"Timothy, we are home!" Shelagh announced, whispering loudly.

She was waking Timothy who was dozing in the armchair. Timothy had been the first to leave the square dance: he had volunteered to go home to relieve Mrs. Penney from baby-sitting. Shelagh had waited at the party for Patrick to return from the maternity home where he had left to see the diabetic patient. Finally, they were at home.

Timothy woke up with a start. A copy of The Lancet was lying on the floor. "Hi."

"Everything ok with Angela?" Shelagh asked.

Tim smiled. "Yes. She has been asleep all the time. I must have found the medical history of whooping cough a bit demanding as I fell asleep."

Patrick chuckled. "Son, your interest in medicine should not interfere with your need of sleep. Not yet. At medical school you will have plenty of sleepless nights with your studies. Now, off to bed." He gave Shelagh a knowing smile. "You may quite fancy what is placed on your bed. The Sisters helped with the embroidery, the socks and shirts have your name on them. "

"Great!" Tim yelped.

"And there is something else there you might like. Your Dad has bought you long trousers, "Shelagh continued, with a smug smile.

Timothy looked at them a bit embarrassed. "Really? Dad, thanks." He headed to his room, happily whistling.

Patrick looked at Shelagh and took her by her shoulders. "All right, Mrs. Turner?"

"All right, Patrick. "She snickered a little.

"What now, fair lady?" Patrick asked, his voice muffled by Shelagh's hair.

"I have this image. You in the shorts. You grew rather fast, didn't you, like Timothy?"

"Yes I did. Do not grin so widely, lady. I was a sight, 6ft of legs and arms and shiny, white calves showing…."

Shelagh snorted. "I think you were right and I was wrong. Some young boys do not look good in shorts. Not if they have the Turner legs."

XXXXX

Patrick was coming out of the bathroom in his pyjamas, when he heard a small sound from Timothy's room. The door was ajar. "Dad," Tim's adolescent voice creaked a little, "would you mind coming here for a minute?"

Patrick came in and sat beside Tim on the bed. The boy's eyes were a little worried. "Dad, Mum didn't mind you buying me long trousers? I mean, I don't like her to think, that…."

"No, son. I took care of the case with my known diplomatic tact." Patrick was touched by the boy's sensibilities, he was growing up so fast, but sometimes, like now, you could see in his face the boy who had handled the burial of a goldfish with utmost, mournful reverence and pomposity.

Tim scoffed a little. "Your diplomatic tact. Well, I have to take your word for it." But the boy was clearly relieved. Patrick had for some days wondered if something was bothering him. He decided to be not so diplomatic.

"Tim, it is excellent that you try to take Mum – I mean Shelagh - into consideration so well. But you don't always need to protect her. In this case of shorts, she was quite reasonable about it, really. "

"Yes, I guess so." Tim kept a thoughtful pause. "Sometimes I don't know who I try to protect. Myself, really. "

Patrick gulped a little. The event of preparing Tim to new school had brought to his mind the time they had bought him his first school uniform. That had been on the day Marianne had got her diagnosis. A day of fate.

"Tim, I too, have been thinking of Mummy lately. Your real mother. She is not forgotten." Patrick's eyes fluttered a little. The love he had for this boy was his most precious inheritance from Marianne. The boy and their shared past. He now often had recollections of the happy days of their lives, the odd outcome of his new happiness with Shelagh and Angela.

"Dad, I know that it is ….not wrong to think of Mummy. Or to talk of her. However, I don't know always know how." He turned to his nightstand, pulled out a drawer and took some photos out there. "Here. You can take these."

There were three pictures of Tim's birthday party from the year 1950. A happy two-year-old with happy parents. Patrick's eyes filled instantly with moisture, but he exclaimed: "Tim, I am so glad you did develop that film. Isn't it so, that these are from the film, that…."

"From the film that I claimed to be spoiled, "Tim said, embarrassed. "I didn't at first know why I said so. It took me some time to get….a sense of that. I hadn't saved any bacon for Mum, and my school equipment was taking such a toll on her. I didn't know how she would feel about these pictures." He paused. "And I was sad, I guess. I would have liked to have Mummy see the photos I take now. "

"Tim, that's quite all right." Patrick considered the lean, delicate profile of Tim, so similar to Marianne, and the spirit of Marianne which seemed to be growing in him.

He asked haltingly: "These are so good pictures that I'd liked to show them to Shelagh. To Mum. I'd like to tell her about that birthday when you were two. Angela's birthday is coming soon, rather sooner than I'd like to admit. "

He felt his throat thicken again. "I have been very close to telling Mum about the time we bought your first school outfit, and how I felt on that day. Is it all right with you if I do that?"

"Yes, I guess so. Mum is a nurse, after all. She might be interested in the medical stuff; it can be important for her to know…how it all happened. "He brightened a little. "Then I could tell her about the latest news on cancer research I learnt from The Lancet. Oh, Dad, it is so interesting, all the lab work: what is tested and how it is tested. Dad, could I have some mice? As pets"

Patrick grinned. He loved that his little boy had this keen interest and resilience in him. Yet a line had to be drawn somewhere. "Scout's honour, Tim. Pet mice or lab mice to use in scientific experiments?"

Tim squirmed a little. "Well, Dad, one thing might lead to another…."

"Ok. I will consider that. We will consider that, Mum and I. This is a kind of thing that Mum really has a veto over. You understand that?"

"Yes, Dad."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Patrick went back to their bedroom he stood by Angela's cot, watching her quietly for a while, and then caressed her head. Shelagh woke up a little. "Patrick, what are you doing? It's past midnight, come to bed."

Patrick did as she told and pulled Shelagh close. "What, Patrick?" she asked, drowsily. "Did Tim like the new trousers?"

"Yes, he did. But I am glad we still have one baby in the house."

"Wait till you see the fashion Angela wants to wear when she's 14…:"

"A cruel woman you are, giving me that image," Patrick grumbled, amused. "A cruel and a very lovely woman…"

And so he finally fell asleep, with a happy smile on his face.