Hello and welcome to my newest chapter, which I believe is 16 (?)
I really like this chapter, although it has taken me an age to write, for which I apologise
Just to warn you all, this chapter will contain some French – but because I'm a nice soul, the French conversation is in BOLD while the English translation is printed directly underneath in normal, just to help those of you whose grasp of French is as poor as mine and Patrick's – so I will also apologise for anyone who my bad hash of school girl French and google translate offends!
Thank you for all your incredibly generous reviews, and please carry on – each one is lovely to read and makes me happy! Which incidentally links …
This chapter's song is:
She makes me happy – Rod Stewart
Enjoy! x
"Qui est-ce?"
"Who is it?"
"Uhh Bonjur mademoiselle … uhh … Je cherche … un … un homme appelé Michael McDonald?"
"Uhh Hello Miss … uhh … I'm looking for … a … a man named Michael McDonald?"
"Qui êtes-vous? Pourquoi voulez-vous parler à Michel?"
"Who are you? Why do you want to speak to Michel?"
"Uhh … Je suis son … umm … frère? Ugh … frère in law. Ahhh -Je suis le mari de sa sœur!"
"Uhh I am his … brother? Ugh… Brother in law. Ahh -I am married to his sister!"
"Beau-frère, vous êtes son beau-frère."
"Brother in law, you are his brother in law."
"Oui, merci! Je peux lui parler?"
"Yes, thank you! Can I talk to him?"
"Il ne parle pas à sa famille."
"He doesn't talk to his family."
"Il s'agit de son père … umm … Il est … malade."
"It's about his father … umm … he is … sick."
"Il ne parlera pas de vous … Mais je vais demander. Quel est votre nom?"
"He wont speak to you … but I'll ask. What's your name?"
"Je suis Patrick Turner, Merci, merci beaucoup."
"I'm Patrick Turner, thank you, thank you very much."
She makes me happy on the coldest day, she makes me happy when the clouds are grey. Every day like Christmas when she's in my house, she makes me happy and I'm wanna shout. Now it's funny old world, I never thought I could settle down, but the I met a woman gonna change my life around. Ah, the good Lord sent me down a little angel, I must change my way, no more late nights out, we're on a boil, pissin' my life away.
As her mobile started to ring, Shelagh reached across to the radio and turned down the volume, the ID said Molly (home) , but given the number of people who had currently set up camp in Molly's small house it could have been anyone.
"Hello?"
"Hi Shelagh."
"Molly hi, how's things at base camp?"
"Much the same. Someone finally picked up the phone at that number Tim found for us!"
"My God … so?"
"It was a woman."
"Surprise surprise."
"Yeah – she only spoke French so I put your Patrick on the phone. He's a man of hidden talents."
"You didn't have him speaking French did you!? His French is aweful – I once heard him ask a patient if she could hold his chicken."
"It seemed to work today – he got through to him, after winning round his girlfriend … or girlfriend stroke secretary."
"That sounds more like Patrick, so?"
"So … he knows now about Dad."
"And …?"
"And that's it … he knows. He said OK, and thanked me for telling him."
"And that was it?"
"That was is, he went quiet and said he had to get back to work."
"He's not coming is he?"
"Shelagh – don't upset yourself!"
"I'm not I'm not I just … oh I don't know!"
"No … I know."
"I should get back to Dad."
"Any changes?"
"Nope, but they've taken off his oxygen, his sats are improving and his resps are down so that's good. They've taken more blood for a Trop-T but they havn't said anything about the results yet."
"Right … well that was all Dutch to me! But I take this is good news."
"It's not bad news put it that way."
"Bonjur, J'ai besoin de parler à Michael s'il vous plait."
"Hello, I need to talk to Michael please."
"Il est occupé, je peux prendre un message! Je suis son épouse Aurélie."
"He's busy, can I take a message, I'm his wife Aurélie."
"Éspouse?"
"Wife?"
"Oui, je peux prendre un message?"
"Yes, can I take a message?"
"Je suis son Shelagh sœur, j'ai besoin de parler avec lui de toute urgence."
"I'm his sister Shelagh, I need to speak to him urgently." There was a click at the other end of the phone and a scuffing sound as someone manhandled the receiver, before a man's voice came on the line.
"Shelagh!? Shelagh is it you?"
"Yeah – Mike?"
"It's me yeah, sorry – I thought it was going to be Molly again. I told Aurélie to say I was busy … sorry. So how are you?"
"Fine … you got married then."
"Yes, oh God Shelagh she's brilliant! She's a photographer, we met in this bar in Paris – she took my breath away. She's my muse Shelagh, she's incredible."
"Well that's nice, however, in the meantime our father is seriously ill in hospital over here and you need to come and visit him."
"Shelagh … me and Dad … you might want a fairy tail reunion but it's not -"
"Don't be soft, I don't care about reunions, fairy tail or other whys. I care that Dad could … could die thinking his only son hates him, and I care that you could live the rest of your life with your last memory of your father being a stupid row over a girlfriend, who you've now evidentially got over!"
"Is he really bad?"
"He's not good. He's getting better but …"
"OK … so you think I should come?"
"I think you should come."
"OK according to Aurélie by the way, I'm not the only one's who's got married on the sly?"
"What?"
"My brother in law? Patrick Turner?"
"Oh Patrick – no he didn't know how to say that he was your sisters lover in French."
"This is Paris Shelagh, I'm sure there's a word for it."
"I'm sure – so you'll come then?"
"I'll come."
"Patrick, you're sure you don't mind?" Asked Molly for the fourth time that morning,
"Molly, I've been staying in your house for the past three days rent free, eating your food and stealing your alcohol. The least I can do is drive to the airport to pick up your brother."
"Well thank you." with a brisk hug, Molly turned around into the kitchen as Patrick picked up the hire car keys off the hall table. Shelagh stood in her battered jeans and a thick cardigan next to the front door, she looked exhausted, sleepless nights and long days spent at the hospital had taken their toll.
"Thanks for doing this, it was sweet of you."
"No problem love."
"And, when you meet Mike's wife – eyes on the road eh!"
"Don't worry, she wont be a patch on you."
"Patrick, I look like I had a fight with death on my way through a bush. She is going to look incredible."
"No she wont! Oh who am I kidding, she's a French photographer – she's his muse, she's going to be stunning isn't she!"
"She'll have legs up to here, and a waist the size of a 50pence piece. And I bet she'd never cut herself shaving!"
"You're right, this woman that neither of us has ever met sounds far superior to you, and I'm going to run away with her the second she gets off of the plane! Love, you're daft as a brush sometimes, but if it makes you feel any better, I'll keep my eyes on the road and my hands on the steering wheel OK."
"Am I being stupid?"
"You're being ridiculous – but I still love you. And if it makes you feel better – I promise not to seduce your Sister-in-law!"
"Thank you. Love you."
"You're welcome Love."
"So Patrice, you are a doctor non?"
"Yes, I'm an obstetrician."
"Pardon?"
"I help women in labour, pregnant women."
"Ahh – obstétricien"
"Probably … and you Aurélie? Your occupation?"
"Photographe, I make the pictures of … I don't know the word … Michel – paysage?"
"Umm Landscape, she does landscape work."
"How interesting … it must be lovely work." Added in Molly, tensely spearing a mouthful of lasagne on her fork,
"Oui, France is very beautiful. La belle vie, non?" this statement was followed by a creeping silence that pervaded the table, Shelagh looked up from her meal and caught Tim's eye, giving him a sly wink. She bent her head back down and smiled inwardly as she caught the look of bemusement on Tim's face. He had been confused from the moment he had caught sight of the beautiful young French woman, she was physically stunning, as Shelagh had feared, but for some other reason she was hard to like. Unable to put her finger on her sister in laws strange unlikeable quality Shelagh tried to shake it off, put it down to jealousy. But there was a definite something, the only specific thing that Shelagh could accurately pin point was Aurélie's strange varying levels of spoken French. She seemed to veer between almost word perfect English, and then switch back to her broken sentences, peppered with French. Gently under the table, Shelagh extended her foot and kicked Patrick gently on the ankle, his eyes flicked quickly up from his bend head, meeting her eyes he gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod before swallowing the last mouthful of food on his plate and with a gracious smile he started to stand.
"That was wonderful, thank you Molly. I'm just going to pop outside … top up my nicotine levels, Love?"
"Mmm?" Replied Shelagh innocently,
"Did you want to join me."
"Oh lovely yes, I will." Having thus far performed textbook RADA nonchalant, the couple tried to continue it by walking out of the dining room slowly and casually – not speeding up their walk until they hit the kitchen, before flinging themselves out into the cold night air.
"Urgh, what the hell is going on?" Shelagh whispered, taking a lit cigarette off of Patrick,
"Christ only knows – have you noticed how, how well she can speak English has changed throughout the evening?"
"Yes! And I was right to be worried about you and her."
"What are you on about, I havn't been near the woman!"
"Not you, her – she's been checking you out all evening. You are le Doctor non?"
"… Do you think she was looking at me?"
"Patrick!" Laughed Shelagh tapping the back of her hand against his stomach playfully and taking a drag on her cigarette, "or should I say … Patrice!"
"It's growing on my you know, Patrice, I may keep it."
"You're growing old a bachelor if you do! What do you think her game is?"
"I think that it's nothing as sinister as you're imagining."
"Oh?"
"I know you – you think this is going to be some dodgy French … thing. I think that she is genuinely French, I think she's a shrewd woman who knows that a being able to speak English is mainstream and dull, and so to maintain her arty bohemian … illusion … she pretends that her French is appalling. I bet if we wait long enough she'll start drinking cognac, smoking Sobranis and quoting Marx at us."
"What makes you so wise?"
"Age – the grey hair brings gravitas."
"Evidentally."
Patrick sank into the chair beside Michael McDonald the elder's bed side, he had come in to bring Shelagh some lunch, having relieved her so that she could use the toilet and buy herself a coffee for 10 minutes he cast an experienced eye over his father in law and sighed deeply. He turned away from the man and watched the Scottish rain fall hard against the window, the tinny spitting sound as it hit the window and the cracking splashes as it hit the pavement below.
The radio was playing softly in the background of the ward from the nurses station, the presenter was wittering away before the station's annoying jingle rang out and some music started. Giving out a deep sigh Patrick stood up and walked across the bed area to see the photographs blu-tacked to the plastic frame on the wall, there was one of Shelagh, Molly, Mike sat on the sand of a beach, squinting against the sun with the wind whipping up their clothes. The one beside it was of Shelagh in a navy blue dress, partially obscured by her black graduation gown, she was holding the cap in one hand and using the other to brush her hair out of her eyes, her head tilted back slightly as she laughed at someone just off camera. The final one was a polaroid photograph, of a small fair-haired woman lying in a hospital bed, her hair was messed up and streaked with sweat – she looked exhausted, but aside and beneath the tiredness was a look of pure joy, cradled in her arms was a baby, tiny and barely visible beneath the layers of cloth swaddling her. In faded biro under the picture said the words: Catriona and Shelagh (2 minutes old).
"Mike?"
Patrick spun on his heels, Michael's eyes were half open, he moved his head slowly and blinked taking in the sight of Patrick,
"No, it's Patrick. Michael – I can't … Shelagh's here, she's just gone for a break. Hang on .. let me just get a doctor!" running out of the bay, Patrick looked left and right before setting his sights on the young fair Dr Fraser who was stood at the nurses station, desperately flicking through some notes. "Doctor! He's waking up – Michael McDonald!"
Returning to the bay, Michael became swathed in a barrage of nurses and Dr Fraser who started tapping the monitors and pulling reams of paper from various machines. Bending down next to Michael Patrick touched his hand briefly, he gave a small smile.
"Shelagh's on her way back now, she's over the moon!"
"Good … have you married her yet?"
"Ha … no no … not yet!"
"You should you know – you're a good man. She deserves you, even if she doesn't know it. You should marry her."
"I would in a heartbeat … if I thought she'd have me."