Poor Patrick has been suffering long enough, don’t you think? Maybe it’s time for him to have the think session needed to get him back to his happy life.

Thank you all for your support of this fic. It was a real challenge to write Patrick in the first person without becoming too self-indulgent.  I thought it was fitting to use the patient list to highlight the journey he has to take to get to a place of trust. Who knew Lady Browne would come in so handy?

I hope you enjoy this conclusion.

Here’s a link to Part Three

I needed space. I drove without thinking, passing through the darkening streets. The stonework of the city slowly began to give way to greener spaces, and soon I found myself on a long, quiet stretch of road.  

The steady hum of the engine eased my mind into a blank space. All thoughts from the long day receded and I focussed on the grey asphalt before me, the harvested fields along the road. The tight coil of tension I felt in my entire body began to ease into a dull ache. After a few more miles, I pulled over to the side of the road. I inhaled one last drag from my cigarette before I climbed from the car and began to walk.

Exercise. That’s what I needed. I’d been too cooped up on the narrow confines of the city for too long. I needed to fill my lungs with the sharp cool air of the countryside; to stretch my legs and feel my heart pump firmly in my chest. I needed time to be away from all the demands.

Long strides took me down the road, the sound of my shoes clicking on the hard surface a sort of white noise that filled my head. Before long, I came to a crossroads. I turned and looked back. The car was too far back for me to see in the gloaming, even along the straight road. I knew it was there, waiting for me. But if I kept walking on, would I lose it?

I hesitated. The road sign indicated villages in either direction, not so very far off. I wasn’t likely to entirely lose my way. I lit another cigarette and pulled the smoke deep into my lungs.

Deliberately, I reached into my pocket and pulled out Shelagh’s scarf. The smooth silk seemed almost fluid in my hand; solid, but almost intangible at the same time. I loved Shelagh in blue. Not for the first time, I chuckled to myself about that. Would I feel the same about the color if the habits worn by the Nonnatuns were another color?

An image came to my mind, blocking the ardent feelings the scarf conjured:  Shelagh’s face, stunned into a sharp anger as she rounded on me after that horrible interview. I could hear her voice, accusing me, blaming me for destroying her dreams.

But we’d been approved, after all. Why, then, had she looked at me with such pained confusion this morning? She was getting what she wanted. My mind turned away from the thought, only to hear her words again.

“How can you treat others when you so clearly cannot treat yourself.”*

My eyes closed tightly to block the image. Where had that come from? Shelagh knew me, better than anyone. Did she now doubt even my medical abilities?

She was wrong. I was a good doctor. I wasn’t perfect, but I knew that much. I hadn’t fallen into the traps so many other medical men had succumbed to. I wasn’t arrogant, or cynical, or indifferent. I could care for my patients without regard to my own troubles.

So what if I preferred to keep parts of my life in separate little compartments? Bringing up the pain from the past would do no good, and would indeed keep me from doing good. We had been happy until this matter. During the trials of Timothy’s polio and Shelagh’s own struggles, I was there, strong and supportive, and I had helped.

Even now, in the midst of this mess, I worked to improve lives, to lessen pain. How could Shelagh expect me to care for my patients if I were focussed on our problems? My mind filtered through the people I had helped through the years of pain. For God’s sake, hadn’t I found a way through the agonies of the war to help the people of Poplar? How did Shelagh think I managed to get through the pain of Marianne’s death?

But her words kept going through my head. “Treat yourself.” No. Shelagh was wrong. The past was best left just there. Dwelling on it would only make things worse. My way was better. My way was the only way.

I rolled my shoulders, set on my course. I would continue as I was. Shelagh would grow to understand, and our life together could resume its course. I turned back towards the car.

There was still work to be done before I went home. My notes for Lady Browne were yet to be completed, and the list for tomorrow’s nursing calls needed adjusting. I didn’t envy the workload the Nonnatuns would face with the added burden of the loss of Chummy.

My feet halted in their progress. Nonnatus would send a rotation of nurses for the woman’s care. Would Nurse Noakes remain with her mother or would she go out on her own calls? Was I wrong to assume Chummy would remain home to assist in her mother’s care?  

My throat tightened. During Marianne’s illness, I worked long hours away from home. Poplar’s population was booming, and fewer doctors were coming to the area. My practice consumed nearly as much of my attention as it had in those early days of the National Health Service. 

Just as in the early days of our marriage, when the scars from the war were still fresh, Marianne and I tacitly agreed to concentrate on the present during her illness. We were of a like mind that way. Neither of us wanted to allow the pain to surface. Marianne filled her last days with time with Timothy, whilst I centered my attention on my patients.

“Hell’s teeth.” The quiet exclamation escaped my lips as the full impact of the thought hit me. Every time life became unbearable, I used work as an escape. I wondered now if perhaps I chose to start my post-war practice in Poplar for this very reason. In the East End, I could keep my secrets in the dark. In the East End, I could pretend my past did not exist.

My hands opened, and the silk began to slip through my fingers. With a convulsive clench, I caught the scarf and brought it to my face. “Shelagh,” I whispered.

From the moment Shelagh picked up the telephone and called me from the Sanatorium, she had been brave, honest and completely committed to our life together. There was a fierceness to her love, a depth I never knew in my partitioned life. Perhaps it was her faith, perhaps her own openness, but Shelagh had brought such wonder to my life. Was I willing to let that disappear?  At the very least, I owed her my complete trust.

Shelagh’s  love had opened up parts of my heart I had never known existed, and I rejoiced in it. I was a fool to think I could be content with anything less.

I felt the burden lift from my shoulders as I accepted my course. Shelagh knew me, flaws and all, and loved me still. She would help me tear down the walls I had built up separating myself, and we would be stronger for it. My steps quickened as I grew more impatient to get back to my wife.

We had work to do.

*Line taken from dialogue in Call the Midwife, S3E8.