Well I think I deserve some kind of prize for getting that out in under 36 years (unlike my last chapter)
I kind of felt as if the story was just plodding along - so I've tried to take a different tack and make some changes to spice things up a little and hopefully keep you all interested!
Thank you all for your reveiws and please do keep them coming in!
This chapter's song is:
Put a lid on it - Squirrel Nut Zippers
Enjoy xx
Patrick watched Shelagh sleep, her hair was fluffy from being blow-dried right before she got into bed and was spread out on the pillow like unspun cotton and along the side of her face, half lit by the street lamp outside was the faint silver-grey of the scar that ran from her temple to the top of her jaw from when she had been mugged almost five years ago, when they were taking the first tentative steps of their relationship. The middle of her bottom lip was lined with the faint red that the cold December wind brought out, and a trace of black sat under her eyes from her mascara that she hadn't quite removed before getting into the shower. He watched the rise and fall of the large but neat bump that half raised from the bed alongside her hip, from the strange twisted curled up shape that she favoured for sleeping, with just over three months until she gave birth, Shelagh was now looking properly pregnant, which Patrick liked – as much as he tried to convince her that she looked maternal. Which she wasn't convinced by, and had got enraged enough to ban the phrase blooming from the house and hospital, and woe betide anyone who hadn't be pre-warned. It was so easy to forget Patrick decided, that his wife, for her warm and kind appearance could be just as sharp and stern as the terrifying icon of the maternity unit that was Sister Evangalina. Taking a sip of his cold tea from the bedside table Patrick smiled to himself as he saw a frown cross Shelagh's face and her left foot flick sharply in a way that told him she was having one of her strange dreams where she was running from soviet spies in 1950's Moscow, or being a cordon bleu chef in Paris or whatever tonight's obscure imaginings were. Replacing his cup on the side, Patrick pushed himself down into the bed and turning onto his side slid an arm around Shelagh's waist and curled in against her back.
"OK Maria, how does that feel? Comfy?"
"As I'll I get … is there really no way I can have the birthing pool?"
"Sorry, like I said its first come first serve … and someone else beat you to it I'm afraid. But you'll be OK in here? There's stuff we can bring in if you wanted an active labour, we've got the big balls and the straps for the ceiling – so you can stretch out your back?"
"Umm – yeah, would that be alright?"
"Of course, let me finish your obs and I'll go and get you some things."
"Thanks … when's yours due?"
"Hm? Oh – early April, so a few months left yet, can I just pop this around your arm?"
"Yeah, you must be getting excited, is it your first?"
"Yes, but I've got a step son too – he's 14."
"Blimey, so it'll almost be new to your boyfriend then after all that time? But I suppose with you being a midwife you're a bit of a pro!"
"Ha – oh I wish. It's very different going through it yourself, but I'm in safe hands with the girls – and my husband's an obstetrician, so between the lot of us we've probably got it covered."
"Must be nice … being so prepared."
"Don't you feel prepared? It's your … second isn't it?"
"Oh yeah, and I know what to expect and all but … my boyfriend's in the army, sixth month tour … and last time he was home on leave when I gave birth so … I don't feel prepared at all really."
"It must be hard. I can't imagine how hard, but – is there no-one else you wanted in with you? I can call -"
"No, no thanks, there's not really anyone else, I mean my Mum's got Ellie – that's my little girl, and that's it really – it's not really the kind of thing I'd want my friends seeing you know!"
"Yeah – I can appreciate that. Well you know, if you change your mind, just ring your bell and I can try and contact someone … Right – I'll go and track down that ball for you."
*Shelagh Turner – yes or no – am I the God-mother? M*
*Molly Bryon – for the last time, you are A God-mother, you are one of 3! S*
*I'm your sister! M*
*And I love you. But the baby's having 3 God-mothers. S*
*I don't even know the others! M*
*Julie is an old friend who has looked after me for a long time, Kathy was Clair's sister – it's important to us that she's included, you're my Sister – and I love you. What is that issue!? S*
*An old nurse and your husband's ex-wife's sister? No – you're right – I can't compete. M*
*Julie's a very good friend and it's right that Kathy stays part of the family – she's Tim's God – mother. S*
*So she's already got one God-child, I havn't got any! M*
*I think that's more a statement about your character than hers to be honest. S*
*I've always disliked you, ever since Dad bought you home from the hospital – I always new you were evil! M*
* *Knew. S*
*Grammar Nazi! M*
*Muhahaha S*
"Sorry did you want a drink?" Asked Patrick as he began to sit down at the table, looking a Shelagh,
"Gin? A bottle of wine with a straw? Do you think that'd be alright?"
"You're day was that good then eh?" he said with a smile, standing up again to get a glass off of the draining board. "Orange juice or squash?"
"Squash, thanks. So, Molly texted me today … again."
"Is it the God-mother thing again?"
"Yeah, of course, she's no happy bunny that's for sure. And … oh I don't know, I mean I can see her point, but I think you're right. Kathy … she should be God-mother for all sorts of reasons, and I really want Julie to be God-mother, she's a good friend, and she's given me loads of support over the years."
"Yeah, I mean if it's going to make problems, I don't think Kathy would be upset if she wasn't God-mother you know. Can you pass the pepper?"
"Yeah – yeah I know, but it means a lot to you … and to me, I want her to be part of the baby's life as much as you do. And I think you're right – I think it'd be nice for Tim and the baby to have the same God-mother. Did you have any thoughts about God-father? I refuse to belive that you have no male friends."
"I have friends! Just none that I would give the title of God-father to, I mean I suppose we could ask Stephen … I suppose."
"He's Julie's husband … and that's you know … good."
"Yeah. Have you asked Julie yet?"
"No, I thought I'd wait until you'd decided about Stephen, no sense in asking her and then two months later asking him … it'd look a bit transparent!"
"Mmm – do we need a God-father? I mean with three God-mothers?"
"What if the baby's a boy? How rubbish would that be, with three God-mothers, two aunts and hoards of 'aunties' – he'd be overwhelmed."
"Yeah – and if it's a girl … she'd either have loads of issues, or none at all."
"This is worse than doing the wedding invites! Can I have the pepper again?"
Shelagh threw the paintbrush into the tray and peeled the masking tape away from the light switch, the wide open window made the room freezing and she could see her breath condensing in the air but the paint fumes were one of many things that made her feel queasy, the green wall completed looked bright against the white of the other three walls but she had long since decided that more than one wall would look garish and annoy her. Smiling to herself she checked that she wasn't about to trip over the bin-bag of curtains on the floor, taking a step back Shelagh looked across the room and sub-consciously ran a hand across her bump, masked beneath an old shirt of Patrick's she had stolen for painting. The large paper ball lampshade that basked the room in a half glow, bright enough to read by, but dim enough to be peaceful. Some deep seated superstition inside her meant that she refused to really buy anything for the baby, but she let Molly give her an old cot that she had from her own two children and Kathy had insisted that she take an old moses basket that she had from the boys in the attic, which she was sure had also held Tim when he was new-born.
"How's it going? Oh love, it looks fantastic!" Said Patrick, stepping up behind her and standing with his hands on his hips,
"I was aiming for fantastic." Shelagh replied with a smile, half turning to face him before turning back to survey the room. She tilted back a little, resting her back against her husband's chest, "So you like it then? Not too Shelaghfied?"
"Perfectly Shelaghfied."
"Not to gaudy?"
"Well you know a man my age, with my trophy wife – we were always going to end up going down the gaudy root."
"I've never thought of myself as a trophy wife."
"No? Well I am arguably your sugar daddy."
"Never – ever, refer to yourself as my daddy ever ever again."
"Yeah … it was a bit grim as I said it to be honest!"
Put a lid on it, what's that you say? Put a lid on it , oh man, no way . Put a lid down on it, and everything will be all right. Put a lid on it, don't hand me that. Put a lid on it I'm all right, jack, put a lid down on it, before somebody starts a fight. Say, every time I turn it lose you cats come down and cook my goose. When I start I just can't stop
"But if you keep this up you're gonna blow your top! Put a lid on it … Too late this time, put a lid on it, I've got to get what's mine, put a lid down on it, and everything will be all right."
"Do you have to sing?" Asked Tim, leaning across to stop the CD.
"Excuse me, in the taxi of Shelagh – Shelagh can sing whatever she likes … When's your next expedition?"
"Lake district, in a fortnight."
"You're mad, I mean I love camping – but you'll freeze."
"That's part of the fun."
"If you say so!" Replied Shelagh pulling up at the T-junction, she leant forward and watched the traffic crawling forward in front of her, after a few moments of silence she sighed and switched the stereo back on, the disk whirred and after a few moments started back again at the beginning, grunting to himself Tim stared out of the passenger window, breathing condensation mist onto the glass and slowly began to write his name.
"So … what are you going to call the baby – like when it's born?"
"Umm – I don't know. Me and your Dad havn't managed a serious conversation about it yet."
"Yeah. You're not very serious are you."
"What do you mean, I married him! Isn't that serious?"
"No I don't mean that … I mean that you make stupid jokes and tease each other and couples don't do that."
"Don't they?"
"Well OK … other people's parent's don't."
"I suppose we're just different to other people's parents, and I suppose we havn't been married long – I expect we'll learn to hate eachother in time."
"Don't get old and grumpy Shelagh … I think you two are quite sweet together in a … weird gross old people way."
"Ri-ight. So what did you think we should call the baby?"
"Well – obviously Tim if it's a boy, and Timinna … or Timara if it's a girl!"
"Yes. Yes – probably don't hold your breath on that one."