Sorry I've been a little rubbish at updates lately. But here we are – complete, finally! It's time for people to know about the pregnancy – which is mostly what this chapter's about, again – this is just kind of filler because life isn't all beer and skittles!

Thanks for all your lovely lovely reviews, they all make my day – so please do carry on.

Enjoy!

"I'm back."

"I'm in the kitchen … the wanderer returns! How was Manchester?"

"Well it was Salford, so … you can imagine. But quite interesting all considered, I missed you."

"Poor Patrick, I missed you too, it's good to have you home."

"Urgh, it's good to be home. Come here." Reaching out with a travel weary smile, Patrick pulled Shelagh in for a hug and rested his head on her shoulder, "Now, is there any reason why the house is freezing cold?"

"I took your advice."

"You've taken up cryogenics?"

"I decided to … Shelaghfy the house! Well – the living room at least, and the paint smell was making me feel sick."

"Should I be concerned about the living room?"

"No! It's good! I got it finished this morning before I went to bed."

"OK – go on, show me." taking his hand, Shelagh led him into the living room, after a moment of silence of Patrick looking around the room he broke into a smile.

"It's brilliant – very … Shelaghfied!"

"It's not too bright?" She asked, nodding at the bright yellow walls,

"Well – it's bright, but I quite like it. And what's that." Patrick said, pointing at a glass clip frame mounted on the wall in an alcove.

"Oh, well I've been clearing out the attic -"

"Sorry – you do know that your almost four months pregnant don't you?"

"Oh shh, I was fine, anyway I only did the light stuff – I left you all the heavy boxes! If we're going to put Tim in the attic it needs clearing, so I have been, there wasn't much to sort through, but that was in my kitchen in my flat."

"I don't recognise it."

"It was tucked away next to gas meter, it's all my old theatre poster collection. I was obsessed with musicals when I was little, Dad was always being forced into taking me and I used to collect the posters."

"It's quite sweet, and very you."

"Thank you – so you approve?"

"Oh I do, I do Nurse Turner! So … given that you are …"

"Up the duff?"

"Quite! Is it time to tell Tim do you think?"

"Yeah … but … I think you should do it. I mean, I love him but – he's been so brilliant accepting me and not having issues about Clair. I think it needs to be his Dad to talk it through with him."

"I think you're right. But you know, he does love you in his own little teenage boy way … and he wont be upset."

"I'm sure, but I still think that this is a father son thing."

"OK, when do you think?"

"Do it tonight, while I'm on the night shift. Then you can … bond or something, and he can brood until I get back tomorrow."

"Ay ay captain."

"At ease sergeant." Stealing another kiss before Shelagh turned and ran upstairs to get ready for her nights shift, Patrick took a deep breath and shrugged off his coat onto a nearby arm chair and followed her slowly upstairs. He stopped when he reached Tim's door, he faltered for a moment trying to arrange the conversation in his head before giving a brisk hard knock to the wood panel.

"Yeah?"

"It's me, can I come in?"

"Yeah." Pushing the door open he stepped into the inner sanctum of his teenage son, a litter of PS3 games boxes and entomology books covered the floor and available surfaces, and an often re-played DVD of Insect worlds: the secret to their success was playing on the laptop on his desk. "What's up?"

"I just needed a chat … how's things?"

"Uh … fine."

"Right … umm … did Shelagh say that we thought you might like to go on up to the attic?"

"Yeah."

"Right, so that'll be good!"

"Yeah."

"I mean … did she say why? Why you might like to move up there?"

"Not really. Why?"

"Well it's … it's to make some room, an … extra bedroom."

"Are you and Shelagh getting separate rooms!?"

"What, no, why? What has she said?!"

"Nothing – but you need an extra bedroom … so I just figured -"

"Oh! Oh – right no no … no, we're going to need an extra bedroom in about five months … because … uh, because Shelagh's pregnant. We're having a baby."

"Oh right."

"Well?"

"Well what? Congratulations, like … it's cool."

"Uh … thanks."

"I mean like, it's weird … but it's cool. Well done."

"Um right. Thank you?"

"No I mean, because you're really old."

"I'm not that bloody old!"

"No. You're not like 90 … but you are old, like older than Shelagh, and older than most Dads. Not like … Dad's of people my age, but like, older than babies Dad's."

"You are a tonic you know Tim, you make me feel so young and full of vitality!"

"Thanks."

"Oh I give up! What do you want for your tea?"

"Can we have spaghetti?"

"I don't see why not."

Tearing the tin-foil from her sandwich Shelagh bit into the sardine and ketchup sandwich she had for her break, for someone who was generally quite ambivalent about sardines she had been obsessed with the idea of her sandwich sat in the staff fridge full of sardine and ketchup goodness. Swigging down a mouthful of tea she pulled her mobile out of her pocket and dialled, taking another bite as the line rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi Molls – It's me, I got your text. I hope it's not too late?"

"Och no, not at all – I'm just glad you rang, how are you?"

"Oh fine fine, you and the boys?"

"They're going great! Patrick and Tim?"

"We're all fine … at the risk of sounding curious, your text sounded urgent."

"Yeah, well not urgent so much as … och I don't know, it's Dad."

"What, is he alright? It's not his heart again is it?"

"It is and it isn't, see Dad's fine … but he won't take his medication. He keeps on about how he doesn't need it and … and I'm just getting worried Shelagh, that he'll have another … well that he'll have any more heart trouble."

"And you want me to talk to him?"

"Well … he trusts you, you're a nurse and Patrick's a doctor – he'd listen if you two told him."

"Ri-ight."

"Shelagh?"

"No it's just … I need to come up and see Dad soon anyway."

"Why?"

"Because … well you have to know soon I suppose! Uh … so … I'm pregnant."

"WHAT?! Oh Shealgh that's fantastic news! Oh wonderful news! How far gone are you?"

"Uh – 14 weeks."

"Oh that is just brilliant, congratulations, I'm so happy for you – for both of you."

"Thanks, but I think I need to tell Dad in person."

"Yeah, that'd be for the best I suppose, but you know he'd be over the moon for you, don't you?"

"Oh yeah! I just … I think it'll be better face to face rather than down the phone you know?"

"Yeah, he'd love to see you – oh god, the baby's awake, I need to go – I'll speak to you soon."

"Alright, bye!"

"Bye, and give Patrick my congratulations too!"

"Will do, bye."

Patrick buttoned his coat up further, over the bulk of his scarf and dug his gloved hands down into his pockets as they walked through the park, the smell of sausages and onions filled the air and the crackle of the bonfire echoed around them both.

"Tim – over here."

"I want to go up on the hill to see the fireworks."

"No, come round the side here, it's a much better view."

"Where?"

"Down by here." He said, pointing over towards some trees down a dip behind the path, surveying the area Tim finally nodded and followed his dad down away from the path and the crowds that were filing up the hill. "Do you remember me bringing you here when you were little?"

"No, did we used to come?"

"Oh yeah – every year, you refused to go to bed until you had seen all the fireworks and given your mother and I frostbite."

"I don't remember."

"Well you were very small, we stopped coming when we moved to the house now … you must have been about 5 or 6 when we stopped coming. Here, this is the spot." coming to a stop beside a large tree stump, 2 meters wide with a soft frost covering it, with a sharp intake of breath Patrick sat down beside his sceptical looking son and looked out at the field ahead. "Everyone goes up the hill, but your mum knew that this was the better spot, no crowds, a clear view … always perfect."

"You're too sentimental."

"No – I'm a romantic, there's a difference."

Shelagh pulled off her tunic and before the cold air of the changing room could reach her skin she pulled on her t-shirt and jumper over her jeans, fiddling with her bra she swore inwardly, she had thought that her body had barely succumbed to pregnancy, but her chest seemed to suddenly have a mind of its own, where previously respectable tops were now positively indecent. Picking up her ruc-sac she swung it onto her back and stepped out of the room and almost straight into Cynthia,

"Blimey Shelagh, you nearly gave me a heart attack! Why are you still here? Your shift finished ages ago."

"Yeah … I needed a wee chat with Julie … that's all."

"Oh right, she's in her office, are you alright?"

"Yeah! Yeah … just about my shifts at the clinic … and stuff … see you then."

"Right … bye." puzzled, Cynthia watched her friend continue down the corridor, before giving a small shrug and continuing into the linin cupboard. In turn Shelagh reached Julie's office and rapped smartly on the wood, after a moment she opened the door and watched the nurse staring blankly at her computer

"Hi Julie … can I come in?"

"Mmhm? Shelagh – what are you doing here? Your shift finished half an hour ago."

"No I know, I just needed a chat, can I come in?"

"Uh – yeah yeah, come in, have a seat. Hear, listen to this email … All sisters and matrons are to attend a two day seminar on diversification and the fundamentals of inter-staff patient bonding as part of the hospital wide wellness program … I mean I don't even know what it's telling me … it's bizarre."

"Of all the NHS cuts, all the nurses made redundant … they choose to pay for a Wellness program and a two day seminar on … what was it? Diversification and inter-staff patient bonding."

"Oh I know, that said – it is fully catered, by Marks and Spencer so I'll get some lovely sandwiches out of it. Anyway – that's not why you're here is it, what can I do for you?"

"Umm … well I'm going to need some time off."

"Oh right, uh … where's my holiday book? When did you want off?"

"In about 5 months."

"Oh right, you two booked a holiday have you?"

"Not quite."

"Right – well that should be fine, how long did you want to take? We'll be on the new year by then so it'll come out of next year's holiday anyway."

"A year."

"A year … what?"

"Well … I'm entitled to a year's maternity leave aren't I."

"What!? Oh good lord – oh Shelagh that is fantastic! Oh congratulations!"

"Thank you. So … will that be OK?"

"OK? I suppose I have no choice do I! Oh … goodness me, well Patrick must be over the moon."

"He is. He is – but umm, I'm not telling the girls just yet, I want my Dad to know first."

"So Mum's the word eh? Well that's fine – I'll keep quiet until you want to let them know."

"Thank you."

Beaming to herself slowly Shelagh slowly cycled through the park, taking in the views of the park in the early morning. Autumn was her favourite time of year, the damp air that smelt of cold, the leaves that littered the ground, the bare trees with dotted with birds, visible without the foliage. She could smell the gunpowder that filled the almost misty air through the trees, a remnant from Guy Fawkes Night only a few hours before. Laughing to herself as she checked the path to turn deeper into the park and cut across, she thought of the tiny baby inside of her, a tiny human being with a face that could already frown and fingers that could already grasp, a tiny human being soon to be brought into the world, a world of infinite possibility, a country where any-one could become anything and a county that annually celebrated the burning to death of a Catholic.