Chapter 52: in which Patrick and Shelagh decide to fight the good fight!

I ummed and ahhed a lot over this chapter, it is in essence a filler chapter - and I feel like it gives us more of an in depth look at Patrick and Shelagh's passions and feelings as individuals about the wider world. But in doing that I've created quite a political chapter that I'm worried wont be overly popular, as it's not really a Turnadette chapter, more of a political rally ... so please do review and tell me what you think, even if it's that you hate it. And if you do hate it - then I a) apologize, and b) this isn't a route I'm going to be taking for the rest of the story - so fear not!

There's a plate of wagon wheels out there for anyone who knows what film the Turner's are watching at the beginning of the chapter

Thank you again for all your reviews and I really do love them, so please do continue!

This chapter's song is:
What a way to end it all - Deaf School

Enjoy x

Further A/N – congratulations to those of you who spotted my not so subtle puns in the last chapter! There is no prize, but I'm sure you can feel suitably proud of yourselves!

Patrick was sat on the sofa watching the tele as intently as he could, although the film was far too complicated for his over-worked sleep deprived brain, with her legs over his, Shelagh was lying across the rest of the seat as her husband gently and absent minded ran his hands along her ankles and upwards her knees.

"Patrick?"

"Mmm?"

"I have no-idea what is going on in this film."

"I think the man off the pianist is dreaming."

"In the mortuary fridge?"

"Yeah … I can't quite work out where Kiara Knightly fits in."

"No. Neither do I. That man in the multi coloured scrubs looks familiar?"

"Isn't he off Downton Abbey?"

"Oh, yes – well done Patrick." Despite both being utterly lost in the films plot that weren't following, both were far too tired to get up when the house phone started ringing, there was a pause in which they both turned slightly to look at each other before Patrick relented and called out. "Tim! Tim – come here a second."

Emerging from the kitchen with a PSP in one hand and a sandwich in the other Tim stared at the couple on the sofa,

"What?"

"Answer the phone eh."

"What did your last slave die of?"

"Idleness."

"But Dad! You're both sat in the room that the phone lives in!"

"I'm a new mother."

"And I'm old and infirm – now answer the bloody phone Tim." With a growling glare Tim threw his PSP onto his father's lap and answered the phone,

"Hello? … I'll just check – who is it?" covering up the mouthpiece with his hand Tim looked across at Patrick and Shelagh. "It's a Welsh bloke … Dr Morgan someone?"

"Oh – Emlyn!" Replied Patrick, "Who did he want?"

"Dad." the teenager said, and swapped over the phone for the PSP before leaving the room, taking a defiant bite of his sandwich as he stomped out of the room, throwing a disapproving look at his son Patrick picked up the phone,

"Hello Emlyn, it's Patrick … no no, no problem, what can I do for you? … Well I'm glad you think so …. And … umm, yes … no that should be fine! Right … excellent, well I look forward to it! … I'll let Shelagh know … I'm sure she wont." catching the end of her husband's sentence Shelagh looked over puzzled, but Patrick was steadfastly grinning at the wall as he listened to the phone.

Shelagh got up from the floor and stood surveying the room with her hands on her hips to no avail, with a sigh she picked Nina up from the bed and slowly made her way down stairs, with the baby tucked tightly against her chest,

"Come on Mrs, let's find out what your mum's done with her shoes eh." she said to Nina as she padded down the stairs. Walking into the kitchen she carried on looking along the skirting board for the shoes,

"Tim? Have you seen my green shoes?" she called out, turning slightly as she walked into the room she saw the tall smiling man sat at the kitchen table. Although she knew that Tim was spending the night at his friend Simon's house, he hadn't expected to see his father sat in her kitchen any time soon – especially not when she recalled Patrick's warning to the man regarding his previous intentions with Shelagh.

"These green shoes?" The man asked, pointing to a pair of shoes tucked under the radiator beside the back door,

"Oh – hi Mark … I didn't realise you were here … Hi."

"Hi, so this is the baby?"

"No no – Patrick's just using a really good moisturiser at the moment."

"Really, he doesn't look like he moisturises."

"No he doesn't … never mind. Yes, this is Nina." she said smiling down at the infant, she had forgotten Mark's tendency to be both very literal and quite dim.

"She's lovely, and you look great! Not at all like you just had a baby." Shelagh smiled weakly and pulled her dress away from her stomach self-consciously with her free hand,

"Well, I mustn't keep you Mark, thanks for picking Tim up."

"Oh you're welcome … oh right. Bye then!" picking himself up slowly, Mark smiled at Shelagh and, having made sure Tim was following him he went to leave the house,

"By Shelagh." Tim called over his shoulder as he followed Mark out.

"Bye, be good!" With a sigh, Shelagh kicked the shoes out from their hiding place and with the well-practiced manoeuvre of a mother used to having a child in her arms she flipped them over and twisted her feet into the shoes. The front door banged as it usually did when either Tim or Patrick closed it, Shelagh always marvelled at the way that neither of them were able to close it quietly,

"Come on Nina, let's go and see who your Dad's brought home!" she said to the child, walking through to the hallway. Patrick looked like all his Christmases had come early as he led the Welsh man into the house, taking his colleagues coat he caught sight of Shelagh and Nina in the kitchen doorway.

"Hello love, Emlyn, this is my wife Shelagh – Shelagh, Emlyn Morgan-Jones." Walking towards the man Shelagh tried to look as pleased as she could to have a house-visitor and a new-born baby in the house for a week,

"Emlyn, hi." she said, holding out a hand. "And this little one's Nina."

"Hello Shelagh – what a bonny babe. Nina you say? Senorita Nina … from Argentina, knew all the answers, though her relatives and friends were perfect dancers, she swore she'd never dance a step until she died."

"Sorry?"

"Noel Coward? No? Oh well! I must say Shelagh – I am very grateful to you for taking me in like this, at such short notice. How old is the little one?"

"Thirteen weeks, but please. It's fine – if you're going to save our jobs then I can hardly complain."

"I make no promises Mrs Turner, but I shall do what I can." With a smile, Shelagh led Emlyn into the kitchen as Patrick made brief excuses and jogged upstairs,

"He won't be long, he hates wearing ties, he'll be hunting out some battered old cardigan. Tea?"

"Oh please. Old does not mean past its prime you know."

"Ah-ha, very true. Have a seat." she added, nodding at a chair beside the table as she flicked on the kettle.

"I must say Shelagh, you're not a bit what I expected."

"Oh?"

"Well, Patrick never told me you were Scottish for a start."

"I am, and his first wife was Irish – so if he ever jacks me in, lock up your daughters Emlyn, he'll be after a Welsh girl."

"Oh I'm sure he wouldn't jack you in my dear! How long have you been married?"

"Uh … 18 months now, we met through work."

"Yes he said, that must be hard though. Living in eachothers pockets, thank you." He said as she passed him the mug of tea,

"It has its moments, but we muddle through. So what else did Patrick not tell you about me?"

"Well, I'm not sure, that you're so … young?"

"I'm not that young, but yes. People often say that, I think Patrick's a bit bashful about it so he never brings it up unless he's making a joke out of being a dirty old man." she replied with a laugh, picking up her own cup of tea she took the seat opposite him and smiled awkwardly. She wasn't one for small talk and being handed a stranger to entertain was definitely out of her comfort zone, she was rescued by Patrick walking into the kitchen, his collar un-buttoned and an old green jumper pulled haphazardly over the top.

"Sorry about that Emlyn."

"It's fine, your wife told me about your aversion to ties."

"Did she indeed! Any tea left?"

"Next to the bread, I made a chicken stir fry, you're not vegetarian or anything are you Emlyn?"

"A vegetarian Welshman? No such thing my dear." He replied with a smile,

"Was that Mark I saw leaving on my way in?" Patrick asked, in his best nonchalant tones.

"Yes … he came to collect Tim. That's my stepson." Shelagh added for Emlyn's benefit, who nodded slowly and asked:

"And Mark?"

"Mark is Shelagh's secret admirer."

"He's not very secret Patrick, and he's also not my type."

"A strapping young man?"

"Well – he's not a paranoid aging doctor, and that's clearly who I go for." She replied sharply, forgetting for a moment that Emlyn was sat there, remembering, she swallowed and looked up quickly with a smile. "I need to cook the noodles – excuse me you two!"

You've got it made I'm out of luck, alright, Ok lets go, alright, Ok I know I'm on my way. Why doesn't someone call me up? The number's in the book, but if I'm going to do this thing it should be off the hook. I don't like it but it's better this way, I can't take it for another day

"I haven't heard Deaf School in years, I'm impressed by your music collection!"

"Oh this is Shelagh's laptop – she's the one with the taste, not me. Mine's all show tunes and ABBA!"

"The sentiment still stands, thank you." Emlyn said, taking the proffered glass of whisky from Patrick and rested back in the armchair, dislodging a muslin square as he did so. "How do you find it?"

"Hmm?"

"Re-marrying. I've done it three times now – number four's on the cards and I'm not sure."

"Four? Blimey … well I don't regret a thing but … four? Really?"

"Yes, one was the love of my life; Marie, we were childhood sweethearts. She passed after 15 years of marriage."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, we had 15 years that were the best of my life, 4 fantastic children. Number 2 was a mistake, I think I knew that the minute I proposed, we were married … 4 months before she cheated on me. Do you know, I was glad – it meant that I didn't have to keep up the charade any more. 3 was lovely, Charlotte, I was happy with her … managed 4 years and then we drifted apart – I was spending more and more time at work and, and even though I loved her, I wasn't surprised when she left."

"And number 4?"

"Susannah. She's a nurse, American, and … much younger. Makes your Shelagh look middle aged."

"Jesus – how old is she!?"

"24 … do you ever have second thoughts."

"Honestly? No, never. I've been married twice, and both times to the love of my life. I don't think I could have got through the last few years without Shelagh, and that's how I know that, come what may … I'll always love her and support her, as much as she's supported me. Without knowing most of the time."

"How do you mean?"

"Oh … I don't know. I've spent time in the past in a very dark place, not knowing what to do with myself, Shelagh showed me that Tim needed me, that Tim loved me and that she loved me. It all sounds very sentimental I know but … there we are."

"I don't think it sounds sentimental at all, I think it sounds very sweet."

"What sounds very sweet?" Asked Shelagh, opening the living room door and walking in, throwing herself onto the sofa with an exhausted sigh.

"Oh nothing, did she go down alright?" Asked Patrick,

"Yeah, had a good feed too. So Emlyn," she began, taking a sip of Patrick's whisky, "your grand plan?"

"Ah yes. Well – you were saying over tea Shelagh, your Mr … Janson?"

"Jensen, Mr Jensen."

"Of course, Mr Jensen – he's planning to go ahead with this re-structuring. Now I think, and, this is only an idea at the moment."

"Understood."

"But I think there is a good case for you to take your cause higher. Mr Jensen runs the ELC health board, but I think you could easily go on up to NHS England. You are a unique hospital, aside from all the normal wards, your clinic Shelagh and your maternity unit Patrick deal with a completely different type of patient from similar units in say … Oxford or the South Coast. I think, that if you were to be organised, and use Dr Bowler and Sister Arky's experience as your evidence, you could try to save your hospital. You see you're at a disadvantage that the ELC covers the wealthy City of London, and the much poorer East End so any directive that it takes on is unlikely to suit both areas. I would of course be prepared to support your cause, I am determined to make clinics like the Royston common across the country and it's at my advantage to have you at the helm of this particular ship Shelagh. I've had a look at who you need to contact – I think our best people to strike are; Sir David Nicholson, he's the Chief Executive of NHS England, and Lord Victor Adebowale, a non-executive director who works with youth homeless charities, so from the safe guarding perspective he may be very useful. Have you any other colleagues who might lend their support?"

"What about Marcus Langworthy, your friend from Guys? I've had referrals from him for the Royston."

"He'd certainly be useful … and game for it, anything to overthrow the establishment."

"Who is he?" Asked Emlyn, replacing his glass on the table and leaning in towards the couple keenly.

"He's a Gyne consultant from Guys … an old friend. A useful old friend perhaps?"

Patrick rubbed his eyes and pulled the duvet up, he picked up his book listlessly and flicked through to the dog eared page he had left it on. The words didn't sit straight on the page and he couldn't follow the plot, he read the same sentence three times before giving up and throwing the book onto the foot of the bed and tilting his head back to look at the celing,

"What's wrong?" asked Shelagh, walking into the room and slipping off her shoes.

"Nothing – I feel like my brains running at 90 miles an hour and it wont settle."

"Why - what's wrong? Can you unzip me?" She asked, walking over to the side of the bed and turned away from her husband, he ran his finger down her back as he un-zipped her and for a second enjoyed making her wriggle at his touch.

"Nothing's wrong exactly it's just all such a mess isn't it. I became a doctor because, aside from anything else, I believed in the NHS, because I believed in health care, free at the point of access. It makes this country great that – in theory, no-one will ever die because they couldn't afford the treatment. And that's all being taken away from me now, from all of us." Lifting his knees slightly, he made space for Shelagh to sit down gently on his side of the bed, resting a hand on his forearm she smiled hopefully,

"It's not being taken away from you Patrick, you're a fantastic doctor and all this crap that's going on in Whitehall at the moment doesn't change that."

"But it does! I could have gone into private practice, but I didn't. Hell I could have gone to the Chelsea and Westminster or Radcliffe and seen the privileged few – I could have spent my days looking at the vaginas of millionaires! But I didn't – I chose the East End because of how I grew up, with no hope – my only hope was to work and fight for opportunity and now I work and fight to give others in my situation the opportunity to live and thrive."

"And that Patrick, is why we're going to fight this through to the end."

"Is it worth fighting, do we have any chance do you think?"

"That is irrelevant. Because when I look in the mirror I want to be able to say that I did my bit and I fought for what was right … even if it didn't work."

"You were born 50 years too early you know, you would have been a tour-de-force on those CND marches in the 50's." reaching up he put an arm around her waist and pulled her towards him. Holding her tightly against him he ran a hand along her exposed back and took a deep breath, holding in the smell of her shampoo and the lime shower gel that she bulk bought whenever it was on special offer.

"Patrick … are you smelling me? Oh god – is it vomit?"

"No, I mean yes I was smelling you but no it's not baby vomit. Just the smell of you … it's one of my favourite things about you."

"Not my winning personality?" She asked, pulling away slightly and laughing at him, keeping her hands on his shoulders she watched him try to find a suitable reply.

"Well, that too obviously!"

"Obviously – oh do you want to hear a joke that Tim told me today?"

"Go on."

"What do you call two chick peas holding hands?"

"I have no idea."

"Hummousexuals!"