Shelagh turns to an old friend for some advice.

Special thanks to Rockbird86 and Soph25388 for their help translating my American English into Cockney Fred.

Chapter One   Chapter Two

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The large open space of the Poplar Community Centre was never more necessary than at the bi-weekly Mother and Baby clinic. Every chair was filled, every toy in hand. After several long, crowded hours, the roar died down, until it only remained for the exhausted staff to prepare for the next one.

Shelagh sat primly at her desk, organizing the last of the files. Despite the controlled chaos and mayhem of the crowded clinic, she seemed as serene as ever. If perhaps she was a bit quieter than usual, no one seemed to notice. She looked up as Fred Buckle, solid and sure, approached the intake desk, tool box in hand.

“Greetings, Fred, we’re so very glad you could come by and help today.” Shelagh stood and placed a long, thin box on the desk. The height charts Patrick had ordered months ago had finally arrived.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Turner. Little bit of a job’ll take me no time at all.” Huffing, he glanced about the hall. “Have a special spot in mind?” he asked.

Shelagh turned and gestured to the corner behind her. “Yes, actually, we’ll need to put them up near the weighing station, but I’m afraid Nurse Franklin is still working there for the moment. Why don’t you go fix yourself a cup of tea, and we can get to work in a few moments?”

“Right you are, Mrs. T. Back in two shakes.” He dropped the toolbox next the desk and sauntered happily to the kitchen.

Shelagh turned back to her files and closed up the typewriter. In no time, the Community Center was a blank slate, ready for Youth Club, Historical Society or even a dance.

Patrick approached Shelagh, his coat draped over his arm, medical bag in his grip. “I’m afraid there’s a backlog of paperwork at the maternity hospital. I’ll need to go back there straight away if I’m ever going to get on top of it. I can drop you at home now if you’re ready to leave, Shelagh.” His eyes darted nervously towards the nurses on their way out past the desk.

Shelagh’s face stiffened almost imperceptibly as she turned away from her husband. “Good afternoon, ladies, that was very well managed today. Fifty-seven patients in four hours. It might be a new record,” she called after the younger women. Her voice lowered, and without looking back at Patrick, she continued, “I won’t be ready to go for another while, I’m afraid. I’ve asked Fred to install the new growth charts you ordered. You go on ahead. I’ll get myself home.”

On cue, Fred wandered back out of the kitchen, a green teacup in his hand and biscuit crumbs clinging to his sweater.

Extending the white coat to his wife, Patrick responded, “If you’re sure…”

“Yes, I’m quite sure. I’ll finish up with Fred and walk home. I can take care of myself, certainly. Will you be home for dinner?” The coat was neatly folded and placed in the bag set for the laundry.

Patrick looked away, and shrugged into his dark jacket. “I’ll be late. Just leave a plate warming for me. I’ll be fine on my own tonight.” With a quick glance at the handyman, Patrick made a quick farewell and was gone.

Shelagh seemed to deflate as she watched her husband leave the centre. Fred clapped his hands together, then rubbed them together. “Well then, Mrs. Turner, just like the good old days, innit? I await your command!”

Shelagh smiled weakly and led him to the back corner of the hall. “Right here, if you please, Fred. I’ll help you measure and you can put the growth chart in its proper place. We’ll have to be very precise. The National Health has very strict guidelines on units of measurement.”

Years of working together on odd repairs at Nonnatus had created an understanding between the two. Exchanging few words, Shelagh marked the measurements whilst Fred settled the chart in place. With his other hand he took the nail from his teeth and began to tap it into place.

“You and the doctor having a bit of a barney?” he asked, his eyes on the chart.

Shelagh’s eyes flew to him, her face pale with surprise. She sought excuses, but could think of none. Finally, she asked quietly, “Were we that obvious?”

Fred turned back, his face full of compassion. “The others, they didn’t see it,” he reassured her. “I’ve been married, remember. I know the signs. Polite enough to meet the Queen, not really looking at each other, oh, all the tell-tale hints.” He reached into his pocket for another nail. “I loved my wife, none better, but we could throw down something fierce. Stayed angry for days sometimes, not speak more than three words altogether. Then somefink’d happen and we’d remember what we were together for.”

Shelagh pressed her lips together in confusion. Part of her wanted to end this conversation quickly. She knew dear Fred meant well, but it really wasn’t anyone’s business. She was sure that Patrick would not want her discussing their private affairs with someone else.

The handyman reached into his toolbox for a small spirit guide. Shelagh knew he would put no pressure on her to continue. Patrick might not want her to talk with Fred, but she needed to speak with someone. This rift with her husband had her thoughts in a tangle. In a quiet voice, Shelagh confided, “We’ve never fought before; we don’t even bicker.” The crease between her eyebrows deepened.

“‘Course you don’t. You’re newlyweds. On yer best behavior, ain’t ya?” He turned around, giving his attention to the wall chart. “You and the doc, yer still gettin’ to know each other. A year ago, where were you? Still Sister Bernadette, in that sanatorium, and now look at ya. A wife and mother, livin’ a whole new life. That’s a long way to come in a twelvemonth.”

“I’m starting to think I don’t know him at all, Fred. I thought…” She breathed heavily, a catch in her voice. “He knows all there is to me, and  there’s still so much he’s never told me.”

Fred scratched the back of his head, a look of concentration on his face. “Is there? I reckon there are plenty of things you haven’t said, neither. It’s alright. Things take time. Yer still gettin’ to know each other.”

The anger she had quelled throughout the day with busy activity began to grow again. “But he should have told me. That’s what hurts so, Fred. He didn’t care enough or-or trust me enough to share something with me, something that really matters, something that could change everything we ever wanted. And now he wants me to pretend it never happened.”

Finished with the wall chart, the large man turned his attention to his toolbox. After a few moments, he began, “I want you to consider this. It took a rare courage to leave your old life behind, start fresh with Dr. Turner. You think he doesn’t trust you? Fiddle. That man knows your worth more’n anyone.

“There’s a reason he didn’t tell you somefink. I’m not sayin’ he was right, but I know, and you know that your husband is the best of men. And men want to be the hero, even if it’s just for their lady. Especially for their lady.”

“I didn’t marry Patrick because I needed him to be my hero, Fred.” Frustrated by the tears that began to fall, she pulled a handkerchief from her bag.

He smiled wisely. “No, it’s been my experience few ladies do. That doesn’t stop us from wantin’ to be one, though, does it? The important thing is to let the bad feelings go. Me and the missus never had a fight where we both weren’t to blame.”

Shelagh glanced away, ashamed. She had pushed all responsibility for this mess in Patrick’s corner. Patrick had not spoken, true. But had she listened?

“You just bide yer time, madam. You’ll soon remember what you’re together for.” The toolbox snapped closed loudly. “And then you’ll be stronger for it. Mark my words.”

On the steps outside the entrance, Shelagh thanked her old friend for his help.

Fred shook off the gratitude. “My pleasure. Always like to help things measure up.” He started down the steps, then turned back.

“One more thing, Mrs Turner. If you don’t ever fight, you don’t get to make up. And I have to tell ya, the makin’ up’s the best part.” With a tip of his hat, Fred the Handyman went on his way.

 

Chapter 4