The next day, Hazel is sitting at her kitchen table, staring into space and looking worried. For no apparent reason, she picks up the phone and calls Stuart's office. "Stuart Jones's office," Sandra answers. "Sandra, it's Hazel." "Oh, I'll have to stop saying that. It's not his office anymore, is it?" Sandra asks rhetorically. She tells Hazel to make sure Vince keeps in touch. "I bet he's going to miss him. It's like a morgue in here," she says. "Miss who?" asks a confused Hazel.
Stuart, meanwhile, has packed his bags and tosses the keys to his flat to an estate agent. "Sell it," he says as he keeps on walking.
At work, Vince turns off his mobile before heading into a big meeting, which means Hazel can't get through to tell him Stuart's leaving. She gets the number for the supermarket out of the Yellow Pages, and when she finally gets through, Graham answers the phone and starts asking her questions about whether or not she was in the store on the day of his and Vince's interviews. Hazel hangs up and runs out of the house with Bernie, forcing him to drive her to the supermarket, where Vince is giving a presentation to all of the employees -- including Graham and Mrs. Fletcher, the personnel director -- about some in-store changes. Hazel creeps in to the back of the room, distracting Vince from his schpiel. She makes her way to an overhead projector and starts putting transparencies on it: "STUART'S LEAVING," then, "FOREVER," followed by, "NOW!!!" and, finally, "YOU TWAT!" Mrs. Fletcher interrupts an increasingly distracted Vince's speech, saying, "If you could finish, we've got a store to run." She then notices Hazel in the back of the room. "Mrs. Peele?" asks Mrs. Fletcher. "Mrs. Tyler," Graham corrects. "It's Tyler-Peele; we're from Cheshire," Hazel responds. (And that is the sound of that joke whizzing over the heads of ninety per cent of the people reading this. Nice breeze, though.) Graham tells Mrs. Fletcher to ask Hazel about what happened on the fourteenth of that month, but is roundly ignored. "For God's sake, Stuart's leaving! He's not coming back!" Hazel cries. "I know. I'm not stupid," Vince responds. And once again, I'm going to have to invoke my veto power on that one. "He's going to London!" Hazel continues frantically. "And it's about time he did. Just leave it!" Vince tells her. Graham, getting his knickers in a big old knot, further presses Mrs. Fletcher to talk to Hazel about the events of the fourteenth. "I demand you talk to this...creature," he says disdainfully. "Oi! That's my mother!" shouts Vince. "And that is your problem, Vince," Graham responds. "Graham, as a friend of mine is very fond of saying, fuck off," a very pissed-off Vince replies. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows he's made a huge mistake. "Oh, that's nice!" Graham crows. "That's how the deputy manager reacts! Listen to that! What an example! Fine family -- all of them!" Vince looks at Graham evenly. "You know what? He's right: 'Fuck off' isn't enough," Vince says, calling out to Marcie. "The floor is yours," he tells her, "and the subject is Christmas '99." Marcie makes her way to the dais. "Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Right, point of order," she says authoritatively. "If Graham Beck is so keen on the truth, then why doesn't he try telling his fiancée that Christmas '99, he shagged me in refrigeration?" she asks gleefully. "I knew it!" shouts Sally, Graham's fiancée, jumping up. "Or maybe it just felt like refrigeration," Marcie cracks as Graham denies everything. "Small dick?" she asks Sally. "That's him!" Sally cries. "Come here, you bastard!" she yells, running over to Graham and commencing to beat the shit out of him in front of everyone as Mrs. Fletcher tries to pull her off him. Vince looks at Hazel. "Bang," he says with a smile. The two of them flee the room and jog down the corridor. Rosalie runs after them and asks Vince where he's going. "London. Oh my God, I'm going to London! See ya!" He and Hazel get in the car and drive off, even though Hazel doesn't have her license and it means leaving Bernard -- clad only in his bathrobe -- in the middle of the parking lot.