Ladies and Gentlemen, as promised – the first of my one shots to follow on from Mixed Emotions!
This one-shot is more Turnadette than CTM, I realised that I had never done a Christmas fic in ME so crack open the bucks fizz and whack the Slade on – because .. IT'S CHRIIIIIIIISTMAAAAAAAAS!
This chapter's song is:
I wish I could be James Bond – Scouting for Girls
Enjoy x
"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen – this is your captain speaking. If we have any doctors or nurses on board the flight today – please let yourself be known to a member of the cabin crew. Thank you."
Shelagh put down her book and glanced at Patrick beside her, who was staring down the aisle over the top of his paper, he turned slightly to look at his wife,
"There must be someone else on board Shelagh." she glanced around her at the small aeroplane and bit her lip.
"Oh god, why is it always us! Do you think we should?"
"No. Shelagh no – if it was an emergency they would have turned the plane around and gone back to Gatwick, it'll be someone who's travel sick love." He said, burying his face in the Guardian and trying to ignore the whispering passengers around him who were all curious about what was going on. After a few minutes, by which point most passengers were convinced that the required medical assistance had been found, one of the cabin crew came over the tannoy:
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the cabin crew speaking … this is another call for any doctors or nurses on board to make themselves known to any of the cabin crew team."
Putting down his paper and looking at Shelagh, who was staring intently at the same spot in her book, Patrick sighed,
"I suppose we'll have to then. Shelagh?"
"Och fine." dog earing her page she slotted the book into the seat back pocket and unbuckled her seatbelt, Patrick stood up slowly and threw his paper onto his seat, letting Shelagh past him Patrick turned back slightly.
"Tim, watch your sister."
"What? Where are you two going?" The teenager replied, pulling his ear phones out and looking puzzledly at his father,
"They need a doctor – just keep an eye, we'll be back in a second." he said with a weary smile at his son as he followed his wife down to the galley. As they reached the small metal cubbyhole they found a member of the cabin crew leant against the side, breathing heavily and noisily,
"Oh, are you medics?!" asked a panicked looking young man.
"I'm a doctor."
"I'm a nurse."
"And you know each other?"
"We're married." They answered in unison, bending down slightly to see the young woman's face Shelagh smiled,
"Hello, what's your name?"
"K … Ke … Kelly."
"Hello Kelly, I'm Shelagh. You're having trouble breathing?"
"Mmhmm."
"Right, are you asthmatic?"
"Y… yes."
"Ok, and have you got an inhaler on the plane?"
"Ba … ag."
"In your bag? OK." Standing up straighter Shelagh turned to the assembled cabin crew, "Right, first of all, who knows where her bag is? Ok – can you get it for me please? Thank you. Secondly – we really don't need all of you do we. Give the lass some space to breath." she said brusquely. As the small crowd dissipated Shelagh gave Kelly a glass of water and waited for Patrick to hunt around in her flight bag before handing over the small plastic tube to the young woman. Crisis averted, and having been thanked profusely by the cabin crew Patrick and Shelagh made their way back to their seats where Tim was sat looking eagerly for them to get his fill of gossip.
"Six years in medical school and all so that I can hunt around in a woman's handbag to find her inhaler."
"I know I know … I'm not sure why that needed medical professionals to fix but … you know, it's nice to be wanted!"
Sitting in the back bedroom of Molly's small terrace in Aberdeen, Patrick stretched out on the bed. It had been a while since he and his wife had visited her family in Aberdeen and he had forgotten about the bed and a half in the spare room. Not that he minded having to sleep closer to Shelagh as he had muttered to her after Molly had repeatedly apologised about the size of the bed. Nina had slept for most of the flight thankfully, until they had started to land, when the air pressure meant that she had woken up screaming, and had yet to really settle. However Molly was so happy to see her niece that she had volunteered to sooth her and had kidnapped her to the kitchen while Tim went to brood in the garden and text his, now official, girlfriend, and Patrick and Shelagh unpacked.
"Patrick?"
"Mmhmm love?"
"Do you like this dress?" She asked, holding the dress against herself and looking critically at her reflection in the mirror,
"Uh – yeah I suppose, it's quite pretty."
"Mmm – I was going to wear it to the wedding but now I'm worried it make me look a bit … matronly."
"Wedding? What wedding?"
"Cynthia's wedding, in April."
"Love that's four months away … it's next year!"
"I know I know … I was just thinking." Shelagh replied, throwing it over the back of the chair and lay down beside her husband, curling up into the crook of his arm.
"About?"
"How much I enjoyed marrying you."
"It was a good day wasn't it."
"It was, well done us! You know it was where Cynthia and Miroslav met?"
"Mmm, he was telling me that he spilt her drink and bought her a replacement."
"It was a free bar."
"I know, I think he has a slightly odd sense of humour."
"He's eastern European – they often do."
Shelagh pushed the doorbell and took a step back, she hadn't seen her father's new home; a warden controlled bungalow in a small estate of similar bungalows, everywhere was covered in bright white handrails along the pavement and up the short paths to the houses. Taking a step back she pushed her glasses up her nose with gloved hands and pushed them deep into her coat pockets to keep them from the sharp wind, after a moment the door opened slowly to reveal her father, stood in his slippers and looking weary.
"Shelagh! Och, you should have telephoned."
"I wanted to surprise you! How are you?"
"Can't complain, can't complain – come in now. Where's the bairn?"
"With Patrick at Molly's, I wanted a proper catch up and she doesn't really let you do that very well."
"Oh I remember those days, the three of you at home – me and Catriona couldn't get a thing done!"
"Yes yes, and Patrick reassures me that it'll only get worse once she's wreaking havoc around the house."
"Oh aye it will, how is Patrick?"
"Fine fine, pleased to have some time off work finally, and I imagine he'll be pleased when I go back to work full time and he can see a bit more of me."
"Missing you is he? Did you want tea?"
"I'll make it."
"No no, you have a seat – it's a father's prerogative to make his girl tea when she vists. So – you and Patrick?"
"Hmm? Oh … no no we're fine. It's just, the only time we actually spend together talking about anything other than nursery schools and Tim's exams is when we're at work together."
"You two sound like you need a break away together."
"Well, that's what this is I suppose."
"Maybe you should talk to Molly, take yourselves off and have a day away from the city?"
"Maybe … we'll see. Anyway – how's life in the exciting world of sheltered accommodation?"
"Oh thrilling! I've got a sweepstake going on how long it takes Raymond the security guard to answer the emergency buzzers."
"Of course you do Dad, how much have you won so far?"
"Well, enough for a round or three at the pub on Christmas eve that's for certain."
I've seen you walk the screen, it's you that I adore. Since I was a boy I've wanted to be like Roger Moore. A girl in every port, and gadgets up my sleeve. The world is not enough for the both of us it seems. So I wish I was James Bond, just for the day. Kissing all the girls, blow the bad guys away. And I wish I was James Bond, just for the day. Kissing all the girls, blow the bad guys away. Hello Mr Bond, I've been expecting you. Martini in your hand, and that eyebrow that you move. Don't take this the wrong way, I know it might sound odd. I'm the next double 0, I'm the right man for the job.
The pub was packed with families out for a last moment of rest bite before the festivities of Christmas day descended. The bar was full and Shelagh used her size and stealth to get up against the wooden top and leant in until she caught the eye of the bar-man who after a moment smiled broadly and walked across to her,
"Shelagh? Shelagh – how are you? I haven't seen you in forever!"
"Sean, it's been too long, I'm well – you?"
"Och fine, are you back for good or just for Christmas?"
"Just Christmas, I'm still living in London. I got married and I'm working as a midwife now."
"Oh aye, your Dad said you'd got married a while back … not to that lad you left with?"
"No! God no, no me and Patrick met at work, we've been married coming up to two years in the spring, that's him in the … in the Christmas jumper." she added, pointing behind her before turning back with a slight eye roll.
"Och that's great, so any bairns?"
"Two, Tim and Nina."
"Well I'm pleased for you Shelagh, I really am, so – what'll it be?"
"A pint of … Scapa Special, a cherryade and a pint of Thistly Cross for me. Oh and can you put some tap water in this? Thanks." Handing over Nina's cup with a smile as she dug her purse out of the back of her jeans and started fishing about in the heaped receipts and shrapnel that she seemed to collect accidentally. Sean returned with the drinks and the plastic cup pinned between his elbow and his waist and placed them onto the counter, raising a hand briefly he smiled,
"No no, my shout. A welcome home."
"Oh … thank you Sean! Are you sure?"
"Aye. I'll see you in a bit now." clamping the spout of Nina's cup between her teeth Shelagh carried the trio of glasses back to the corner table which Patrick had secured just as her father, Molly and the rest of the clan walked in through the door. She raised a quick wave to catch their attention as they passed on towards the bar, flopping down beside her husband she passed over his bitter and slid Tim's cherryade across the table before sighing and taking a deep sip of her cider.
"Thanks love … who's that?"
"Who's who?"
"The bar-man you were chatting to before."
"Oh Sean, he was a few years ahead of me in school – started working here when I was about 16, we've known each other for years but we haven't seen each other really since I moved to London."
"Oh … that's nice."
"Yeah, Dad told him I'd got married – so he was asking about you."
"Oh?"
"Well, more making sure that you weren't my ex."
"What?" Asked Tim, sitting bolt upright and putting down his phone momentarily, "You had a boyfriend before dad?!"
"Uh – yes! Of course I did Tim, what did you think I was just hanging round in a tower waiting for your Dad to come and rescue me?"
"No but … that's so weird, I just think of you two together!"
"Well that's very sweet, but no – I did have a life before your Dad, with an artist no less! When I was working as an A&E nurse with Miroslav."
"Oh yeah … I think Miroslav mentioned him once … he said he was all fur coat and no mouth?"
"Did he? Well – I think that's Miroslav mixing his metaphors there, but that is pretty much what Chris was like. He also found monogamy a difficult concept to comprehend."
"Oh … sorry."
"It's Ok, I've got your Dad now, and I'm sure Chris is living his troubled artistic existence quite happily elsewhere." Patrick shot Shelagh a smile before continuing as Tim returned to his mobile,
"So … you and Sean?"
"Mmhmm?"
"Well … I mean he's a nice looking bloke."
"You think? Well go over and ask him out! I think you're more his type that I ever would be."
"What? Oh … oh!"
"Yes Patrick, yes … gaydar need recalibrating perhaps? You're paranoid."
"I'm not I just … wondered."
"Well don't, you're just being silly … if it makes you feel any better if I ever have an affair, you'll be the first to know."
"Excellent, likewise love."
"Good … now, shall we have some crisps?"
Shealgh awoke with a start, she wasn't sure if it was something in her dream or something in the house which had woken her – but whatever it was it hadn't stirred Patrick. He lay a little further back from her, his hand outstretched and resting gently on her hip and she could feel the weight and smoothness of his wedding ring against her skin. Shifting slightly he took back his hand as Shelagh arched to see the alarm clock beside her; 06:03. Too early to be up but now she was awake she was suddenly acutely aware that she needed the toilet, she tried not to wake Patrick as she sat up and swung out of the bed, slipping on her glasses and pulling a cardigan over her pyjamas.
The house was silent as she slipped into the bathroom and she wondered how much longer she could manage asleep until she was required to have the lively Christmas that small children dictate. Having washed her hands she peered at her reflection in the full length mirror that someone had cruelly placed on the back of the bathroom door, her face looked tired, although she tried to convince herself that that was having a baby under the age of one as opposed to age. Stretching upwards to unlock her back and neck pulled up her t-shirt, exposing the pale silver of the few stretch marks that still peppered her stomach and hips. They were fading slowly but surely although she didn't mind them so much anymore, like the thin lilac-silver that ran down the side of her face from the mugging so many years before, it had become part of her history, painted over her body and telling it's story.
As she stepped onto the landing, ready to turn back to her bed she spotted the soft amber glow of light creeping up the stairs. She wondered if it were her nephews, but their semi closed door seemed to show a dark and undisturbed room within told her that they were still fast asleep, wrapping her cardigan closer around herself she padded down the stairs. The source of the light was the kitchen, seeping around the door and filtering up through the house, pushing the door open gently Shelagh was confronted with the sight of Molly, knelt on a kitchen chair in front of the sink violently plunging a goose into water. Jumping at the creak of the door Molly spun around, eyes crazed and her hair jutting up at angled where she had pushed it back off her face,
"Molly … what are you doing?"
"It's still frozen Shelagh! It's still bloody frozen!" she hissed desperately. Shelagh cocked an eyebrow as she stifled a smile and pushed her glasses up her nose.
"When did you take it out of the freezer Molls?"
"Two days ago."
"Right, and what's still frozen?"
"The bloody goose Shelagh!"
"No … I meant is the whole thing still frozen or just the inside?"
"Oh … the outside is thawed but everything else is like a brick! See!" She added lifting the bird out of the sink and dumping it into her sister's hands,
"Shit! Right … that is quite frozen isn't it … Ok … right. Fill the whole sink up with water, and stick it in … we'll put in the oven early at 350 to try and sort it out. What about a starter?"
"What?" replied Molly over her shoulder, draining the sink and refilling it with water.
"A starter, so we've got more time to cook the goose."
"Brilliant! No … I haven't, look in the freezer – see what you can find."
"I'll stick the kettle on too shall I?"
"Superstar!" Shelagh walked over to the freezer and stared into its icy depths, sorting through the frozen pre-made meals, and long forgotten frozen peas. She pulled out a packet of prawns and threw them onto the kitchen table, turning to the fridge she had a sort through the salad drawer,
"Have you got ketchup?"
"Yeah – top cupboard."
"Mayonaise?"
"Probably – why?"
"Prawn cocktail!"
"You're a genius Shelagh! Ay – bugger the tea, where's that bottle of wine? It's going to be a long day."
"It's 6:30 in the morning Molls!"
"It's Christmas, now pass me the bottle opener."
"I always quite fancied myself as a spy?"
"What? The name's Turner. Patrick Turner. You mean?"
"Yeah I think I'd make a good 007, would you be my Vesper Lynd?"
"No – I always thought that Q had the right idea, all the gadgets and fun stuff and none of that rolling about on train roofs malarkey."
"You wouldn't want the casinos and cocktails?"
"Och no, that wouldn't do it for me. I mean the cocktails yes, but all that skiing and underground lairs? No, give me the cars and the laser pens any day … Which Bond would you be?"
"Roger Moore, no contest. He was so suave and cool."
"Not Sean Connery?"
"No! Who'd want to be Sean Connery?"
"He was pretty cool!"
"No love, no – Sean Connery was not cool. Roger Moore was Cool, Piers Brosnan was quite cool – Sean Connery was not cool."
"But … that voice Patrick, that voice …"
"You're just biased."
"Aye – got to love a Scotsman."
"And yet you ended up with an Englishman?"
"You'll do I suppose, in the absence of a suitable Scot."
Shelagh swept her hair back and moved over, catching her breath and disentangling herself from Patrick she pulled her skirt down and looked over to see Patrick beside her on the sofa. He was similarly out of breath as he reached up to wipe the sweat off his forehead and pulled his shirt closed, through gasps he laughed;
"I feel … like a naughty school boy." stifling a laugh and adjusting her glasses Shelagh put her palm against her chest, convinced that she could see her ribs bound with each heartbeat, passion mixed with the terror of the family coming home from their Christmas walk to collect her father made her heart race.
"Tea?" She asked,
"Oh – yes please love, I'll give you a hand."
"As long as you keep your hands to yourself."
"I can't make any promises." he replied putting his hands around her waist and kissing her neck, warm and flushed, she flicked the kettle on and turned around to face him, lacing her arms around his neck and reaching up for a kiss. She felt him move his arms so his palms were against her waist, holding her tightly as she stepped back against the counter and he lifted her slightly so that she was sat on the edge. Moving in tight so that his chest was against hers Patrick moved to kiss along her neck again as she ran a hand through his hair, a loud bang behind him made them both jump and separate. Hopping down from the counter Shelagh buried her head in the cupboard,
"Who's for tea?" she called back, adjusting her jumper as she spoke, a chorus of voices came back to her and she fished a stack of mugs off the shelf. First into the kitchen was Molly, peering at the oven before looking up with a smile, glancing between the couple she raised an eyebrow and dropped her voice.
"Right … I don't care what you've done or where. As long as you've wiped it down afterwards."
Patrick flicked on the kettle and threw himself down on one of the kitchen chairs; the flight had been delayed, Nina had refused to settle and then the airport had misplaced their luggage, which meant that Nina's pram and all their bags had taken an hour to materialise at baggage reclaim. Exhausted and fed up, he had been relegated to making the tea while Shelagh and Tim sorted out Nina and the luggage, the kettle came to the boil as Shelagh walked in with a weary smile.
"I'm shattered." She said joining him at the table and swinging her legs up to his lap, "Is the kettle on?"
"It's just gone … I suppose I couldn't persuade you to make the tea could I?"
"No. It's your turn."
"It's not, definitely your turn."
"Urgh, slave driver." she replied, dropping her legs back onto the floor and walking across the kitchen. Patrick stretched back in the chair and watched his wife pottering,
"I was speaking to your father on Christmas day you know."
"Oh? Should I be worried, are you getting rid of me?"
"Not as long as you hurry up with that cup of tea. No, he was talking about Tim and Nina and us."
"Good things?"
"Good things, he was saying how much being a mother suits you."
"Well it's a bit late in the day if it didn't suit me isn't it. Mince pie?"
"Christ no, I've had enough mince pies to last a life time! He was asking me if we were going to have another baby?"
"What? Did you tell him I've only just recovered from the sleep deprivation from Nina?!"
"I think he just enjoys seeing you happy."
"I'm happy with my baby girl and my two boys."
"So you wouldn't want another?"
"Patrick … what?"
"Nothing. Nothing I didn't mean anything I was just … putting it out there."
"I mean … Why?"
"Because … I love you, and … I don't know. I suppose your Dad just got me thinking."
"It's not like you to brood Patrick." She replied, handing over his mug of tea and sitting down opposite her husband again,
"It's exactly like me to brood!"
"Well … yes – but not about this kind of thing. Patrick – I'm happy, I've never been happier in my life. I've got a wonderful son, a brilliant daughter and you."
"Don't I get an adjective?"
"Sorry, you're fabulous! But that's enough for me, you three and my job and my friends. I'm happy."
"Then I'm happy that you're happy." he replied with a smile.
"And now – I'm going to phone my Dad, and kill him for putting ideas in your head and making you brood."
"Are you being chivalrous and defending my honour love?"
"I am, no one puts my man in the corner!"