Chapter 18, things are progressing for Turnadette, I wrote this chapter in one night which either reflects it's quality or reflects how much I enjoyed writing this one.

Some chapters are hard work to write, some (like this one) are great fun - and come easily. Particularly part 2 of this chapter - which I possibly enjoyed writing too too much!

Thanks for all your amazing reviews, and please do continue. Like I've said before - I write for pleasure and if you guys like what I write then it makes it all worth while!

This chapter's song is:

Paolo Nutini: Jenny don't be hasty.

Enjoy x

You said you'd marry me if I was 23, but I'm one that you can't see if I'm only 18. Tell me who made these rules? Obviously not you, who are you answering to? Oh, Jenny don't be hasty, no, don't treat me like a baby. Let me take you where you'll let me, because leaving just upsets me. I'll be around again to see the other men, they're more adequate in the age department. I did not think you cared.

The sun was beating down on the hot May day, a spur of the moment barbeque was planned when he and Shelagh had realised that for the first time since Christmas their off duty perfectly matched and they could spend two whole days together, rather than the odd evening or stranger mornings before one or the other of them had to go on duty. Almost 6 months had passed since they had gone up to Aberdeen together and since Michael had tried to get the couple married off together, he hadn't brought up the issue since Michael seemed to have no recollection of saying anything and Patrick had been the only one to hear the conversation. A long time ago Shelagh had promised to think about marrying Patrick, and to himself he had promised not to push her or ask her again and again. But all the same, he wished that he could pluck up the courage to ask her again, and he wished that this time she would say yes. He drove into the estate and turned down the radio slightly, by now far more used to the Powell estate and they more used to him, he wasn't surprised when a teenage boy, topless with his tracksuit bottoms slung low over his boxers skidded his bike to a stop next to the driver's window.

"Alright mate."

"Hi Damon, you alright?"

"I'm alright mate, d'u hear about me and Chantelle?"

"No – what's up?"

"We're having a baby."

"Blimey, congratulations."

"Thanks mate, yeah we're made up! I just finished my apprenticeship too, so hopefully I'll be working soon. Sunil down the garage reckons he can get me some work like and then me Telle and the baby can settle down properly yeah?"

"Sounds good – seen Shelagh?"

"Yeah mate, she's round the side."

"Thanks Damon."

Taking care not to kill Damon with the car, Patrick pulled out and slowly over took him as the young man turned and sailed under the giant concrete walkway that connected two tower blocks. At the side of Shelagh's particular towerb lock stood a woman in her late 40's, cigarette in one hand, can of cider in the other as she spoke to a man, older and arguably inadvisably sat topless in the sun, beside his white plastic lawn chair sat a faded plastic washing up bowel filled with water and cans of beer and cider. The small stack of empty tins beside him said that he had been there a while, basking in the sun beside the older couple, stood Shelagh, her long fair hair twisted and plaited back off her face and up off of her neck . In her denim thigh skimming shorts and bright green vest her pale skin shone, leaning across the car Patrick called out of the window to get her attention.

"Sorry Patrick, miles away. Talking about football."

"Do you know anything about football?"

"Nope, but I was quite happy to sit in the sun and pretend to care." Beaming, Shelagh pushed her sunglasses onto her head and leant over the gearstick to kiss Patrick on the lips.

"You look lovely."

"Thanks."

"I mean bright – you're in no danger of being hit by a passing jet plane."

"Oh shut your face. Cheeky git – well just in case this is all the summer we get, I thought I ought to flash some flesh while I have the chance."

"You won't hear any complaints from me."

"I see that you didn't take the same decision."

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing? Clear on your side?"

"Nope, motorbike. Nothing's wrong with what you're wearing … it's just not very summery. OK – clear now."

"I look like David Cameron when I dress summerly … sumerlily … summerish?"

"In a summery way?"

"That'll have to do. I look like David Cameron when I dress in a summery way."

"Mmm – yeah, probably stick to jeans and shirts then. Maybe I should get you a Hawaiian shirt!"

"Maybe you should consider finding yourself a new boyfriend?"

Patrick paused for a moment in the cool interior of the kitchen as he came out of the sun to get some more ketchup, walking over to the fridge he paused to survey the contents of the shelves, searching for the condiment. He jumped as he felt a hand slide around his back and rest on his stomach, he spun around on his heels to face his assailant.

"Jean! Hello – bit lost are you?" He stared at his neighbour, the unsteady sway of her body gave away how much she had had to drink, he tried to pull her hand away from him, but like a piece of tightened wire her arm sprang back to his hip as she manoeuvred him back against the fridge.

"Not a bit lost – are you?"

"Not exactly but I think that Shelagh might be wanting me outside … and I'm sure your Tony will be missing you too Jean!"

"No he won't, he's happy enough with his beer and his football and his … crap. Shhh." She added to no one in particular, before pressing her finger to Patrick's lips and shaking her head distractedly, clearly a mixture of Pimms and the heat had got to her as she started dancing away as she hummed Lucky by Kylie Minogue, which would have been much less peculiar if that song had actually been playing. "You don't need that slip of a girl … all blond and pretty … and funny and slim!"

"Really? Because you're actually making a pretty good case for her right now."

"You need a real woman … should be so lucky, lucky lucky, lucky … a real woman Patrick. I won't tell if you don't tell."

"Tell who what?"

"Tell Tony about you and me … our little secret."

"Oh well I would hope that I wouldn't have anything to tell Tony to be honest. Look Jean … I am really … really flattered but I'm actually really quite happy with Shelagh."

"It's not about that … it's about the … bigger picture! We're two consenting adults … we're not hurting anyone … there's no need to be ashamed."

"Oh I'm not ashamed Jean, I'm also really not interested – generous though your offer has been!"

"Just a little bit of -"

"Umm – can I help in here?" With panic Patrick looked up sharply to see Shelagh in the doorway of the kitchen, an eyebrow raised as she looked between the pair, walking over slowly towards the fridge where Patrick was pushed back against the cold hard metal,

"We … were just having a little … little chat between old friends." slurred Jean.

"Oh that's OK, I thought you were trying to seduce my boyfriend, but if you're not then that's fine! In which case you can take your hands off my man, especially your left hand." The assembled trio glanced down to where Jean's left hand lay on Patrick's body, the hand was duly and swiftly removed as Jean sauntered out of the kitchen with a stage wink at Patrick.

"Love, I swear to you that me and her -"

"Oh really? Because she looks just your type, and you looked like you were having so much fun being manhandled by her just then!"

"Very true, I only let you man-handle me."

"Very wise. You don't know where she's been."

"I can imagine – which to be honest is a good reason to stay clear. How's everyone outside?"

"Pretty self-sufficient, they hadn't noticed you'd gone … and I'm pretty sure that they won't have noticed that I've gone."

"You think so do you?"

"I do. I also think that you need to prove to me that you do actually find me attractive … and that you're not having an affair with Jean."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I can manage that, and to be perfectly honest – you were incredibly sexy when you defended my honour and asked her to un-hand me."

"Well I'll have to defend your honour more often!"

Stretching out on the grass Shelagh smiled as she basked in the late afternoon sun, as their guests left one by one, leaving her, Patrick and Tim alone in the house. Through her sunglasses she watched the tinted shapes of the pair play a poor game of swing ball, before watching Patrick loose a particularly poor shot, he threw the plastic racquet onto the ground and wandering over to where Shelagh lay. Cackling like a witch Tim gloated over his father's failings at ball games and turned round to drown himself in a glass of squash.

"I bet Andy Murray is quaking in his boots."

"Oh you're very witty, shift over a bit." Settling down besider her on the blanket, Patrick rested sat with his legs resting out on front of him, he kicked off his shoes, exposing his pale feet to the sun.

"You've got really long toes, I've never really looked before."

"They're perfectly normal feet!"

"No, look at your toes, they're like fingers."

"Well that's all that toes are, the fingers of the feet."

"Urgh – what a horrible thought."

"You spend all day looking at women's cervixes and delivering placentas and you find that disgusting."

"Well I could say the same for you and raw chicken."

"Revolting stuff."

"It's just chicken!"

"Nope – it's awful!"

"You're not normal are you?"

"Well I fell for you so I can't be can I!"

"Ha ha, deflecting mockery with flattery – very clever Dr Turner … I've been thinking you know."

"Always dangerous."

"Probably."

"… well?"

"Oh, well I was thinking about that night, a few months back."

"Which night?"

"The night when you came round, after the argument."

"Which argument, we've had a few love!"

"The argument. And … and you asked me a question … didn't you?"

"While I was drunk?"

"Yup … that question … I was thinking about it … I was thinking – yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I think yes, yes I will marry you." Pushing herself up to sit against her hand, Shelagh turned slightly to face Patrick, she smiled at him as she watched his face, seeing the whirring of cogs behind his eyes.

He faltered; as one portion of his brain erupted with joy another told him that he was dreaming, he had misunderstood, she was joking. This was some kind of prank, she was teasing him.

"Sorry – can I just double check. You, as in you … Shealgh McDonald, you want to marry me, me Patrick Turner?"

"I want to marry you."

"And this is … this is you being certain. Not you joking or … hypothetical?"

"Right. Just to be clear, I Shealgh Maria McDonlad, honestly, completely, truly and 100% want to marry you, be your wife, be legally tethered to you, Patrick John Turner. Good enough for you?"

"It'll do. You're sure."

"No, I'm not sure at all, that's obviously why I said I'd marry you! Daft beggar!"

You're going to marry me, you're going to be my wife." Standing up quickly, Patrick reached down and pulled Shelagh up to standing, he wrapped his hand around her waist and pulled her towards him. "That's twice in my life the woman of my dreams has agreed to marry me."

"Well, let's do our best to not bring that figure up to three eh?"

"Agreed." Leaning forward and up Shelagh reached up to kiss Patrick on the lips, after a moment she broke away and smiled broadly,

"Urgh, can you two get a room!?" called Tim from across the garden,

"Shelagh and me are getting married!"

"Wow – cool!"

"Blimey, you should get a job with Clintons, you could do an excellent range of cards." replied Patrick, sliding his hand down to hold onto his fiancé's own.

"You should be careful, I know get to control your birthday and Christmas presents."

"Oh, congratulations! I'm made up for you!"

"Better – much better!"

"Say what you like about my boy, he's got his priorities right!"