"Morning Doctor," She chirped as he walked into the surgery, her tone changed when she saw what he was carrying. "Is that Timothy's suit? Does it need dry cleaning?"
"No, it's for Michael, he will need it for court," Patrick replied not meeting her eyes.
"Doctor, I know it's not my place, but..." Sister Bernadette was interrupted.
"What if it was?" Patrick was facing her, but his eyes seemed to dart all over the room. He looked so like Timothy at that moment; lost, hopeful and confused. She was going to tell him she didn't know what he meant. But she did know.
"If it was," she started and then paused, she knew she had to take care in answering. "If it was my place, Doctor. I would council a firm but more gentle hand with young Timothy. You were once 16, remember how that felt, how you wanted to be treat. But also the guidance you may have never received or even chose to ignore, but wish you hadn't."
He took a long look at her and simply nodded, turned and walked into his office. Sister Bernadette held her stomach with both hands and fell into the chair beside her.
Sister Bernadette was covering the delivery suite that afternoon. It was quiet and her mind was on other things. On someone she had never met. Michael Sumpter would be facing the magistrate about now, in Timothy's suit with Patrick by his side. She prayed the Judge would be lenient. She had heard Dr Turner act as a character witness before. He wasn't phased by authority. He had helped her prepare, when she had to give testimony, during the investigation of the explosion at the docks. It had given her courage. She hoped Michael would leave a free man, for Alison's sake, but also for Patrick's.
Her thoughts were interrupted by someone shouting her name, not someone, Dr Turner. He had Alison with him, obviously in labour. The young wife had turned up at the court and now her contractions were 4 minutes apart. Sister Bernadette led the soon to be mother into the delivery room.
Dr Turner watched as the cool midwife collected herself and professionally took over, calmly reassuring Mrs Sumpter. He thought of the ways in which she reassured him too. He knew his presence was not necessary. Alison was young, it would be better to leave her with the sister. She would let him know if she needed him, but not in the way he really wanted.
By the time Patrick popped his head around the delivery suite door, Alison's baby's head was born. He watched as Sister Bernadette managed to both encourage and calm her patient, while deftly bringing her child into the world. It was something he had seen her do so many times before, but he still stood there transfixed.
Patrick was ready to leave, he was itching to see how Michael's trial had concluded and inform him he was a father to a beautiful baby boy. All he could talk about was how would the teenager cope with a sentence. How would his wife cope with her son's overbearing grandmother and her continuous defamation of his father's character. Sister Bernadette stopped him before he left, reminding him to return Timothy's suit. Patrick nodded absent mindedly.
"Don't just sneak it back into his wardrobe," she had said it before she realized. "If you don't mind me saying Doctor, I know it's not my place." That phrase again, she thought, she hurried on before he interrupted her and made things awkward between them, as he had earlier.
"I think you should use this opportunity to explain to Timothy, why parents worry. Tell him about the Sumpters and apologise for taking his belongings without asking. He just wants your trust and respect, as much as you want his."
"And yours?"
Sister Bernadette rubbed her hands together, holding them close to her. "You know you have always had that and always will."
She lost no time in turning away from him returning to her patient. He watched her head back to the ward, before taking his own leave.
The conversation with Timothy hadn't been as difficult as he had anticipated. He hadn't been too pleased to hear the Stones were revisiting at the end of the month. He knew he had to let Tim go this time and try and build some of that trust, the sister had been talking about.
He wanted to tell her, that he had took her advice and it had all gone quite well, but the distress in her voice stopped him. He shuffled the telephone receiver to his other ear and leant against the hall table, giving her time to speak. Nurse Hereward's condition had deteriorated and it was now only a matter of time. The medical staff were only keeping her comfortable. Phyllis and Tom had been called to her bedside.
Patrick knew he wouldn't be needed at St. Cuthbert's. He looked in on his sleeping son. He had promised his mother he would keep him safe, but was he in keeping that promise starting to smother him. Marianne would never have wanted that, she had been such a free spirit herself. He grabbed his car keys and headed for Nonnatus House.
Everyone was assembled in the great hall. Sister Monica Joan was seated, Sister Julienne comforting her. Nurse Dyer stood with her colleague, young Lucille Anderson. The new midwife had only known Barbara a few months but was visibly upset and was obviously praying. Fred and his wife Violet were in a huddle with Sister Winifred.
She stood alone a little way from the rest. He noticed she was wringing her hands together. The way she did on the rare occasions when she didn't feel in control, when events dared to overtake her. He knew she was praying, silently.
Patrick quietly entered the hall, gently closing the large oak door behind him. He wasn't greeted with the usual pleasantries he was used to on arriving at the convent. His entrance attracted a few glances and some expressions of relief, probably because he wasn't Tom or Phyllis.
She didn't move or look at him, her back was turned on him, as it was on the hopeful and those already grieving. He slowly moved across the highly polished wooden floor until he was beside her. She still didn't look at him. He gently placed his arm around her and lightly touched her shoulder. She seemed to stiffen slightly, unaccustomed as she was to male contact.
As quickly as she had frozen, she appeared to relax just as rapidly. She knew he meant her no harm, that he wanted nothing from her or even expected a response. He only wanted to comfort her and at that moment that was exactly what she needed. The slight touch of his hand, the barely perceptible reassuring rub of his thumb, seemed to be the only thing that was keeping her upright. She still didn't look at him, he didn't take his eyes off her.
The door eventually opened and Phyllis and Tom entered. No one asked the question, there was no need. The only reason the pair would have returned to Nonnatus was because Barbara would now never be coming home.
Sister Bernadette moved swiftly towards the bereaved, followed by the whole ensemble, all with the same intention to comfort Tom and Phyllis and each other. Tom was engulfed in a scrum of compassion. Patrick felt Phyllis slip from his grasp, he noticed from the corner of his eye, she made her way to the door that she had just entered through. He let her go, remembering how much he craved for a moment alone in the hours after Marianne died. He had been engulfed in a similar embrace at the old Nonnatus House. He had to put aside his own grief to support Timothy and take care of the boy's grandmother. Was that really almost seven years ago, was that possible, he wondered.
As the tangle of combined grief slowly came apart, he took one last chance to provide some physical comfort, to the one he wanted to never let go of, slowly stroking her back. She released her arm from around him and his whole body shivered involuntarily. As she pulled away, she allowed herself a glance towards her comforter. Her eyes said thank you.
She walked towards Sister Julienne, who put her arms around her younger sister and embraced her. Dr Turner made for the door, he would have liked to have done the same, but it wasn't his place.