Welcome to Call the Midwife trope city. I’ve thrown in a crooked smile, a nuzzle, Angela’s pink cheeks, baby talk (sorry about that) new socks and sassy Tim. Add to that the sights, smells and sounds of Autumn, and a terrible pun in the title. I have no shame.

But as you can see from the pic above, I have a lot to put off. All and any offers for assistance will be accepted.

Autumn came on quickly in Poplar that year, a dry, crisp cold season that turned both the trees and Angela Turner’s cheeks a brighter color.  The little girl toddled along the edge of the park, stooping to pick leaves to add to her bouquet, humming a breathy-voiced tune. Her father trailed behind, his coat pockets filled to overflowing with the dozen leaf bouquets that must be brought home to Mummy for tea.

A squirrel chattered from the low branch of a nearby plane tree and Angela laughed. Pointing she called out, “Oh, Dada! Wirrel!”

“Squirrel, Angel Girl.” Patrick came to a stop next to her and touched her hair. “Shall we go back to Mummy now?”

Angela sighed deeply. “Yes,” she lisped. “Dada you take.” She held up her bundle of leaves.

“There’s no more room, sweetheart. Daddy’s pockets are full. See?” He gestured to his coat. “We have plenty of leaves for Mummy already.”

A determined look came on his daughter’s face. “Dada you take.”

Knowing the battle had been lost when the first leaf was picked, Patrick relented and opened his pocket.

“Well, then. Shall we?” He held out his hand to begin the walk home.

“Carry, Dada. Peese?” Her eyes were round and pleading.

“Angela,” Patrick resisted. “You promised Mummy you’d walk both ways if we left the pram at home.”

Somehow, her big, round eyes grew bigger and rounder. “Carry, Dada?”

It was Patrick’s turn to sigh. “Mummy’s right. You do have me wrapped around your finger.” Using his legs, he bent and lifted her into his arms. His back wasn’t what it used to be, and was grateful for the new socks Shelagh had insisted he put on this morning. At least his feet were warm. Angela settled in comfortably, resting her head on his shoulder. He placed a kiss on her cheek and set off. “Trouble is, I like it.”

Angela was a dreamer, but she was a practical child as well. As they paused outside the great door to their flat, she gathered the prettiest of her bounty, leaving the crumbled remnants for her father to clean up. Thus, it was a triumphant Angela and a sheepish Patrick that were greeted in the long hallway.

Shelagh joined them from the kitchen, followed by the warm smell of baking apples. “That was a bit quicker than I expected. How did you get to the park and back already?” Shelagh crouched down to help Angela with her coat.

Angela held out her gift. “I picked weeves for you, Mummy. For you fower vase.”

“Such pretty leaves, Angel! Did you carry them all the way from the park?” Shelagh pulled a bright leaf from her daughter’s hair and smoothed her rumpled cardigan.

Shaking her head, Angela answered, “Dada’s pockets did, and Dada carried me.” 

Pointedly ignoring her husband’s apologetic grimace, Shelagh stood and hung the bright pink coat. “Didn’t you promise to walk today, Angela? It’s a long way for Daddy to carry you. You’re getting to be such a big girl.”

“No,” Angela shrugged. “Dada carried. Timmy!” Her little feet thundered down the hall in search of her next playmate.

Shelagh turned to face her husband, a resigned grin on her face. “Patrick, you’ll spoil that child. Leave your coat there, you can brush it clean later. Dinner’s nearly ready.” Her slippered feet padded back down the hall.

He followed his wife into the kitchen. “You used to say you can never spoil a child with too much love,” he reminded her. “I remember a time when you would jump at every peep.” He peeked into the large pot simmering on the cooker and sniffed appreciatively. “Apple cake, too?” Life was very good.

“Put the lid back, please, Patrick, or the stew will dry out! Yes, I said that when she was a baby. She needed to feel safe.” Shelagh reached out. “The yellow vase, on the shelf, please?” She filled the vase from the tap and began to arrange the leaves. “Angela needed to know she was part of our family, that she belonged here. Now she doesn’t know any different.” Shelagh’s face flushed with happiness.

Patrick smiled crookedly in response and pulled his wife to him. He nuzzled his nose against her temple. “Of course she doesn’t. This is our family just as God intended it to be, so stop worrying and let her be.” For good measure, he pressed a light kiss against a just-starting-to-form worry line above Shelagh’s nose.

“We can’t give her everything she asks for simply because we love her, Patrick. We have to teach her to be independent.”

A laugh came from the door. “You don’t have to worry about that,” Tim assured them. Angela was perched upon his shoulders. “I am completely certain that Angela will have no trouble ruling the world when she grows up.”