For a week, Patrick was a cheerful non-smoker, perhaps even a bit smug. The family was amazed at his determination and positive attitude. He would pontificate largely on the wonders of his sharpened sense of smell and taste, how he felt free from the tyranny of the cigarette.
“Since medical school, Tim. Over thirty years,” he reminded his son more than once. “I was a smoker for over thirty years. Kicked it straight off.”
Even a supportive son has his limits, though, and Timothy started spending a bit more time outside.
Shelagh was made of sterner stuff, and was happy to hear Patrick’s tales of conversion. His cough hadn’t stopped completely, but was improving enough to ease her worries.
However, the sense of triumph may have blinded her to what was to come.
The eighth day cigarette-free, Patrick seemed distracted. During clinic he was subjected to a stern lecture from Sister Evangelina on the merits of paying attention to a patient. On his calls, old Mr. Talbot had to remind him twice that it was his leg the good doctor was there to see, and not his ear.
By the time he arrived home for dinner, even later than usual, Patrick was a bit irritable.
The tenth day, Patrick woke late, forgot he was to make calls at the London Hospital, and picked a fight with Timothy about the length of his pants.
Shelagh reminded Timothy that the road ahead would be a bit rocky, and his father deserved their patience.
Even Angela was not immune to his irritation. After a week and a half of no cigarettes, Patrick became less understanding of the infant’s night time waking habits.
Through all this, Shelagh was the soul of patience. She had asked a great deal of him, the very least she could do was fulfill her promise to stand by his side.
So, how to help? Obviously, Patrick needed some distractions. She brought him some gum to chew. She encouraged walks. She thought of projects to keep him busy. Patrick would succeed, she was determined.
By the second Saturday, it seemed as if nothing would help. Home early from a slow day at the surgery, Patrick was tired, bored and cranky. And apparently, looking for a fight.
Shelagh knew better than to rise to the bait, but Timothy…Well, Timothy was a growing boy, after all, eager to prove himself a man.
After a lunch featuring sniping and passive-aggressive arguments, the poor woman had had enough. She dressed Angela in her warmest sweater, wrapped her in the favorite pink blanket and announced, “Timothy, it’s time for you to take your sister for a very long walk.”
Normally, Tim would balk at such a task on a Saturday afternoon, but the idea of spending the day working on his history theme as his father prowled about the flat was enough to make the boy jump at the chance to get out.
“Can I go to Nonnatus? See if anyone’s there?” he asked quietly.
“Yes. Here’s a bottle just in case. She’s changed and fed, so you should be fine for at least an hour.” Shelagh glanced back down the hall. “Yes. I’ll need at least an hour. Maybe two. Trust me, Tim. I have a plan.”
She returned to find Patrick still at the table, drumming his fingers on its surface. “Don’t start, Shelagh. He was just as difficult as-”
“Yes, dear,” Shelagh interrupted. “I know. You’re a wee bit out of sorts today.” She smiled brightly at him. “You just need a distraction, that’s all.”
Patrick’s head craned to the ceiling, his eyes rolling in disgust. “Shelagh, I am not fixing another squeaky hinge or helping you transpose another tenor part for the choir. If you think-”
“Shh. I know,” Shelagh stepped closer to him and cradled his cheek. She bent down and placed a warm kiss on his unresponsive lips.
“Shelagh,” he complained. “I will not be manipulated like this. If you think you can…what are you doing?”
“Nothing, Patrick. Certainly not manipulating you.” Her dress fell to the floor.
“Shelagh!”
“I promised I would help, Patrick. So I’m helping.” Placing one foot on the chair across from him, she unsnapped the suspenders to her left stocking and slid it down her leg. “Don’t you want my help, dearest?” she asked innocently.
For a long moment Patrick stared at his wife. Then he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, releasing the bad mood with it. His hand reached over and glided up the length of her calf.
“So everytime I want a cigarette you’re going to seduce me?”
“Is there a problem with that?” Standing before him, Shelagh’s innocent smile became rather saucy.
“I don’t know,” he answered. He swiftly flicked the suspenders on the other leg and tossed the stocking on the floor with its mate. “I smoked for a very long time, Shelagh. I think I’m going to need a lot of distractions.”
Pulling him to his feet, Shelagh wrapped her arms around his neck to bring his face to hers. “Whatever it takes, Patrick. A girl has to do what a girl has to do.”
My Little Yellowbird 