1. The New Surroundings
Shelagh woke up. It took a while to get the sense of her surroundings. She was wearing some flannel, yes, and sleeping on a sofa.
Then it struck her. She felt a little flush on her cheeks. She was in Patrick's and Timothy's house. Sleeping on the sofa. The bomb scare seemed a distant thing for her, in the light of this much bigger event, sharing the roof of her husband-to-be and son. Yet a bigger event awaited on the day after tomorrow. Their wedding. She shivered at the thought, rose and started to dress. The new, "normal" clothes still seemed a mystery to her. The skirts and...silky stockings. Yes, she had bought a pair of them.
Then she noticed the light that shone from the edges of that closed kitchen hatch. All the kitchen doors had been considerately closed by Patrick at the night, to give her some privacy. Someone was up.
She finished her dressing up, and gave a tentative knock on the kitchen door.
"Patrick, is that you? What time is it?"
The door opened and she saw Patrick, dressed in his shirt and trousers. No waistcoat, no jacket, no socks. His bare feet touched Shelagh...so bare and homely. A new sight. A new country. Hers. Or soon-to-be hers. "I have to think of something else," she told herself hurriedly, and smiled at him.
"Shelagh, it is 6 am. You should have slept more. Was the sofa not comfortable? I told you I could have taken it!" He clumsily hugged her for a while, then released her, still keeping her by the arms and watched her carefully.
"Patrick, remember that you're talking to a nun...sorry, to a former nun," she speedily corrected.
He chuckled and did not let his grip on her loosen. "What does that mean, in this case...?"
"I am used to waking up at 5am. The time of Matutina. This is actually late for me."
"Of course." Suddenly he was a bit remorseful. "I really should know more about the life of nuns. I mean, your life. Arggh. You know what I mean...".
"Do you have some tea for me? You know nuns eat and drink, too, don't you?" Shelgah thought a happy banter might do at this early hour, to avoid further embarrassment. She sat down by the table and he hovered over her breakfast like a waiter at a first-class restaurant.
After some tea and toast and smiling into each other's eyes, he said:
"You're fully dressed, too."
Shelagh sighed. "It is difficult to get used to the...normal clothes. A habit was so much more...convenient. The stockings, shoes, handbags...I am not really that kind of a girl-"
"But you look great in your new shoes."
"Well, yes, I had to get something. To be a respectable Doctor's wife."
"To me you are always respectable. Among other things...". She felt ambushed by the shine in his eyes. She decided to engage into battle on another front.
"So, are YOU usually fully dressed at 6am...?"
He gave her a sly look and burst out laughing:
"No dear, I am not. But you were using my best, brand new pyjama. I couldn't let you see my normal disheveled look at 6 am. Besides, I am not fully clothed. I need a waistcoat. Or a jumper."
But Shelagh didn't let him lead her astray. Although that neck and a part of his chest that his open shirt let show nearly did.
"And why would you have bought yourself a new pyjama, my Doctor dear...?"
He was squirming. He laughed embarrassed.
"You are not that much of a dresser, are you? " she continued. Now she was suddenly finding it hard to keep this comedy going. She had felt so bold and easy, as she always did with him, and his good humour was catching. But she had to gulp, and he noticed that and his demeanor became very gentle.
"Shelagh, dear, anything you'd like to ask..."
[A censored part, one of the many talks they had before their wedding that are private...]
"Now, good. Once we got that one cleared, are you usually up this early? I know nearly nothing of your daily habits. Are you an early bird?" she inquired.
He seemed to withdraw. He gave her a searching look deep into her eyes. Then he let his eyes wander until they looked into a distant spot somewhere where she couldn't reach him.
Then he straightened his back, became present and alert again and asked her:
"Shelagh, what did you do in The Great War?"
"I think I was not born yet. You were 4 years old when that war ended."
"Sorry, I meant this last war. The phrase just came to me. You know I like to talk of the Somme... My father survived that war."
"The Somme?"
"No, the war in general, his experience was not that bad. " He stopped. "So, before 1948, the arrival of the excellent Sr Bernadette, what was it like for you? The war I mean."
"I was at a nursing school for four years in Aberdeen to 1947. One year at the Aberdeen hospital after that. Before that, at my family farm. But I thought you knew that. We've talked of this before."
She was slightly taken back. It wasn't long ago they had had a chat about that, although admittedly in the presence of Fred at the tea table at Nonnatus House. Fred had seemed eager to change the topic from the war to his grandchildren and to his dancing hobby, and how it had been great when the dancing halls where in full swing after the war. But she had thought it was because Fred didn't like to talk of the loss of his wife and the distress of his children at wartime.
"Aberdeen? Oh yes. It must have been relatively peaceful there, wasn't it?"
"Yes, no bombings. Just the general angst and lack of everything. Poor food. Cold."
"Whereas in Italy...". He stopped and seemed not to be able to continue.
"What about Italy?"
He pulled himself together. "You see, I am not really an early bird...The bomb scare...the expectation ...of explosions...that makes me wake up early. Sometimes. Because of Italy." The words that came out seemed calm. Yet there was a strained quality in them.
Shelagh studied his mien hard. It was inscrutable.
"So you have experienced explosions in Italy. Of course. "
But Patrick didn't seem to be inclined to go further. He rose up and started to pick up the dishes.
"Sorry, old girl, we don't have time. We have a wedding to attend to soon, remember", he grinned. But then he slowed down and forgot the dishes. "You should hear me and Fred talk sometimes. About explosions. Let's take this up again at some later moment."
Shelagh seemed concerned. But she decided to follow his lead."Yes. Let's do that."
"Now. The washing up, the barber...and you have quite a lot to do as well, my beautiful bride."
"Oh yes...But, Patrick." He put his arms on her arms, drew her close and looked into her eyes, smiling, guardedly at first, but then with so much expectation that she blushed. "Patrick, I want to be a proper wife. I want to hear about you. Not just talk with Fred and you. You understand that, do you?"
He leaned in to kiss her lips tenderly, and for a while the world, the war and everything was lost.
"Yes, my proper wife. That you will be. You will hear about me. We will find a way."