"If you are worried, just telephone her" .

That's what Peter would have said if he could see her now, too a million miles away, as she folded away the ironing. Downstairs she could hear Timothy reading out loud to Freddie, catching snippets of The Three Bears as she left them in the sitting room with the basket of ironing to accompany her as she trailed up the stairs to their bedroom and her mind had wandered to her friend.

She glanced at the bedside clock. Almost eight. They'd had a thoroughly enjoyable tea and it was getting close to the time that strictly speaking she should be thinking of walking Timothy back to the Turner household and getting Freddie into his pyjamas.

It wasn't like she could keep Timothy another night either. His school uniform was at home and quite frankly, even if they were up at the crack of dawn tomorrow, it would be an awful tight squeeze to get Tim home and then to school, Freddie to nursery, her to work and Peter to bed.

The last of her slips went into the drawer as she heard the telephone ring and quickly closing the drawer she shot down the stairs.

"Hello?" she asked, wondering who it could be this time of night.

"Hello" came the voice down the line.

"What's happened?" she responded to her husband, heart immediately sinking.

"Nothing" Peter replied, clearly having to whisper as he must have had company. "Can't I phone my wife?"

"Of course you can you fool", she smiled, feeling relieved.

"I'm going to be back early" he said. "That briefing that I told you about last week for the Christmas market arrangements has been cancelled".

"So you will be home when?" she replied, hoping he would be back even a short time before she had to get up for work so they could have breakfast together or a little cuddle before she had to face the day.

"About six, ten past something like that" he replied, knowing she had to be up at half past. "Is everything all right with you know who?"

"Yes perfectly" she responded, smiling. "We have had The Three Bears, no tantrums and so far two cups of milk gone down as well as almost two Rusks!" She heard Peter laugh before she carried on. "I'll walk Timothy back and the night air will put Freddie to sleep".

"Don't walk. Get the bus" he said.

"We'll be fine", she reassured him.

"Get the bus" Peter repeated, determined she get the message loud and clear.

"Alright" she whispered, still not being quite used to someone being so concerned about her welfare that she spend an unnecessary, or at least in her mind unnecessary, bus fare for a two mile trip but it still made her stomach bubble. "I might telephone Shelagh first just to make sure everything is fine first though. You know…" she whispered, hoping that Timothy and Freddie were too engrossed in their story and would not hear.

"Yes" Peter replied. "Good idea. Probably for the best".

Unbeknownst to Chummy, the Turner telephone had only just been placed back on the hook. Three hours earlier Shelagh had stood taking in the sight of the spread of toys, not seeing, hearing or feeling Patrick return from the kitchen and stand behind her. It was not until she felt his palms rest on her shoulders that she realised someone else was in the room. Now as she lay in bed, alone, staring at the ceiling, the conversation played over and over in her mind.

"I always have to think matters are set for a reason" he had begun.

"Patrick…" she had responded not able to turn around and look him in the eye. "I have done something wicked". It had only been a whisper but he had heard it like a cannon firing.

"There are all forms of wickedness I feel". His voice lingered in her mind now, still seeing him stepping properly in to the room and over the pile of toys to his seat trying not to look inappropriately expectant of her response.

"I am going to anger you in my failure" Shelagh replied to him unable to speak in more than a whisper. "I have already angered the Lord and I will now anger my husband". Even now she could feel the tan leather of her handbag strap as she fiddled with it, wrapping it around her fingers.

"Shelagh please tell me" he had pleaded, other issues having crossed his mind aside from where he thought his suspicions lay. "You are my wife. First and foremost my wife. Something is wrong. Tell me. If you are ill again or there is something to do with your health, I need to know".

Her lip was still sore where she had bitten it to prevent tears flowing, words lingering in her throat but unable to articulate them. She'd stepped over the cross eyed rabbit and sat down.

"I was rooting through all of these to see what we could give Freddie". He must have seen the struggle in her eyes and that no response was forthcoming. "But then I did question whether to keep them for the future". He knew he had been pushing her, and on reflection she felt that too but it had to be done and someone had to do it.

She breathed hard, exhaling sharply in the darkness of their bedroom, remembering the grim finality of her response. "We must give them away" she'd replied, voice plain and adamant. "We have little choice as they will just gather more dust".

He dipped his head gravely; the image lingering too. "I married Shelagh for Shelagh. No more no less and...and if we do not find that joy coming to us again, we will still be a family"

"I never thought I would be a mother, Patrick. It was never a possibility, but now I want to be. Have I failed you?" she had inquired, starting to feel nauseous again with anxiety building now even though the conversation had been and gone.

"No" he had replied, shaking his head. "No you haven't. You could not prevent that disease. Nobody could". He had reminded her of the truth, what little control she had had and what little realisation the illness would bring to her.

"I see illness, death every single day of the week and if I questioned God every single time a patient of mine fell ill I would up and down from my knees like a puppet. I will happily tell you that the thought of marriage, the thought of more children simply had not occurred to me. I worked and worked and it made life far more straightforward".

"So life is now complicated?" she had jumped in, anxiously feeling the cavern that she had imagined in her mind opening up in front of them. She knew she had jumped in and the tone of her voice, on reflection, was accusatory and harsh.

"No". His voice had been calm. "Life throws you unexpected moments. You were one of those!" He had smiled to try and bring her round but she could see that had swallowed hard when he had seen her face. "But…I had never thought I would share my life with anybody again and anything more from that will only be a bonus". For the first time she looked up at him properly, forehead creased, not quite seeing him.

"We can be a perfect family as we are and as much as I will admit that you telling me that we were to have a child would be wonderful, I am not so irrational to think that that disease could do harm. Remember what I do". There was a void in his chest though with the subject having been raised, but the thoughts had been there long enough for him to become accustomed to the idea at least.

"It is a hurdle we will cross together Shelagh".

He had seen her nod but there was still something else bothering her. It was clear. "Tell me". This time he was sitting next her, her hands being taken up and squeezed.

"A few weeks ago", she started. "I went to see Dr Perry. He offered me an operation. To see what damage has been done". Even now, hours later it sounded in her head as though she was explaining about a patient, not herself. "He offered for certainty for me. For us" she had added quickly."But I need your consent".

"Do you want the certainty?"

"Yes". It stumbled out instinctively.

"Then you have my consent".

She had gone to bed. Exhausted in mind but eyes refusing to close, Patrick had sent her upstairs with a promise that he would tidy up and give Timothy his supper and they could talk some more. She felt sick, cold and shoulders still heavy, despite his protestations and seeming acceptance of this situation she had placed them in.

She heard the telephone ring downstairs and Patrick's voice wander up the stairs. "Hello? Poplar 840".

"Hello Patrick" Chummy said.

"Oh!" Patrick replied. "Ready to return Tim?" His voice sounded forced to Chummy on one end of the line and to his wife who was now listening intently a few feet above his head.

"Yes" Chummy responded before there was a slight silence. "Patrick, is Shelagh alright?"

"Yes", he replied. "She's just hopped up to bed early. Do you want me to get her to telephone you tomorrow?"

As much as he wanted his wife to be able tell him her innermost thoughts, the chances were slight and Chummy was the best bet. He had no idea that she was still awake although pleased to hear it was her friend on the telephone clearly asking after her. How she wished the receiver was in her hand now.

"Yes, if you could" Chummy responded. "Although it will have to be after work".

"I will. Do you want me to collect Tim?" Patrick asked, in need of fresh air and thinking he might be of use.

Chummy must have said yes as five or so minutes later Shelagh heard the door slam shut and what must have been a good half an hour or so beyond that, still wide awake she heard it open and Patrick whispering something to the boy about going up to bed quickly and quietly as Shelagh was not feeling to well and she mustn't be disturbed. She listened as Tim did just that and she heard his bedroom door close. Patrick it seemed, however, was not for coming upstairs and she could hear him shuffling about downstairs.

Shelagh must have fallen asleep though fairly readily and entirely unexpectedly until at some point she felt him slide into bed, arm unconsciously slipping around her middle. He had suggested talking more but seeing her asleep - or so he thought - he left the subject for another day.

She wanted to whisper 'Please Patrick, just don't' as he laid his hand on her abdomen - not thinking of its connotations - but her lips stayed firmly shut.

She didn't need to make matters worse.