Oh, hang on. She’s already out. Blimey, that was quick. And we have to thank none other than Charlie Fairhead, the Hercule Poirot of Wyvern. He didn’t even have to look in Rita’s locker to know that the missing pills were there (how thick is Rita to keep them in her locker anyway?). He just knew, because he’s Charlie and he sees into the human soul. “Do you really hate her that much?” he said to Rita, with a shake of that grizzled head, before convincing the police that the pills just happened to turn up.
So Connie is free. She hardly had time to get used to walking in flat shoes and sleeping in low thread-count sheets and she was out again, feeling the green green grass of Holby beneath her Louboutins.
Charlie was there to meet her, but they’d only had time to park up at the hospital, have a quick stare off with various staff members who couldn’t believe that Connie was once more among them, and Charlie got a phone call. His waste-of-space son Louis is apparently wasting space in a hospital bed in Bucharest, having been viciously beaten up. So Charlie is off to Romania, and Connie’s going with him because she owes him one. Brace yourselves for a Romania special.
Meanwhile, Max was still cross with Lofty because of the way he treated Robyn last week, but Robyn has already moved on – a glimpse of a leather-clad hunk delivering blood to the hospital left her literally drooling – with chocolate all over her face. We’ve all been there.