As we count down to the six-month mark until the CtM Christmas Special, we’ve come up with a new challenge: create something featuring a character you don’t like, or simply don’t know very well.

I’ve chosen to focus on Peter Noakes for this one, and I’m glad I did. Peter is an interesting character. He’s not perfect (perhaps a little officious when on duty), but he loves his wife. They make an excellent team. I think I may write another one, actually.

I have to give a little shout-out to EleanorKate over at fanfiction.net for giving me a little push to think outside my box.

Peter left the police station, tired and dissatisfied. Yet again, his day had thrown him in the path of the very person he hoped to avoid. It was just like the contrary Sister Monica Joan to create a diversion that would require his presence at Nonnatus House.

He struggled to keep his mind from straying into dangerous topics, and set his mind to a sure cure. Winding through the narrow streets of Wapping, he decided it would be best to . A quick knock on the door to his parents house, and he let himself in.

Arthur and Millicent Noakes, each cozy in their favorite chair, looked up in surprise. Before Peter had started seeing his lady friend, it was not unusual for their son to spend an evening or two a week with his parents. In the last weeks, however, those visits had all but ended.

“Fancy a pint then, Dad?”

The noise of the pub prevented all but the most superficial of chat. Peter was grateful for the crowd of dart players in the corner. Deciding to tell his father his news was easier than actually doing so.

They watched as the throwers cheered on one of their own as he threw dart after dart. Every one missed the mark widely, but the determined man took on more bets as he continued the attempt. Fifteen darts and two rounds of drinks in, and the man was still hadn’t hit the board once.

“God loves a trier,” chuckled the elder Noakes.

Peter didn’t respond. Finally, the elder Noakes began. “You haven’t mentioned Camilla, son. Your mother thought perhaps you could bring her over again for tea.” He winked. “We’ll leave the dog outside this time.”

Peter raised his glass and drained it. “How ‘bout another one?” he asked.

“If you’re buying…” the older man held up his own glass and gestured to the barman.

Peter turned away, his eyes on the drunken dart players. “She’s chucked me over,” he said baldly.

“Ah, no.” Arthur shook his head. “I’m sorry, Peter. I thought…we thought that maybe this one was special.”

Peter’s face tightened, his jaw working tensely. Finally, he said, “She was–she is special. I know she cares for me, but she can only see herself… Her mother’s in town.”

“All the way from India?” Comprehension passed over the old man’s face.

“Majorca, actually. They’ve left India for a few years now.”

“Very posh, is she then?”

Peter nodded. “A right Empress of the Empire, Dad. She swans in once a year, stalks through Norman Hartnell’s and turns Camilla’s life upside down.”

“Who’s Norman Hartnell?” The barman placed two more pints before them.

Shaking his head, Peter answered, “Don’t ask. Apparently, Lady Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne does not approve on Camilla’s life choices, and when the command comes from on high, Chummy falls right in line.” His voice was hard. He never called her by that family nickname, but just now it seemed entirely appropriate.

“As I understand it, Lady Browne has never approved of anything her daughter’s done, and of course she gives in every time. I thought this time it’d be different. Ca–she loves being a midwife, I’m certain of it. And she’s grown to feel so comfortable in the East End. I can’t understand how she’s so willing to just throw it all over just to please that domineering old-” he stopped himself.

He drained his second glass and turned away. “So, long story short, I will not be bringing any girls home for tea in the foreseeable future. I’d appreciate it if you told Mum.”

Arthur nodded. “None will speak of it, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Peter swirled the dregs of his lager in the bottom of his glass. “I thought she was the one, you know? We’re right together. I love her, I’d go to the ends of the earth for that woman, Dad. But if she can’t see her own way through, how could I expect us to work out?”

Two nights later, Peter worked a quiet night at the station desk, the bitter words repeating in his mind. There were so many differences in their pasts, he wondered how it had been even possible for anything to start between them. Yet somehow, love had bloomed.

Not love, Peter scoffed. It couldn’t have been love if she could walked away from him so easily. Lady Browne had provided her with a convenient excuse to reject him. Self-loathing and fear had withered her pride. The woman he had loved didn’t exist anymore, if she truly ever had.

The station door banged open, bring his eyes up. Before him stood the focus of his thoughts, flustered and frazzled, but glowing. He had fallen for that glowing face before.

He braced himself against the wave of pain that came every time he saw her, and was glad of the counter between them.

She began to speak, but he could not, or would not, hear. He knew what she was about to say. Her posture, her low voice, even her words of exaggerated flaws and self-blame, told him she  would be leaving Poplar.

Unwillingly, his eyes met hers and in that moment he knew. Camilla Browne stood tall and sure, ready to take on the world.

She would see her way through.

Camilla was a trier, God love her.