Connie slept for an hour or so, but in truth she couldn't really rest. Too many thoughts were whizzing round and round in her brain. How was Ric going to deal with losing a second grandchild? Did she have the inner strength to support him through it? And perhaps uppermost in her mind was the question of whether or not all this would make him start gambling again. Connie wasn't sure that she could deal with that if it did happen. Did she, Connie, have what it took to keep him away from the roulette wheel? She didn't know.
When she at last got out of bed at around ten thirty that morning, after having only really dozed since nine, Ric was still thankfully sound asleep. He needed all the emotional strength he could muster for the next few days, so he may as well sleep while he could. Grabbing herself a fast, hot shower, she began to feel a little more human. Going downstairs afterwards, she made herself another mug of hot, strong coffee. Picking up the cordless phone, she dialled Jess and Zubin's number.
"It's Connie," She said when Zubin answered. "Where are you?" He asked, sounding as tired as she felt. "Here, in Holby, we got back this morning." "Thank you for bringing him back," Zubin said sincerely. "How is he?" "Asleep, at the moment, but pretty shell-shocked." "He isn't the only one," Zubin said bleakly. "Jess seems to have given up talking." "Zubin, are you all right?" Connie asked, and then could have kicked herself. "Sorry, stupid question." "I'm just about managing to keep a lid on things," Zubin said evasively. "Zubin, if there's anything I can do, anything at all, just say the word." He could hear the slight rise of emotion in her voice and it touched him. This was Connie Beauchamp, the hardest nut in the business, sounding as though she might be about to cry, and all because she didn't know how to help him, the man who had once been her greatest rival. "Thank you," He said, really meaning it. "Just bring Ric over when he wakes up. I'm hoping that he'll have better luck with Jess than I'm currently doing." "All right," Connie replied quietly. "But just remember that you both need to grieve."
When Ric awoke around lunchtime, he at first couldn't work out where he was. The air was very different to that in Ghana, which meant that he must be back in England. But what on earth for? He could smell Connie's perfume on the duvet, which meant that he was lying in her bed. Then, as his muscles began gathering up the energy for him to move, he remembered. He was back in England, because Jess and Zubin's baby, little Paris, was dead, dead and gone. As he scrubbed his entire body under the shower, and cleaned his teeth till his gums were almost raw, he tried to sort his thoughts out into some sort of order. He'd barely spoken to Connie since she'd given him the news about Paris, and he was incredibly grateful to her for simply allowing him to do things in his own time and in his own way. But now he had to pull himself together, to put all of his thoughts back in their proper places, ready for seeing Jess and Zubin this afternoon.
When he appeared in the kitchen, Connie was heating up some home made chicken and vegetable soup. "You look slightly more human," Connie commented when she saw him standing in the kitchen doorway. "Not sure if I feel it," Ric said, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. "Are you hungry?" Connie asked. "Possibly," He replied, not entirely sure that he could stomach anything at the moment. "Well, you won't be any good to anyone if you don't eat," She said kindly, getting a second soup bowl out of the cupboard. As he sat down at the kitchen table, she placed a bowl of the steaming soup in front of him, and then filled one for herself. She watched him as they ate, and couldn't help worrying about the look in his eyes. They were dull, lifeless, as though all the happiness had gone out of his world. "I rang Zubin," Connie told him. "He'd like you to go over when you're ready." "How are they?" Ric asked, reflecting that Connie certainly could make good soup. "Zubin sounds exhausted, and he doesn't seem to be getting through to Jess." "What makes him think that she'll talk to me?" Ric said ruefully. "You're her father, of course she'll want to talk to you," Connie assured him. "She and Zubin probably need a bit of a break from each other."
Later that afternoon when Connie drove them over to Zubin's house, she spared a thought to wonder what type of house Zubin would live in. He was such a stilted man most of the time, that she couldn't immediately imagine what his living environment would be like. When they arrived, Zubin opened the door before they could ring the bell. "I think Jess is asleep," He said by way of explanation. "So I don't want to wake her." Zubin looked terrible, Connie couldn't help thinking. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he hadn't slept for days, and what hair he did have looked as though he'd been running his fingers through it interminably. "How are you?" Ric asked as they moved into the kitchen. "Oh, you know," Zubin said evasively. "I was just going to take Jess a cup of tea. Do you want one?" As he attempted to make the tea, Connie could tell that his thoughts were entirely somewhere else. When he almost dropped the carton of milk out of sheer distractedness, Connie removed it from his hand and said, "I'll do it. Go and sit down. You look exhausted." When she'd poured the tea, she handed a mug to Ric and said, "Why don't you go and see your daughter?" Taking the mug from her hands, Ric gave her an appreciative smile. "Connie looks as though she's keeping you on the straight and narrow," Zubin commented dryly as Ric moved to obey Connie's suggestion. "She is," He said, walking up the stairs. "I do try," Connie said fondly, thinking that her uphill struggle was only going to get harder.
In the bedroom, Ric found his daughter dozing on one side of a large double bed. Putting the mug down on the bedside table, he gently touched Jess's shoulder. When she turned over and opened her eyes, staring up into the face of her father, she said, "Dad?" As though unsure that he was really there. As Ric sat down on the edge of the bed, putting his arms out to her, she clung to him, the tears she'd tried to suppress finally rising to the surface. All Ric could do was to hold her as she wept, his own throat constricted by grief. When she'd calmed down a little, she moved slightly back from him to dry her eyes. "When did you get here?" She asked in a choked voice. "This morning," He told her. "Connie let me sleep for a few hours before driving me over here." "Connie's here?" Jess asked in surprise. "She's downstairs with Zubin." "Dad, what am I supposed to do?" She asked him in bewildered helplessness. "Me and Zubin don't know what to say to each other, we haven't even begun to arrange anything for the funeral, and I can't even be bothered to get out of bed." "That's what grief does to you," Ric told her regretfully. "It eats at you from within, until you don't know who you are any more. I'm here, I'm sure that Lola's here somewhere, and I think even Connie would be there if either of you wanted her to be." "She had to tell you about Paris, didn't she?" Jess asked, knowing that it was Connie that Zubin had spoken to the day before. "Yes," Ric replied sadly. "And I think it was one of the hardest things she's ever had to do." "You need her, don't you, dad," Jess said thoughtfully. "Yes, at the moment I do," Ric responded without hesitation. "Just as you and Zubin need each other, and I never thought I'd hear myself say that," He added with a slight smile. "You must try to talk to Zubin," Ric urged her gently. "Because he isn't going to get through this without you."