The Turners take a summer vacation. Inspired by the postcard in Sister Bernadette’s cell.

I got a lot of help from TurnadettefanGirl and CTMSundays on this one.

Part One

Patrick Turner was taking the first fortnight holiday of his life. Poplar had become unbearable in the heat of a record-setting July, and he just needed a break with his family. As a surprise for Shelagh, he arranged for an old friend (who owed him several favors) to serve as locum while they were away, sought out recommendations for inns from other friends, and tidied up loose ends at the clinic. Shelagh had spoken once of a desire to see palm trees, and if Mrs. Turner wanted palm trees, she would get palm trees.

The plan to leave early and stop for a picnic along the way that morning was soon derailed. Called out for a difficult delivery late the night before departure, Patrick was then needed for an accident at a canning factory along the river. Finally arriving home just before noon, he was met with two miracles wrought by his grateful wife.  First, all the luggage and paraphernalia were packed and waiting in an orderly fashion at the front door. Even more impressive, Tim was willing to let his father take a nap before they set out. The second miracle may have had something to do with the promise of a Ninety-Nine everyday they were at the beach.

Now, after  a less than easy drive from London, the Turners were finally at their destination. Shelagh cradled a cranky Angela, soothing the overtired infant while Tim waited impatiently, his newly acquired beach shovel and metal detector in his hands as Patrick directed the porter to the large collection of Turner necessities. Patrick was grateful they had booked two adjoining rooms for more than one reason. All he wanted now was to get settled, feed his family, and get his wife to bed.

Turning to her, he was surprised to see Shelagh in conversation with a young couple in some distress. Approaching her, he asked,”Everything all right, sweetheart?”

He should have known from the look in her eyes that he would not like what she had to say, but Patrick was tired and unprepared for her words.

“Patrick, dearest, this young couple just got married today. This is Mr. and Mrs. Tillman.”

Pings started to go off in his head, but Patrick was too distracted by his final goal to pay attention. “Congratulations,” he told them. “You’ve picked a lovely spot for your honeymoon.” He turned to take Angela from his wife’s tired arms.

“But that’s just it, Patrick. They don’t have a room tonight,” Shelagh continued.

The young man smiled sheepishly. “We did this a bit rush-rush, sir, and I seem to have forgotten to make any reservations. Every hotel in town is booked tonight.”

The pings got louder. “That is too bad. Busy season, I suppose.” The pings were deafening now and Patrick tried to end the conversation. “Perhaps the next town over?”

“Patrick, I thought, just for tonight…”

Patrick didn’t have to hear the words to know that his plans for the evening would not go as he had hoped.

Two hours later, all four Turners were entrenched in Patrick and Shelagh’s deluxe room, complete with ocean view, enormous bed, sitting area and their own private attached bath. The family had dined in the hotel dining room, an experience that did not portend relaxing family meals for the duration. Angela had been fractious and unwilling to eat anything but Patrick’s mashed potatoes, and Tim had refused to eat anything that wasn’t fried. Without Shelagh’s calm handling of the children, Patrick was certain he would have piled them all back into the car and gone home. Now, the view blocked by draperies drawn to create a setting more conducive to settling the baby in her soon-to-be-outgrown moses basket, Timothy and Patrick cleared away their attempt at a house of cards from the cluttered sitting area.

“Ugh,” groaned Tim. His face was green.

Skilled medical man that he was, Patrick quickly grabbed the waste bin just in time to save the room from utter ruin. Shelagh, alerted by the noise, came out of the bath bearing a damp washcloth. Between the two of them, the poor boy was settled back in his bed and none for the worse.

“I suppose fried foods are better for my mood than my stomach,” he joked weakly.

“Really? Do you think there could be a connection?” his father teased. “Maybe tomorrow you can try something new?” Tim smiled back and rolled into his preferred sleeping position.

Shelagh glanced up at her husband and said,“Not really how we thought this holiday would go, is it?”

Patrick grinned lopsidedly. “Wait and see, sweetheart.”

Tim turned back to them. “You know, Dad. I’m not sure you appreciate the sacrifice I’m making here.”

“Your sacrifice?” Patrick was astounded.

“Yes. I’ve shared a room with you before. The way you snore, I’m quite sure I won’t get any sleep at all.” The bedcovers rustled as he settled on his pillow.

Shelagh’s giggle came over her shoulder as she returned to her bath.

Thirty minutes later, Patrick was rather pleased with himself. He had come up with just the way to right this holiday.

The washroom door slowly opened, sending a cloud of steam into the room. Shelagh stepped out, pink and warm, her hair damply hanging around her shoulders. In one step, Patrick was at her side, his arm around her waist as he pulled her back into the humid room.

“Patrick!” she exclaimed in a whisper as he closed to door. “Is there something wrong?”

He tilted his head to the side, and nodded in certainty. Slowly moving very close to her, he nudged her to the wall on the far side of the small space. He slipped her glasses from her face, placing them on the sink. His hands came up to cup her face as he read the emotions flickering across her face.

“Patrick?” she asked again.

Not answering, he lowered his lips to hers, and pressed slow, undemanding kisses against her soft pink mouth. He smiled against her and stroked his thumb over her smooth temple.

“Patrick.” This time his name was a plea, and he deepened the kiss, thrilling when she responded by wrapping her arms around his waist. His fingertips slid over the length of her neck, down over her shoulders and came to rest gently on her hips.

Breathlessly, Shelagh pulled away. “I’m sorry, dearest. We shouldn’t start something we can’t finish.”

The disappointment in her eyes only spurred Patrick to further boldness. “Trust me sweetheart. Vacation’s a time for trying new things.”

 

Chapter 2

“C’mon, Ange,” Tim laughed, gently splashing seawater on his sister’s knees. “Who’s the little mermaid?”

Angela’s happy shrieks drew smiles from the elderly couple nearby. “Careful, Tim, not on her face,” his dad cautioned.

“I know, Dad. Bounce her a bit lower, I think she wants to go in deeper.”

Patrick shook his head. “I don’t think so, Tim. If she gets too cold, Mum will need to take her out before she even gets a chance to try the water. It took every every tool in my shed to convince your mum to put her bathing suit on. If it doesn’t happen today, I don’t think she’ll ever try it.” The baby squealed again, twisting her body back to the shore. “Wriggly worm, what-” Glancing up, Patrick saw the focus of her attention and stopped breathing. Shelagh stood at the shoreline, her hand shielding her squinting eyes from the sun. Her suit, although modestly cut, showed her figure in all its perfections, Patrick thought. It was yellow, with a white band across the top. Patrick loved Shelagh in yellow. And blue. And pink…

Patrick Turner had never been so glad for the cold Atlantic Ocean. Just moments before he had complained to his son that the likelihood of them getting out of the water with all ten toes had fallen sharply. Now, however, that same ocean was helping to keep Paignton Sands a family beach.

“Mum!” Timothy called as he splashed back to her. Shelagh dropped her hand to her side and watched as he came to a sudden stop, pulling her out to the water. “Let’s go! It’s better to go in fast.”

Shelagh laughed nervously as she followed him into the water, but came to a sudden stop as the water hit her knees.

“It’s freezing!” she cried.

“I’ll bet the baths at Nonnatus were colder. Come on!” Timothy would brook no resistance, and tugged her harder to join the family.

Patrick was breathing deeply as she came up to him, his arms unable to keep Angela from reaching for her mother.

Using the baby as a distraction, she asked, “Is it all right?” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes could not meet his.

Patrick knew this was a difficult step for Shelagh. Her natural modesty, compounded by the years of religious training had made propriety and reserve important aspects of her personality. She would be much more comfortable in an old woolen swimsuit worn by her grandmother than this… this…

Patrick’s mind was blank.

After a moment’s silence, Shelagh handed the baby to Timothy. “Timmy, dearest, could you please take Angela back to the beach chairs? She can play with the tin cups in the sand.” She looked at his face, about to protest. “Please, Timothy?”

Something in her unfocused eyes made Tim agree. “Right-o, Ange. You can wreck the sandcastles as I build them.”

Shelagh watched as they pushed through the water to the sands. Without looking back, she whispered, “It’s too much? I knew I shouldn’t do this. When we went shopping, I said no, I just wanted to wade in the water. Oh, I shouldn’t have, Patrick. I’m sorry, I’ll go back and change.” She began to wade back in.

Shaken from his trance, Patrick splashed in front of her. He was laughing, his smile wide. “Who took you shopping?”

Confused by the question, Shelagh answered: “Trixie.”

He took her hand and pulled her back in the water. “Well, then.” He bent to press a quick kiss to her surprised mouth. “God Bless Nurse Franklin.”

***   ***

The hours by the sea made for a very sleepy Angela. To help keep her on schedule, they decided Patrick would take Timothy to Torre Abbey to explore while Shelagh stayed with the napping baby.

Timothy sat in an old wingback chair, his leg dangled over the arm as he read his new favorite book, “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.”

“You’re not going to start to speak with a French accent, are you, Tim?” teased Patrick, his eye winking to Shelagh.

Timothy rolled his eyes. “It’s a Belgian accent, Dad.” The boy shook his head in resignation. His dad would never change. “I’m going to wait downstairs. Don’t dilly dally!” He closed the door quietly behind him.

“Dilly dally,” Patrick said cheekily. “Where on earth did the boy learn to say something as ridiculous as that?” Pulling his wife close, he nuzzled her ear. Breathing deeply, he whispered, “You could join us. I’m sure the hotel will provide a babysitter. Just think of all those deserted, dusty rooms, just looking for some attention…”

Shelagh pushed away. “Ridiculous man. Now, go, before Timmy sets the hounds on you!”

 

Chapter 3

“This has been a delightful holiday, Patrick.” Shelagh wrapped her arm around his as they strolled toward the pier. “We’ve done so many splendid things, and dinner alone four times! I’m afraid I’ve been spoilt. No more tea at six for me with washing up to follow, if you please.”

Patrick patted her hand. “Just wait. In a couple of days it will seem as if we never left Poplar.” He smiled crookedly. “But it was a lovely little oasis, wasn’t it?”

Content, they continued their stroll towards the boisterous pavilion. When they arrived at the entrance, they found Tim nearly jumping out of his skin with excitement.

“Dad! Mum! I’ve had the most brilliant time! Billy and I have been to very nearly every single place in the arcade tonight, even more than Tuesday. Please say I can stay longer. It’s much too soon to go in. Angie’s asleep with the sitter, and it’s our last night. Billy and I so want to try the palm reader. And the dodge ‘ems are running tonight. Please? Just another hour?”

“Calm down, Tim. Exactly how many sticks of rock have you had?” Patrick stalled, knowing the outcome of this conversation.

“Dad, you said you wouldn’t ask me about what I’ve eaten, so long as I don’t make myself sick,” Timothy complained.

“Yes, well, unfortunately, I won’t be able to ask until it’s too late.” He nodded his head towards the entertainments. “All right, one more hour. Meet us at the hotel entrance at ten o’clock. And don’t be late we have an early start tomorrow,” he added with false gravity.

Timothy beamed. ‘Thanks, Dad!” He waved to  his mother and ran off to join his friend.

His eyes on his boy, Patrick said, “Well, Mrs. Turner. Looks like we have an hour to ourselves. Care for a stroll?” Chivalrously, he presented his arm.

Shelagh took it, blushing. “Why yes, Dr. Turner, that sounds charming..”

Together they ambled along the length of the pier back towards the shore. “Patrick,” Shelagh said.

How did she always make his name sound like a question, he wondered? “Hmmm?

“It is rather late. We’ve never let Timothy stay out until ten before.”

He cocked his head to one side and patted her hand. “It’s the last night. We can let him have a last hurrah with his summer friend. You know how that is.”

“Actually, I don’t, Patrick. I never went on holiday as a child, remember? Tell me.” She pressed a little closer.

“Two weeks away with just the family is all fine and good for you and me, but a child Tim’s age needs friends his own age, even for a fortnight. When they meet one away on holiday, it’s sort of like a whirlwind courtship.” He bent to kiss her hair. “Billy’s just that. Maybe it will pass as soon as we’re home, or maybe they’ll write, stay friends. Not likely, but it’s been known to happen.”

Shelagh looked up innocently, but with a gleam in her eyes. “I’ve never had a summer friend. Will you be mine? You write such lovely letters, Patrick.”

“I will always be yours, sweetheart.” They had returned to the entrance to the pier. “So what will it be? Another turn along the pier, a stroll through the village,” he turned and faced her, “or one last walk along the beach?”

“I’d like to walk on the beach again, but I’m not quite dressed for it.” She gestured to her high heeled shoes and stockings.

He winked. “Not a problem at all, sweetheart, just follow me.” Taking her by the hand, he led her to the empty stairs to the beach. In the dimness of the corner, he sat her down on the concrete steps. “No one is looking. Take them off here, and we’ll go down to the sand.”

“Patrick! I couldn’t,” Shelagh needed convincing.

“Shelagh, you can,” he teased. “Go on, quickly.”

Taking a breath to bolster her confidence, she said, “Well, then. Turn around, please, Patrick.”

“Shelagh, I’ve seen you take your stockings off before. In fact, I’ve taken your stockings off before.” His grin was a bit lascivious.

“Yes, and each time you have you’ve sidelined our plans. If you want to take a walk with me, then turn around.”

“I don’t know, we could just go back to our room…”

“Patrick Turner!”

He grinned and showed his back to her, whistling as he removed his own socks and shoes and rolled up his trouser legs. “We can leave the shoes here. But these,” he took her stockings and put them in his jacket pocket, then tossed the jacket over one shoulder, “stay with me.”

Shelagh laughed gaily. “You are an incorrigible beast.”

“Yes, but I’m your incorrigible beast.”

Low tide made the beach wider, and they ambled to its edge, hand in hand. Tonight was the last night for many of the holiday seekers, most of whom seemed to prefer the excitements of the kiosks and arcades to the quiet of the surf. The sun was just going down below the horizon, and the sky held the last gleam of gold of the day.

“I should start carrying my camera with me all the time. The light is perfect on your hair.” Patrick smiled softly as he pushed a lock behind her ear. “I suppose when we get back you’ll twist your hair up again?”

Shelagh sighed. “I suppose I must. I’ve been quite a free-spirited Bohemian, haven’t I? Hair down, sandals, no stockings.” She leaned in and whispered, “Not to mention our activities…” Her face was beet red as she spoke. It seemed the free-spirited Bohemian could still blush.

Patrick turned her to face him, his face bent to meet her hiding eyes. “Hmmm…You know, just because you have to start dressing like Poplar Shelagh again doesn’t mean we have to put a stop to those activities,” he teased. Memories of steamy bathrooms and trysts behind convenient tourist attractions made him smile. Poor Tim might be glad of the return home if only to avoid the sight of his parents in a clutch in the middle of the sea.

“Perhaps.” Shelagh’s eyes smiled though, and she rested her head against his shoulder. “I used to stare at that old postcard from Aunt Lulu, it made Torquay seem such a paradise. Thank you, Patrick, for thinking of it. I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect holiday.”

He held her closer, sliding his broad hand across her back and bringing her right hand to his heart. His lips pressed to her forehead, they  began to sway as he hummed a soft tune.

Neither even noticed the glorious sunset, nor would they see the first stars of the night. And when Timothy arrived at the hotel entrance ten minutes late, he was fairly certain that the Turners would not make an early start home.