"When she first mentioned what's about to happen, I said 'over my dead body' and she said, 'no, Sam, over mine. And, as usual, my darling girl and Grace's darling mum was right. So, she's going to say her final farewell to you. Not through me, but inevitably, ever so cooly, through the immortal genius of the Bay City Rollers."

Slowly, but surely, Sam Strachan traversed into a parallel universe as the Bay City Rollers commenced the funeral finale. 'Bye Bye Baby' played bittersweet, while pictures of Connie flashed upon the screen from birth to death. Mourners reflected the wide smile so rarely witnessed from the Clinical Lead, as Charlie and Jacob led the male procession prepared to deliver Connie on her final journey down the aisle. The rare female influences in her life sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Grace. Audrey sat to her left, Duffy at the other side and Zoe reached forward to offer a supportive hand. The small child remained statue-like and very stoic, overwhelmed by the permanence of the trauma. Finally, her wide eyes lifted to meet her fathers and she cried out for him.

"Daddy?"

"Dad?"

"Dad." Grace impatiently shook her father harder when she attempted to wake him the third time. Confusion filtered from his expression, as he rose from his unintended slumber in front of the television and the final scene of 'Love Actually' played out. She rolled her eyes in her juvenile, characteristic manner, "You fell asleep." He had missed the majority of the film, and Grace had emptied the bowl of sweet popcorn.

"Oh, sorry…" Sam fully reentered consciousness and scratched at his itchy stubble.

In actual fact, Grace had become accustomed to such behaviour from a parent. "At least you didn't fall asleep in the cinema." It was fortunate her mother had pre-empted the possibility and selected the seats at the very back of the theatre.

"Yes," Sam muttered, somewhat amused at the vision of Connie dead-to-the-world and just about to drool into the box of popcorn after a manic shift at the hospital. To their child, on the other hand, it was more proof that she remained second-in-priority to her mothers insatiable ambition. It only served to confirm Sam had been righteous in his decision to return Grace to America. Yet, why his mind had suddenly become consumed by the mother of his child alluded him. Guilt was far from an option, and he refused to believe he and Connie were connected on any spiritual level, but Sam decided it best to cover all bases before he dismissed it. "When was the last time your mother called, Gracie?"

Grace had already hopped off the sofa, in search of the remote for her next Netflix choice. Any conversation that involved her mother threatened to ruin the peace with her father, "Last week." She hunched her shoulders, defensive of the fact that she wasn't entirely sure and didn't particularly care. She pondered why her father would, "Why?"

The suspicion in her tone caused Sam to shake his head, nonchalantly - a little too nonchalantly for Grace to be deceived. "She is your mum," Sam replied softly, and the implied accusatory tone distracted any curiosity from Grace. "She probably misses you." Guilt-tripped, Grace bowed her head and attempted to recall the last time she and her mother had phoned, or FaceTimed. Sometimes, life in the States seemed so effortless and tranquil that there were times when Grace truly failed to entertain memory of her mother and the life she led in the U.K. Still, her mother sent a weekly email to check-in with Grace and Grace replied, if and when she had the time. It may have been subconscious malice toward her mother for all the times Grace had fallen second in priority to work. "Why don't you call her?"

"Okay," Grace promised, half-heartedly while she selected 'Dr Seuss How the Grinch Stole Christmas' from Netflix.

Her father offered forward his smartphone, "No time like the present."

Reluctantly, Grace followed orders and dialled the number saved under her mothers name. "She won't pick up," she stated, all too aware of her parents' innate dislike for one another; Sam predicted the same result, and searched for her phone instead.

"Try from yours," Sam pleaded, when the first call immediately directed to voicemail. The second time around, the tone sounded as if Connie would answer at any moment but it cut-off at thirty seconds to voicemail. Irritated by her fathers insistence, Grace tucked her smartphone into her pocket. The pre-teen returned her attention to the Christmas film and Sam slumped back into the sofa, shaken by how real it had all seemed; he could almost smell the hardwood of the coffin that contained Connie.

The dream, or vision, whatever it had been, had disturbed him. He leapt to his feet and raced to the home phone, where he dialled the number for Connie both at home and her personal mobile but he hesitated to contact her at work. She despised any interruption, and his phone-call would be viewed as an unconscionable waste of her valuable time. "Dad," Grace scowled, at the unexplained disturbance.

"Hold on, Gracie."

In the months since he had whisked Grace back to America - without consent from, or consideration for, Connie - Sam had been choked up with an uneasy nervousness that bounced around inside him. He had been prepared for a retaliation comparable to emotional whiplash but Connie had simply let it slide. She wished Grace well on her return to school, sent presents, liked Facebook pictures. He had received the odd threat via voicemail but none since September and certainly no anticipated lawsuit for custody of their child. It was extremely un-Beauchamp, and Sam kicked himself that he had failed to question her reaction, or lack of, before.

"I promise to email her tomorrow, okay?" Grace consoled him as he returned to the sofa, still unsettled.

Sam smiled and stretched an arm to rest on the back of the cushion. He tried and failed to interest himself in the Christmas film, the impish character of Jim Carrey dressed in the Grinch suit did little to divert his mind from Connie.

Fifteen minutes into the film Grace had selected, the office number for Henrik Hanssen flashed upon the screen of his iPhone. He answered the call in the privacy of the kitchen, out of earshot from Grace. To his surprise, it was a female voice that Sam assumed was the Chief Executive Officers personal assistant, "Mr. Strachan, I have some sad news in reference to Mrs. Beauchamp."