Fun fluff to keep my mind off the catastrophe to come on Sunday with the final episode of Series 5 of Call the Midwife.  This bit of fluff occurs in that rather nice hotel Patrick spotted on the way to the campground from Atlantis.

“Your turn, Timothy!” Shelagh emerged from the bathroom bearing a wiggly, towel-wrapped toddler.

Fresh from his own bath, Patrick looked up from the artful arrangement of damp clothes he was creating around the hotel room. “I’m glad we kept our suitcases in the car at Sunny Vista, or we wouldn’t have a single dry thing to wear. As it is, my socks may be ruined.” He looked down at the offending items, then sniffed  in disgust.

“Yes. That would be a shame,” Shelagh teased. Rubbing Angela dry she asked, “Please pass me Angela’s nightgown, dear?”

Patrick grinned and tossed the pink pyjamas. “You said you liked my outfit.”

“I most certainly did not. The shorts I could bear if they fit properly, but I do wish you’d let me buy you a pair of trainers.” Angela’s head popped through the neck hole of her nightgown and she laughed sleepily.

Patrick moved to sit next to the little girl. “Here, I’ll finish with Angela. Go get a quick bath in our room–you look like you could use it. We’ll read a quick story and this little angel will be asleep in no time.”

“I do admire your optimism, Patrick. Don’t forget–”

“Her bear, yes, I know. I have done this before, Shelagh.”

Shelagh chuckled. “I’ll see you in a little while then. Night-night kisses, Angela!” Mother and daughter exchanged a loud kiss. “Good night, Timothy,” Shelagh called through the bathroom door.

She paused at the hotel room door. “Thank you, Patrick. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Over half an hour, four stories and three songs later, Patrick slipped into their room. Steam wafted from the open bathroom door, and he could hear the water splashing. Grateful for the chance to relax, he sat to remove his socks and sandals. His jacket and shirt followed, and he hung them over the last remaining chair in the room.

“This place looks like a laundry,” he muttered. The hotel clerk said he would call a local woman to take their camp-weary clothes in the morning. If they were lucky, the weather would brighten and they could unfurl the tents to dry as well.

He wondered, was the surgery in a similar state of upheaval, too? He trusted Sister Julienne’s judgment, certainly, but Dr. Godfrey did seem a bit off to him. With a deep breath, Patrick rubbed his face. “Let it go, Turner,” he said to himself. “You’re on holiday.”

“Did you say something, Patrick?” Shelagh stood in the doorway, wrapped in a large towel and her hair pulled up high. There were damp tendrils of hair clinging to her neck, and her skin glowed pink from the heat of the bath.

All thought of the surgery flew from his mind. He loved camping–really, he did–especially when the weather was a bit more favorable. But there was definitely something to be said for private hotel rooms with locks on the door.

He stood up and walked slowly towards his wife. Shelagh’s eyes grew round. “Oh, no, Patrick. The children might come in at any moment,” she protested.

He reached up and pulled the few pins holding up her hair. “No, they won’t. Angela’s out like a light and Tim has his book. We won’t hear from them until morning.” His hands came to rest on her shoulders. “There’s something to be said for the creature comforts.”

Shelagh’s hands slipped under his vest, her fingers gliding over his skin. “You promise no talk about ulcer clinics?’

A low groan escaped him. His arms pulled her close and his lips found the warm smooth skin of her shoulders. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Much later, sated and very grateful for the luxuries of a soft bed, they lay wrapped around each other. Patrick’s voice broke the silence. “Thank you, Shelagh.”

“Don’t thank me, you did most of the work this time,” she purred.

“Minx.” He pressed a kiss to her fingers. “All this rain and that dreadful tent. You’ve done all you can to keep up our spirits. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“It’s alright, dear. I know you worry, and you’ve been wet from the moment we got here. I’m simply glad we’ve had time together. Before you know it, Timothy will be too big to want to go away with us.” With one last squeeze, she sat up from the bed. She found her nightie and slipped it over her head, then tossed him his striped pyjamas. “We won’t have time to scramble for these when the children come in the morning. Oh, and these sheets are a tangle! Get up, Patrick, please, and help me set things to right.”

Patrick shuddered from the chill on his exposed body. With a resigned sigh, he scrambled into his night clothes and straightened his side of the bed. “At least, your cheeks are still flushed. You can act all bossy and efficient, Shelagh Turner, but I know the real you.”

Shelagh pulled the covers to her shoulders and turned to face her husband. “And I couldn’t be happier.”