Oh dear - once again, I've been rubbish at updates!
But here we are at last, I hope you like this chapter - I do, it's just a gentle chapter in which the couple have a bit of bonding!
This chapter's song is:
Elvis Presley - king Creole
Enjoy xx
Further A/N - to Misery Loves Sarah - yeah we get a year of maternity leave here in the UK, 6 months on full pay, followed by 6 months on half pay! Go us!
"… thanks for that Linda, so now for something completely different, a bit of Elvis to wake you up this cold and blustery December morning. Here with Vanessa Feltz on BBC radio 2 until 6:30 …."
There's a man in New Orleans who plays rock and roll, he's a guitar man with a great big soul. He lays down a beat like a ton of coal, he goes by the name of King Creole. You know he's gone, gone, gone, jumpin' like a catfish on a pole. You know he's gone, gone, gone, hip shaking King Creole
"Oh this is ridiculous!" Cried Shelagh from the end of the room, Patrick looked up from his book as he laid in bed sipping tea,
"What is it?"
"My jeans … I'll have to wear leggings."
"Or you could finally succumb and wear maternity jeans."
"They're all really ugly!"
"Only those one's your sister gave you, buy some ones you actually like."
"It was very sweet of her to send them … even if they are hideous. I look fat."
"You look pregnant – there's a difference."
"No – I look like I've been at the biscuit barrel."
"Shealgh – you look pregnant, because you're four months pregnant … embrace it!"
"I could always do a princess Dianna, and just dress in floral tents."
"No, I forbid it – I enjoy looking at your far too much!"
"Pervert! Right ... I give up, I'm going with leggings."
"Are you all packed?"
"Yeah, will you be alright while I'm gone."
"I suppose I'll manage, are you sure you don't want a lift to the airport?"
"No no it's fine, I'll get the tube – you'll never get back to the hospital in time."
"OK – well if you're sure."
"I am … I suppose I'd best be off then. Love you."
"Love you too … oh and Shelagh, it will be alright you know."
"I know – Dad'll be thrilled, so thrilled that he'll give in his difficult ways and start taking his meds again!"
"Probably … maybe … well – possibly!"
"I'll see you on Monday. Bye."
"Bye love – and be good." Patrick replied, as Shelagh leant over the bed to give him a kiss goodbye,
"Be good? No! I've got a weekend of gin-drinking and cigar smoking planned." She replied with a laugh, picking up her holdall and walking out of the bedroom with a smile.
"Ach hello my darling! Come in come in! How are you?"
"Hi dad … I'm good thanks – sorry I'm late, there was a delay on my flight."
"Isn't there always, I don't mind … not much else doing. Now, come here and let me look at you, it's been far too long!" Holding his daughter at arm's length, Michael McDonald cast an eye over her, taking in the loose floral top and thick cardigan teamed with the unlikely pair of leggings. "Well … you're looking … well at any rate."
"What's that supposed to mean?! Well."
"Well, it means you're looking well … you know … happy … content … your first year of marriage has been … good."
"What you mean is I look fat."
"No! No, I mean … are you … have you? I mean everyone does after they get married!"
"Oh jesus Dad! It was going to be a surprise but if you're going to be tactless!"
"Eh?"
"I'm pregnant!"
"Oh– I'm sorry, forgive your old dad eh! Och congratulations, oh come here and give me a hug! Why didn't you call and say?"
"I wanted to tell you in person … so you're happy?"
"Happy? Och – my girl, I'm over the moon!"
"So – you'd want to be around for when the baby arrives?"
"Oh I see, Molly sent you I suppose."
"Dad, it's not like that!"
"Oh yes it is, you and your sister conspiring. Look, I look after myself, same as I always have – I don't need all this medications spinning about my body."
"Dad, it's important – no. Listen to me … me and Patrick are having a baby, and come hell or high water I want you there for the baby, you can do whatever you want I'm not your mother … but … I can't bear the thought of you not being there."
"Do you bully and guilt trip your husband this much?"
"Yes."
Patrick typed out the sentence for the third time and stared at it, struggling to convey exactly what it was that he meant, after all what was a nice way to say that this woman was a heroin addict who should in no way be left alone in charge of her new born baby? Licking his lips he deleted the sentence again and tried to make himself sound less judgmental, a persistent beep from his belt distracted him, unclipping his bleeper he checked the display and picked up his desk phone, dialed and waited a few seconds before someone picked up the phone at the other end.
"A&E majors, staff nurse speaking."
"Hello, this is the on-call obs reg – someone bleeped me?"
"Oh right, let me check a moment …anyone bleep the obs reg?! … Hello? Yes, she's just coming."
"Thanks."
"Hi, it's Sister Hussain, I've got a lady down here uh … 14 weeks pregnant, heavy bleeding – can you take a look at her for me?"
"Yeah of course, what are her obs?"
"Uh bradycardic at 250 … hypotensive at 70/50."
"Shit."
"Yup – shit indeed."
"Right – I'm on my way!" Throwing the phone onto the cradle, Patrick picked up his bleep and his mobile and ran out of his office throwing himself down the centre of the ward grabbing Daniel by the arm as he passed by, "Dan, you're in charge."
"Oh … right!" replied the young doctor spinning on his heels as he watched Patrick run down and out of the ward. Taking steps two at a time he carried on running, down one corridor and then another, deeper and deeper into the bowels on the hospital he finally reached the doors into A&E, pulling his ID from his belt he pressed it to the black box at the side of the door and pushed his way into the calm bustle of the department. Stood stooped over the nurses' station stood a slim nurse in the Sister's navy scrubs writing notes, walking over and catching his breath Patrick touched her shoulder lightly,
"Sister? Patrick Turner, obs reg."
"Hmm? Oh, hi Patrick – I'm Nazia, my lady's just through here – it's … not looking good, she's only passed blood at the moment, so I'll leave it up to you to decide but all the same."
"Received and understood, have we got an ultra sound down here?"
"We've got porters bringing one down now yeah."
"Great."
Shelagh let herself into the house, pitch black and almost midnight she decided that Patrick had obviously already gone to bed and, having dumped her ruc-sac down at the side of the stairs she went to make her way up stairs to join him, before a snuffle from the living room made her turn. In the darkness she couldn't see anything, so she slowly padded, cautious and silently into the room, her finger hovering on the light switch when the streetlights glow, that bathed the room in an orangy light, showed her the only person in the room. Patrick was sat alone, on the sofa with his head in his hands and his eyes closed in a poor and fitful half sleep,
"Patrick?" he started and jumped in his seat,
"Shelagh … you're back? What time is it?"
"Ten to twelve, what are you doing down here."
"I fell asleep … how's your Dad?"
"Fine – obstreperous as usual. What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"No. What's wrong?"
"I was on call today, in A&E … a girl had a miscarriage."
"Oh God. I'm sorry."
"No – don't be."
"I am, are you alright?"
"Mmhmm. Come here." he said softly, holding out a hand for her, in the gloom Shelagh walked over and putting her arm around his shoulder, she lowered herself onto Patricks lap, bringing her feet up she rested her chin ontop of his hair and let him hold her tightly.
"You're like ice."
"I know, I lost track of time and temperature."
"Patrick … I know it's shit … and horrible … and the worst thing you can imagine at the moment. But I'm fine, the baby's fine and we will both continue to be."
"You can't know."
"No … but you're only scared because of what you've seen today, think of all the births you've seen, of all the healthy babies you've seen!"
"You're right – I'm being daft."
"No – you're being a Dad, you're allowed to worry, it's your job!"