"Dad? What am I supposed to call her? I can't keep calling her Auntie Shelagh...you're going to be married."

"Tim, you can call her whatever you like. Shelagh won't mind, I promise."

Timothy looked down at his lap as he sat in bed, his father helping him to get settled for bed.

"I don't want to sound disrespectful. Mummy always told me to be respectful, especially to ladies."

Patrick Turner was not known to be well-versed in reading between the lines. But suddenly, looking at his son's face, he understood the unspoken question he was posing.

"Timothy, just because I'm marrying Shelagh doesn't mean I'm replacing Mummy. I'm not ever going to forget her, she gave me you and I will always love her. But sometimes, we're lucky enough to find love again...and that's what's happened with Shelagh."

"Dad...I don't want to make Shelagh sad, but I don't want to disappoint Mummy either."

Patrick sat down on the edge of his son's bed.

"Timothy, look at me. Neither Mummy or Shelagh would want you to feel this way. Your Mummy loved you so much that nothing you could do would ever make her be disappointed with you. Before Mummy died, we talked about a lot of important things, she and I." Patrick took a deep breath before continuing. "She said to make sure that I didn't forget how to make fried bread just the way you like it, and to make sure you kept up with your piano even if you begged me to play cricket instead. She had me save all the pictures you draw just in case you become a famous artist one day. She wanted to make sure I don't embarrass you when you're old enough to start dating and bring girls home." Patrick stopped to laugh at the grimace that had bloomed across his son's face.

"But...she told me that the most important thing to remember, and it's the same thing she said to me the day you were born, that she wanted you to be loved. Always." Patrick moved next to his son, putting his arm around him.

"I know we've had to muddle through a lot of bad times this last year or so, Tim and I'm sorry I haven't always been able to give you the attention you deserve." His voice began to waver.

"It's okay, Dad..."

"No, Tim. It's not. I promised your Mummy. I may not be able to live up to all my promises, but I can keep you safe and loved like she wanted. And as much as Mummy and I love you, so does Shelagh- she says so all the time." Patrick noticed the smile creeping across his son's face. "Mummy would want us to be happy, Timothy. She wouldn't want us to be sad forever, because that's no way to live. And I know one thing I've been very happy having Shelagh come into our lives. Have you?"

"Yes." came the meek, but determined answer.

Patrick exhaled the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Good. I know that makes Shelagh and I happy- we like to see you smile, not frown. Come on, now...shimmy down a bit, there's a chill in the air tonight. Can't have my Best Man come down with a cold the night before the wedding...the bride would have my head." He tucked the blankets around his son's nearly-healed legs, surprised that the boy was allowing it. "Goodnight, son."

"Night, Dad." Patrick began to walk out of the room and as he reached out to flick off the light switch, his son spoke again. "Dad? I'm really glad you're marrying Shelagh."

Spring and summer passed in a blur. Apart from a particularly trying week or two in July, the arrival of Shelagh into the day to day lives of the Turner men had been seamless.

His dad had been right, Tim thought. He'd started calling Shelagh by her first name only, and she didn't mind at all. It had been a bit awkward, but they got through. Timothy reveled in all the attention he received from Shelagh- help with homework, questions about his day, funny stories from Nonnatus-it seemed as though life couldn't get much better.

Then September came.

After all the talks about a baby, and how Shelagh wouldn't be able to have one, but they wanted to adopt one. Timothy had to meet with a lady from the adoption agency and answer some really weird questions before he was allowed to go to Cubs with Colin. His dad had seemed strange, but Tim figured he was nervous like Shelagh. She's cleaned the entire flat twice and had tried on every outfit she owned to try and make a good impression.

When he came home that night, something was different- and not the good kind of different he'd gotten used to. His parents said nothing, but he could tell the rest of the interview hadn't gone well.

For days, they seemed to grow farther apart. Tim hated to see Shelagh sad, and he decided that if his dad wouldn't be the one to change that, then he would. It had been a normal afternoon, school was over for the day and Tim headed straight home to Shelagh instead of loitering in the park with his mates. He preferred it this way, actually- spending alone time with Shelagh before dad came home and made her smile go away.

Walking into the flat, he was assaulted with the smell of apples and cinnamon-and something burnt. He walked into the kitchen to find Shelagh covered in flour, cheeks flushed and singing softly along to the wireless.

"Something smells great!"

"Oh! Timothy! Is it that time already? I've been so busy trying to make tonight's pudding that I didn't realize you'd be home. Let me put the kettle on and we can have our tea before you do your homework. Anything bad today?"

"English composition. And maths." Tim rolled his eyes. He and Shelagh both hated his maths homework, always trying to put it off while he was in the hospital until it would pile up and they'd have to spend a whole day figuring it out. "How long does a pudding take? And what is it?"

"I thought I'd try out a recipe I saw in a magazine for apple charlotte. And it probably should have taken about ten minutes less than I let it- I'm afraid I burnt it a little.: She placed the plate on the hatch, turning it halfway around for Tim to see a dark brown patch on an otherwise perfect looking pudding.

"Oh, that's nothing, Mum! I'll eat that bit- I don't mind crispy things. I got used to Dad burning everything before you came along." Tim smiled at her before opening his school bag at the table. It was only after a few minutes of silence that Tim realized what he'd called her. He hadn't meant to say it, it just happened. He peered at her over the hatch and saw her shoulders shaking, her back to him as she prepared their tea.

He'd wanted to make her happy, not sad like his dad seemed to lately. He watched her for another minute before putting down his pencil and walking into the kitchen behind her.

"I didn't mean to make you cry. Please don't be so sad. I won't say it again if you don't want me to." he whispered quietly.

She turned to him then, eyes wide and filled with tears, but a smile on her face.

"Oh, Timothy. You haven't made me sad at all, dearest. I'm crying because I'm happy."

Timothy shook his head. He would never understand women, he thought to himself. Who in the world cries because they're happy?

"So...it's okay then? To call you...that?"

She wiped her tears away with the back of her hands and nodded. "You can call me whatever you like, Tim. But if you wanted to call me Mum, then I'd like that, too." She smiled at him, her eyes still glistening.

Acting purely on impulse, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. She didn't hesitate before responding with her own arms tightly around his shoulders. He pulled back after a moment, trying to collect himself.

"You're not going to cry every time I call you Mum, are you?'

Shelagh sniffed a watery smile. 'I promise that I'll try not to, Timothy.'