He didn't really know why he did it, he knew it was pointless. He always got the same answer.
" No, it's very kind of you Dr Turner. I have my bicycle, but thank you very much, for your offer of a lift." This time the weary smile was worn by Nurse Lee.
It didn't matter which one he asked. Flirty Nurse Franklin, thoughtful Nurse Miller, indomitable Sister Evangelina. The answer was always a polite decline of his generosity.
He had a habit of asking every time he and an exhausted midwife stepped into a poorly lit Poplar street, after delivering yet another Eastender into the world. Even though the church bells that marked the ungodly hour of the child's birth, were All Saints' not Bow.
They always refused and before he had even climbed into his MG, they had left him for dust. He knew he asked one midwife slightly more often than the others. Her "no" seemed to linger that bit longer in the chill of the night air. It would taunt him as he watched her pedal, heaven for leather, back to the convent.
That was until a few days ago, when there wasn't any refusal of his offer of a lift. When he thought about it, she had almost asked to be driven home. If he hadn't been taken so by surprise, by the call, things could have been a lot less frantic. The one who had never let him as much as carry her nurses bag, without hesitation let him pick up her two suitcases. Recently abandoned on the road and place them in the boot of his car.
He could still hardly believe it and everything that had happened since. A drive back to Poplar with an excited, over talkative, questioning Timothy. Then not quite knowing how to comfort her when she came to him after renouncing her vows. An awkward supper of fish and chips, when his son wasn't shy in asking, "Why they were using plates and knives and forks?" When they usually ate them with their fingers from the newspaper.
The silent drive to her new lodgings and watching her walk nervously through the door, desperate to tell her it was only temporary and not finding the words. On returning home trying to find different words. Simple words to explain such a grown-up thing to a child, who had only lost his mother at the beginning of last year. A child who had been required to understand so many grown-up things already.
Then there had been that feeling of absolute terror, stood in the parish hall kitchen waiting for her. Suddenly wondering why he had picked such an unromantic place for a marriage proposal. Who proposes at work? Then seeing her face and knowing she understood.
It was early Tuesday morning and he had just over an hour to bathe, change and shave, not enough time to sleep. He would then wake Timothy, back at school after 'tatie-picking' half-term week. Fortunately, the lad was very independent, he would get himself up and dressed and ready for school. Patrick had been on his feet all night and he had worked up quite an appetite. He would treat himself and his son to a bacon sandwich. The cornflakes could stay in their packet this morning with the giant cockerel to guard them.
If he was lucky and he often wasn't, he might be able to find the time for lunch. He would have an idea towards the end of morning surgery, if it was worth ringing his intended to arrange a quick meeting. Prior to heading off to the parish hall,with a lot less anticipation than a few days ago.
He opened the door to the Kenilworth Row flat, he really should take more care to ensure he locked it. Rushing out in the middle of the night, leaving Timothy on his own, he should be more diligent. He thought he had, it was completely careless. His self chastisement was interrupted by an assault on his senses. The warm inviting aroma of freshly cooked bacon hit him, as soon as he closed the outside door behind him.
Patrick felt elated and shamed all in the same heartbeat. Timothy wasn't yet eleven, but was already up far to early for school and making him breakfast. As he climbed closer to the top of the stairs he could hear the sublime sound of sausages sizzling in a pan. That wasn't the only sound, there was music. Tim must have put on the wireless for company.
As he opened the inner door to the flat he heard the song more clearly. It was a song from a musical picture he and Marianne had seen a few years ago. Timothy had watched it one Saturday afternoon on the telly with him. He had complained it was a girls film, but sat right until the end, all the same. The American movie star's voice was obliterated by two others, one instantly recognisable as his sons, a little off key and singing the words a beat after Miss Day. The other voice was clear and confident of the words and the tune.
"Just how wonderful you are and why I am so in love with you," sang the soprano fading a little at the "so in love" part.
Suddenly the altar boy's voice blasted out at full tilt, " Nowww! I shout it from the..." thats was as far as he got.
The radio was drowned out by the kitchen choir turning into a mass of unruly giggling.
Patrick couldn't really comprehend what he had just heard. When he looked into the kitchen, his kitchen, he thought it wasn't just his ears that were playing tricks, but his eyes too.
His son was in his striped pyjamas, trying to butter several slices of toast, while still giggling uncontrollably. Next to him stood Shelagh, cracking eggs into a frying pan. Her face was rosey pink with the heat of the kitchen and the exertion of laughing. They were both still trying to follow the song, but had given up on the words. They were making clippity-clop, horses hoof ,type noises, with their tongues against the roof of the their mouths. Both were failing spectacularly to keep in time with the beat.
Patrick noticed she wiped a tear from her eye with her left hand and he saw the solitary expression of his love sparkle. Almost teasing him, he so wanted to go and join in the fun. Yet, Shelagh was still shy with him, even though she had agreed to be his wife. The cooks were so at ease with one another, he felt his sudden addition to the group would only add confusion.
Neither had heard him enter, due to Doris and the calamitous singing-come-laughing. So he stood and watched as his boy and his fiancée put the breakfast together making ridiculous childish noises at each other. It all added up to the most wonderful music he had ever heard.
The song ended and the stuffy announcer started talking. Shelagh stopped abruptly. Tim was busy getting the utensils out of the draw. Patrick noticed she was completely still and looking straight ahead of her just below the eye-level grill. Something made him nervous, he unconsciously started rubbing his thumb and index finger together. He had seen her become still like this, too many times before.
Her head turned slowly towards him, at first there was no flicker of expression on her face and then a smile blossomed and her eyes lit up. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but...
" Aunty Shelagh came round to help me get ready for school, so we decided to make breakfast. She was on her way back from church and saw that your car was missing, wasn't that nice of her?" Tim had spotted his father.
Patrick was listening to his son but his eyes had never left Shelagh's smile.
"That was very nice of her indeed," was all he could manage, aware that a ridiculous corresponding smile was enveloping his features.
" Good Morning Patrick," was the only explanation she was ready to offer, in a manner that in any other woman, he would have judged as slightly coy.
Timothy looked at them both, picked up one of the now full plates. " I am starving can we eat now?"
He was a well brought up boy, but he didn't wait for permission to be granted. He warned the adults in the kitchen their breakfasts were getting cold, but there was no response. He was too busy slapping the bottom of the tomato sauce bottle to dislodge the stubborn remnants of condiment, to care.