Here it is - my first attempt at writing for pleasure since I was maybe 12 or so, so be gentle - but I welcome feedback!
This takes place just weeks after the wedding, so no Angela or infertility troubles yet.
And these lovely characters belong to Heidi and crew at Neal Street, not me :)
The clock on the kitchen wall read 7:15. Shelagh briefly hoped that the clock was wrong, that she still had the whole afternoon ahead of her, but she knew she couldn't fool herself. Shelagh closed her eyes and slowly counted to ten. The frown lines on her forehead faded and her breathing became more regular. She could do this.
She willed herself to open her eyes again, only to see Patrick bounding around the corner into the kitchen. She smiled inwardly, thinking, as she did countless times a day, that Patrick was incapable of walking normally into a room, particularly when he was excited.
He stopped short when he saw his normally efficient wife standing stock still in the middle of the kitchen. He had clearly interrupted a deep thought, he realized. His eyebrows furrowed in concern.
"Darling, are you all right?" he asked, taking her hands in his. She impatiently swatted his hands away.
"Quite. It is only that I have so much still to do."
Patrick smiled, unperturbed. "Shelagh, you've already accomplished so much. The flat is practically shining, it's so clean. And I've laid out the card table, and set up the chairs, so there's nothing more to do there."
Shelagh sighed. "But Patrick, the food. I have barely started. Not to mention the drinks. And I have not even started to think about freshening up, and –"
Patrick cut her off. "I have every confidence that you will pull this off, my love. I can't say I've ever seen you unprepared for anything. And on the subject of freshening up, I can attest with certainty that that is most unnecessary. You look wonderful, darling."
Shelagh's mouth opened in protest. Patrick shushed her by placing a finger gently on her lips. "I'm quite certain that this will be a wonderful evening. The Grahams won't be here for another 45 minutes yet, and I am most willing to help in any way I can. What shall I do?"
At that moment, the phone rang. Patrick crossed the room to answer it, while Shelagh busied herself with flipping through her new recipe book. A gift from the nurses on her wedding day, it was one of Shelagh's most treasured possessions as a new wife and mother. She had marked several pages in advance, so that she would be ready for this very moment. She had decided last week that she would make canapés, although at this very moment she could not for the life of her remember why. It was a card game; that was all it was. Placing some bowls of mixed nuts on the table would have been perfectly appropriate, she mused. Or so Jenny and Trixie had told her. But this was Shelagh's first time entertaining in her new home, as a new bride. She wanted to impress their guests, old friends of Patrick's, and she wanted to make her husband proud. Yet she couldn't help but feel frightfully incompetent. In her former life, she hadn't needed to impress. The starchy blue habit was her only wardrobe. Now she had a closet full of new dresses, purchased at Patrick's insistence. She had hairstyles to learn, although the nurses were more than happy to help. The only entertaining she did prior to her wedding was with the rest of the nuns – she had never been solely responsible for the outcome of a tea, or a supper. Yet here she was, a mere three weeks after her wedding, hosting a euchre night, of all things. Cards, food, drinks –
"Oh, the drinks," Shelagh fretted. She hoped gin and tonics would be acceptable. Patrick had insisted the Grahams were the least picky people he knew, particularly when it came to alcohol, but Shelagh's lack of education on cocktails (other than what she had picked up here and there from the nurses) had left her feeling self-conscious. She was the local GP's wife, and she knew that carried with it a whole slew of social responsibilities for which she deemed herself wholly unprepared.
She turned to the hatch to ask Patrick just one last time if he thought her choice of cocktails was suitable. She stopped suddenly when she saw his face, as he placed the telephone back into the receiver.
His large brown eyes gazed at her, and his head tilted in the endearing way it did when he was concerned about her. Fear rose in her chest. "Patrick, what is it? Is it Timothy?" she asked cautiously.
"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry. That was Roger Graham, I'm afraid. It seems that Louise has just found out her mother is gravely ill. They are taking off immediately to go to her. They won't be coming tonight." Patrick stopped speaking abruptly, nervous for Shelagh's reaction.
"Oh, dear. Oh, poor Louise. I must write to her first thing tomorrow," Shelagh murmured. Patrick smiled at his wife's instant concern for Louise. He should have known.
He joined her again in the kitchen. He placed a warm palm on her equally warm cheek, which was flushed from the hours of tidying and cleaning and planning. "Yes, of course. Shelagh, I'm sorry this evening hasn't worked out the way you had planned. You worked so hard to prepare for tonight."
Shelagh sighed, although not entirely unhappily. She had to admit, she was a little relieved. "Oh, Patrick, it's nothing. I had not even made any progress on the food. Nothing to worry about. Perhaps we can reschedule with the Grahams, once Louise's mother is feeling better," she offered. She was feeling generous, now that the stress of the evening had been released so quickly.
"I think that's a wonderful idea," Patrick said as he brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek. It couldn't be easy, he was well aware, to experience such a change in a few short months. Mere months ago, he had found her on the right road. Now she was his wife, and Timothy's new mother, and tonight she was experiencing the wide range of emotions that came along with entertaining guests, only to have the night cancelled unexpectedly. He delighted in seeing these "firsts" she encountered so often, even weeks after being married. Her first chance at entertaining, her first fretful night about a week ago, pacing around the kitchen, flipping back and forth the pages of her new cookbook, trying to decide on the perfect recipe. He even delighted in seeing her first experience at having a hosting opportunity cancelled, because he knew that, eventually, there wouldn't be nearly as many "firsts," as she settled in to life as Mrs. Turner. He knew she would quickly adapt, as she always did, and that these little learning moments for Shelagh would shrink in number and become less frequent. It would all soon become second nature.
He loved watching her navigate these new waters. There was something very intimate about watching a woman, notably one's nun-turned-wife, blossom into a new version of herself. Or, possibly, a version of Shelagh that had always existed, but remained hidden, and had now been given the opportunity to breathe. Patrick particularly loved the little surprises Shelagh discovered about herself along the way, such as the fact that she rather enjoyed being pampered at the hair salon, and the fact that she still loved going to the cinema as much as she had when she was a young girl. He especially loved the carefully and gradually unwrapped surprises in the bedroom…
Shelagh interrupted his thoughts by pulling away from his hand. "Patrick, dearest? Shall we fetch Timothy from Jack's house?"
Patrick paused, and gently shook his head. "No, darling, I don't think so. Jack's parents are prepared to have him spend the night, and I don't see any reason to interrupt their sleepover." Shelagh stared at him, the wheels obviously spinning in her mind.
He took her hands once again. "I think, my darling wife, that we should enjoy having the evening to ourselves tonight. We've got snacks, we've got cocktails, and we've got Jim Reeves, haven't we?" He quickly grasped the small of her back with one hand, the other hand still wrapped around hers. He swayed dramatically back and forth, pressing his cheek to Shelagh's.
She laughed softly in his ear. "We do, indeed." Her warm whisper sent shivers down his spine. He instinctively pulled her to him. She never stopped surprising him, he thought.
Patrick pulled away as quickly as he had pulled her to him, holding her at arm's length. The warmth of their bodies and their warm skin touching was a little too much for him and he knew he needed to take this slowly. "Well, good. I'll go put on the record. Shall you set out some snacks for us?"
Shelagh rolled her eyes. "Really, Patrick. You know I had not even started the food. All I have are some crisps and some nuts."
"Those sound like snacks to me! Get them out while I give us a little mood music," Patrick said with a wink. Shelagh again rolled her eyes before turning her back on him to reach into a cupboard, searching for bowls. He cursed himself silently, "Not too much, Patrick! Not yet."
Within minutes, Jim Reeves' baritone voice was crooning out from the record player, and Shelagh had assembled small bowls with crisps and nuts in the sitting room. Patrick had re-stashed the card table at the back of the hallway closet, and had returned the chairs to the kitchen table. At some point, Shelagh had disappeared into the bedroom.
Patrick fetched the gin, tonic, limes and two highball glasses from the kitchen and set them on the coffee table. He returned to the kitchen for ice, and called out, "Shelagh, dear, I'm making you a drink. Is that quite all right with you?"
She called from the bedroom, "Oh Patrick, I don't know. I'm not sure if I've the palate for gin." He bit his lip and pondered for a moment before responding, "Well, I'm making you one anyway." Silence.
He busied himself with concocting the drinks on the coffee table. A few minutes later, Shelagh appeared in the doorway. He looked up. The light from the hallway back-lit her tiny frame, and she seemed almost angelic. She had touched up her hair, and he thought he noticed some new lipstick – a tastefully sheer pink. He relished in the fact that she had freshened up just for him. Another happily received surprise.
"Shelagh, have a seat. These drinks are ready." Shelagh sat carefully on edge the sofa, eyeing the prepared drinks suspiciously. Patrick realized she would need talked through this.
"Darling, you've had a cocktail before. You had champagne at our wedding, and I know you've had wine with the nuns before. What are you concerned about?" he asked nicely.
"Well, I have never had gin, dear," Shelagh said frankly. "I'm not sure I will like it."
Patrick smiled and handed her the cocktail in question. "I think you might. G&Ts are fizzy and light."
Shelagh settled back into the sofa, and made sure Patrick was ready to take a sip, too. She wanted to experience this with him. She tipped the glass ever so slightly so that a miniscule taste hit the back of her throat. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed.
Patrick leaned forward, concerned. "Too strong?"
Shelagh licked her lips, pondering her answer. "No… no, I don't think so. Well, I guess I don't really know. It is quite an unusual taste, but I think I might enjoy it."
Patrick expertly raised a playful eyebrow. "Ah, I see. Full of surprises, aren't you?" he teased.