As Doctor Turner placed the forceps into the autoclave in the maternity home, he cast his mind back to another forceps delivery: the Carter twins. He and Sister Bernadette has attended hundreds of births together, maybe even thousands, but that delivery changed everything, he thought. Meg Carter had slapped Sister Bernadette across the face, hard, and Doctor Turner had felt a fury rise up in him as he warned Meg not to interfere again. Afterwards, he told himself it was the fact that she'd struck a nun, that he would have reacted the same had it been Sister Julienne or Sister Evangelina, but now he knew better. After the birth, as he and Sister Bernadette has stood outside the flat, adrenaline waning and exhaustion setting in, he'd offered her his cigarette. Why had he done it? An overabundance of courtesy? Again, he told himself he'd have offered the same to the other Sisters, but he knew that wasn't true. He couldn't imagine either of them taking the cigarette from his hand. Before it had happened, he couldn't imagine Sister Bernadette taking it either, but then her tiny hand had taken the Henley from his, and suddenly she was a woman. The habit and wimple had seemed to disappear, and there she was in front of him. Looking back on it, he realized that was the moment he was well and truly lost.

Sunday, August 24, 1958

Dear Sister Bernadette,

Things in Poplar remain much the same, though the weather has turned rainy. Tim and the other boys from Cubs are getting into all kinds of mischief due to cabin fever. I try to remember we were all young once.

Mrs. Reilly had a baby boy, after 36 hours of labour and a transfer to the maternity home. They are both doing well. I am sorry to tell you that Mrs. Lawson miscarried in the 24th week. I am sorry to write such sad news, but thought you'd want to know how your patients are. They all miss you, as do Timothy and I.

Yours,

P. Turner