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Courting Shelagh, Epilogue

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Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4       Chapter 5     Chapter 6     Chapter 7

My head canon has the Turners out of that flat and in a cozy house on a square (Maybe one like Rockbird86‘s Moving Day? Actually, exactly like that one). And some dropped-in lines from along the way, too.

Climbing the steps to his front door, Patrick Turner sighed wearily. A week of night duty, plus a long Saturday surgery, and he was weary to the bone. A quick meal, then he’d take the newspaper out into the back garden, cover his face and sleep.

As he turned his key in the lock he was startled by a ball striking against the door, narrowly missing his head. He turned to see the source of his near assault.

“Oi, Dr. Turner! Sorry, sir!” A bright-faced boy of ten ran up to the steps. “Glad I missed yer head!”

Patrick wanted to scold, but the boy’s remorse made him hold back. “Be more careful, Eddie,” Patrick warned. “If you break another window on the street you’ll be in a fix. Is Angela with you children in the park?”

“Yes, sir. She’s…” the boy’s voice trailed off, unwilling to tattle on a playmate.

Patrick nodded. Angela was up to something, but at this moment, he’d rather not know.

“Just make sure she doesn’t break an arm or anything, please? I’d rather sign off for the day.”

The boy laughed. His ball under his elbow, he ran off. “Righto, Dr. Turner!”

The house was quiet as he entered. “Shelagh?” he called. He dropped his medical bag in its place on the hall table and made his way to the kitchen. There was no sign of her, other than a covered plate and a bottle of brown sauce. He peeked under the towel. A bacon buddy, piled nearly as high as he liked with bacon. He smiled. Shelagh did not approve of his tremendous affinity for bacon and rationed his servings. She no doubt assumed (correctly) he had enough out in the cafes and sandwich shops around the East End.

Shelagh also knew what a terribly long week this had been. Calls every night, long clinics and a tedious medical board meeting over the fate of the inoculation program had consumed his time. This sandwich was her gentle way of helping him relax.

Three bites into his lunch, he wandered over to the window and scanned the garden. There she was, weeding in the vegetable patch, her knees resting on an old kitchen mat. Patrick leant up against the sink, admiring the view. Still just shy of forty, his wife was a beauty. The summer sun always lightened her hair just a bit now they had this house and garden, and he loved the few freckles that appeared on her nose for a few brief weeks. A smirk crossed his face. It wasn’t the freckles he was appreciating at the moment. Patrick wondered if Shelagh had any idea what that skirt did to her form as she knelt over her work.

Despite his fatigue, he could feel his body respond to the sight. He missed Shelagh. How long had it been? Patrick considered for a moment. He’d been out every night this week, and the weekend before Angela had been ill with a stomach ‘flu… He started. Nine days!

Nine days was completely ridiculous. He would be certain not to make it run to ten.

Shelagh stood and removed her gloves, brushing the dust from her skirt. With a twist of her hips, she bent to lift the basket of weeds to toss, then headed inside. Patrick turned on the tap, warming the water for her to wash up.

“Patrick! I didn’t hear you come in, dearest. How was the clinic?” She reached up to kiss his cheek before moving to the sink to wash her hands. Patrick smiled. He could practically hear her thinking, ‘Briskly, beyond the wrists…’

Shelagh continued, “I’ve made you some lunch. Sorry it’s not warm, but it will be a busy afternoon and I needed to clean up.”

Patrick moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Burying his face in her hair he murmured, “It’s eaten. Let me thank you properly.”

Shelagh laughed and reached for the tea towel. Turning in his arms, she answered, “That won’t be necessary, Patrick. A thank you is quite enough, It was just a bacon sandwich.”

“Not just for the food. Let me thank you properly for everything.” His hands travelled down to her hips, and his eyes gleamed.

“Patrick,” Shelagh scolded mildly.

“Shelagh,” Patrick coaxed. “The children are out, we have the afternoon…”

Shelagh placed her hands on his shoulders. “Patrick, you’ve forgotten. We promised Tim we’d go to his cricket game this afternoon. It’s the last one before he leaves for university.”

Patrick groaned. “When do we leave?”

“We have to be there by two, so we should leave in an hour, perhaps?” She pushed against the counter and made to move.

“An hour? That’s plenty of time for now.” He nibbled on her ear and whispered. “A refresher? To warm us up for later?”

“I have to make up a basket of food. I promised,” Shelagh protested half-heartedly.

Patrick pressed closer to her lithe body. “We’ll stop at the chip shop. We haven’t spent any time together in weeks.”

“Weeks! Patrick, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Shelagh laughed.

He growled lightly in her ear.

“Patrick, it has NOT been weeks. It was…”  she considered. “It was a week Thursday. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Last Thursday? As long ago as that? Shelagh, that’s forever.” He stood, his face serious. “We spend so little time together now, between my practice, you working, the children. Shelagh, I miss you.”

Abruptly, the front door slammed open, followed by noisy footsteps. Frustrated, Patrick turned to reprimand his daughter, only to be interrupted by his wife.

“Angela Julienne Turner! Whatever on earth have you been up to?”

The youngest member of the household stood before them, covered with mud and grass. Angela bit her lip and looked at the floor. “There was a puddle near the old tree, and I bet Jimmy Feeney I could jump it in one leap.”

Patrick felt his temper rise. Fortunately, Shelagh intervened. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, we have to get you out of these filthy clothes. Don’t move. It’ll be easier to clean the kitchen floor than the carpets.” She began on the buttons on their daughter’s blouse. “Patrick, dear, you go out to the garden and rest. I’ve got this.”

“No, I’ll clean up this mess. You see to the beast,” Patrick responded resignedly.

Angela giggled. “I am a beast, aren’t I?”

“You’re most certainly not a beauty right now, madam.” He opened the cupboard and took out the mop and pail. “And make sure you help your mother clean up the mess you’ll leave behind in the bath.”

 

The late afternoon sun barely lit up the Turner’s hallway when they arrived at home a few hours later.

“We forgot to leave the light on again. I hate coming home to a dark house,” Patrick groused.

“That’s easily managed,” Shelagh answered cheerfully, and flicked the switch.

“Daddy, you really need a nap.” Angela piped in.

Determinedly, he ignored her. “When’s dinner?”

“Soon. Why don’t you go have a rest whilst I get things ready? Angela can help me. Come back down in an hour or so.” Shelagh leant up and kissed his cheek.

“It’s probably for the best. I’ve been a bear today.” He patted her shoulder and turned to go up the stairs.

The bed creaked mildly as he sat to remove his shoes. “A nap. It’s like I’m another child in this house.”

He shook his head. He was being unfair. It was his own mood that brought him up here, Shelagh was only trying to help. The afternoon at the cricket pitch would have been a disaster if not for her. Angela’s scrape had made them nearly late, something Tim was quick to blame his father for. Only Shelagh’s gentle handling had prevented the two males from having a row right then and there.

He could feel himself start to relax. Maybe he was simply overtired. Mentally, he reviewed the calendar for the next week. Night duty at the maternity ward on Tuesday, but the rest of the week wasn’t so bad. Thank goodness there were no more meetings anticipated with Mr. Hargrove. The inoculation program was safe for the time being.

Hopefully, Angela’s shenanigans and the preparations for Tim’s departure wouldn’t consume them. Poor Tim. Shelagh had shopped and stacked and packed the boy to the end of his patience. With two weeks to go, little else remained on her to-do list. The chaos should settle down.

He would ask Tim to sit with Angela one night. He and Shelagh hadn’t been out alone together for months. Whatever happened to their plan of making time to go out once a week?

As he drifted to sleep, the answer came to him.

Life.

 

Two hours later, Patrick woke to darkened room. He glanced at his watch, knowing he wouldn’t be able to see the small dials in such dim light, and sat up. It couldn’t be that late, he could hear noise from downstairs. He stood and stretched. Time to rejoin the world.

On his way down to the kitchen he paused. There was music coming from the sitting room, yet the room seemed dark. He pulled the doors open and stopped, stunned. In the far corner, the small table usually reserved for homework or crafts glowed under candlelight, draped by a crisp white linen tablecloth and set with the good china. Beside it, stood Shelagh in her favorite going-out dress.

Patrick stepped quietly to his wife. “What’s all this?” he wondered aloud.

“I thought perhaps we could make an evening of it. I’ve shipped Angela off to Charlotte’s for the night, and Tim won’t be home until quite late.” She reached for his hands.

“We’ve barely had any time together these last weeks, and it’s time to make a change. We can’t let life get in the way all the time, dearest. Sometimes we have to come first.”

Patrick smiled. With certainty of long practice, he removed her glasses to his shirt pocket and pulled her close.  They let the music surround them as they began to move to the music.

“What would I do without you, Shelagh?” he murmured in her ear. “You always know how to make everything better.”

Shelagh pressed herself even closer, her smooth cheek grazing his rough one. “Hmmm…” she purred. “Perhaps it would be best if we discuss what you’ll do with me?”

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 5

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Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3     Chapter 4    

Patrick moved a step back, breaking the contact between them. Shelagh’s eyes fluttered open, revealing still-dilated pupils. He smiled at her slightly dazed expression and slid his hands back up to grasp her upper arms.

“I’m famished,” he whispered mischievously.

A bashful grin swept her face, and Shelagh returned to the moment. “If you’ll follow me, then?” she asked as she led the way down the hallway.

If there was a fabric that loved a woman, Patrick thought, it would be velvet. He watched as Shelagh went before him, the luminous fabric clinging to her lithe form just so. He wondered if she knew how well suited she was to this dress. Not likely. If she had any idea what thoughts the dress conjured in his mind, she’d be tucked up safe and sound in her rented room.

“Get a hold of yourself, man,” he thought to himself and shook his head, following her into the sitting room.

Patrick stopped in the doorway in amazement. The lights were dimmed, and the table set with a crisp white linen cloth and the best plates. Two candles burned warmly, as the low sounds of music came from the record player.

“Shelagh, love. You did all this?”

“I know how much you wanted to go out tonight, Patrick. When you called to say that you’d be late, I thought we could make our own evening. Mrs. Trevell let me borrow a few things from the kitchen and sent along some food. It’s only cold ham and egg pie and a bit of greens, I’m afraid, but Mrs. B gave me some lovely pastries and some bread. We can pretend it’s Cordon Blue.”

He grinned as he took it all in. “You’re splendid, Shelagh. You always know how to make everything better.” He touched the china plate.

“Timothy told me about your mother’s china once. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve taken it out?” Shelagh’s voice was hurried.

“Mind? Of course not. I don’t think we ever used it. My brother certainly didn’t need it, and Marianne had her own, so it just went to the back of the cupboard. I’d forgotten it, to be honest.” He examined Shelagh’s bent head. “My mother would be proud that we’re using it, Shelagh. She would have loved you.”

Shelagh glanced back up at him, and he captured her gaze. His head tilted as he assured her, “It’s perfect, my love. It’s not the Ritz, but I think it will do just as well,”

“Patrick!” Shelagh gasped. “You never meant for us to go there tonight!”

“Only the best for my girl!” He moved a step closer, his eyes warm. “At least here we don’t have to spend so much time in travel. As it is, we’ll have to hurry if we’re to get you back in time before the door’s locked.”

Shelagh shook her head, blushing. “Mrs. Trevell gave me a key. Just for tonight, mind you. She said she’d hate to see this dress go to waste.”

Patrick’s eyebrows danced on his forehead. “Thank you, Mrs. Trevell!” With a quick kiss on her cheek, he held out her chair. “If Madam would care to be seated?”

Shelagh’s blush grew deeper. “Patrick,” she half-heartedly chided.

Seating himself, Patrick shook out his napkin. “This looks delicious. Tim will be jealous. He says the ham and egg pie in hospital is revolting.”

Shelagh dished out a large portion to Patrick. “How was Timothy this evening? I’m afraid I was too distracted to finish anything more than his maths today. Did he have his physical therapy?”

Unwilling to worry her unnecessarily, Patrick had not mentioned his son’s little health scare. He couldn’t keep it from Shelagh any longer and was grateful he could tell her Tim was fine. Taking a deep breath, he began to explain.

Shelagh’s face showed more disquiet as he went on. “Shelagh, he was fine. I would have called you in if it had been any more serious.”

“Yes, but Patrick, if I had stayed when I usually do, I might have noticed his cough sooner. That Nurse Wilson is too aggressive with his exercises. I suppose I’m simply going to have to extend my visits.” Her face was determined.

“Shelagh,” Patrick interrupted. His hands came down on either side of his plate. “You can’t be with him all the time. Especially while he’s in hospital. we have to trust in the care that he’s receiving. And,” he reached for her fingers, “you have responsibilities elsewhere. Tim doesn’t expect you to be there all your waking hours. He’s thrilled to have you as much as he does.” He tried to catch her eye again. “He was bragging only yesterday how he knows more of your secrets than I do.”

Cautiously, Shelagh met his look and a small smile started. “And you’re certain he isn’t upset that I left him this afternoon?”

“I am completely certain.” He raised her hand up and kissed it gently. “Tonight was his idea in the first place. He’s been listening to the nurses, and it seems a gentleman should woo a lady.”

The blush returned. “That’s not necessary, Patrick, I told you. I’m quite happy as I am spending our evenings with Timothy.”

“He knows that, which is precisely why he won’t mind if you step away for an evening. My love, you and Timothy and me, we’re a family. Even now, before we’re married, we are. That’s important. But you and I, we’re a couple. After Tim, or any future children grow up and leave us, it’ll be us two.” His eyes softened. “I fell in love with you quite apart from the idea that you could be a mother to Timothy, you know.”

Shelagh sat quietly, her eyes on her plate. Even months later, they still didn’t say those words often.  Patrick waited as she absorbed his meaning. After a moment, she raised her eyes to his, a smile lighting up her face.

“If you’re going to say such lovely things, dearest, I’m afraid I will have to insist we do this more often.”

A laugh escaped his throat. Picking up his fork, he grinned. “That’s settled then. I am definitely going to like this.”

Next Chapter

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 4

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Chapter 1     Chapter 2     Chapter 3

Footsteps echoed in the dim hallway as Patrick climbed the last of the stairs to the flat. Unable to stop himself, he glanced at his watch for the hundredth time. Nearly nine. Too late for dinner, certainly, and more than likely not enough time for even a brief visit with Shelagh before the door to the boarding house was locked for the night. This was definitely not the evening he planned.

He rolled his shoulders to try to ease some of the tension stored up, and turned the key in its lock. As he pushed the door open, he was surprised by the warm light that flooded the hallway. Had he forgotten to turn off the lights when he left?

Patrick shook his head. His head had been in the clouds this morning, full of plans now unfulfilled. Eager to find a florist so early, he must have forgotten to close up the flat properly.

He reached to hang his battered coat on its hook and paused. Was that music? He was certain he hadn’t had the radio on this morning.

At that moment, Shelagh stepped from the sitting room. “Hello, Patrick,” she welcomed.

“Shelagh!” He exclaimed. “How on earth…”

She smiled shyly. “I thought we might have a better chance of seeing each other tonight if I met you here. I’ve brought some dinner, you must be famished.”

Patrick stood staring down, his face frozen in surprise. Shelagh had been at the forefront of his thoughts for so much of the day, he wasn’t sure she wasn’t a figment of his tired and lonely imagination.

The woman before him was different somehow, and finally, Patrick’s brain registered the change. Shelagh’s typical subdued attire was left behind, her dark neutral dresses and cardigan replaced by an eye-catching navy blue velvet dress and new black pumps a bit higher than her usual fashion. He swallowed thickly.

“You walked all the way from Mrs. Trevell’s dressed like this?” If Patrick had been distracted this morning by the unexpected sight of her collarbone, there was little hope of concentration now. The supple fabric dipped into a demure portrait collar, somehow all the more alluring for its reserve. Again,  Patrick could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He shook his head to clear it. It wouldn’t do to startle her with his thoughts.

Shelagh glanced down and ran her hands over the folds of the skirt. She blushed. “This? My coat covered it up. I know the shoes must look a bit silly, but they’re quite comfortable really. I let Trixie talk me into them, and I bought this dress back before…when I first came back from St. Anne’s. It was silly to spend my money on something so frivolous, but I couldn’t resist. I was already dressed when you called, so I thought I should at least get some wear out of it.” She looked up, her smile wide. “Besides, it’s not such a very far walk, Patrick. You used to walk me home each night before Christmas, remember?”

He closed his eyes at the memory and took a deep breath.  He left the coat on its hook and turned to her with a gentle nod. “I remember.” In control, he moved closer and said, “I’d like to greet your properly, but I’m a mess. I’ve got grease everywhere, and I’ve probably ruined this coat. Let me go wash up and I’ll be with you in two shakes.”

“Your coat?” Shelagh asked, a crease appearing over her nose.

“Yes, it got caught in the door of Fred’s van. There’s a tear right down the back. I’m fairly certain it’s irreparable.” He placed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

A quick trip to wash the remnants of the evening’s detour away, and then a change of clothes was in order. As he closed the door to his bedroom, he smiled widely. His plans had certainly fallen apart: no dinner and dancing tonight, perhaps, but Shelagh was here. All the rest didn’t matter. The night was perfect.

He pulled his tie loose and went to the wardrobe for a clean shirt. There he found more evidence of Shelagh’s presence, for she had begun to collect his shirts each week from the cleaners, leaving them neatly folded for him in his room. The thought of her in this place stirred him again, and he sighed.  They might not be often at the flat together, but in her small ways, Shelagh was making it a home. Soon, it would be their home.

He tossed his soiled shirt in the washing bin and shrugged a clean one over his shoulders. As he buttoned it up, his eyes wandered, then caught a slip of paper left on his pillow. His eyebrows creased in question as he unfolded the sheet.

Dearest Patrick,

Thank you so very much for the lovely flowers this morning. Their scent has traveled with me all day.

As I’ve gone about my day today, people have commented again and again that I look very happy. I’m not surprised they can see it. I feel as if I’m fit to bursting with it.

I look forward to our date this evening (I still blush when I think of it), and know I am the luckiest woman alive.

Your

Shelagh

 

The bed creaked under his weight as he sank down upon it, struggling with himself. He thought he had gained a certain mastery of himself. Tonight should be about making Shelagh feel special. He intended to court her tonight, not ease his own desires, but this note brought his passion back up.  It was all he could do to stop himself from thrusting the door open and in several strides taking her in his arms. Determined to master himself, he stood. Shelagh deserved a gentle courtship, so he tamped down his desire and finished dressing.

A few minutes later, dressed in his best suit, hair smooth, he joined her in the sitting room. Tonight wouldn’t be the Ritz, but he would woo her as she deserved. He closed the door to the private part of the flat, expecting to find her waiting in the sitting room. Instead, Shelagh was just as he had left her, standing at the coatrack. Her hand held a sleeve as her fingers caressed the old wool.

She glanced up as she heard his step, and her cheeks flooded with color.

“My love?” He asked, his head tilted in a question.

Shelagh dropped the sleeve and turned to him. “It’s silly. Promise you won’t make fun.”

He couldn’t help as a smiled tugged at his mouth crookedly. “I’ll try.” His eyes wandered over the coat in question.

“You’ll definitely need a new coat. The tear isn’t on the seam, and the fabric’s too worn to mend.”

He nodded. “I thought so.”

Her eyes shifted away from his face. She bit her lip, and he waited for her to find the words she needed.

Finally, she looked back up at him, her clear eyes meeting his squarely. “Don’t throw it away, Patrick.”

This was not what Patrick was expecting. He shook his head slightly. “I don’t follow. I can’t donate it, no one will want it.”

She reached out again and stroked the fabric. “I want it.”

A memory crossed her face, and Patrick began to understand. He reached behind her, taking the coat from its hook. Gently, he wrapped it around her, his hands holding it closed at her neck.

“It’s not so very misty, here, is it?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head. “No,” she answered.

They stood together, a mirror of themselves that fateful day. So much had happened since then, his life turned right-side-up. All the emotion of that day came back, and yet there was more.

“I held you like this that day,” he whispered.

Beyond words, Shelagh nodded.

“I didn’t kiss you, then.” His voice grew husky. “I didn’t, but I wanted to. I was so afraid that if I moved, you would disappear.”

A quiet breath shuddered from her lungs. “I was afraid, too.”

His thumb caressed the old coat at her chin, then slowly, his hands turned and held her face.

“And now?” He whispered.

Her voice came to him quiet, but clear. “I’m not going away, Patrick.”

The words were barely across her lips before he pressed his mouth to hers, tender and gentle. For weeks-no, months- he had kept his passion for her under a tight leash. After so long, the feel of her soft mouth beneath his broke that restraint. His arms wrapped around her tightly, and he pulled her close. Shelagh relaxed against him and he felt her lips move under his. A small sound came from her throat and he felt his remaining control slip. Gently nipping at her lips, he felt her mouth soften even more and he deepened the kiss.

Her acceptance of him, the shift in her breathing, made him desperate to know more of her. As her arms slid up around his shoulders, he groaned and pulled her impossibly close. The taste of her, the scent of her, consumed his senses.

The coat fell from her shoulders, pooling at their feet and the moment was broken. Patrick slowly lifted his head from hers, ending the kiss slowly. He rested his lips against her forehead as they struggled to regain their breath.

A smile crossed his face. He knew Shelagh loved him. Every day she showed her love in the little things she did for him. The passion was there, he felt it in her body still, yet he also knew this passion would confuse her. He would slow things down, he would court her. Tonight, Shelagh would know just how special she was.

“Shelagh,” he whispered against her hair, “shall we begin our date?”

Next Chapter

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 3

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A/N: I’m going to have to stick by my decision in earlier fics. I simply cannot use the label “Aunty Shelagh.” It’s a deliberate break from canon, I know, and generally I stick pretty close to the dogma.

In this, however, I must rebel.

Chapter 1     Chapter 2

Whistling as he sauntered down the hospital corridor, Patrick felt quite pleased with himself. Since rising, the day had gone precisely according to plan. Mr. Stone, the neighborhood florist and chief died-in-the-wool romantic, had been happy to open his shop to Patrick for his early morning floral surprise. A quick stop at Nonnatus had yielded both the promise of a visit to the hospital by Fred, and also a few pointers regarding the fine art of twirling a lady in just the proper manner to ensure maximum closeness during a foxtrot. Now for a quick visit with Tim, then home to shave, wash and dress before meeting Shelagh with plenty of time.

Timothy sat up in his bed, already well into his copy of Captains Courageous. He smiled smugly at his father. “So, Dad, any special plans tonight?”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yes, Tim, full marks to you. Shelagh’s been and told you, I assume?”

“Not that much, really, just that after her morning visit she wouldn’t be back with you in the evening as you were taking her out.” A little embarrassed, eye glanced sideways at his father. “She got all flustered, actually. She must have apologized ten times for not coming tonight.” A sudden cough broke from him, shaking his thin shoulders. Patrick stood, and automatically reached for the missing stethoscope ordinarily draped over his shoulders. When the coughing fit ended, he asked, concerned, “How long have you had that cough, Tim?”

Tim’s color returned. “It’s nothing, Dad.”

“No cough is nothing in a polio patient, son. How long?”

“Just an hour or two,” the boy responded begrudgingly.

Patrick beckoned to the nurse. “Where’s Dr. Carson?” He demanded. The pulmonologist was known to be frequently at hand.

“Likely on the Men’s Ward right now. He’ll be down to look at the children in an hour or so, Dr. Turner.”

Patrick decided now was the time to cash in on some of the good will Shelagh had built up on the ward. “Call him down, please. It’s urgent.”

“Dad-” Timothy began, interrupted by another fit.

As expected, Dr. Carson arrived at Tim’s bedside shortly thereafter, and after a quick listen to the young boy’s lungs, called for an x-ray. “There’s no fever, and the lungs sound clear, but you’re right, Dr. Turner. I don’t like the sound of that cough. Does it hurt, Tim?”

“No, it’s just a little cough.” Timothy refused to look at the two men at his bedside.

Patrick sensed something beyond the cough was troubling his son. “Tim, you have to tell us. You know as well as we do that even a cold could be a setback.”

Tim scowled. “It doesn’t hurt, Dad, honest. It’s just a cough. But now you’re going to stay here all night. You’ll cancel your date with Shelagh and she’ll be so dreadfully disappointed. Again.”

Dr. Carson hid a smile. “Let me see about moving that x-ray along, then. Nobody wants a disappointed Miss Mannion.”

An hour later, the men consulted over the x-ray.

“It all looks clear, Tim. And the cough has settled. We’ll keep an eye on you tonight, though, to be safe,” Dr. Cardon advised.

“You keep an eye on me every night,” Tim answered grumpily. “Privacy is not exactly growing on trees here. Even during my physical therapy this afternoon, after Shelagh left the nurses kept forgetting to close my curtain.”

Patrick’s eyebrows drew into a look of concentration. “Physical therapy? What did you do today?”

“A bunch of really annoying arm exercises. Up and down, stretching wide-I hate those. They make it hard to catch my breath.”

Understanding the problem now, Patrick nodded his head. “That’s it. Your therapy today irritated your lungs a bit. That accounts for the coughing, and it also explains the decrease in the cough’s strength and frequency in the last hour as you’ve recovered.”

Tim dropped his head back on his pillow. “I told you it was nothing, Dad. I’m fine. Now could you please leave? Shelagh’s waiting for you!”

Half an hour later, Patrick was starting to think there was something deliberately trying to ruin the evening. Even with Tim’s coughing scare, there had still been time to make it home, change and meet Shelagh in time to make their reservation. This latest hiccup, however, seemed to make it unlikely.

Standing before the MG with its bonnet up, he shone his torch on the engine. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. The carburetor. Again.

“Evening, Doc,” came a friendly voice.

Patrick turned and met the grinning face of Fred Buckle.

“I was just on me way to visit the young nipper.” The large man clucked his tongue. “The bonnet in such a position does not bode well for the evening’s festivities, if I may say so m’self.”

Patrick exhaled sharply. “No, it does not. It’s the carburetor, I’m afraid. I’ve been meaning to have it replaced, but…”

“Much prettier things to concentrate yer time on, eh?” Fred winked.

“Yes. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel my date with Shelagh after all. I’ll never get home for my tools, back to repair it and in time to take her out tonight.” He rubbed his hand over his weary face.

“I’ve me tools in the back of me van, just ’round the corner. You wait right here, and we’ll have this beauty up and running in no time, Doc!”

“Fred, you are a life saver! I’ll run in the hospital to call Shelagh and let her know I’ll be a bit late, and meet you right back here.”

As the two men parted ways, Patrick glanced one more time at his watch. Half six. They’d likely have to give up their dinner reservations, but they could find a quiet cafe somewhere still open. This date would still happen. He’d just have to be more creative.

Next Chapter

Courting Shelagh, Chapter 2

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A/N: No more chess, I’m afraid, but a clever Nonnatun will spy a version of one of Shelagh’s most frequently spoken lines from Series 3.

Oh, sorry about the hand kiss. It seemed “entirely appropriate.”

Chapter 1

The following morning, Patrick stood in the foyer of Shelagh’s boarding house, full of plans. Despite a night spent more in plans than in sleep, he was brimming with energy.

As he waited for Shelagh to come down, he glanced about the entranceway to the ladies’ boarding home. The strict rules of the house demanded he go no farther than this, and after over three months of residence here, Patrick had yet to see any of Shelagh’s temporary home. If he had his way, Patrick thought, this wouldn’t be her home for much longer.

“Patrick!” Shelagh called as she came down the final flight of stairs. “I never expected to see you here this morning. Last night, you didn’t say…” A little flustered, Shelagh’s hair was pulled back in a hasty knot, a few damp tendrils escaping around her neck.

She’s just had a bath, Patrick thought. He could feel his own pulse begin to race as he fought the urge to step closer to better breathe her in. He cleared his throat and straightened. A warm, fresh-from-the-bath Shelagh was a new experience, and a man could only withstand so much.

“I thought I’d surprise you.” Bringing his hand from behind his back, he presented her with a bouquet of freesias. Fortunately, he had been able to convince the neighborhood florist to open early.

Shelagh made a small sound of surprise in her throat. “Patrick, how lovely.” She hid her blushing  face in the sweet-smelling blooms. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Smiling, he tilted his head as he gazed down at his fiance. “I wanted to. You do so much for me, and I wanted to thank you.”

Shelagh’s eyes met his. “Please don’t think you have to thank me, Patrick. I want to be there for both you and Timothy. You’ve given me so much.”

“We’re the grateful ones, my love.” He took a step closer. “Before you came, Tim and I were afraid to be happy. I’m sure we would have never managed this last month without you.”

A brief shadow of guilt crossed Shelagh’s face, chased away by his next words. “We both love you so very much, Shelagh.”

For a moment, they stood facing each other in silence, happy just to be near each other. Patrick’s lips lifted in a crooked smile. “Don’t go back to the hospital this afternoon. I want to take you out tonight. A proper date.”

The blush returned to Shelagh’s cheeks. “I’m very happy as we are, Patrick. There’s no need to take me out.”

He stepped closer to her so she had to crane her neck up to see his face. With a slight movement, his hand reached towards hers, the backs of his fingers brushing lightly against hers. “I want to spend time alone with you, Shelagh;  treat you as you deserve to be treated.”

He watched as the blush travelled down her neck, past her collarbone. Was this a new dress? He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her collarbone before. If he had, he knew he would have felt this strong compulsion to press his lips against the fine bone, to caress her silky skin and fill his head with her scent.

His own pulse sounded loud in his ears and he tried to resist the urge to pull her close to him. Shelagh was still shy, he knew. He had hoped that by now she would be more comfortable with physical affection. Perhaps Timothy’s time in the hospital had affected them more than he thought.

Time together was becoming more of a necessity with each moment.

“Shelagh,” he whispered, his voice husky.

Her eyes met his, and he was stunned by the emotion pouring from them. Her pupils dilated widely in her pale eyes, and he could sense her own breathing quicken.

Softly, his fingers moved to entwine with hers. “I miss you, Shelagh. Tim will be fine tonight. Fred can visit him, or I can call Jack’s mother. Whichever, he’ll be fine. But I’m desperate to spend time with you.”

In that moment, understanding crossed her face, and Patrick knew she felt the same. His head lowered slowly, and both forgot the dim foyer, the sounds coming from the kitchen fading quickly.

“Oh, Doctor Turner, are you still ‘ere?” The omnipresent landlady tromped through the front door, the scrub brush and pail testament to a front step scrubbed spotless.

The two lovers moved apart quickly, slightly embarrassed and rather a bit more frustrated by the interruption.

Clearing his throat, Patrick answered, “Yes, Mrs. Trevell. I’m off in just a moment.”

The bustling landlady, whose skills of romantic observation had been honed by years of watching residents with their beaus, grinned knowingly. “Well, don’t keep Miss Mannion from ‘er breakfast, then. Ask her what you want, and be off with ya.” She turned and sloshed the bucket back to the kitchen.

The intensity eased for the moment, Patrick and Shelagh grew comfortable again.

“Tonight. I’ll pick you up tonight by seven, I promise. I’ve cancelled all my calls for the late afternoon, and I’ll get Greenwood or Hammond to back up. God knows they both owe me enough favors.” He took her hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to her fingers. “I am determined that nothing will get in the way of our date.”

Next Chapter

Courting Shelagh

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A/N: I haven’t played chess in years, and even then was never very good at it. So, if you know chess, and my strategies are all wrong, let’s just chuck it up to alternate universe stuff.

A children’s ward in a large hospital can be an unusual place. In one corner, a young girl lay quietly, asleep, but not asleep, her nurse anxiously watching. In another, a small play area was set up, a trio of boys dressed in a uniform of illness collectively try to solve a puzzle while another girl wheeled a tricycle in widening circles.

Timothy Turner, a resident of this ward for well over a month, watched as the nurses tried to corral their patients for the evening medication round. Soon, it would be bath time for those mobile enough for such ablutions, and then lights out for the entire floor.

Tim knew he was luckier than most of the other patients on the ward. Visiting hours were long over, but his father and Shelagh were permitted to stay beyond the assigned hours. Shelagh said it was because of his father’s position in the community. She was always saying things like that, Tim thought. It was lovely to see how proud she was of Dad, but Tim knew the extra privileges had more to do with Shelagh’s own helpful nature. Right now, in fact, she was assisting in Teddy Hardstrom’s final physical therapy for the day.

“I wish the nurses would let me have my own lamp,” he groused. A copy of Captains Courageous idly rested on his bedside table, its binding likely to remain unbroken until the morning.

“Sorry, Tim,” his father commiserated. “If Shelagh couldn’t convince them, no one can.” He winked at his son and moved his knight. “Knight fork, Tim. I’m afraid that’s check.”

Tim groaned and rolled his head back. “I liked it better when you let me win.”

Chuckling, Patrick answered, “I liked it better when it was easy to beat you. You’re getting quite good, Tim. I can tell you’ve been practicing, who’s your partner?” He idly placed the black bishop and rook with their fallen brethren.

“Why, Shelagh of course. Who else?” Timothy’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

“Shelagh?” Patrick’s face was a near mirror image of his son’s surprise.

“Of course. Didn’t you know? Shelagh’s brilliant at chess. Her father taught her.” The young boy considered his next move. Save the Queen, but the knight, oh, he hated to lose his final knight. The Queen was strong. He was pretty sure she could defend herself against his dad’s last remaining Bishop. That would leave his King unprotected, though, and Tim was pretty sure the King depended a bit too strongly on the Queen. “She even beat him the last time they played.” There, he’d give up his Knight to save the Queen.

“Shelagh plays chess? I had no idea,” Patrick admitted, looking up from the board.

“Shelagh does lots of things you wouldn’t guess. Did you know she can dance a reel?”

Patrick laughed at the image. “No, I can’t say I did know that. What other dark secrets do you know?”

Patrick was grateful that Shelagh devoted her time to Timothy, and was convinced his son’s rapid recovery was in large part due to her attention. She spent every afternoon on the ward, and had even convinced the Sister that her help was necessary on the ward off of visiting hours.

His own busy schedule kept him away from the ward more often than he liked, but he was usually able to stop in every day to spend some time with his son and fiance. He had to admit, he was a bit lonely. Prior to Christmas, home had become such a welcoming place, Shelagh finishing the dinner as Tim did schoolwork, the two happy to see him complete the family when he returned. And later, all-too-brief time alone with his fiance, time when they were learning the details that would soon fill their life together.

“Nothing too dastardly, unfortunately.” Tim sighed as he studied his next move.

“You sound disappointed. Were you expecting tales of Scottish Highwaymen?” Patrick flushed a bit, remembering a story of a surprisingly bold young Shelagh, and the dreams that story began.

Timothy shrugged. “I reckon not. You know, I’ll bet I know more about Shelagh than you do, Dad. I spend more time with her,” he added a little bit smugly.

Patrick sat back in his chair, his eyes alert. His first instinct was to deny such a thing, but the boy was right.

Concentrating on the board before him, Timothy continued. “Since the nurses won’t let me read at night, I have to listen to them chat before I fall asleep. There’s this one nurse, she’s new, she talks about her boyfriend all the time. How he brings her flowers, takes her on these fancy dates,” he glanced up, “you know, mushy stuff like that. All the other nurses love it. They practically drool over her stories. It’s really quite revolting.”

Patrick laughed. “Women!” he huffed semi-mockingly.

“Absolutely,” agreed his son. “But I was thinking Dad, you might want to try that with Shelagh. I think she’d like it.”

Startled, Patrick looked at his son’s innocent face. What exactly was Tim trying to say? “I see Shelagh nearly every day, son.” His fingers touched his knight, then moved away.

“Here at the hospital, or when you drive her home, maybe.” Timothy’s eyes watched nervously as his father considered his next move. “But maybe you should take her out alone sometimes. You can miss a night here, I won’t mind.”

Patrick’s hand lay in his lap, his eyes on his son as he considered his words. Tim was right, he had never really courted Shelagh. Suddenly, they just were. Months of desperate loneliness and silence miraculously resolved in a moment on a misty road. Afterwards, the weeks leading up to the original wedding date were filled with becoming acquainted with each other, finding ways to fit together as a couple and a family. Nearly all their time had been spent at the flat, quiet and isolated from the world.

Patrick was certain Shelagh had wanted it that way. Her new life needed some getting used to, and prying eyes had made her wary. To find her new self, Shelagh left her old life behind only to realize that she could find a way to unite her old life with her new one.

Since the polio, they spent nearly all their time with Timothy in hospital. Shelagh had found her feet, but had not had the chance to try them out. Tim was right. Shelagh deserved a proper courtship. Patrick grinned, his face relaxing. They deserved a proper courtship.

Absently, he moved his knight across the board and was startled by his son’s shout.

“Checkmate!” Tim cried. “I won!” Ignoring the hushes from the nurse at the nearby desk, Tim crowed, “I beat you, Dad. Fair and square. You moved your Bishop to protect your King, but you left my Queen, and she took down your King! I finally beat you!”

Leaning back in his chair, Patrick mused, “So you did, son. So you did.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Timothy consoled. “I was trying to distract you. I knew you’d break concentration if I talked about Shelagh. You always do.”

Patrick shook his head and rubbed his hand across his tired face. “All’s fair, Tim.” He leant in and whispered conspiratorially, “You’ll have to find someone else to beat tomorrow, Tim, my boy. Shelagh and I are going out.”

Beaming, Timothy advised, “Not fish and chips, though, Dad. From what the nurses say, chip shops are definitely not romantic.”

“Don’t you worry, Tim. The old man still has a few tricks up his sleeve. Shelagh will-”

Timothy’s hand shot up in the air, his face desperate. “Dad, no. Please. It’s bad enough I have to hear about the mushy stuff from the nurses. No boy should have to put up with it from his own parents.”

Patrick laughed and tousled his son’s hair. “Sorry, Tim. I’m afraid that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

“Ugh,” Timothy groaned as he threw himself against his pillow, outmaneuvered. “Strategy in chess is much easier than love.”

Next Chapter

Writing Her Own Rules, Epilogue

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Author’s note: Apologies for the “Dad Dancing” reference. I’ve been trying to get that one in for a very long time.

Previous Chapter

Late afternoon sun poured through the window above the kitchen sink as gurgles of infant laughter filled the room. A blue plastic infant tub converted the typical white porcelain basin into an indoor water playground.

“Well, that’s certainly a happy sound, little Miss. I suppose we’ve made friends again?” Shelagh Turner cooed. “I always say, a bath can fix everything!” Offering up a toy giraffe of indeterminate age, she watched as the baby kicked and splashed. Two towels sat at the ready, one for baby, one for clean-up.

Down the hall, she heard the doorbell, followed by the still-brisk steps of her husband. “Guess who’s here, dearest,” she asked the baby.

Moments later, Angela Turner entered the kitchen. “Mum, you didn’t have to give her a bath,” she declared.

“I know, dear. But there was a bit of a disagreement over the peas for her ladyship’s tea. Besides, you know I don’t mind, and it will be one less thing for you to do tonight.” Shelagh unfolded a towel and offered it to her daughter. “Since I’ve had the bath time honors, would you like to dress the little princess?”

Angela sighed and moved to the pantry closet. “No, you can do it, Mum. I’ll put out the tea.”

Years of practice made Shelagh a dab hand at changing wet, slippery babies, and in the work of a moment, her granddaughter clean, dry and dressed.

“Dad was on his way out to the garden when he let me in. He looks good,” Angela commented as she scooped tea into her mother’s favorite teapot.

“Your father always looks good, dear. He’s a very handsome man.”

The spoon clanged on the countertop. “Ugh, Mum. You’ll put me off my dinner.”

They both laughed. “Your father is doing quite well, actually,” Shelagh answered as she placed the baby into the nearby playpen. “Tim came by and asked that he do a seminar at the college on patient care next month. Don’t tell your father I said so, but he’s really quite thrilled to be back in the field. His practice was too much, I think, but his work with the medical students has revitalized him since his retirement. He wants to go dancing tomorrow night!” Shelagh’s cheeks pinkened.

“Dad dancing? Sorry, Mum.” Angela grimaced.

Shelagh waved her daughter’s sympathy away. “Not that ridiculous disco nonsense you do-”

“Mum, disco’s been dead for a decade!”

“Proper ballroom dancing, Angela, at the Dorchester. They’ll even have a band!” Shelagh’s eyes glowed.

No longer satisfied with the companionship of a toy giraffe, Julienne reached for her mother. Angela reached into the playpen and lifted her daughter into her arms.

Shelagh smiled to herself as she watched mother and child settle into each other, and turned to finish the tea.

“You look a bit tired, dearest,” she remarked gently. “Would you like us to take Angela tonight? With your final boards coming up, you’ll need your rest.”

“Not tonight, Mum, thanks. I just want to bring Julie home and snuggle her. I haven’t had a night home with her and Charlie all week. Tonight’s the first night in weeks Charlie isn’t teaching a class, and we need a bit of family time.”

Three generations of Turner women settled quietly into their tea. After a long moment, Angela spoke up.

“I am tired, though. I knew this would be hard, having a baby while I’m still qualifying for my obstetrics license while Charlie finishes his doctorare, and I could never have gotten this far without you and Dad and Charlie supporting me. But sometimes I think maybe I should just give in and wait until after Julie’s grown to finish.”

She looked up at her mother. “I must seem very cowardly to you.”

“Cowardly?” Shelagh asked, stunned.

Angela sighed deeply. “Thinking about giving up. I have so much help, and I can barely manage. Some days I don’t manage at all.” She rubbed her cheek against her daughter’s head, her eyes damp. “You did it. You did it back when there was no such thing as on-site day care, or working mothers groups. You didn’t even have your mother to help.” Angela looked up, sad and confused. “How did you? You raised Tim and me, you ran Dad’s surgery, served as a nurse and midwife, all by yourself.”

Shelagh smiled. “It was hardly by myself, dearest, and there were many days when I didn’t think I could manage. But you’re wrong, you know. I had so much help. I had your father. Back then, most fathers did very little in the way of child care, but I could always count on your father to try,” she giggled. “Dinners were a mess, and he never could do the laundry correctly, but he always made the effort. Your father knew I needed to help make a difference in the world outside our family, and he wasn’t afraid to pitch in when necessary. So, we wrote our own rules.” Leaning in, Shelagh added, “He was quite good at getting the nuns to lend a hand, too. One word from him, and I never had to mend another pair of your brother’s trousers again!”

Angela gave a watery chuckle. Gratefully taking the hanky her mother held out, she wiped her eyes. “I remember when Dad had to help me with my hair before hockey practice when I was nine. “A” for effort, but that’s why I learned to do my own plaits before anyone else on the team!” She kissed the sleeping baby’s head.

“Yes, and Tim mastered shepherd’s pie just to avoid your father’s cooking!” Shelagh reached over and caressed her daughter’s arm. “Marriage, motherhood, they’re hard, Angela. It’s hard for everyone, but it’ll get easier. You’ll write your own rules, I’m sure of it. The world doesn’t usually see change overnight. It changes nearly unnoticed, one woman at a time.”

“One woman at a time what?” asked Patrick as he entered the kitchen, a bundle of freshly cut blooms in his hand. “I should think one woman would be enough for anyone!”

Shelagh got up from the table and took a vase from under the sink as Patrick began to trim the stems. “The hydrangeas,” Shelagh admired. “The soil’s so funny this year, I didn’t think we’d ever see them turn pink.”

Patrick grinned, “I know the right things to say, my love. You just have to make them blush.”

“Right, then. That’s my cue.” Angela stood, shifted her sleeping child in her arms and crossed to kiss her mother goodbye. Heading for the door, she grumbled, “Why we never wrote a rule against that sort of thing I’ll never know!”

 

 

His Safety Net

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Author’s note: This fic is set at the end of Series 4 Episode 5. Patrick has begun his recovery from his near-breakdown, and Shelagh has found resources within she hadn’t known existed.

I’m going to give this a Three Kettle rating, primarily because of the story’s setting (a bath). However, I think the kettles better reflect a level of intimacy rather than steam, which I think is actually kind of hot.

***   ***

It was like they were courting again. Walking together along the cobbled streets, lit only by street lamp, Shelagh couldn’t remember a time in recent months when they had walked alone together, no children in tow, no hurry to be somewhere. They walked together, happy and relaxed, as they talked about the whirlwind of events of the last few hours.

Serious conversation would come later, in private. For now, they just enjoyed each others company. Shelagh smiled softly as Patrick shifted his medical bag from his right to left hand, and edged more closely to him. A flash of memory passed before her eyes, of another time walking with Patrick, their hands so close, yet not touching. How confused she had been then, uncertain of her feelings and afraid of what her tortured thoughts might mean.

She moved an inch closer and threaded her fingers with his. Together, they took the long way home.

 

It wasn’t so terribly late when they returned to the flat. Timothy greeted them in the hallway, his sister in his arms.

“That’s my girl,” Patrick cooed as he reached out for his daughter. The bleak lines of fatigue faded from his face as he held his baby to his heart.

“It’s a good thing I’m not the jealous type,” Shelagh countered. She reached over and kissed Timothy’s cheek. “Thank you for managing without us, dearest. You’ve been so completely dependable, and we’re very grateful. Your father and I have spoken about it, and we can’t ask you to do so much. We’re going to have to work out some sort of arrangement with Mrs. Penney if this is going to work for everybody.” She smoothed his shirt across his shoulders. “ Have you eaten?”

Glancing around the bounty of food left as thanks during Patrick’s illness, she asked, “Well, it looks like I won’t have to cook for quite a while, certainly. What will it be tonight? Steak and Kidney pie or pasties?”

Patrick followed her. “I’m starving, I can eat anything, even that frightening looking pan from Mrs. Everett, if no one else wants it,” he grimaced at the offending casserole. “Eating that well-meaning yet revolting mess is the least I could do after all you two have done for me. I owe you both so much.”

“It’s alright, Dad. Just remember this when it comes time for me to borrow the car.” The boy stretched.  “I’ve eaten already. Mostly Mrs. B’s cake, but I’m fairly certain neither of you will kick up a fuss about it. I’m for bed. Taking care of Angela is exhausting!”

Timothy started out the door and turned back. “I like the uniform, Mum. It suits you.”

Shelagh hummed  the gentle lullaby she used to coax her daughter to sleep each night, and began to shed her uniform. The steps were logical and short, and she found herself remembering another uniform from another time. The fine cotton replaced the worsted wool, but the starched cotton smelled just the same.  She found a home for the uniform in the wardrobe and slipped into her nightclothes.

Silently closing the door on her sleeping child, she moved to check on Timothy. His light was out, and for once he was not sitting up late with a book. The lad had surely put in his time this week. They would need to find a way to make it up to him. Perhaps a day trip to the seaside. The family would have to miss Church, but she doubted Timothy would mind.

The poor boy had been such a responsible young man these last few days. Shelagh knew she hadn’t been able to keep all of her worries to herself, and Timothy seemed to read her distress so clearly. But he trusted her, and had faith in his father. Timothy’s unwavering belief in his father had given her strength, too. She pressed a light kiss to his forehead, grateful for her son.

The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and she nudged it open. Patrick stood before the mirror over the sink, his shirt discarded and vest tossed in the clothes bin, braces hanging loosely at his sides. He lathered up, and looked back at his wife over his shoulder.

“I thought I’d get cleaned up. I’m not sure when I last gave myself a decent shave.”

“That’s alright. I like you a little bit bristly.” Shelagh moved to draw him a bath. “You should have a nice long soak, too. Just the thing to help you sleep.”

Patrick turned to face her. “You take the bath, sweetheart. It’s been a long few days for you, too. Or better yet…” his eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

Shelagh pressed her lips together, feigning a prim expression. “Really, Patrick. After all Timothy’s done for us, the last thing that boy needs is to be awakened by us splashing in the tub like a pair of selkies.” She ran her hand under the tap to check the temperature. Satisfied, she placed the stopper, then teasingly flicked a few drops of water in his direction.

With a grin, Patrick turned back towards the mirror. For a moment, Shelagh regarded his long back and the way his shoulders flexed as he shaved his face clean of the care of the last days. She stood and walked to him, pressing herself against his back, her arms wrapped about his waist. “I will wash your hair. though,” she murmured into his skin. “I’ll get you a towel. They’re still in the basket waiting to be folded.”

When she returned a few moments later, Patrick was in the bath, his head tilted back against the rolled edge. He looked tired, she thought, but the bone-weary exhaustion seemed to have left his face.

Opening one eye, he asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to join me? No monkey business, I promise. I’m not even sure I could, I’m so tired.” He held his hand out for her to grasp.

“We’ll make sure you get some good rest tonight. No surgery tomorrow-” she held up her hand when he began to protest. “One more day off, Patrick, There’s nothing so pressing right now, and you could use a day. We all could. Let’s get out of the city, go for a drive, have a picnic. Some time as a family.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Yes, Nurse Turner. Whatever you say.”

Their eyes held for a long moment, understanding passing between them. Shelagh stood and turned away.

“I thought you were going to wash my hair?” he complained.

“I am.” Shelagh slid the pretty blue flowered dressing gown from her shoulders. “You’ll see.”

The nightgown joined the dressing gown on the hook on the door before she motioned for him to move forward. “Make room. Just to keep my clothes dry, mind you.”

A breath of laughter escaped from his lungs. Shelagh knew she was certainly a far cry from the shy, self-conscious bride of their early months of marriage. She stood before him confident in their love and partnership, happy to revel in the closeness they had built together.

He slid forward in the tub and she slipped her slight form in the space behind him. The water was warm, but not uncomfortably so, considering the warmth of the night. She shifted, and let her body surround his.

They lay together in the soothing water, each releasing the stresses built up in their bodies. Slowly, Shelagh wrapped her arms about his shoulders and pressed her face against his neck. “Hand me the soap, if you please,” she requested politely.

A deep chuckle spread through his chest and he offered the white bar to her. “Yes, Nurse Turner,” he repeated.

Shelagh began to create a lather across his chest, but stopped to ask, “Patrick, did you mind me not telling you?”

He rested his head back, turning slightly to see her. “Mind? Why should I mind? You know my feelings about your nursing skills.”

She scooped up water to rinse his skin. “Yes, I know, but it…changes things. It makes a bit of a statement.”

“I’ll say. If I hadn’t had a desperately ill patient waiting when I saw you in uniform, I would have taken you into my office to make that statement. In fact, I’m fairly certain that several of the patients in the waiting room had a pretty good idea what was in my head at that moment.”

She blushed. Turning his head away, she poured a dram of shampoo in her hand and began to lather his head. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Wearing that uniform says something about my identity, who I am in the community.” Her fingers began to rub his scalp, finding the spot, just behind his ears, that he always responded to.

“I know. It says ‘Nurse Turner is here to take care of you,’” He groaned slightly as her fingers rubbed a bit harder. “Shelagh, if you want to go back to nursing, we can find a way. We’ll solve the childcare issue, and make a place for you wherever you want to be. We can do this.”

Her hands slid over his soapy head. “Rinse,” she ordered. He slid even farther front and lowered his head in the water before her. For a quick moment, their eyes met before he closed his eyes and she pushed water over his hair, rinsing away the last remains of sweat and Brylcreem and exhaustion.

“All done,” she tapped his shoulder. Rising to the surface like the selkie he had promised not to become, he shook the water out of his eyes. Automatically, he reached out and she placed a fresh washcloth into his hand. He dried his face, and then returned to his relaxed position against her.

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” he asked, He sighed deeply and ran his hand over her knee.

“I’m fine. I like you pressing against me.”

Shelagh’s hand moved up to his hair, and her fingertips began to comb through his unruly locks. She preferred his hair a bit longer, his fringe askew across his forehead, though she knew he struggled to control it. Now, with his hair smoothed back from his forehead like that, he looked different. No one else saw him like that, she thought possessively. He was hers.

She knew she belonged to him completely, as well. Her fears for him had waned, but she knew that even if he had not emerged from his…depression, she would have been just as tightly tied to him as she was at this moment.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders again and pressed her face into his neck. She couldn’t say the words in her heart, but he must have sensed them. He turned his head towards her, “Shelagh,” he whispered.

She looked up, then took his lips with hers. They kissed slowly, tender kisses that spoke more of devotion than passion. Her hands slid over his chest, stopping to rest over his heart. He shifted on his side slightly, his own hand cradling her head. As they pulled apart, he whispered, “I’m so very lucky to have you.”

She pressed her forehead to his cheek. “We’re lucky to have each other, dearest.”

He let out a small breath, a crooked smile crossing his face. “I don’t know what I would have done if not for you, sweetheart. I’m certain I wouldn’t have taken a break when I should have done,”  His face grew very serious. “It would have been so  much worse without you. You understood what I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, admit. Shelagh, without you I could have lost everything.”

“Pish,” Shelagh scoffed. “All you needed was a good rest.”

“No.”  He lifted her chin, meeting her eyes. “I needed more than a rest. I needed a safety net. I have that now, because of you.” His fingers tangled in the hair pushed behind her ear. “I’m better now.” He stopped abruptly, some old memory flitting across his face. He shook his head ruefully.

“I think I’ve said that before.” His eyebrows climbed up his forehead, wrinkling his brow. “I should say, I’m getting better. It’ll take more than just a few days off,  I’m afraid. I’ll need to make some changes. I’ve got to learn to say no sometimes.”

Shelagh smiled. “One day at a time, then?”

He nodded. “Yes. We’ll start with tomorrow. A trip to the seaside, perhaps?  A nice family day.” he settled back against her. “I think I’m going to like taking it easy.”

“Yes, well don’t take it too easy, if you please. You’re starting to get heavy, and it’s getting late. Time for you to get some sleep.” She pushed at his shoulders. “Bath time is over.”

Later, after Shelagh cleared the mess, she slipped into their bedroom. Patrick, full of hopes for the evening only minutes ago, lay sprawled on his back, asleep and already snoring. A quick look at the baby assured her that she, too, was in the land of nod.

Shelagh slid under the covers next to her husband and wrapped herself around him. He was still cool from the bath, and his scent filled her head. Patrick had once again returned from that grey place of isolation and fear, and once again, he was stronger for it. Their marriage would be stronger, too. Trust had taken its place beside their love.