Timothy kicked the small stone, just far enough so that on the next step he could kick it once again, as he walked down the road with his father. Patrick glanced at his son out of the corner of his eye. He'd been acting strangely the past few weeks. Thinking about when his behaviour had noticeably changed, Patrick realised it was since he had been seeing Shelagh. Perhaps Timothy had changed his mind and decided he didn't like the idea of them being together? As hard as the decision to only remain friends would be, Patrick wanted to know that his son was happy and comfortable in his own home.

The next swift movement of Timothy's shoe sent the stone towards the other side of the street, causing him to groan under his breath.

Turning sharply and stopping dead in his tracks Patrick held softly Timothy by a shoulder, causing the boy to almost topple over with shock.

Taking a deep breath before he began, making sure he didn't sound judgemental. After all, he had accepted Shelagh, even if only for a while.

"Timothy what's the matter? You've been grumpy for the past few weeks, now what's wrong son?"

"Nothing" Timothy mumbled, and with that came another kick of, now, an imaginary stone.

"You can tell me you know. I know we don't get the chance to talk often"

"I know"

Knowing the bank holding back the tears forming in his son's eyes were ready to burst, he decided to leave the matter till they got home.

"Timothy" he called up the stairs "I've got fried bread if you want some"

Hearing no reply he called again, but still, nothing. Placing the plate of fried bread on the table, alongside some juice, Patrick climbed the stairs and reached the door to Timothy's bedroom. He reached to clasp the handle but heard a noise. It sounded like sniffing. Upon hearing a similar noise, Patrick realised his son was crying. He quickly opened the door to find Timothy sitting on his bed, his head hung low and bits of screwed up paper surrounded him.

"What's the matter Timothy?"

He looked up with puffy, red-stained eyes and bright red cheeks. Taking a deep breath to calm himself down he said "I want to write a letter to say thank you for being such a good friend but I don't know what to write. I looked for a present at the beginning but couldn't find anything she'd like." tears threatened to engulf him again so he kept his eyes lowered and blinked hard several times to stop the salty water falling from his eyes.

"A letter? To whom Tim?"

"Sister Berna... Shelagh" Timothy quickly corrected himself and stole a glance at his dad, sitting on the end of his bed, his eyes now lowered too.

"Oh." Realisation hit him when he thought of the numerous amounts of letters he had sent to her at the sanatorium, only a matter of months ago. They had started along a similar line, explaining that she and Tim were devastated to find out she'd got TB but see delighted when the triple treatment had worked it's magic. After a while they had become more detailed, desperate really, about the love for her that had grown continuously in his heart.

"So you still like her then?" In a spilt second, Timothy's face turned to one of shock and hurt.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I? She's so kind and lovely and she picks better ties than you" Finishing with a smirk he turned his body towards his father but kept his eyes lowered, remembering someone else who used to be the same.

"Don't worry" A smile slowly forming on his face, along with the idea in his head. "You know, I was thinking of getting her a present too"

At this, Timothy looked up, confusion etched all over his face.

"What present?"

"Well," Patrick started, "you see"

"Spit it out Dad!"

"Well I want to ask Shelagh to marry me"

"Oh. Ok" His head lowered once more.

"What's the matter? I thought you liked her?"

"I do, but, my present is going be nowhere near as good as yours"

"Maybe my present could be from you too?"

"But how would she know it's from both of us?" boyish wonder spreading across his face

"Hmm" Putting a crooked finger on his mouth in concentration.

Suddenly Patrick snapped his fingers and with that ran out of the room. All Timothy could hear was rummaging from the other side of his closed bedroom door.

After a while his father came walking back into the room, with a big grin on his face and wrapping paper, pencils and a small, velvet box in his hand.