"Jill, where's my doll?"

"Jill, where's my blue car?"

"Jill, where's Katie's swimming certificate?"

Jill just stared at the three Ormerods as they converged on her in the hallway, firing question after question at her. "Why on Earth didn't any of you pack last night, like I told you to?"

"Erm..." Gordon mumbled, the three of them looked away, wearing identical sheepish expressions.

She rolled her eyes and sighed, but had to fight to stop from smiling at them. "Katie, your doll is in the kitchen. Tom, your car is in the bathroom, strangely, and Gordon, Katie's certificate is on the coffee table."

"Thank you Jill!" They all called before dashing off to their respective room. She rolled her eyes again and laughed softly at the retreating backs of her family. Jill too left the hallway, walking through the kitchen and out the back door, giving Katie a quick hug on the way. She sighed as she surveyed all the glasses she still had to collect and wash. She took a step towards the nearest table, but it seemed the glasses would have to wait a little longer as a pair of arms snaked around her waist, halting her movements.

"I packed last night, you saw me."

"Yeah, a shirt and jacket." She replied, feigning annoyance, but leaning back against her husband's chest.

He tightened his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder and kissing her cheek. "I'm going to miss you."

"I know. Me too." She turned in his arms, looping her around his neck. "I can't remember the last time we spent so long apart."

"Me neither. I don't think two days have ever seemed like such a long time!"


Jill settled into a dining chair, placing the plate of steaming food in front of her. She flicked through the medical journal in front of her, stopping at a particularly interesting article she'd been reading to read all week.

Gordon and the children had finally, after much delay, left at midday. Gordon's wish that the children sleep during the majority of the journey seemed destined not to come true from the outset, judging from the incredible excitableness of Tom and Katie. They'd at least two hours before they departed running around the house and repeatedly screaming 'We're going to visit Granddad and Grandma, and Grandpa!", until Jill and Gordon had grabbed one child each, and separated them. She could only imagine the state of Gordon's eardrums if the whole journey were to continue along the same line.

Jill on the other hand had enjoyed a relatively peaceful afternoon. She'd gone to The Royal just for wards rounds, passing with little complication, and then headed home, eventually getting round to washing the 30 or so glasses from the party. Afterwards, she'd prepared dinner, then settled down to eat it, finding for the first time in ages enough peace and quiet to read her journal. She planned to read some more, then have a well deserved early night. There was of course the possibility of an emergency since she was on call, but she hoped for once, the whole of Elsinby would be an accident-free, illness-free town.

But before bed, there was of course the anticipated phone call from Gordon. Despite the peace and quiet, she knew she missed him and the children already.


The house was quiet, unusually quiet. Despite living with Gordon, Katie and Tom for just two months, already Jill had gotten used to the normal bustle and almost constant noise that filled their house. Now, settled into the corner of the settee, the house devoid of its other occupants, Jill couldn't help but miss all that noise. Even the air felt stiller, stale almost, as if it needed some activity. She marvelled at how quickly she'd become accustomed to her new family, how imagining herself living alone was now such a strange concept.

She couldn't wait for Gordon's return the next day. He'd phone the evening before, informing her they'd arrived safely. She'd spoken briefly to Katie and Tom, both equally as excited at seeing their Grandparents. Gordon had then told her that yes, they had been just as hyperactive through the whole journey down. She was just imagining the amusing (and probably not so amusing in Gordon's point of view) scenes that might have taken place through their journey, when the sound of the doorbell rang through the house.

She rose, depositing her book on the coffee table, straightening her clothes, then made her way to the door. She slid the lock open, and pulled back the door to reveal a constable on the doorstep.

"Hello, officer." She said, surprise evident in her voice.

"Good afternoon." He answered politely. "Are you Doctor Weatherill?"

"I am, yes." She replied, confusion still lacing her tone.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes, yes. Of course." She stepped back, allowing him to enter and closing the door behind him. She gestured at the living room and followed him in. "Would you like anything drink?"

"No thank you." He replied. It was only then that she noticed the slight awkwardness in his demeanour, the permanent grimness to his expression. "I have something to tell you. I think it would be best if you sat down."


The shrill ringing of the telephone startled her into consciousness. For a moment, she hung in blissful confusion as she got her bearings, but inevitably, the devastation penetrated her momentary ignorance, pounding the reality home, breaking her even further than it had done the previous day.

Still the telephone, out in the hallway, continued to make it known that someone was trying to contact her. But she curled up tighter, hugging the cushion to her; a futile attempt at comfort when all she needed was her husband. But it wasn't to be, would never be again. The thought intensified the grief already coursing through her, each second she continued to think of all that would never be again took him further away from her.

She released a sob. Not even the telephone was a enough to drown out the heartbreaking sound. The tears came then, from her red-raw eyes, down her already tear-stained cheeks, settling on the already soaked cushion into which she'd released her emotions the previous evening. Sometime during the night she'd managed to fall asleep, a result of pure emotional exhaustion.

The ringing stopped, the house was once again plunged into silence, but only momentarily. The clock in the hallway filled the void, chiming out the time, signally the passage of another hour in which she'd lived in a world without Gordon.