Afternoon ladies and gents, I actually finished this about 12 hours ago but then got distracted by life and when I came to write the next chapter now I found this and felt very guilty for being lax and not uploading! So sorry – but I'm sure you're all used to my rubbishness by now!

Hey ho – so I wasn't sure which direction to take my whole Tim storyline, I have something up my sleeve for the next chapter but whether I use it or not remains to be seen.

I hope you enjoy this – I must confess that although I'm a nurse in real life it has been forever since I worked in Ortho or Surgical, so this is a little hashed together and vague because my memory isn't that good!

Thank you as ever for your fantastic reviews, I love them all –and they make me want to just keep on writing for you guys, which I guess is the point, so please do continue.

This chapter's song is:
Tommorow's just another day – Madness

Enjoy x

"Mr Turner?"

"Yes … hello?"

"Good morning, I'm Dr Adam Hope – emergency paediatric registrar. And this is Donna Singh, our paediatric family liaison nurse … would you like some tea?"

"I'd like to know what's happening with Tim please, I've had enough tea to last a lifetime."

"Right … would you like a seat?"

"Please doctor … my son?"

"Yes … he's actually very lucky, the damage – although severe is all manageable at the moment, my colleague Ms Kosinski has taken him through for surgery. So far as a CT and x-rays have shown, his spine, pelvis, neck and skull are all fine. There may be contusions on the brain that we can't see, but at the moment we're more concerned with … he's fractured two ribs, one of which has punctured his left lung – we've tried to re-inflate it but Ms Kosinski, our orthopaedic surgical consultant, is dealing with that now. She's going to repair the damage to his leg … he's a compound fracture on both the left tibia and fibula which will in all likelihood need some combination of plates and pins to put back into place."

"Do you understand Mr Turner? That while Tim is very poorly … he is in the best possible care at the moment and that both our surgeons are very hopeful." Asked the brunette nurse gently, she reached out and touched his forearm gently, she cast a small look over her shoulder at the young doctor and gave a tiny nod. Leaving the two of them alone in the family room, the doctor left quietly, Patrick ran a hand through his hair and loosened his tie a little more. "Why don't you sit down? Is there anyone you want me to call for you?"

"My wife knows, she can't come … we've got a two week old baby at home."

"Bad timing."

"Is there a good time for your son to fall off a climbing wall?"

"Well … no, but it's hard enough with a new-born without more on-top. Boy or a girl?"

"Girl … she's called Nina. So … so what happens now, I mean how long will he be in theatre for? Can I see him soon?"

"Of course, he was taken in about … 40 minutes ago, so it will be a while yet. I mean, why don't you go and get a coffee and some food, and ring your wife – give her an update."

"Yeah … yeah I should ring Shelagh."

"You do that, and I'll find you in here when I know a little more. OK?"

"OK – thank you … uh … Donna."

Patrick drew deeply on his cigarette and pressed the "call" button on his mobile, the three rings that it took for Shelagh to pick up the home phone told him that she was waiting for his phone call,

"Hello?"

"It's me … are you OK?"

"I'm fine, we're both fine … how's Tim, what's happened?"

"He's … uh, he's in surgery. Compound fracture to the left tib and fib … and he's punctured his lung … they're screwing him back together now."

"Oh God Patrick … I wish I was there."

"No, it's more important that you're with Nina – I spoke to the family liaison nurse."

"Fancy!"

"Oh yeah, all the bells and whistles … she says if all goes to plan and he's stable they'll repatriate him to London in a day or so."

"Well that's positive isn't it? I mean that they're hopeful."

"Yes … yeah of course."

"Patrick …?"

"Mmhmm … I can't lose anyone else Shelagh …" his voice cracked and faltered. As he cleared his throat to get rid of the lump that threatened to bubble over into tears Shelagh's heart broke, she just wanted to hold him and tell him that it would be OK, but she couldn't. She was too far away, in every sense of the word, she was 300 miles away physically from her husband, and as much as she loved Tim and loved him as her own son, he wasn't hers, and she wasn't in danger of losing her own son.

"Patrick … Patrick it'll be fine, he's strong and … and resilient. You won't lose him, you can't …"

"But I can, people do every day … he's my little boy, and I … I just can't manage if he goes too."

"Patrick … I can't help if you won't let me in."

"Sorry … I need to go."

"Right … I love you."

"I love you too."

A cold wintery wind was blowing against the bedroom window and the sound of the rain bouncing off the glass echoed around the room, Shelagh was curled up in bed enjoying one of the longest sleeps she had had in week. A deep slumber that left her un-aware of the bedroom door opening and the soft footsteps across the floorboards, she didn't even wake when the footsteps slowed beside the cot at the side of the bed. Exhausted, Patrick pulled off his shoes and kicked them under the bed, throwing his coat over the foot of the bed he didn't bother getting undressed, he stared at his baby daughter asleep in the cot. He wanted to lift her up and hold her in his arms, to breath in her smell and listen to her breathing, but he knew that his wife wouldn't forgive him if he woke Nina. Still damp from the rain, but passed caring, he lay on top of the duvet and let the warmth of Shelagh leach into him through the fabric. Sniffing, disturbed by his weight beside her, Shelagh turned over in the bed away from him, her shoulder and hip creating mountains that gave way to the valley of her waist and the gentle slope of her thigh. Mirroring her position, Patrick turned and tucked his knees in tight behind hers, and wrapped his arms around her pulled her in tight as though she were a balloon that he was afraid would float away.

"Mmm … Patrick?"

"Sorry." He whispered into the back of her neck, pulling his arm gently away from her waist Shelagh half turned to see his face,

"What … why are you here? Oh God, what's happened, is Tim OK?" she asked, suddenly alert.

"He's fine, he's OK."

"But why are you here? Why aren't you in Newcastle?"

"He got out of surgery at midday, he woke up and he's stable. He's being repatriated to the Royal Free in the morning … he's so … marvellous. He's brilliant really, you know he told me to come back home to see you and Nina, he said that you two needed me more and that as long as I was waiting for him in the morning he didn't mind … he's … I did a good job at raising that one."

"Of course you did, Patrick! Och Patrick … he's a brilliant boy."

"Yeah he is. Oh … I love you so much, he will be alright won't he? Tell me Shelagh – please."

"I can't Patrick, you know I can't. But … but he is really strong, a brilliant boy and if anyone could get through all this – it would be Tim."

Tim tried to turn over, he kept on trying to do that, and then the dull weight of his leg reminded him. Eyes that stuck together with sleep that he fought to open so he could see the garish strip lighting of the ceiling above him. Turning his head as far as he could he looked around; the brightly coloured curtains of the paediatric ward were pulled open around his bed, with the shapes of five other slumbering figures in the room, three across from him in the bay and two on his right. The steady methodical beeping of the sats monitors in the room filled the air, along with the gentle chatter of the night staff with only an hour left before they could return to their homes and their long awaited beds. From his vantage point Tim could see through the window into the corridor and the nurses station, one nurse, older with a dark bob was stood up leaning over the desk to pick up a biscuit, while her colleague, a fair haired younger nurse was swigging coffee as she wrote up a feed chart and laughed quietly at something that her friend had said to her over the desk.

Pulling off his oxygen mask, Tim licked his dry lips and tried to attract the attention of the nurses, the dark haired one was absorbed in her mission to absorb as much tea as possible into her ginger nut as possible remained oblivious, but out of the corner of her eye the other nurse saw him, standing up, and with a gentle smile, she walked across from the desk and over into the bay.

"Hiya Timothy – how are you feeling?"

"It's Tim … I hate Timothy."

"Sorry Tim, I'm Bethan – one of the nurses. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, where's my Dad?"

"Umm I'm not sure, I can find out – but you're feeling OK. Any pain?"

"No. I just … what time is it?"

"Just gone 6 in the morning, you arrived about half an hour ago."

"Right. He'll be asleep, don't wake him."

"I'm sure he'd want to know you'd arrived safe and sound, it's only a phone call -"

"No, it's fine – he promised that he'd come in this morning."

"And your Dad never breaks his promises eh?" Bethan asked with a beam, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze,

"What? No – my Dad's rubbish at keeping promises, he usually forgets. But my step-mum's really efficient so it's cool."

"Right … so I just need to take your blood pressure!"

Trying hard, I thought I'd done my best, all my life, I can't get no rest. Some who've closed the door before, say I can't carry on no more. I hear them saying tomorrow's just another day, I hear them saying, and it gets better every day. I hear them saying tomorrow's just another day, tomorrow's just another day … Listened long, trying to take it in, all these facts leave me in the swim. It's down and down there is no up, I think that I've run out of luck. I hear them saying tomorrow's just another day, I hear them saying …
And it gets better every day.

"Good morning D4, Sister Sharma speaking …" Walking down the corridor, Patrick looked across the crème gloss paint of the walls, dotted with child friendly posters about infection complete with pictures of smiling doctors and nurses, the narrow desk with the step down lower desk behind it that was the nurses station was dotted with computers, half-drunk cups of tea and coffee, and sat behind it was a small woman, her dark plait twisted and tucked up off her collar she was distractedly talking into the desk phone, she looked up at Patrick as he came to a stop beside the nurses station. Raising a single finger she smiled apologetically and mouthed sorry before continuing down the phone for a second,

" … lovely. Lovely … right, well thank you, yeah send them down as soon as you can. Thanks. Sorry about that!" she added on in her broad Manchester accent as she hung up. "How can I help?"

"Hi … um, Patrick Turner, I'm here to see Tim … Timothy Turner."

"Are you a relative?"

"I'm his Dad."

"Oh wonderful! I'm Priya Sharma, acting ward Sister, he's just round the corner."

"How is he?"

"He's doing well, uh … Dr Rosen was looking at him I think this morning, the dressings are off, and he looks to be healing well – no sign of infection. And he's off the oxygen now – it looks like the lung repair was all a success."

"And the leg?"

"I don't know – none of us do truth be told … the X-ray's are promising but it'll be time before we know how well he'll be able to walk again. But … he's young, he's very fit and healthy and so I can't see any major issues on the horizon at the moment."

"Really?"

"Well … in my opinion anyway."

"Thank you … so much!"

"No problem, now, if you go through those doors behind you, he's in bed … 4. He'll be thrilled to see you, he's been up since 6 waiting."

"Really."

"Really. He's a sweet boy – well done."

"Thanks … yeah he's a great lad."