You know what two things don't mix? Tea and Laptops!

I've been out of action for over two weeks due to my irresponsible cup management – but I think that that may have been a bit of good thing because I was having real trouble writing this chapter and now I've written it in 24hours. Clearly writers block can be cured by smoking in the bath and chain reading P.G. Woodehouse!

Anyway – back to the matter in hand! They're married, they've had the wedding – so naturally next comes a honeymoon, although will Patrick's plan for a week of non stop sex and champagne go awry?

Further A/N: This chapter contains some Americans, they are massive stereotypes who are included for comedic purposes only – so sorry about them for all you lovely Americans out there!

This chapter's song: Anastasia – left outside alone

Enjoy!

"You know you're so sexy when you're married."

"I think that has more to do with the dress …"

"It is a good dress." Replied Patrick as they walked along the corridor towards their bedroom, pausing as Patrick grabbed her hand and pulled her back towards him, burying his face in her neck,

"Mmm – it is a good dress," said Shealgh, with a smile. "… and I know what I've got on underneath it too."

"Nurse McD - sorry -Turner … you are brilliant and gorgeous and the sexiest woman in the world!"

"You, Dr Turner, are very very drunk!"

"Shh – I may be drunk … but I'm not blind! Oh – here we are, keys?"

"In your pocket!"

"So they are … well done you! Come along Mrs Turner, I was in the drama society at university with a law student and I have been reliably informed that an unconsummated marriage is an invalid one …"

"Well then – we'd best be consummated then … I'd hate for our marriage to be deemed invalid!"

"It'd be very disappointing!"

"Especially after I went to the trouble of finding an orange and white garter …"

"You havn't …? You've found a garter in the Blackpool football colours?!"

"Consider it a sign of my confidence in our marriage, that I didn't get one in red and white for Aberdeen.."

"I feel honoured!"

"You should, my father would have me killed if he knew."

"He'd have me killed if he knew what I was thinking right now … so … Mrs Turner?"

"Dr Turner?"

"Right – I've had enough, stop being coy! Get on that bed!" He said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in towards him and kissing her softly, before pushing her back towards the hotel bed.

"I hope that now we're married you don't think you can order me about all the time!"

"Sorry love … please, please will you get on the bed!"

Patrick rolled over with a yawn and for a moment he stared at the celling, wondering where he was, he didn't recognise the wall at the foot of the bed and it wasn't until he looked over at the armchair in the corner of the bedroom and saw the pale blue underskirt covered by the white lace of Shelagh's wedding dress that he remembered. The dancing, the drinking, the cake, the speeches, Shelagh walking down the aisle towards him and the lump in his throat as he watched her smile at him and felt his son's hand on his elbow. He slowly rolled over and saw Shelagh asleep beside him, curled up into her customary ball under the duvet, her head bent down with her hair, still curled from the wedding fanned out on the pillow around her. There were traces of her makeup around her eyes, the silvery grey smudged across her eye and her temple, and her lips were still pink.

With a sniff and a soft mumble of "Gorbachev …" she opened her eyes and looked at Patrick, she smiled raising her eyebrows. "How long have you been watching me?"

"Only a second, you've been talking about Communists again in your sleep."

"Oh God, that's always a bad sign. How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad, you?"

"Mmm – OK. I thought I'd have the hangover from hell."

"Mmm, we must of slept it off, what time is it?"

"Umm – I don't know … half eleven just gone."

"You know," Said Patrick slowly, "We're too late for breakfast … and too early for lunch. So we'll have to find some other way to fill our time until we can eat …"

"Right, and what exactly did you have in mind Dr Turner?"

"Well Mrs Turner, I did think that since we're already in bed …"

"And getting dressed would just be silly now!"

"Well exactly, and there are certain expectations of a honeymooning couple …"

"You. Are insatiable!"

"We'll get me some bromide when we get back to London, but until then you'll have to cope with the fact you are incredibly sexy."

"Oh don't say that I'm sexy! I hate stuff like that, I can't cope with people telling me I look nice on a night out let alone you telling me I look sexy!"

"You look hideous, I find you repellent! Better?"

"Much, now – come here." She replied with a grin, reaching across to kiss him softly on the lips. "You know," She said, pulling back slightly, "They actually do room service breakfast here all day … so we havn't exactly missed breakfast."

"Yeah I know, but I wanted an excuse to keep you in bed."

"It's not like you to forgo bacon."

"Consider that a testament to you, and your completely … un-sexy rubbishness!"

"God you know how to make me happy!"

"Mrs Turner? … Mrs Turner? … Sorry – Mrs Turner!?"

"Shelagh?"

"Mmm – that's you now …"

"What? Oh right yeah of course – hello? Yes that's me … apparently!"

"Yes, umm – sorry to bother you," Said the impossibly young looking receptionist, " someone said that you were a midwife?"

"Yes …"

"Right … uh, we have a lady who thinks she's in labour, I know it's your honeymoon but … it's just that her husband doesn't want to drive her the two hours to the hospital if it's another false alarm, they've had a few apparently."

"Uh … right, umm, let me just tell my husband and then I'll go up …" turning on her heels to face Patrick who was stood next to the wall in the hospital foyer, fiddling with his lighter . "Right, you know in that episode of All Creatures Great and Small where James and Helen go on their honeymoon …"

"… yes …"

"And then James spends the whole time tuberculin testing cows."

" … yes … and I have a horrible feeling I can tell where this is going, some idiots gone into labour havn't they?"

"Maybe, sorry, look she's had loads of false alarms, so they just want to know if this is another one before her husband takes her to the hospital … so it'll take ten minutes either way! Why don't you go and order us some lunch and I'll be back down in a second."

"Alright then, see you in a bit." He reached across for a kiss, and with a shake of his head he wandered into the hotel dining room, Shelagh turned away and walked back towards the receptionist.

Left broken empty in despair, wanna breath can't find air. Thought you were sent from up above but you and me never had love. So much more I have to say, help me find a way. And I wonder if you know, how it really feels, to be left outside alone. When it's cold out here, well maybe you should know, just how it feels to be left outside alone.

Patrick started his third cup of tea that afternoon and carried the cup out onto their balcony to have a cigarette, he fiddled about with his lighter until it produced a flame and held it to the tip until it glowed. Sighing he leant over the edge of the barrier drinking in the views across the Cornish coastline, taking a drag on his cigarette he heard the bedroom door behind him close and he turned around,

"Hi." he said slowly, taking a sip of his tea.

"Hi love, I am so sorry."

"You were gone for over an hour …"

"Yeah I know I know! I'm so sorry – I got to her room and the poor lady's in advanced labour, and she's lying on the bed sobbing because she thinks she's in early labour and she wont be able to cope with full labour if this is how painful early labour is … oh god, I mean luckily the ambulance turned up in time so I wasn't on my own … you're not cross are you?"

"No I'm not cross, why would I be cross, it's not your fault is it … and you can't very well turn around to a woman in labour and say 'Sorry I'm on holiday – sod this!' can you now?"

"No … I almost wish I could, I'm sorry for making your afternoon a bit rubbish."

"You didn't, it's fine I just – Jesus this song is awful!"

"What are you listening to?"

"This hotel seems to solely get BBC Cornwall! And they have a somewhat eclectic playlist …"

"Switch it off – come along, we've still got that bottle of Champagne from last night … and our own balcony."

"You know how to make a man happy don't you Shelagh Turner."

"I try, come on – lets go outside – enjoy the sun." taking his hand, Shelagh led him slowly outside onto the bedroom's balcony, overlooking the sea with the sound of the waves breaking reaching them mixed with the cry of seagulls and the shouts of families playing on the sands. Siting himself down on the deckchair he reclined as far back as the wooden back would allow and allowed Shelagh to curl up half on his lap, with her feet tucked in-between his knees her body lying against his chest. "Shit … I should have switched off radio."

"It's fine – I'll just pretend I like Anastasia!"

"You know who this is?"

"Love I'm 50 not 80 – I have some grasp on music produced within the last 10 years."

"This songs older than that!"

"Well I also have dementia – you know because I'm so old!"

"Obviously."

"Hi there!" Came a cry from across the side of the building, on the adjoining balcony stood a couple, Shelagh turned over, crushing Patricks knee in the process.

"Christ – Shelagh … knee … really only bends the one way."

"Oh God sorry love –sorry! Umm Hi there, hi – you alright there?" Said Shelagh, clambering ungracefully off of Patrick, she stood up quickly straightening her skirt and casting an eye over the couple. In their mid 50's, matching greying hair and a pair of almost stroke inducingly bright shirts between them.

"Well hi there you two, hope we aren't disturbing anything."

"Chance'd be a fine thing …" Muttered Patrick under his breath, receiving a dig to the rib from Shelagh he tailed off and broke in a saccharine sweet smile,

"Nope, nothing disturbed!" added Shelagh,

"Well we just wanted to make ourselves known you know, I'm John, this here's my wife of 30 years now Mary!"

"Oh good … uh I'm Shelagh and this is my husband Patrick … we're on our honeymoon actually."

"Oh how adorable! Gosh where are you two from?"

"Uh well I'm from Aberdeen … Patrick's a Blackpool boy."

"Oh well that's just great isn't in John?"

"Sure thing! Well hey why don't you two meet us for dinner downstairs, huh?"

"Well actually -"

"Teach us your kooky English ways!"

"Well you see we were -"

"And hey – maybe we can even give you two some tips for a long marriage, what do you say Mary."

"Great! Shall we say 7?"

"Uh – right … we were just going to have a quiet evening in." Began Patrick for the third time, feeling Shelagh's hand on the small of his back,

"Oh don't you worry, we're not too wild, you'll have a quiet night with us. Gee Shelagh, I gotta say, you're a brave lady for marrying an older man like that."

"Oh god." Patrick said softly, ducking his chin down and reaching for Shelagh's arm as he felt her stiffen in annoyance.

"I'm sorry?" She started before Patrick cut in to rescue her,

"Actually," he said, "we're not going to have any dinner – we're going to go inside and spend the rest of the evening have wild and incredibly loud sex. So, if you'll excuse us – Mary, John – good night." turning, he led Shelagh back between the French windows with a friendly wave to their neighbours.

"I can't believe you just said that …!"

"Oh it's fine – 4 days of awkward meetings over breakfast is a far better deal than 4 days being stalked by the bloody Waltons!"

"Do you think they have a son called John-Boy?"

"Oh of course they bloody have!"