Good evening everyone - I had wrote 90% of this by Tuesday but it's taken me to Saturday evening to getting round to finishing it.
I apologize if anyone finds this fluffy at all - but I do like to give them some happiness!
Thank you for all your reviews! I love them all and so please do continue!
This chapter's songs are:
Common People - Pulp
Perfect 10 - Beautiful South
Enjoy! xx
Patrick was only half awake, he could feel Shelagh beside him, and the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath his fingertips, sunlight crept in through the gap in the curtains and made shapes and shadows stretch across the far wall that he could see through half closed eyes that blinked against the coming morning. The winter had gone but summer hadn't quite yet arrived in full force and the air was still full of the crisp cold of spring, turning over to check the alarm clock he squinted to focus and was pleased that it was only just gone 6, still another 25 minutes in bed with her. Of all the things in life he enjoyed most about being with Shelagh, it was this; in bed, half asleep, watching her and drinking her in. Between getting Tim to various places and looking after Nina, and work and the general hurly-burly of life it was so easy to just exist. But with her, in bed he didn't just exist, he lived, she forced him to live, forced him to fight and love and enjoy all that he could. Clair had never been a fighter, she had been an acceptor, life happened and she enjoyed it, she loved it – but she never tried to change the world, and she had never made Patrick fight or want to rally. Life with her was easy, one could simply enjoy the good times and mourn the bad while awaiting the next good time that would surely come along soon enough. Life with Shelagh was far more challenging, she fought for the good times, enjoyed them, basked in them and loved them and when the bad times came she would battle them, like a climber ascending Everest, fighting the elements to reach the summit where glory and joy lay.
When he watched her, and he did whenever he could, sleeping, working, even washing the dishes, she filled him with energy and life, she made him see and do everything in the word, she made him feel 18 again. And then, when he left her he felt the time creep back, the years ascend, the aches and pains of middle age returned and he went back to being an over-worked registrar, with greying hair and an undercurrent of exhaustion. Reaching out further Patrick pulled her back towards him, her back tight against his stomach and his face buried in her neck, she stirred and half turned her head towards him,
"Patrick?"
"Were you expecting someone else?" he said into her shoulder.
"Mark." She said, teasing, he could almost see the smirk on her lips as she said it and he prodded her in the stomach as way of revenge.
"Harlot!"
"Bounder!"
"Jezebel."
"Scoundrel."
"Witch."
"Cad!" She finished with a laugh, turning onto her back and reaching up for a kiss, "What time is it?"
"Ten past, I've time yet."
"So why did you wake me up – I was enjoying having no babies to feed and no Welshmen to entertain."
"I thought you liked him."
"I did, he's a nice man but … a week in a strangers company is – well, it's a week in a strangers company. There's only so much small talk you can do."
"You're right, let's just hope it wasn't in vein!"
"Mmm, let's not talk about work, I feel like it's all we do these days."
"OK – scouts honour, no shop talk. Can I instead say that you look fabulous this morning?"
"No, stop it – I feel so silly being complimented!"
"Sorry sorry – you look bloody awful, especially your neck! Your neck looks horrific." he said with a grin, leaning across to kiss it.
"You know how to make a girl feel special Dr Turner."
"And you know how to drive a man wild Mrs Turner."
Jenny looked up from the nurses station, Dr Turner was walking briskly down the corridor through the units main doors.
"What time do you call this?"
"I know I know! Traffic."
"Sister Evangalina's on the war path."
"Oh Christ – what have I done?"
"She wants to know why you've decided to declare war on the government."
"Oh Jesus."
"I don't think she minds, I think that she's just she's upset that she didn't get first refusal on attacking Jeremy Hunt. You're safe though – she's gone out, to buy war paint and petrol bombs I presume. Although your phone has been ringing off the hook – your band of merry men want a meeting by the sounds of it."
"Oh God – why do I make myself all this work!"
"Because you're a man of principles."
"I wish I bloody wasn't this morning, anything you want me to look at before I go and bury myself in my office."
"Yup – sorry, 3, 5 and 2 please. And before you even think about hiding in your office all day, Dan's off sick so it's just you covering maternity in the entire hospital."
"Oh God Jenny save me – please. Hit me over the head with an office chair and send me home with concussion."
"Not unless you take me with you! Whatever Dan's off with, it's got Trixie and Cynthia too – so we are so understaffed today that I'm considering just handing out home delivery books and making the Dad's work it all out for themselves."
"Oh sweet Jesus, bring on the sweet embrace of the Rapture. Right, let me get my coat off and I'll get cracking, what's what?"
"3 is a lady who's miscarried late stage three times, so - she's fine at the moment but we're keeping an eye. 5 is a young girl, imagine she'll be taken in for a C-section soon, labour isn't progressing and she's been here forever, we're on hour … 43 now."
"Poor thing! And 2?"
"Two is fun and games!"
"I don't like the sound of that."
"Sky high, she's drunk and on … something, won't tell us what she's taken but we've got fresh track marks so – yeah. Very abusive, very … vocal, and social services have been informed, so have PICU – because that baby is going to be withdrawing badly."
"Why did I become a doctor again Jenny?"
"You like helping people – now go on, get your coat off and get cracking!"
*I am considering going into hiding Px*
*That bad? Sx*
*WORSE! I'm not sure what time I'll be home tonight – but I would suggest you don't wait up. Px*
*OK, well – there'll be food in the oven for you whenever you're home. Don't work too hard, I can't get your pension if you have a heart attack now! Sx*
*You're all heart you Px*
*That's why you married me! Sx*
*There we're other reasons too Px*
*Did you manage to get in on time? Sx*
*No – blamed the traffic. Your character remains clear. Px*
*That's it – what goes on behind closed doors … Sxx*
Feeling exhausted and having eaten the cold chicken and rice left in the oven by Shelagh in a sleep deprived zombie state Patrick kicked off his shoes and went upstairs as quietly as he could manage. Convinced that he hadn't disturbed her he almost had a heart attack as her voice whispered out from the darkness beside him in the bed,
"And what time do you call this?"
"Shelagh! You scared me half to death – did I wake you?"
"No, don't worry – Nina did that about half an hour ago, I've just put her back."
"Good, sorry I'm so late."
"It's alright – what kept you? Or are you having an illicit affair under my nose?"
"I wish I had time for an illicit affair I tell you. No, no I just had one hell of day, half the staff are off sick, the replacements didn't come in 'till late. Me, Jenny and Trixie were run ragged by the end. And on top of all of that – I've got all this stuff for the appeal to sort out, I've got Jonathan Broughton and Marcus bloody Langworthy on the phone, and Emlyn emailing me and -"
"And breathe Patrick. Breathe."
"I'm breathing, I'm breathing – sorry, I'm getting to old for this Shelagh."
"Well, if this morning is anything to go by you can't claim to be too old for anything Patrick Turner." he could hear the smile in her voice, and was glad of the dark to hide the colour rising in his neck. "But seriously, why don't you hand the reins over to me, it's another two and a half months before I go back to work, I can be your … Michael Collins, your Che Guvara!"
"You're not my revolutionary, you don't belong to anyone. You are your own revolutionary my dear … but if your offer still stands?"
"Patrick, I love you and I don't want you running yourself into the ground for this. It's no good for me, Nina, Tim, you or your work. The offer is concrete."
"I suppose I could."
"You could and you should, let me share the load, you can't fight a war on your own."
"That way only madness lies."
She came from Greece she had a thirst for knowledge, she studied sculpture at Saint Martin's College, that's where I caught her eye. She told me that her Dad was loaded. I said in that case I'll have a rum and coke-cola. She said fine and in thirty seconds time she said, I want to live like common people, I want to do whatever common people do, I want to sleep with common people.I want to sleep with common people like you. Well what else could I do - I said I'll see what I can do.
Turning up the radio Shelagh hung up the phone and peered disappointedly into her cup of now cold tea,
"How's it going?" asked Tim, launching himself onto the armchair sideways with a banana.
"Slowly! Although I'm starting to make headway – I'm going to ring a social worker in a minute. He works in Whitechapel and I get referrals from him all the time, so hopefully he'll be on our side! Mark Harley."
"Mark Harley?"
"Yeah … why?"
"Mark Harley is Simon Harley's dad."
"Who's Simon Harley?"
"Simon as in my friend Simon."
"Oh … you mean … Mark as in Mark."
"Yup, well … it's a bit awkward but at least he'll probably support you!"
"Small mercies." With a sigh Shelagh flopped back on the sofa and groaned, "do you want some food?"
"What's up for grabs?"
"Omelette? Cheese on toast? Soup?"
"Can I have cheese on toast and soup?"
"Honestly Tim – the amount of food you put away! And you're still like a rake."
"It's biology – teenagers are developing so much we need loads of food and sleep."
"Well it's nice to know you're adhering to the rules." picking up her phone she walked with a smile towards the kitchen. "Just watch Nina for me, she should be fine though." Having poured a tin of tomato soup into a pan she stood, stirring it slowly while staring at her mobile, unsure of what tack to take. While she disliked Mark, Patrick's dislike born of paranoia was far greater and she really wasn't sure how he would take the idea of her using Mark to help with their appeal. He wasn't an angry man or a violent man, but she didn't want to hurt him all the same – and she knew that this would hurt him, although she liked to think that after 18 months of marriage he trusted her enough. Pocketing her phone she decided that this one for a face to face conversation – not a text, and went over to the fridge to forage for cheese.
She's a perfect 10, but she wears a 12, baby keep a little 2 for me. She could be sweet 16, bustin' out at the seams, it's still love in the first degree. When he's at my gate, with a big fat 8 you wanna see the smile on my face. And even at my door, with a poor poor 4, there ain't no man can replace. 'Cause we love our love, in different sizes. I love her body, especially the lies, time takes it's toll, but not on the eyes. Promise me this, take me tonight.
Patrick locked up the car and swung his bag over his shoulder and walked up the garden path towards the house, now that Shelagh had taken over the reins of the appeal he felt far more awake and had made it home on time for the first time in weeks. Although he still felt guilty for lumbering Shelagh with all the work, she was busy with Nina and keeping the rest of the family in a vague order. Slipping his key into the lock and opening the front door he could smell lasagne and hear Shelagh talking, with a smile he dropped his bag beside the hat stand in the hallway and closed the front door as quietly as he could. He tiptoed into the living room where Shelagh was sat cross legged on the floor, holding Nina sat upright in front of her while the coffee table was covered in a detritus of laptop and paper.
"… and then they all realised how silly they had all been, and that actually we were all capable of rational thought and they let us have the vote!"
"Evening love," Said Patrick from the doorway, "are you telling the story of female suffrage to our 4 month old daughter?"
"It's international women's day – it seemed fitting! Hello." she added and reached up to kiss Patrick as he bent down to receive her lips. Flopping down on the sofa behind her he beamed at his daughter,
"And a very good evening to you Miss Turner, how was your day? Did you get up to anything exciting?"
"Well," began Shelagh, picking herself up from the floor and joining Patrick on the sofa with Nina against her shoulder. "we went to soft play, and then we went to Sainsbury's and bought some nappies!"
"Wow."
"And then she had a nap before tackling world poverty and the banking crisis after lunch."
"That's what I like to hear, a nice full day. And what about you? Did you write a seminal novel or anything?"
"Not today no, I made a bit of headway with the appeal – spoke to Emlyn and he suggest I look through some of my old referals for the Royston and see if there were any social workers who might write a letter of support…"
"Oh? Any joy?"
"Well … ish."
"Ish?"
"The problem is that there are so many social workers who refer to me that it was hard to find someone who would have the type of caseload that would need the Royston there."
"Oh well – it's a pain, but I'm sure we can get by without."
"Yeah! And then I found one … a social worker who's sent over 6 referrals in the last year."
"Well that's brilliant! Did you ring them?"
"Not yet, I wanted to talk to you first. It's Mark Harley, the social worker is Mark Harley."
"Mark Harley? Sorry you've lost me … do I know a Mark Harley? The only Mark I know is Creepy … Oh."
"Yeah. Mark Harley is Creepy Mark."
"Right."
"You're not happy are you? It's fine, you said yourself we'll manage without."
"No. It's fine, he's … not so bad."
"No … but he is creepy and a bit of a stalker."
"And useful. If you want to use him, if you think he'll be useful … then ask him."
"Really? You won't get all jealous and bitter?"
"No, I'll be a grown up. But if he gets fresh with you – I'll knee cap him."
"You say the sweetest things."