It was like they were courting again. Walking together along the cobbled streets, lit only by street lamps, Shelagh couldn't remember a time in recent months when they had walked alone together, no children in tow, no hurry to be somewhere. They walked together, happy and relaxed, as they about the whirlwind of events of the last few hours.
Serious conversation would come later, in private. For now, they just enjoyed each others company. Shelagh smiled softly as Patrick shifted his medical bag from his right to left hand, and edged more closely to him. A flash of memory passed before her eyes, of another time walking with Patrick, their hands so close. How confused she had been then, uncertain of her feelings and afraid of what her tortured thoughts might mean.
She moved an inch closer and threaded her fingers with his. Together, they took the long way home.
It wasn't so terribly late when they returned to the flat. Timothy greeted them in the hallway, his sister in his arms.
"That's my girl," Patrick cooed as he reached out for his daughter. the bleak lines of fatigue gone from his face as he held his baby to his heart.
"It's a good thing I'm not the jealous type," Shelagh countered. She reached over and kissed Timothy's cheek. "Thank you for managing without us, dearest. You've been so very dependable, and we're very grateful. Your father and I have spoken about it, and we can't ask you to do so much. We're going to have to work out some sort of arrangement with Mrs. Penney if this is going to work for everybody." She smoothed his shirt across his shoulders. " Have you eaten?"
She moved into the kitchen. Glancing around the bounty, she asked, "Well, it looks like I won't have to cook for quite a while, certainly. What will it be tonight? Steak and Kidney pie or pasties?"
Patrick followed her. "I'm starving, I can eat anything, even that frightening looking pan from Mrs. Everett, if no one else wants it," He grimaced at the offending casserole. "Eating that well-meaning yet revolting mess is the least I could do after all you two have done for me. I owe you both so much."
"It's alright, Dad. Just remember this when it comes time for me to borrow the car." The boy stretched. "I've eaten already. Mostly Mrs. B's cake, but I'm fairly certain no one will kick up a fuss about it. I'm for bed. Taking care of Angela is exhausting!"
Timothy started out the door and turned back. "I like the uniform, Mum. It suits you."
Shelagh hummed the gentle lullaby she used to coax her daughter to sleep each night, and began to shed her uniform. The steps were logical and short, and she found herself remembering another uniform from another time. The fine cotton replaced the worsted wool, but the starched cotton smelt just the same. She found a home for the uniform in the wardrobe and slipped into her nightclothes.
Silently closing the door on her sleeping child, she moved to check on Timothy. His light was out, and for once he was not sitting up late with a book. The lad had surely put in his time this week. They would need to find a way to make it up to him. Perhaps a day trip to the seaside. They would have to miss Church, but she doubted Timothy would mind.
The poor boy had been such a responsible young man these last few days. Shelagh knew she hadn't been able to keep all of her worries to herself, and Timothy seemed to read her distress so clearly. But he trusted her, and had faith in his father. Timothy's unwavering belief in his father had given her strength, too. She pressed a light kiss to his forehead, grateful for her son.
The bathroom door was slightly ajar, and she nudged it open. Patrick stood before the mirror over the sink, his shirt discarded, vest tossed in the clothes bin, braces hanging loosely at his sides. He lathered up, and looked back at his wife over his shoulder.
"I thought I'd get cleaned up. I'm not sure when I last gave myself a decent shave."
"That's alright. I like you a little bit bristly." Shelagh moved to draw him a bath. "You should take a nice long soak, too. Just the thing to help you sleep."
Patrick turned to face her. "You take the bath, sweetheart. It's been a long few days for you, too. Or better yet…" his eyebrows wiggled suggestively.
Shelagh pressed her lips together, feigning a prim expression. "Really, Patrick. After all Timothy's done for us, the last thing that boy needs is to be awakened by us splashing in the tub like a pair of selkies." She ran her hand under the faucet to check the temperature. Satisfied, she placed the stopper, then teasingly flicked a few drops of water in his direction.
With a grin, Patrick turned back towards the mirror. For a moment, Shelagh regarded his long back and the way his shoulders flexed as he shaved his face clean of the care of the last days. She stood and walked to him, pressing herself against his back, her arms wrapped about his waist. "I will wash your hair. though," she murmured into his skin. "I'll get you a towel, They're still in the basket waiting to be folded."
When she returned a few moments later, Patrick was in the bath, his head tilted back against the rolled edge. He looked tired, she thought, but the bone-weary exhaustion seemed to have left his face.
Opening one eye, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want to join me? No monkey business, I promise. I'm not even sure I could, I'm so tired." He held his hand out for her to grasp.
"We'll make sure you get some good rest tonight. No surgery tomorrow-" she held up her hand when he began to protest. "One more day off, Patrick, There's nothing so pressing right now, and you could use a day. We all could. Let's get out of the city, go for a drive, have a picnic. Some time as a family."
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Yes, Nurse Turner. Whatever you say."
Their eyes held for a long moment, understanding passing between them. Shelagh stood and turned away.
"I thought you were going to wash my hair?" he complained.
"I am." Shelagh slid the pretty blue flowered dressing gown from her shoulders. "You'll see."
The nightgown joined the dressing gown on the hook on the door before she motioned for him to move forward. "Make room. Just to keep my clothes dry, mind you."
A breath of laughter escaped from his lungs. Shelagh knew she was certainly a far cry from the shy, self-conscious bride of their early months of marriage. She stood before him confident in their love and partnership, happy to revel in the closeness they had built together.
He slid forward in the tub and she slipped her slight form in the space behind him. The water was warm, but not uncomfortably so considering the warmth of the night. She shifted, and let her body surround his.
They lay together in the soothing water, each releasing the stresses built up in their bodies. Slowly, Shelagh wrapped her arms about his shoulders and pressed her face against his neck. "Give me the soap, if you please," she requested politely.
A deep chuckle spread through his chest and he offered the white bar to her. "Yes, Nurse Turner," he repeated.
Shelagh began to create a lather across his chest, but stopped to ask, "Patrick, did you mind me not telling you?"
He rested his head back, turning slightly to see her. "Mind? Why should I mind? You know my feelings about your nursing skills."
She scooped up water to rinse his skin. "Yes, I know, but it...changes things. It makes a bit of a statement."
"I'll say. If I hadn't had a desperately ill patient waiting when I saw you in uniform, I would have taken you into my office to make that statement. In fact, I'm fairly certain that several of the patients in the waiting room had a pretty good idea what was in my head at that moment."
She blushed. Turning his head away, she poured a dram of shampoo in her hand and began to lather his head. "That's not what I meant and you know it. Wearing that uniform says something about my identity, who I am in the community." Her fingers began to rub his scalp, finding the spot, just behind his ears, that he always responded to.
"I know. It says 'Nurse Turner is here to take care of you,'" He groaned slightly as her fingers rubbed a bit harder. "Shelagh, if you want to go back to nursing, we can find a way. We'll solve the childcare issue, and make a place for you wherever you want to be. We can do this."
Her hands slid over his soapy head. "Rinse," she ordered. He slid even farther front and lowered his head in the water before her. For a quick moment, their eyes met before he closed his eyes and she pushed water over his hair, rinsing away the last remains of sweat and Brylcreem and exhaustion.
"All done," she tapped his shoulder. Rising to the surface like the selkie he had promised not to become, he shook the water out of his eyes. Automatically, he reached out and she placed a fresh washcloth into his hand. He dried his face, and then returned to his relaxed position against her.
"I'm not crushing you, am I?" he asked, He sighed deeply and ran his hand over her knee.
"I'm fine. I like you pressing against me."
Shelagh's hand moved up to his hair, and her fingertips began to comb through his unruly locks. She preferred his hair a bit longer, his fringe askew across his forehead, though she knew he struggled to control it. Now, with his hair smoothed back from his forehead like that, he looked different. No one else saw him like that, she thought possessively. He was hers.
She knew she belonged to him completely, as well. Her fears for him had waned, but she knew that even if he had not emerged from his...depression, she would have been just as tightly tied to him as she was at this moment.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders again and pressed her face into his neck. She couldn't say the words in her heart, but he must have sensed them. He turned his head towards her, "Shelagh," he whispered.
She looked up, then took his lips with hers. They kissed slowly, tender kisses that spoke more of devotion than passion. Her hands slid over his chest, stopping to rest over his heart. He shifted on his side slightly, his own hand cradling her head. As they pulled apart, he whispered, "I'm so very lucky to have you."
She pressed her forehead to his cheek. "We're lucky to have each other, dearest."
He let out a small breath, a crooked smile crossing his face. "I don't know what I would have done if not for you, sweetheart. I'm certain I wouldn't have taken a break when I should have done," His face grew very serious. "It would have been so much worse without you. You understood what I couldn't, or wouldn't, admit. Shelagh, without you I could have lost everything."
"Pish," Shelagh scoffed. "All you needed was a good rest."
"No." He lifted her chin, meeting her eyes. "I needed more than a rest. I needed a safety net. I have that now, because of you." His fingers tangled in the hair pulled behind her ear. "I'm better now." He stopped abruptly, some old memory flitting across his face. He shook his head ruefully.
"I think I've said that before." His eyebrows climbed up his forehead, wrinkling his brow. "I should say, I'm getting better. It'll take more than just a few days off. I'm afraid. I'll need to make some changes. I've got to learn to say no sometimes."
Shelagh smiled. "One day at a time, then?"
He nodded. "Yes. We'll start with tomorrow. A trip to the seaside, perhaps? A nice family day." he settled back against her. "I think I'm going to like taking it easy."
"Yes, well don't take it too easy, if you please. You're starting to get heavy, and it's getting late. Time for you to get some sleep." She pushed at his shoulders. "Bath time is over."
Later, after Shelagh cleared the mess, she slipped into their bedroom. Patrick, full of hopes for the evening only minutes ago, lay sprawled on his back, asleep and already snoring. A quick look at the baby assured her that she, too, was in the land of nod.
Shelagh slid under the covers next to her husband and wrapped herself around him. He was still cool from the bath, and his scent filled her head. Patrick had once again returned from that grey place of isolation and fear, and once again, he was stronger for it. Their marriage would be stronger, too. Trust had taken its place beside their love.