It was quiet now, in their bedroom. Shelagh lifted her head. Too quiet. She sat up, peering into Angela's cot which was empty of its usual bundle and looked back over her shoulder to Patrick's side of the bed, also empty. She burrowed back under the covers and had just gotten settled when she remembered. Laughing quietly to herself – all these middle of the night feedings were making her brain fuzzy – she put on her glasses and swung her legs out of bed. Shivering slightly in the chill, she reached for her robe, only to find her nightgown buttons in disarray. She laughed again; last night there had been a sparkle in Patrick's eye and some cheeky business about "unwrapping an early present". The very remembrance made her hum as she righted her buttons and slid into her robe and slippers.
She listened at the door for any noise from Timothy's room but the hall was still as she padded to the stairs. There had been a vigorous review of The Rules at dinner last night. It seems as if, in the Turner household, Father Christmas delivers no presents to boys who stay up late on Christmas Eve, who do any peeking whatsoever, or who venture any further than the landing at the top of the stairs without express permission on Christmas morning. As she descended the stairs, she heard whispering and when she turned the corner, she was greeted by the sight of her husband, also in his pajamas and robe, talking in great detail to Angela who gurgled in her Moses basket. "See angel girl, just one more dab of glue right here and we'll have this propeller spinning in no time." He zoomed the model plane over her head, accompanied by a passable plane impression and she squealed in delight.
He turned at Shelagh's hand on his shoulder. "Ah, and here's Mum, awake and ready to go. Happy Christmas, Mum". She leaned down to capture his lips in hers. "Happy Christmas, Dad. And Happy Christmas, angel girl". She bent over the basket and scooped up Angela, who promptly snuggled into her neck. Patrick bounced out of his chair with the model plane "Well, what do you think?" Shelagh turned around and laughed out loud this time, "Patrick! It looks like the Battle of Britain in here!" Their colorful tree not only sat in an almost obscene pile of presents, now it was surrounded by a cloud of model airplanes hanging from the ceiling. Patrick carefully balanced the last plane in the tree and went back to stand next Shelagh folding her into his arms and planting an enthusiastic kiss on her head. She looked up at him. "Dearest, you seem so excited this morning." He kissed her head again and tightened his grip. "I am excited, it's Christmas! Tim'll be desperate to come downstairs any minute, our girl is right here in your arms and you, Mrs. Turner, are in mine."
She nestled further into his chest and opened her mouth to tell him just how being in his arms made her feel when they heard the unmistakable sound of an almost teenaged boy thundering down the upstairs hallway. "Dad! Dad!" Timothy paused and Shelagh heard him laugh before he shouted even louder, "MUM! Mum and Dad! I do think it's probably time for me to come downstairs, isn't it?" Patrick chuckled and lifted Angela out of Shelagh's arms. "Hmmmmm, I don't know, Tim, it is awfully early." They could practically hear the eye roll as Patrick strolled toward the stairs. "Give me a break, Dad. We go through this every year, it's not too early!"
"I don't know, what do you think, Angela? Should Tim be allowed to come downstairs now?"
"Angela gets to be down there? That's not fair – she's seen the tree already!"
Shelagh could hardly contain her laughter "To be fair, Timmy, she's only a baby."
"Muuuummmm, don't tell me you're on his side!"
Patrick chuckled, "All right, Tim, you can come down now."
Timothy thudded down the stairs, plopped a kiss on Angela's cheek, and rushed into the living room towards the tree. He came to a sudden stop and turned to Shelagh, who was smiling broadly. In two steps, he had crossed the space between them and threw his arms around her. She wrapped her arms around him and laid a light kiss on the top of his head. "Happy Christmas, Timmy," she whispered. "Happy Christmas, Mum," he sighed into shoulder. He squeezed her again and turned around.
In the following cacophony of exclamations and whoops from Timothy as he explored his new arsenal, Patrick walked over to Shelagh, who was dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. She threaded her arm under his and leaned against his shoulder as they watched Timothy bound about in excitement. "We have come right," she ventured shakily. She felt Patrick nod. "Yes," he said softly kissing Angela and pressing his lips to Shelagh's temple. "We have come right."