“Finally!” Shelagh thought to herself. No matter how successful “fifteen minutes on each breast” was during the daytime feeds, baby Teddy did not seem to agree with the strategy in the evenings. It was just as well, she supposed. These longer feeds just prior to bedtime seemed to help him sleep longer spells through the night, and if Teddy slept longer spells, then so did she. What Truby King didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
She placed the dozing infant into his cot and tiptoed from the room. If she hurried, she could finish that last hem on Angela’s costume and still get a few hours of sleep before Teddy needed her again. It wasn’t likely to be her best workmanship, but Madam Edith would simply have to lower her expectations.
The air got progressively cooler as she went down the staircase, and she regretted not putting on her fuzzy blue robe. “Best finish quickly,” she told herself, “or I might freeze my toes off!”
Patrick sat sat hunched at the kitchen table, his pose familiar from so many nights reviewing patient files at home. She came down the last steps to stop at his side. “I’m just being silly,” she told him. “What’s that you’re doing? You said you were finished with your work for the night.”
He lifted his head from his task and stretched his neck from side to side. “I was hoping to get this finished before you came down. I’m afraid I’m better at suturing than needlework.” He held up Angela’s odd little tunic for her inspection. “Surprise!” he whispered sheepishly.
A small gasp of surprise filled her lungs. “Oh, Patrick! That’s lovely!”
He grinned, an eyebrow lifting in self-mockery. “It isn’t, really, but at least it’s one less thing for you to do.” He knotted the last stitch carefully and clipped the thread, then with a quick movement folded it and placed it in Shelagh’s mending bag. “That’s done and dusted. Tim can finish the ridiculous Alice band vine for you tomorrow after school.”
Shelagh bent and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, dear. We’ll be sure to tell Angela her daddy helped.” She rubbed the coarse ivory wool over his shoulders and rested her head against his. “I think this jumper is my favourite.”
“I look like a sailor in this old thing,” he chuckled. “My grandad would’ve been proud. He always wanted me to join the Royal Navy.”
“You look very handsome in this old thing. I’m not sure why you’ve kept it in a drawer.” Her fingers tapped the intricate knitted cables.
He leant back against her. “It doesn’t quite fit under my suit jacket, I’m afraid. I could use it on some of my house calls of late. The tower blocks may look modern, but those upper storeys take the blast from the wind.”
“Remember how cold the flat could get?” Shelagh shivered at the memory. She squeezed his hands between hers. “Your hands are always so warm.”
Patrick’s eyebrows soared. “And yours are always freezing! Shelagh, where is your dressing-gown? It’s far too chilly for you to go about in that thin nightie, you’ll catch your death. Here, take this.” He stood to grasp the edge of his jumper and pulled it over his head.
“Patrick, don’t be silly, it was far colder at the old Nonnatus House. And now you’ve nearly finished Angela’s costume for me, there’s hardly anything left for me to do. I’ll be up in bed in a jiffy.”
“Shelagh, put it on, please. Doctor’s orders.”
Shelagh rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. “Not fair pulling rank, Doctor Turner.” She pushed her arms into the sleeves, then poked her head through the neck. The too-large jumper caught on her, and she wiggled a bit to try to make it fit. Patrick helped her, his hands smoothing the wool over her body. It hung large on her small frame, the arms dangling well below her fingertips. Laughing, she looked up at him through a tangle of hair. “I must look ridiculous.” The light giggle brought out her dimples.
His fingers gently brushed the hair from her face but his eyes did not meet hers. Shelagh watched as a look flickered across his face, then disappeared. He swallowed thickly, then passed his hand over the back of his head before turning away. “Right, then,” he proclaimed in a too-cheery voice. “I’m for bed. Don’t be long.”
She gazed after his retreating form, the crease appearing above her nose. That was the first time she had seen such a…hopeful look on her husband’s face in quite some time. It had passed so quickly, she wasn’t completely certain she had even seen it.
With a shrug of her shoulders and shake of her head, she turned to the kitchen. The poor man was tired, that was all. She fussed for a few moments, recreating her evening routine. She’d never sleep if she knew the teapot hadn’t been rinsed and the breakfast dishes were not set out. Bedtime was the only chance she got to see the house in any sense of order.
As she worked, niggling worries began to distract her. Surely it wasn’t so very long? Of course, it had to be that long since they’d been intimate–Teddy was already a month and a half old, and those final weeks of her pregnancy had been so tiring–but thinking about it in terms of months just made it seem all the more astounding.
Had they become that couple? she wondered. After Angela came to them, she and Patrick hadn’t had such a dry spell, as tired as she was with night time feeds and helping Timothy. They would sit close enough together for Timothy to complain about “mushy stuff,” and she often caught her husband glancing at her in ways that made her warm. Intimacy may have been less frequent, but they still had found time for one another.
It couldn’t be helped, she sniffed as she set the table for breakfast. They were busy now, and getting busier. What did it matter that she’d been given the go-ahead from an unflappable Nurse Crane only last week? She knew well enough a healthy postnatal check-up wasn’t an automatic return ticket to marital intimacies.
Patrick knew all this, of course. He hadn’t once brought up the subject since her appointment at the clinic. He probably hadn’t given it a moment’s thought. Except…there was that moment.
Her chilled feet brought her attention back to the cooling room. Rubbing her arms briskly, she finished her tasks and followed Patrick’s path up to their bedroom. She peeked in the children’s rooms, smiling over Timothy’s long frame dangling over the edge of his bed and Angela curled up like a kitten in her own “big girl” bed, and she wondered how long until they would bring Teddy in to share with his sister. Careful to leave Angela’s door ajar, Shelagh padded past the bathroom door just as the tap began to fill the bath. She’d be asleep by the time Patrick came to bed tonight.
Their room was dimly lit by the light from the cupboard. She glanced about the space, no longer the chic master bedroom haven she had once dreamt of. Teddy’s cot stood in the corner near her side of the bed, and a low dresser for baby items stood beside it. In just six weeks, Teddy had taken over the space.
With a sigh, she pulled Patrick’s jumper over her head and folded it neatly on the chair. The cold was still expected to linger for another few weeks; it was likely he would need it again. He did look very attractive wearing it tonight–bulky, and safe, and strong. It would be lovely to be held close in his arms, warm wool and Patrick. A blush crept across her cheeks, stirring something she was afraid to name.
The mirror reflected her form in the dim light and she peered at her image. Her body had certainly changed since they had married. She still carried some of her pregnancy weight, and her skin hung loosely around her middle. She was certain her hips were wider. The lines on her face weren’t exactly deeper, but at times she wondered if she was showing her age. Doubt flickered across her face. She wasn’t her most alluring, and certainly not in her tent-like flannel nightie. She must have imagined the gleam.
“You’re just being silly, Shelagh,” she muttered to herself. “It’s perfectly normal, the children simply take up too much of our attention. It’ll happen when things are easier.” She turned back to the bed and climbed under the covers. She should get to sleep as soon as possible. Teddy would need her soon enough. Restlessly, she turned to her side.
Their new bed was bigger than the old one in the flat. They liked the extra space, but Patrick’s pillow seemed so far away tonight. She ran her hand over the linen, remembering how close his head would be to hers when they slept in their old bed. They would lie close together in their private world, sharing secrets and dreams and each other, but it felt like such a long time ago now. It hurt to suddenly realize how she missed that closeness.
Teddy snuffled, and she rose immediately to check on him. Taking no notice of his bewildered mother, he rubbed at his nose and settled back to slumber. Shelagh pressed her lips together and shook her head. Teddy had been able to settle to sleep for weeks now, all her fussing would set him back. She didn’t need to continually mother him–or the rest of the family, for that matter.
Understanding struck her, and she took in a sharp breath. They hadn’t been drifting apart, rather she had been holding him at arms length. There had been time for the children, time for the surgery, even for Nonnatus, but she never seemed to make time for Patrick. She had dismissed the notion of his interest because she herself hadn’t considered sex.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Enough is enough.” Shelagh threw the covers back and crossed to her dressing table. She would make time for him tonight.
She glanced down at her practical nightgown. She’d chosen it more for its warmth than its glamour. It was hardly an invitation. Her mind went to the boxes in the back corner of their cupboard, forgotten since the move. Is that were her pretty nightgowns were? Would they even fit her? She sighed. The Bri-nylon would fit, certainly, but she hadn’t seen it since long before the move. Even if she did find it, would she look silly? A tired mother masquerading as a bride?
“You’re not helping,” she muttered to herself. She glanced at her warm blue dressing-gown, but rejected it as well. She wanted to look sexy, not like matron on Women’s Surgical. Patrick’s jumper caught her eye. Shelagh lifted the heavy wool fabric and pressed it to her face. It did smell of him, and she imagined could still feel the warmth of his body in its fibres.
The bathroom door clicked open, pushing her into action. Moving quickly, she pulled her nightie off and slipped into Patrick’s jumper. Goose flesh rose, making her more sensitive to the coarse wool against her skin. She felt the chill against her bare legs and stretched up on her toes nervously. Patrick liked her legs. Perhaps this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She fluffed her hair and waited.
Patrick entered the room, his hair still damp from his bath. Closing the door behind him, he stepped around the wall and saw their empty bed. “Shelagh?” He twisted his head to search her out.
“Hello, Patrick,” she answered nervously, then in a rush, “I thought perhaps you might be interested, but I…I quite understand if you’re not, of course, I didn’t want you to think that it would be unwelcome, or-” her voice trailed off.
He stood still, his face stunned. Shelagh clasped her hands in front of her, then resolutely stepped out of the shadow towards him. Her confidence grew as she saw his eyes glitter with desire. “I’d like to borrow your jumper tonight, if you don’t mind.”
He shook his head. “I…I don’t mind.” His voice was husky.
Shelagh felt a warm glow rise up through her body. He wanted her, and the rest of the world, all her worries fell away. She moved closer, so their bodies were almost touching and breathed his scent in deeply. “You smell clean.” Her finger traced the pattern on his pyjama top, then pressed against his heart.
His hands covered hers and he looked her squarely in the eye. “Shelagh, you don’t have to do this. It’s only natural if you need more time. Your body’s been through so much-”
“All is as it should be,” she answered. “You’ve been wonderfully patient for so long, darling. I’d started to forget how important this is. Not simply the…the sex,” her whisper grew softer on the word, “but being us, together. A couple.” She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her head against his chest. “Even if you don’t want to tonight, I’d like to be near you tonight.”
A rumble deep in his chest made her smile. “I think you know I want to,” he teased. His voice grew serious again and he bent his head to meet her eyes. “Are you certain?’
She raised her face to his. “I am completely certain.”
My Little Yellowbird 