Randon drabble type thing - Patricks thoughts as Shelagh apearance as she transforms from Sister Bernadette to Mrs Turner.


The first thing he noticed about her was her eyes. Not in a flirtatious way. He was happily married to Margaret and she was a new young nun that had just arrived in Poplar. No, nothing of the sort. It was just that the nuns he found, could sometimes all blur into one. Dressed all the same, with no hair style or hair colour, or jaunty fashion choices with which to distinguish them, he had found ways over the years to remember who was who. Sister Evangelina was the large one, Sister Julienne the one with the slightly posher voice and kind smile, Sister Monica Joan the oldest one, and Sister Bernadette was the one with blue eyes and tortoise shell glasses (as opposed to Sister Mary Grace who also had tortoise shell glasses and green eyes).

The next time he thought about her eyes was years later. Having waded his way through a tidal pool of grief he was surfacing once more into the world, and she had just gotten a pair of stylish new specs, not as face obscuring as her old ones. He didn't know whether it was a combination of her new lighter glasses, or him paying more attention, but one day he was struck by how dazzling blue her eyes were, how large and expressive, almost enchanting, as they shone beneath her lenses.

He realised he was hopelessly in love with her long before he ever knew what she looked like, underneath the habbit. He'd never given much thought about what her body looked like, or whether she had a 24 inch waist. Even in her religious robes he could tell she was petite, but when he found her on that road, and saw her for the first time in civilian clothes he was struck by what a perfect figure she had even in in the outdated skirt and jacket.

On that occasion, her hair was plastered against her head, damp from the rain, and frizzing slightly. He barely noticed, far too concerned about her state of health and getting her back to Poplar safely. It was only the following day, when he called round to her new digs on spec, and caught her in "casual" mode, with hair down and in a headband did he realise she was a blond. He wasn't sure why he was surprised by that, it's not as if he had imagined her as a red head, or a brunette.

It was still so fresh and new to see her there, head uncovered, and smiling awkwardly, as he realised he must have been staring. And somewhere, deep in the ungentlemanly side of his brain, a small thought occurred of what said hair would look like splayed out across one of the pillows on his bed.

As the courtship continued, and she grew more comfortable with life in her own skin, adding heals to her shoe collection, and new tailored suits and dresses, he found himself pinching himself at how lucky he was. It was her personality and kind heart that had drawn him to her in the first place, but the fact she was extremely pretty to boot really was the icing on top.

On his wedding day, when he turned and saw her stood there, hair down and curled as he liked it, the figure flattering dress, and, thanks to Trixie, light make-up thrown into the equation for the first time, his heart nearly stopped. She'd moved from pretty to absolutely beautiful.

It turns out he wasn't the only one who thought it. "Turner, you lucky old dog" Dr Carson had jabbed him in the ribs as they both stepped outside for a cigarette during the wedding breakfast. "You charm a nun out of her habbit, and when you do, she turns out to be one of the prettiest women in Poplar. How do you manage it?"

Patrick just shrugs. "I went for someone who was attractive on the inside, not foolishly blinded by looks. I guess I was rewarded for that after all".

Later that night he peeled away the layers of lace and tulle to reveal soft silky white skin, and curves in all the right places and a bustline that the religious robes had really kept wel; hidden, his last conscious thought, before lust took over is brain entirely was that his new wife was certainly as pretty on the outside as on the inside.