I warned you there might be angst and arguments, and here they come – things will come right … but it may not be easy, and it may not be quick, but such is life – and nothing in this world worth having comes easy.
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Patrick walked across the crowded room, scanning the collection of nurses and doctors and patients and porters and blood and mess and clutter that made up the hospital's A&E department. He was searching for her, when she had rung him at 2:20am he had naturally feared the worst when she had said where she was. But after a moments explanation she had explained everything and he had come down, grabbing the only clean thing to hand, his work shirt for the next day over his jeans and teamed with his rumpled hair it was an interesting if not wholly successful look. He found her, almost not recognising her for a moment, curled up in her coat over her pyjamas, her hair tied back messily and her glasses half way down her nose. The cup of hospital standard issue tea was clasped between her hands and resting a hand on her arm was a young constable, dark brown hair and a sympathetic smile.
Stopping in his tracks, Patrick watched the couple for a moment, was he really doing the right thing? Just for a moment he doubted every decision he had made over the last 8 months, just watching her with a man the same age as her made his heart ache and he felt guilty, he was sure that the young constable didn't have an almost teenaged son, wasn't a widow, didn't have greying hair. Taking a sip of her tea, Shelagh straightened up in her seat and turned slightly in her seat towards Patrick, catching sight of him she stood up and her coat fell open slightly showing the thick blood coating that spanned her stomach, chest and smudged down onto her pyjama bottoms. She held out her hand to him, without pause to breath Patrick ran to her and drew her into his arms, her ran a hand along the back of her hair, he felt her ragged breath against his chest as she buried her head into him and as she pulled away he saw her tear stained face, her eyes swollen and red.
"Thank you for coming."
"Of course I would, you know that surely?"
"Excuse me Sir, are you Mrs McDonald's husband?" Asked the constable peering over Shelagh's sholdour,
"Mmm? No no, I'm her partner, Patrick Turner. What's happened?"
"Uh, Miss McDonald's been very brave. There was a shooting on the Powell estate tonight, your girlfriend tried to save a woman's life … and then chased down the man who did it. Not a line that we generally recommend but in this case, she's been very brave and very lucky and helped us greatly. She's helped us catch the ring leader of a gang that CID's been after for quite some time."
"Can I take her home?" Patrick asked, Shleagh had returned to burying her head against his chest, he stroked her hair, imploring the constable.
"We have someone from CID who needs to speak to Miss McDonald … but perhaps that can wait 'till morning Sir … Miss McDonald? Shelagh?"
"Love?" Trying to turn Shelagh away from him to face the policeman, he bent down to whisper in her ear, "Love, the policeman needs to speak to you." after a moment she sniffed and turned around, facing the constable with blank staring eyes.
"I uh – I will need your closed Miss McDonald, why don't you wait hear and I'll see if I can find you something to wear, you'll also have to see a doctor … we'll need to take same samples. I'll just go and … umm"
The drive home was horrific, Shelagh sat next to Patrick, her eyes focusing on nothing, staring out of the windscreen. Patrick tried to talk to her but she didn't reply. Since she had let go of him in A&E to face the policeman she hadn't made any other contact with him, instead she was led by him, lead to her seat to wait for her fingernails to be scrapped, led towards the car and now she sat blankly, with nowhere else to be led. He laid a hand on hers, that rested limply on her thigh, but there was no indication that she felt anything, he could have been a ghost.
He passed a cigarette to her, for a second her eyes moved from the city lights and to the cigarette, extending her hand she took the cigarette in shaking fingers that scattered ash over the borrowed scrubs that the policeman had given to her. She held it the whole journey back to Patrick's house, never inhaling she just let it burn down.
The house was still dark when they arrived, leading her up the their bedroom Patrick tried to get her to lie down in the bed, she lay down obediently and lay flat on her back, unmoving and blinking slowly. Patrick sat down on the edge of the bed and touched her hand with the tips of his fingers.
"You're like ice." Shelagh turned slowly towards him, and blinked,
"Can I go home please?" he voice croaked, her eyes focusing for the first time that night on his own.
"You are home love."
"I want to go home."
"Shelagh, you are home."
"My home."
"Yes … if you want."
"I want to go to my home. I want to go home to the flat."
"Shelagh love, I'm not leaving you on your own tonight. And I'm not sending you back to that place."
"I want to go home."
"Shelagh, you live in a … in a sink estate, in the arse end of the arse end! There's been a shooting there for Christ sake, I mean … I love you, and I'm not sending you back there. Not now and not ever!"
"I want to go home."
"Shelagh … have some sleep, you need it, you're in shock."
"I … I want to go home, why won't you let me?"
"Shelagh – you live in a dangerous place, it's a shit hole, violent and full of hate and drugs and … and you're too good, too important for it!"
"I WANT TO GO HOME! Why won't you listen to me?! It's my home, mine, the only place since I left Scotland that's been my home! You think you're better than me because you live here, not on the estate! It's my home Patrick and I want to be there!"
"Shelagh, you're not thinking straight."
"I'm not Clare!"
"I know … I know you're not."
"I'm not your wife, I don't need protecting … I'm not yours. I worked for 3 years in The London's A&E, you think I've never been attacked? Or abused or spat at or have vile people vomit on me, or try and stab me? Because I have, I had it every day, and now I get angry hormonal woman raging at me, and I cope, because it's what I do. It's what I do, and the only place I've ever felt safe is that 600 square feet of space in what you call a shit hole. But it isn't, it's people who look after each other, because you have to when it's all you have. I left my flat because 83 year old Gladys Pugh was shot by a man from Birmingham who wanted money, Gladys Pugh lived in the flat across from mine, she was born in one of the old tenement buildings that was behind the new estate, she worked in a café on the docks until she was 75, she had six children, her son Brian owns the café now and every day she walks three miles back to her old café on the docks and sits in the window while her son and her granddaughter talk to her. Her Granddaughter Paige is starting university in September, she's going to be a doctor, she's the first person in her family to go to university, and Gladys was so proud. She married in 1948 to Michael Corrigan, they were married for 60 years until he died, they went on holiday every year to the Brecon Beacons, stayed in the same room of the same hotel, until four years when they went on holiday to Giza, she rode a camel and saw the Sphynx. Do you know that much about your neighbours? Do you even know their names?"
"No."
"And we're the scum, in the shit hole sink estate in the arse end of the arse end."
"I got back from work at about eight, quarter past maybe. I had a shower and made some food and settled down in front of the tele."
"You were contacted by Mrs Corrigan's son?"
"Brian, yes. I was in bed, and I heard a knock at the door, Brian just told me it was Gladys and that they needed help. He had rung for an ambulance already but they needed help … she was bleeding out. I tried to stop the bleeding but I couldn't, I tried I tried and she just kept on bleeding out, I couldn't stop it and then … ummm, Brian was still on the phone to the paramedics and so I told him to press down on the wound and I took the phone, I thought I might be able to tell them something … it all happened so fast, she just wouldn't stop bleeding … everywhere."
"When did you notice Mr Buile Miss McDonald?"
"Who?"
"Mr Buile was the gentleman who you captured."
"That's his name is it? Umm, I saw a shadow move and then he moved, he was behind the door … he was so young, he looked like a boy … a child. He looked scared, I almost …"
"Miss McDonald?"
"I almost felt sorry for him, and then I saw the gun in his hand and her handbag in the other and … I think he saw that I saw and he panicked, he tried to run and I just saw red. He had destroyed this woman, this lovely woman who never wanted to hurt anyone … she was so proud of Paige … and I knew that if I didn't chase him then he'd just keep on running and I couldn't let Gladys and Michael down."
"What happened then?"
"He ran and I dropped the phone … he was fast, in trainers so … he was quick but I tried to chase him, he was quicker than me, but once he was out of the building he was … it's a messy estate, sprawling, easy to get lost in if you don't know it … I've lived there about umm eight years, I know it like the back of my hand. I ran around the back of the building and saw him run across in front of me, so … I don't remember … I remember cutting across the bins but … I'm not sure, I remember catching hold of his wrist and he, faltered I think. I think I tried to kick him, I managed to get my hand round his throat and pull him down and back … I don't remember what happened then. Just being in the hospital … and then … then that's it."
"That's all you remember?"
"Yes. What'll happen to him now?"
"It'll go to court, he's being investigated for some other charges too. None like this though, we're hopeful."
"What'll happen to him?"
"It's too early to say … but we're hoping for prison, ten to fifteen all in all. But like I said it's too early to say."
"He was just a boy, he was scared."
"He's a murderer Miss McDonald."
"I know, and he deserves to be punished but … he's a child, I saw it in his eyes."
"You have children Miss McDonald?"
"I have a … no, no I havn't. Have you Inspector?"
"Three, and however much of child he was, I feel a lot safer knowing that they can walk about and not risk bumping into him."
"I suppose you're right."
"You've got someone to look after you at home have you? You're boyfriend?"
"No, we've … had an argument, silly really but … makes you see things differently sometimes, an argument."
"That it does, amount of rows me and the missus have had over the years. Blazing rows that could have woken the dead, but when you love someone – it's different, you know you just have to swallow your pride and dig through. Nothing worth having comes easy – as my old Mum used to say."
"A wise woman."
"Wise, and a romantic. Turns out it's genetic."
"Wisdom?"
"Romance."