when Olga's around. She has a talent for pricking his pomposity which makes him more bearable. Also, he's finally waking up to the fact that he has an invaluable resource in Christine and that it would be sheer idiocy to waste it! Whether that means she officially becomes DH is another thing—the interview I mentioned above indicates not—but Lorna's clearly hiding something and I wouldn't be surprised to see Christine ultimately doing the job by default, even if she doesn't have the title.

Lori: I know! I think Christine's spent so long thinking of George as 'a dear friend' that she hasn't seriously considered him as anything else. I will admit I was initially dubious about C/G but his reaction when she fell off the wagon in 9.19 totally converted me so fingers crossed! 10b is looking to be excellent, which makes it all the more annoying it's the last.

Jessiekat: Hopefully this part explains what was going on in Christine's head. If not, say and I will change it so that it does make sense.

If anyone other than the lovely lot above is reading this please do take the time to let me know what you think!

And now, on with the show. Is Christine miscarrying ...?

Mulgrew Household, 3.45pm

'Mum! Mu-u-u-m…'

The call echoed around Christine's barely conscious brain and she winced.

'She's coming round!' she heard Imogen say. 'Come on, Christine, open your eyes!'

Why did her daughter-in-law sound so worried?

'Mum?'

Christine peered at her son through half-closed lids, her heart skipping a beat when she saw how white he looked. He looked as if—as if he'd been crying.

She tried to moisten her lips. 'What—what happened?'

His mouth twisted downwards in a shape she knew all too well. 'You were drinking.'

'What? No, Connor, I—' She broke off when he held the bottle in front of her and moved her head so that she need not to look at him. 'It was only…' She paused as she realised there was a gap in her memory. Something important. 'Only a glass,' she went on. 'And then I'm not sure what happened…' She lifted a hand to her throbbing head. 'Did I hit myself?'

Connor's eyes widened. 'Mum, what's the last thing you remember?'

She stared at the ceiling, trying to think. 'I'm not sure. I-I had a glass, just a shot, and then… everything went strange. I don't mean drunk strange, I mean really strange. It was like the alcoholic hepatitis, my heart was going really fast, I was breaking out in sweats, I thought I was going to be sick—'

'You were,' Imogen cut in and Christine blinked up at her, disconcerted by the interruption. Her daughter-in-law leaned closer, dark hair falling forward around her face. 'Christine… why did you walk out of school?'

Full recall returned and Christine bolted upright, giving a moan when her head responded with a particularly vicious throb. Connor caught her by the shoulders.

'Hey, you can't do that, especially if you've banged your head—Im, give us a pillow—'

'Connor! Christine!' Tom's frantic voice made her moan again, but softly. 'Connor, where are you?'

'Mum's room!' Connor yelled, and his mother cringed.

'Don't, please—'

Imogen had come to lay the pillow down, but when Connor tried to push Christine back she clung to his wrists, resisting the pressure. As a result she was still sitting up—after a fashion—when Tom burst in, his coat hanging off, his hair wild and his eyes wilder.

'Chris—' He crossed the room in three bounds and tried to pull her close, but Connor stopped him.

'Don't, mate, she's just woke up, she's not … she's not completely with it.'

Tom sank back onto his heels. 'What happened?'

When Connor remained quiet Christine realised it was time to face the music. She raised her eyes to meet her partner's anxious gaze.

'I—I walked out of school. I'm sorry, I'll tell Simon, I'll accept whatever disciplinary measures he wants to impose—'

'As if that matters!' Tom interrupted roughly.

'Let me tell it my own way,' she told him tightly. She drew her knees up and clasped her hands on top, resting her forehead on her knuckles. 'I walked out of school, I drove home, I—I came up here and took a bottle of vodka I confiscated last week from Darren Hughes … and I poured myself a glass. A shot. I knocked it back—'

'You kn—Christine! What the bloody hell were you thinking? You're pregnant, for god's sake!'

Unseen by her audience, she closed her eyes against the tears that were starting to leak. Somehow she managed to continue steadily. 'As I told Connor, everything went … strange after that. I, I must've fainted, I don't remember anything more until a few minutes ago.'

'But why did you leave school in the first place?' Imogen pressed.

Christine expelled a shuddering breath. 'Because…' Her mouth pursed as she tried to stop the quivering. 'Because … I started cramping. And when I checked, there was blood. Not much, but …' She looked up at Tom, her jaw tight. 'So it doesn't matter any more. About me drinking. It won't hurt the baby … because there is no baby. It's gone.'

He sat down abruptly, his eyes a startlingly vivid blue in his suddenly white face.

'So …' She swallowed hard. 'If you want to go, now's your chance. There's nothing keeping you here.'

'Chris … ' Once again he reached for her and this time she did not draw away, but neither did she relax into his arms. She did not dare; this was the final straw for them, she was sure of it.

He drew away, his hands sliding down to rest on her shoulders. 'Why didn't you tell me? When it started?'

Christine sniffed, her lips trembling as her composure threatened to disintegrate altogether. She shook her head, refusing to speak, and the warm pressure on her arms increased before it vanished altogether, leaving her skin prickling from the cold. Despite her best efforts, a sob escaped.

But Tom wasn't finished with her yet. He took her hands in his.

'Come on, love, let's get you to bed. Doc's on his way, we'll see what he says, eh?'

She nodded, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Between pain and emotion and alcohol she was shattered, more shattered even than she'd been on her return from hospital the week before. She'd known a visit from the doctor was inevitable. What else could they do, after all? Not that it would make any difference.

Tom put his arm around her as he guided her to the bed and she let him, relishing the kindness of his touch for these next few precious moments. The doorbell rang and Connor went to get it while Tom helped her undress and Imogen struggled to clear some of the mess from the floor.

Christine's head was fuzzy; she was no longer clear about the cause. Nor did she particularly care. Her eyes were heavy to the point of discomfort … Faced with an unpalatable reality that could only get worse, she took thankful refuge in the dark.

Mulgrew Household, 4.45pm

A rush of adrenaline sent Tom surging to his feet from his place at the top of the stairs when Christine's bedroom door opened.

'Well? What's the verdict?' he demanded before the doctor had closed the door behind him. 'How is she?'

Connor and Imogen had come to Connor's bedroom door, their fingers intertwined. The doctor looked from Tom to them and back, his craggy face creasing in a frown.

'They need to know too,' Tom said, anticipating his objection. 'Connor's Christine's son—'

The doctor's expression cleared. 'Ah, yes, the son.' He looked Connor up and down. 'You seem like fine young man—'

'He is,' Imogen insisted. 'Christine wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him, I can go if you want, if doctor-patient confidentiality is getting in the way, but anything you tell Tom you have to tell Connor.'

Tom found his voice. 'She right.' He glance at Christine's door. 'Is she—?'

'I think she's sleeping,' the doctor said. 'Look, if you all wanna hear this is there somewhere we can go to talk?'

Tom nodded and lead the little cavalcade down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he shut the door firmly once everyone was in. Connor and Imogen settled themselves at the table and Tom and the doctor followed suit.

Connor was first off the mark.

'Should she be sleeping if she's hit her head?'

'From what she says, the drowsiness occurred before the knock on the head, so I think it's better to let her sleep—provided someone will check on her overnight?'

'I will,' Tom and Connor offered simultaneously and Tom sighed, gesturing towards the younger man.

'I think it should be you, mate.' He glanced at the doctor. 'What about—do you know if …' His throat tightened and it was a struggle to get out, 'Is she miscarrying?'

The doctor sighed. 'It's hard to tell.' His eyes narrowed. 'Something about it isn't sitting quite with me … She could be.' He studied each of them in turn, and Tom's fists clenched under the table. 'With Mrs Mulgrew's history, this was always going to be a high-risk pregnancy, you know. If I'd been consulted I'd've advised against it, but—'

'You were,' Tom interrupted, confused. 'She went to see you in January when we started talking about it.'

There was a pause.

'Did she?' The doctor shook his head. 'I don't recall, perhaps she saw one of the women doctors.'

Or she didn't go at all, Tom thought with a sinking heart. Perhaps she anticipated what the doctor would say and decided she didn't want to hear it. Not that it mattered as unbeknownst to them both she was already pregnant by then.

'One way or another, the next few days will tell the tale,' the doctor continued. 'She's—how far?'

'Ten, eleven weeks, something like that.' Tom put his fingers through his hair. 'If you're not sure isn't there something you can do? Admit her … anything?'

The grey eyes facing his were kind. 'Mr Clarkson, a significant percentage of pregnancies end before the three month mark, and the probability of that rises with age and a number of other factors. Your—your partner—'

'Fiancée,' Tom interrupted, ignoring the startled glances coming from the young people. If it wasn't true now it soon would be, he was sure of it. 'She's my fiancée.'

The doctor ignored him.

'Mrs Mulgrew is having symptoms that could indicate a miscarriage is under way. However … there's some hope. From what she says the pain has subsided and there's no significant bleeding—a wee bit of bleeding early on isn't unusual. I've told her I want her to stay in bed for the next few days and we'll take it from there. At this point … it sounds brutal, Mr Clarkson, but if she's miscarrying now there's probably a reason for it and it's best to let nature take its course.'

Tom's jaw was tight but he managed to summon a smile for Imogen when the young woman reached across to squeeze his hand. 'Is—is there anything we should watch out for? Anything we can do?'

'If the pain comes back or the bleeding becomes excessive, get her to A&E. And,' the older man added, looking at them sternly, 'for God's sake make sure that woman doesn't touch alcohol again, pregnant or not.'

'She won't,' Connor said in a hard tone.

'That's everything, then.' The doctor rose. 'You know where I am. Give it a week or so and get yourselves sorted out with a scan and we'll know where we are for sure. But there's something not right—' He shook his head.

'Could it have been something she ate?' Connor asked suddenly and Tom exchanged a puzzled glance with Imogen.

The doctor looked interested. 'Such as?'

'Mushrooms. Fresh mushrooms, just foraged at the weekend.'

Tom had been in the process of rising to show the doctor out. Now he sat down with a thump, his heart skittering in his chest. 'Explain,' he barked.

'I just remembered.' Connor leaned forward. 'A while ago I was doin' some reading, just getting some ideas for recipes and stuff. There was something about mushrooms. Everyone knows some are poisonous, but poisonous doesn't need to mean you'll die.' Tom blinked; the younger man sounded genuinely enthusiastic—certainly more enthusiastic than he'd been in English for a good while. 'It can mean a tummy upset, with cramps and that. And somethin' else, there's a mushroom that doesn't like booze. Really doesn't like booze.'

'Tippler's bane, by God,' the doctor said, sounding as stunned as Tom felt. 'It's a bit early for it, but …' He grinned, startling Tom. He'd come to believe that the dour man was incapable of such levity. 'Well done, Mr Mulgrew. Very, very well done. I think you may have hit the nail on the head … Hold on.' He pulled out his phone and Tom held his breath while he stabbed at it. 'Yup. Here we go, dizziness, palpitations, tiredness, tingling, flushed skin—and the symptoms increase in proportion to the alcohol consumed. Just as well she stopped at the one shot, eh?'

Tom had been holding his breath for so long that he was starting to turn dizzy himself. 'So what are you saying? She might not be miscarrying at all?' He gave a disbelieving laugh. 'All this … it's just something she ate?'

'I knew something wasn't adding up,' the doctor told him, moustache twitching. 'I would caution you against undue optimism; Mr Mulgrew may be correct in which case Mrs Mulgrew should be herself in the next day or two—but equally she may not. Either way I stand by my recommendation of a couple of days of bed-rest,' he added when Tom opened his mouth. 'Doesn't hurt to take a wee bit of care, does it now?'

'Thanks, man.' Tom held out his hand. 'Seriously.'

'It's my job.' The two men shook and the doctor looked around them. 'She's a lucky lass that Mrs Mulgrew, with all of you looking out for her.' They followed him out to the hall, with Tom opened the door. 'Take care all, and give us a shout if you need me.' He turned one last time, beady eye lighting upon each of them in turn. 'And for God's sake remember what I said and keep her off the drink!'

TBC

Next time: It's the last day of term and Tom and the younger Mulgrews are optimistic, but Christine's fatalistic. At school, Sue's delighted to be told that she's going to go solo once again, and starts planning a very special lesson...