It seems I can't stop writing this. This story is now not just Shulienne, this chapter is defintiely more Turnadette.
Standing on the doorstep and foraging briefly in her handbag, Shelagh fished out her keyring and found the key that Patrick had given her to his house, and let herself in quietly.
"Hello?" the lights in the hallway were all off but she saw a light on at the door to the kitchen, where she heard his voice issuing from.
"Hello," she called back, kicking off her shoes, "It's only me. I let myself in."
The kitchen door opened, throwing light into the corridor, and he came forward in work trousers and his shirt sleeves.
"Hello, darling," he smiled at her, wrapping his arms around her waist and bowing his head to give her a quick kiss, "I thought you were at your mother's."
"I was but when I left I felt a little bit strange. I don't know, I just didn't want to be alone. Is it alright for me to be here?"
"It's never not alright," he told her, his arms still around her, kissing her forehead once, "If you'll recall, I'm trying to keep you here permanently."
She smiled, stood on her tiptoes and kissed her fiancé once on the lips, then took hold of his hand and led him towards the kitchen.
"Timothy's at his grandmother's for the night," he told her, settling himself on the edge of one of the tall chairs by the kitchen counter, "They're taking him up to Oxford to see the cousins tomorrow and they want to make an early start."
She gave him a small smile from across the counter, as if to say "Is he, indeed?" and he grinned back. He did look so devilishly handsome in his rumpled white shirt, with his hair no tidier than his his apparel. She had never found the quietly dishevelled look so attractive before but somehow she adored it on him. She had to blink hard at the counter for a second to clear her head.
"How did you get here?" he asked, "Did you drive or take a taxi?"
"I came on the tube," she told him, "It isn't far from mum's."
"I would have picked you up," he told her, "You know you shouldn't use the tube at night."
"Why not?" she asked, "It only runs at night so that people can use it. You sound just like my mother."
He shook his head at her in mock disbelief, but he could not be stern for very long and was soon smiling at her.
"Do you want some wine?" he asked, "There's a bottle of white in the fridge."
"I'll get it," she told him, "Don't you get up."
"Do you want to go and sit in the living room?" he asked her.
"Go on, then," she told him, "I'll follow you through."
A few moments later they were settled on the sofa, leaning comfortably against each other, his arm wrapped around her waist, with a glass of white wine each.
"Did you talk to your mother?" he asked.
"I was there for three hours," she told him, "It would be pretty awful if we didn't talk for all that time."
"About us?" he pressed.
"Yes, I did," she replied.
"And?"
"Well, she started off by asking if we were having to get married, and then ended up wondering if I'd realised that once we're married we'll both be called Dr. Turner," she told him.
"So she was alright about it?" he asked her, his voice light and hopeful.
"Well she was a bit surprised at first," she conceded, "But then again, who wouldn't be? I usually tell her most things, and this was quite a big thing not to let on about. If I were you I'd go either tomorrow or Saturday to ask her."
"Why?" he asked, "Will she be very offended if I don't do it soon?"
"No, I just think she's looking forward to it," she replied, "I don't think she really expected me to ever get married and now she's quite excited about the whole thing. Not madly so, but she quite likes the idea."
"So she's going to say yes?" he asked her. She felt his hand squeeze a little on her hip.
"Yes, she is," she replied.
"She's not worried about the difference in our ages?" he asked, hardly daring to believe his look by the sound of it.
"I'm not worried about the bloody difference," she told him, as sternly as she thought she could ever be with him, "And if it doesn't bother me-... well, why should she mind, I'm not asking her to marry you? And for your information, she as good as told me that she'd expect me to go ahead with it anyway even if she said no."
"Would you have?" he asked, seriously.
"I think I probably would have done," she told him, looking down at her hand resting over his arm, "But I feel much better knowing that she's happy about it all."
"You love her very much, don't you?" he asked her.
"I do," she replied, "She's my best friend, she always has been."
"I'm sorry you couldn't tell her sooner," he told her.
"It doesn't matter now," she told him, sitting up a little and then resting back against him, "She knows, and she understands. I think she was very impressed, actually, when she found out that it was you. She thought you were quite a catch."
"Really?" she heard amusement in his voice.
"Well, not as much as I do," she clarified, "I hope."
He laughed openly at that.
"Did she never marry again?" he asked, "After your father?"
"She never even married my father," she told him bluntly.
"Oh," he replied, a little taken aback, "I'm sorry, I just assumed."
"It's alright, you weren't to know. She told me everything tonight, actually," she told him, "He didn't treat her badly exactly, except that he didn't seem to grasp the fact that he should have taken care of her once he'd got her into trouble."
"Really?" he asked her, sounding genuinely appalled.
She nodded.
"She always seemed so nice," he told her, "The times I met her at work. Of course, she knew her way round far better than I did, even when I was given my first senior position."
"She's had to cope with a lot," she continued, "More than I ever really realised until now. But she was pretty lucky too, once she met some people who weren't as feckless as my dad had been. Still, she raised me with almost no help. I didn't know how brave she'd been. It made me feel sorry for her, but it's impossible to tell her that, she doesn't like anyone to feel pity for her. I think that's why I didn't want to be alone tonight."
He bowed his head, kissed the top of her hair.
"You don't have to be," he told her, "You never have to be."
She felt herself smile, and her eyes fall shut.
He must have felt her posture droop a little.
"Are you tired?" he asked her, "You must be; you can't have had an easy day."
"I'm not too bad," she told him, "But I wouldn't mind going up to bed."
She knew he was smiling with his eyes closed too.
"Shelagh," he murmured, kissing the top of her head again, but more slowly this time, more closely, Darling."
They had both long since discarded their wine glasses, and she was able to turn in his arms to face him, to let him brush his lips softly against hers. She loved the way he held her, so gently, yet making her feel certain that he would never let her slip away. He was so unlike any other man she'd known or been with, and she was certain that this was where she waned to be, for the rest of her life. There was nothing resembling doubt or hesitation in her mind as she took him by the hand and led him up the stairs to his room, which was fast becoming their room.
He held her close to his body, pressing kisses into her face, her lips, her hair.
"Darling," he murmured, "You know I won't ever let you down? I will never stop wanting to keep you safe."
"I know," she replied, between breaths, kissing him back, "I know."
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