AN: This was inspired by the wonderful Steff, a fine writer of classic CTM fic A Matter of Trust and currently Convergence (which everyone should read!). She wrote a 300 word drabble which I have expanded upon with her permission. She also has done an immense job of beta-reading this for me, which I am very grateful.
1963. Poplar.
It had been difficult for Shelagh Turner to let go initially. She found it helped that she could do so in small measures. A young man didn't want his mother's loving care as much as a young boy had needed it.
If she had been asked 5 years ago, she would never have seen herself being host to a group of young men in her own home. And yet, here she was trying very much not to intrude on her son doing homework with two school friends, Michael and John.
The boys had staked out the kitchen table with books splayed out in front of them. Occasionally one boy lifted up his head with a line of banter. Another one would wad a piece of paper and threaten to let it fly in response. These flare ups would soon dissipate and laughter would ensue. Shelagh sat in the parlour reading the Lancet. She shook her head at the nervous energy of the young. Youth never understood how lucky they were to have such endless reserves.
"Come on Tim! Tell us what it's like," she overhead from the kitchen.
"Yeah, stop holding out on us Timmyboy" the other young man egged on.
"It's not anything. They're just nurses. They do nurse-stuff. That's it," Tim contended.
"They spend all day between other women's knees. I tell you, I wouldn't mind a job like that," John said crudely.
Shelagh didn't want to eavesdrop, but really she couldn't help her ears from pricking up at such talk. The boys had to be discussing Nonnatus House, she reasoned. There were no other nurses that Tim was in constant contact with in Poplar. In fact, since she and Patrick had returned from South Africa she noticed that Tim had become a constant presence at that residence. He volunteered to help Fred with the maintenance whenever he could. Or the nuns with the gardening. Even Nurse Busby had become a history tutor, while Nurse Franklin or Nurse Mount would sometimes train him on basic hygiene or fitness. He had been quite adopted by the kind-hearted women of Nonnatus and Shelagh hoped that he appreciated it. She knew that she herself did.
"I'd like to get my chance at the blonde one," Michael snickered. "She's gorgeous," he hooted.
"Not me mate. I'd go for the red-head. I've had a thing for her since scouts," John rejoined.
"What do you say Tim? How about an introduction mate?" he cajoled.
"Yeah Timmy, you can't keep all the birds to yourself," Michael tried to peer pressure.
"No chance! You'd just embarrass yourself and me." Tim insisted snottily.
Shelagh nearly got up to try to dissipate the hot steam that she was sure was rising from Timothy's head at that moment. She knew that tone in her son's voice was not to be brooked.
"Oh do be quiet the both you," Tim Turner hissed. "If I hear you talk about those women, or any woman, like that again then we'll not be mates anymore," he said strongly. "And frankly Michael, you need me too badly to pass maths, right?" he smirked.
There was a tense pause which felt to Shelagh like an eternity. Just as she got up to intervene she heard a nervous laugh from the kitchen.
"All right Turner, no need to get your knickers in a twist. We won't ruin your chances. But you must admit - you're a lucky man," he said enviously.
"No, I'm a fortunate one to get to be in her...their company," he said offhandedly. "Now can we get back to chemistry?" he pleaded.
"Ugh" John sighed.
"You're such a slave master," the other boy sighed.
Shelagh entered the kitchen and the young men instantly fell silent switching their attention to the nearest book available.
"Tim? Isn't it near dinner time?" Shelagh asked.
"Translation: Tim move from the kitchen." Tim smirked.
"See. All that training has not been in vain," she smiled as the boys gathered their books and moved out.
As she cleaned up what remained from the pack of boys, she mulled over what she had overheard.
At times her adopted son reminded her so much of her husband. Patrick brooked no talk against women's role in society. She had never witnessed him say anything disrespectful toward any nurse that he worked with at the surgery. Her experience had taught her that this was unfortunately the exception rather than rule. Often when she had been seconded to the London as a nun, or even now as Patrick's wife, she experienced the worst from her husband's colleagues. Junior doctors who were insufferable. Lecherous patients who felt entitled to take liberties with their state of dress. She had witnessed it all.
She couldn't help but be proud of her adopted son in this moment. Still, she couldn't help but note that her son had nearly said "her company". The quick correction to "their" had been left unremarked upon but Shelagh couldn't help but believe that perhaps her son was singling out one of the nurses in particular. And she knew that such an attachment was natural. Tim was a young man after all. Puberty meant inevitable hormone surges, and her son was not immune.
However any harboured feelings toward the quartet of young nurses currently in residence was futile. Shelagh discounted Nurse Crane, respectfully. Nurse Barbara was engaged to Reverend Hereward, so she was out of the running. Nurse Franklin was an obvious choice being the most glamorous health worker that the East End had ever seen. And then there were Nurse Mount and Nurse Busby, who were often joined at the hip. Timothy had become attached to them both. Although, more so recently to the Welsh nurse who had not long ago received her midwifery certification. They had spent long hours together revising as she helped him with history, while he quizzed her on child-birthing methods.
That night she turned toward Patrick in bed and unburdened her thoughts. He laughed at her fretting.
"Well, I guess it was inevitable. We Turner men have a history of falling love with nurses," he chuckled. "We're just lucky that it didn't include the habit as well," he smirked.
Shelagh playfully scoffed at his impertinence.
"Patrick will you please speak to him? If I am wrong then you can ease my mind because it will hurt my heart to see him crushed by unrequited feelings," Shelagh pleaded.
"He wouldn't be the first young person to do so, dear, but I'll speak to him. Better to address now before it gets to involved or have him face the embarassment of any of the nurses discovering his misplaced affection" Patrick replied.
Shelagh sighed contentedly as she wrapped herself in her husband's arm. They each eased into the sleep of the harmoniously reposed for the night.
Patrick stood in the doorway to his son's room. It had been a few days since he had promised his wife that he would have this discussion. A ill-timed outbreak had delayed the promised father and son conversation. If he was honest, however, he was at a loss at how to begin. His own father had always been the classic example of English restraint to the core of his being. They had not traded more than 2000 words in his entire life time, and the majority of it had been about the football.
Still, Patrick knew that the only way to begin difficult conversations was to begin.
"Son, I need to talk to you for a moment," he said as he closed the door entering the room.
His teenage son's face instantly became stricken by alarm and grief.
"Is something wrong? Is mum alright? Angela?" he stammered.
"Everyone's all right. It's not anything like that." He sighed. Suddenly he was in desperate need for a cigarette.
"Your mum wanted me to talk to you about something she overheard the other day," he said haltingly. Patrick suddenly chuckled to himself as he sat down opposite his son.
"What dad? Just spit it out or we'll be here all night," Tim smirked.
"Alright. Look do you remember when we talked about girls and growing up?" Patrick asked.
"Yes. I'm still traumatised by it," he said cheekily.
"Me too." Patrick laughed in remembrance of that tricky conversation. "Well, you know that not every man feels about women with the same respect as we do. I think it's because we have more exposure to their difficulties and the strength they have to overcome those circumstances. Most men don't respect that like we do. In fact they fear it," he spoke earnestly.
"I know Dad." Tim shifted irritatedly in his chair.
"And I know that you spend more time with the nurses at Nonnatus than with any of the girls from school," he poked trying to get to the heart of the matter.
"It's just..." Tim paused choosing his words carefully. "Girls at school are so silly. All they care about are The Beatles or what's on their own face."
"Still Tim, I wouldn't set your heart on something developing that is quite unlikely," Patrick warned.
Tim scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"Coming from you, that's pretty rich," he smirked. Patrick laughed at his son's own clever perceptions. "Hush you," he smiled.
Reaching out, he ruffled his son's hair affectionately.
"Look, I'll just come right out with it. Do you have a crush on Nurse Franklin?" he asked.
Tim's eyes became as big as saucers as he squirmed uncomfortably.
"Son, it's perfectly acceptable. I honestly believe she's the subject of fantasy by half the male population of Poplar," he laughed.
"Dad!" Tim exclaimed in a voice three octaves above it's normal register. "No! She's good-looking but…" he hesitated, clearing his throat as he whispered conspiratorially. "I don't think I'm really interested in blondes."
"Tim…" Patrick hesitated as his son turned his red face away. He felt his son draw away from him embarrassed. Exhausted, the father felt as if he had gone as far as he could this evening with his son. Again he reached out and squeezed his son's arm.
"Okay, son. I'll stop prying but just remember, all women are to be respected."
He grinned.
"And it never hurts, to look around. As I well know, love can be found in the most unlikely of places," he said over his shoulder as he closed the door.
"I know Dad," Tim shouted as he closed his Welsh history book that he had borrowed from the library. He sighed as he pulled out a snapshot that he had surreptitiously taken one day at Nonnatus House. Using it as a bookmark, he couldn't help but pour over the visage of one nurse in particular before drifting to sleep.