Shelagh's heart leapt when Patrick came home. She felt it reach out to him, so desperate for him to comfort her. But then she remembered, she had such a terrible thing to tell him. She couldn't bare to break him like this. His tentative smile was so sweet, so full of compassion, full of concern for her. He deserved better than this. He didn't deserve to hear this. But he was Dr Turner, and needed answers as much as she did. She barely heard what he said about how there wouldn't be a post mortem.

"Oh, Patrick!" She couldn't find a way to tell him, not when he was so bent on comforting her. He rushed to her side, quick to try and ease her pain. Of course he was, he was a doctor, just as she was a nurse, to heal was instinct to them.

"I'm so sorry," He began, filling her silence. She knew he was trying to help, but it only made it harder for her. She couldn't get a word in edgeways to tell him. He talked about how loved she had been. "Who am I going to spar with now?" He half joked. This, she thought, or rather it'll spar with you. It'll keep you awake all night, and if you do sleep it'll torment your dreams, my love.

"I'm not crying about that," She said with what little determination she had left in her. He was holding her hand in both of his, and she put her other hand into this touch that gave them both such comfort, though she knew not how it gave them both strength, since neither had much left to give the other. "I was," she looked him in the eye, "But then I decided Sister Evangelina wouldn't approve, so I sent Timothy out with Angela, and went into the surgery. To see to the morning's post." She hesitated as she slid the letter across the table to him. And those eyes, which had been so fixed on her a moment ago, so desperate to heal her grief, were now fixated on a greater problem, a greater wound to heal.

"They're withdrawing Distoval?" Shelagh nodded, though he didn't look up from the letter. He didn't need to look at her. So long spent in not being able to look, she knew now when he needed her, without any sort of indication, just as he did for her.

"With immediate effect," She confirmed. She took in a deep breath before letting him know the worst of it. "Babies have been born deformed, and they think there's a link with it." Her voice was practically a whisper by the time she reached the end of her explanation.

"This is official?" He looked confused, glancing from her to the paper, and back to her. She loved him so much, she tried to let her eyes tell him that. She knew as soon as he'd gotten his head around it he'd be blaming himself, and perhaps this was her futile attempt to cast out that guilt before it became rooted in his mind.

"I rang the board of health," she agreed, as he stood up, eyes firmly on the letter, as if it could tell him something more if only he stared at it more. "I didn't think there'd be anyone there today but the line was engaged. I didn't think that was a good sign. So I looked in the Lancet, and there's a letter to the editor." She could see him becoming consumed by it, finally dropping the letter to stare at the Lancet.

"Thalidomide," She could see the cogs in his head working, one half screaming desperately 'how do I fix this?' and the other reciting every bit of medical protocol he knew, searching desperately for an answer. "But they just say there is a possible association with harmful affects of the foetus!" He looked back at Shelagh, desperate for some clarity. And she always gave him clarity. But she had none to give him, and he went back to the article. "It also says there are only two reports from abroad, and none from Great Britain. I…I don't understand it." Shelagh shot him another sympathetic look.

"But this letter came Patrick," her voice broke as she told him, not just with pain, but almost with anger. "Distoval's being withdrawn." Patrick sat down next to her again.

"Shelagh, I have prescribed Distoval. To dozens of patients," he drew back slightly, almost scared of himself. "Perhaps scores." His voice grew quieter as the reality hit him. "Deformed babies have been born in our district." He breathed in, as the scientific, the medical, part of his brain took over. "We need to speak to someone. And then we need to act."

"Exactly," She said. "Tim can take care of Angela, though no doubt he'll want to help as much as he can."

"I don't want him to," Patrick interrupted her. And he rarely interrupted her, or any of her colleagues. He sighed, and looked up at her. He usually stood so much taller, but she saw his shoulders droop now. "I don't want him to see this. I don't want him to know."

"He will though," she maintained. "And he wont forgive himself if he doesn't help, just as you wont either." That was what broke him. He sunk his head onto the table and sobbed, his hands still clenched tightly in their little bundle of hands and fingers, and two wedding rings. She had to drag her hands out of it, he was so determined not to let go. She put her arms around him, and held him so tight she though they both might burst.

But after a minute he controlled himself, as ashamed of his wailing now as she had been of hers earlier.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her chest, "I came home so determined to hold you in my arms and comfort you, I'm sorry it's the other way around."

"Oh Patrick," She rubbed his back comfortingly as he straightened himself up again, "You and I don't need comforting. But Rhoda Mullocks, and Ruby Cottingham, and any other mothers who've been affected by this, they need answers. And giving them those answers, painful as they might be, is the only comfort we'll get either." How was she always so perfect? He wished she could see herself through his eyes sometimes, see her own strength. She was more like her late sister than she gave herself credit for sometimes, but he had to admit, it was nice having all that strength, all that will power and determination, on his side rather than pushing against him.

"I love you, Shelagh Turner."

"I should hope so, after all this." She only half meant it, but she could see it start to break him again. She stood up, and took his hand to help him up. "I Love you too, Patrick Turner." She emphasised his full name, mocking him a little for saying hers. But he liked saying her full name, she knew that. He hadn't known her name for so long, so he loved saying it. And he loved that she was Turner now, that she was his. Those two nouns together encapsulated so much of his feelings, that he could only ever say them when he wished to express just how desperately in love with her he was, and just how he admired, revered and respected her. Shelagh Turner – nurse, midwife, doctor's wife, his intellectual equal, his common sense when he needed it, his self esteem when he lost faith in himself, her faith in him never faltered, and neither did his faith in her. They needed that, now more than ever. It might be the only thing that could pull them through what was to come.