Like any epic, one ending isn't enough and the final chapter turned into three! I'm sorry it's taken so long, but here is the conclusion.

"David, what's going on?" It was half whisper, half hiss, a disconcerted question hard to ask behind Timothy's back.

"A little wedding surprise." However diverted his tone, David's expression was intent. "He wanted to do it, Patrick. Trust him."

"Did you know about this?" asked Shelagh quietly. Patrick shook his head, astonished. He was aware of her chair drawing closer to his until the legs touched with an unobtrusive metal click, but continued to look at the boy: a paper white face, cleft between the eyebrows by a deepening furrow, bent over voluminous notes and mouthing words with exam concentration intensity.

Obstetrics, paediatrics, domestic… Silently, Timothy recited the litany of difficult, newly learnt words, following phonetic spellings he had written to remember how Uncle Kenneth pronounced them. Cadaver, botulism, alleviate, obstetrics, paediatrics… They were a rope to hold onto and burned as he started to let them slip through his fingers by dragging his eyes to his audience, seeing encouraging expectancy in each face, before turning to the people for whom he had brought his labours as a gift.

They were watching him, his father and Shelagh. His father's arm discreetly rested on the back of her chair and unconsciously she inclined towards her husband, but they watched him. Both smiled, as the others did, but the smiles contained more than mere anticipation. Her hands were folded in her lap, as he had often seen them in the old days when they lay demurely on top of her habit. Just as often though the smile had seemed suppressed, lips pursed against any improper giggle. This free and open-lipped beam, ready to be enchanted, was unconfined; and he saw what lay behind the amusement of his father's grin, the bright confidence and shattering pride.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all very much for coming to my dad's wedding today. It's great to have everyone here and it's really great that Dad and Shelagh have got married.

"It's special for everyone but I think it's most special for Shelagh because she's not been married before and that must be quite exciting, though it might be scary too. Constable Noakes told me that the Best Man tells funny stories about the groom and explains why he'll be a good husband, but I think that's stupid as everyone knows Dad'll be a good husband because he was when he was married to my mum. So instead of talking about that, I thought it'd be much better if I told Shelagh four things she needs to know about living with Dad which will make being married to him much less scary."

And there, thought Patrick, was exactly what he had talked of: that funny, perceptive kindness, bluntly unconscious of its intuition, but no less kind for that. It moved him deeply, paternal pride swelling and growing, even though he suspected, as he heard a first chorus of chuckles, that by the time Timothy sat down again, he might well have been teased in spectacular style.

"The first thing you need to know is Dad isn't very good at domestic things. He's quite fun at home, but he's terrible at cooking, he's late for everything and he's quite untidy. We've always tidied up lots whenever you've been visiting. I think you know that anyway because you've seen his study and you know why Mrs. Harrison calls it a midden. He's quite absent-minded too. Last week I kept a list of all the things he mislaid and here it is: the electricity bill, his cigarettes, the newspaper, the car keys, his cigarettes again, my library card, his lighter, a tea towel, the ticket form for the pantomime, a teacup and his cigarettes again. And I don't think it's going to get any better because apparently Dad's always been like this. When he was little, Uncle Michael says he and Dad were always getting into trouble because their bedroom was so untidy and it was always Dad's stuff. His cooking's always been awful as well. Just after Dad became a doctor, he and Uncle David shared digs and Uncle David did all the cooking because he thought they would get scurvy if he didn't and the one time Dad did cook Uncle David says it was a botulism casserole. So, please can you never be on duty in the evening if it's one of Mrs. Harrison's days off or if you are, please can I have dinner with you at Nonnatus House first?

"The second thing you need to know is that Dad's a big hypocrite." General consternation arose. "He's always telling me to tidy my bedroom, work hard at school and 'to stop asking questions for one minute, son'." The imitation was so precisely executed that Timothy had to pause until the reaction died down. "But, firstly his study's much messier than my bedroom and from what I've found out, he's just as bad at the other things too. The first time Granny Parker met Dad was the day she and Grandpa moved into Dad's street when he was eight, and he came over and started asking questions about who they were and where they were from and what kind of trees were in their garden and Uncle Michael says when he started at grammar school, the first thing all his teachers said was 'You don't ask as many questions as your brother, do you?' which was a bit embarrassing. Lastly, according to someone who was there, sitting next to Dad in lectures at university was 'like being stuck next to an animated pogo stick with aspirations to be a medical encyclopaedia.'" At this point Patrick started to wipe his eyes. It took no guess work to discern who had coined that particular phrase, even had she not been heartily laughing. "As well as that, when Dad was at university he once pretended he was ill – "

"Oh no," said Patrick, with a horrible feeling of what might be coming next.

" – so he could go to a cricket match at Lords."

While gasps of amused shock exploded, Patrick shot a baleful look at David. His fellow felon shook his head and pointed in the direction of a long-legged surgeon, whom both of them were mentally christening the Welsh blackguard, giggling in the corner. "You brute, Ken," muttered Patrick.

"Dr. Turner!" said Shelagh, eyes dancing. "Were you skiving?"

"I have no idea what that means, but I suspect so," admitted Patrick. "Mrs. Turner," he added, indulging himself by watching her reaction before raising his voice to protest loudly, "I blame Watson! The serpent beguiled me and I did eat."

"I don't think that's good enough," pontificated Timothy, suddenly off-script. "You've told me loads of times I shouldn't talk to Nick and Simon in lessons just because they want to. This is much worse."

"We were very young," pointed out David. "And it was Bradman." Amid the laugher which followed this disclosure was something close to envy, although it seemed confined to the male contingent of the audience.

"How old were you?" asked Shelagh, still fascinated by the insight provided by the anecdote.

"Nineteen. Only a few years older than somebody else was when she was stealing things from her father's desk." Just before she had spoken, Patrick had noted David's mild air of discomfort; hearing the low naughtiness of her laugh, he suspected that of the two of them, Shelagh might well be the more forgiving of the truants' wives.

"Another thing Dad is always complaining about is bad drivers and he says that most of the people on the road are rubbish. I've never seen anyone drive on the wrong side of the road though." The groan was so pronounced that Shelagh was not the only person who instinctively glanced at Patrick. "Dad has though! Years ago, just after they'd left university, Dad and Uncle David and Uncle Kenneth went to France on a bicycling holiday, but one day they borrowed a car so they could go and see something in the countryside. On the way back Dad was driving along a lane, except it was very narrow and there was a man with sheep which made it even narrower and they hadn't seen any other cars for ages when suddenly they came to a bend and there was another car coming towards them!" Faster and faster, the sentence had sprinted into the air and Timothy stopped to gulp in breath, enjoying the fascination of his audience. "Dad had been driving on the wrong side of the road! Fortunately, Dad swerved really quickly and got out of the other car's way, so they didn't crash or anything, but Dad and Uncle David and Uncle Ken did end up in a ditch. It was alright though, as Dad managed to sweet-talk everyone so the people in the other car and the man with the sheep helped push them out. So if you ever need to speak French, Dad might be able to teach you, but if he offers to teach you to drive, I'd probably say 'no'." The next line in his notes was the joke Uncle Kenneth had suggested, one which still made him wrinkle his nose in bafflement, but the laughter had risen and risen in the course of the anecdote, mounting to a great wave on which he floated and every risk seemed worth taking. "But will you still give me driving lessons when I'm old enough, Dad?"

"You can forget it now!" remarked Patrick darkly to the assembled throng.

"I didn't know you could speak French," said Shelagh.

"A very long time ago." Pensiveness flickered across his face. "I don't think I've spoken a word of it since 1945." He did not need to explain the unspoken meaning. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the reflectiveness evaporated. "And I wasn't driving on the wrong side of the road," he muttered. "Just a bit too much in the middle." She folded her lips and said nothing, eyes sparkling.

"The third thing that's important about Dad is him as a doctor. I know you know lots about that because you've worked with Dad for ever so long, but I thought I knew everything about Dad because I've known him ever since I was born until I started writing this speech. I've found out loads of things I never knew! Dad always wanted to be a doctor ever since he broke Uncle Michael's nose when he was twelve." With rueful nostalgia, Patrick looked up and found his brother grinning at him. "And when he was at university his friends thought it was really obvious he would be a GP because he was always interested in the people they were treating not just what was wrong with them. If you want proof, ask Hannibal, Horace, Henrietta and Helga!" Patrick's hoot was echoed by his old compatriots, and while Shelagh waited for illumination, on her husband's face the adolescent who had bestowed the names was fleetingly vivid. "They were Dad's cadavers in anatomy and he always said they'd been people so they needed names and he always said hello to them at the start of the practicals, which is weird, but nice. He was like this with alive people too," continued Timothy, cheerily unaware of how difficult it was for the audience to keep their faces straight. "I got told by someone who once worked with Dad that the best thing about him was he never forgot 'those we treated were people first, patients second and' then something else third'. But I'm going to tell you all about that later," he concluded mysteriously.

"Dad also had a nickname when he was training and doing paediatrics. The children used to call him Dr. Frog, because after examining them he'd make them paper frogs like the ones on my desk and he would even let them do the good bit as well where you blow into it and get a 'fully inflatable, three-dimensional amphibian'. Uncle Kenneth says that shows Dad was always going to be a good GP, although Uncle David says that it shows Dad's dishonest, with ideas above his station, because he hadn't qualified yet and the children shouldn't have called him doctor."

"I asked the nurses what it's like working with Dad and they all say he's brilliant at obstetrics. But, if I was pregnant, I'd rather you were my midwife because Dad wasn't always good at delivering babies." As Shelagh's mind boggled at the concept of a pregnant Timothy, with sudden horrified realisation Patrick knew the story about to be related. "The first time Dad had to deliver a baby he was really good until the last bit when the head started to come out. Then he passed out. Dad claimed it was because of something he'd had for lunch, but Uncle David had the same food and was fine so I don't think it was."

Amid the affectionate guffaws around the room, Shelagh turned to Patrick. "Oh you didn't, Patrick!"

Patrick laughed. "It was the meat pie?" he offered lamely.

"Now there's a euphemism I'm going to adopt every time there's something I don't want to do around the house," she replied, twinkling.

"Dad's much better at babies and stuff now though," resumed Timothy. "All of the nurses gave me nice stories about working with Dad and I can't mention them all now because it would take ages, but I wrote them down for you so you can read them later. But I'm going to tell you the best ones from Nurse Miller and Akela. Nurse Miller told me that earlier this year when something horrible happened at work she stopped believing in herself. When she had to meet Dad to look at the results of a test thing, he asked her questions which meant she knew she done everything she could. He told her that her instinct really mattered and helped her to trust herself again. And Akela told me that when she first started working in Poplar, Dad believed in her and told her she was going to be a great midwife because she made people feel safe and knowing he thought that made her feel less scared and even when she was thousands and thousands of miles away in Africa, she still remembered what Dad said and it helped her. I think that's important because it means Dad isn't just a good doctor but he helps other people be good at their jobs too."

The jokes and embarrassment had been easy to endure, shrugged off with laughter only mildly tinged with wistfulness for the passing of youth. It was now that Patrick's head bowed, pondering the influence he had not known he exerted which had rippled out into the world.

"Sometimes it gets a bit difficult, because Dad's always at work and sometimes he misses stuff we've planned at home if he's called out." The voice was momentarily quieter now, the quiver of its tiny sadnesses missed by all but the father, just as the minute appeals of apology and regret in the eyes of the father were only seen and understood by the son in the second where their eyes met. "But he's only always at work because he wants to help people so it's OK. I'm really proud Dad's my dad because not everyone's dad is hard-working like him and that sort of makes up for things a bit. I'm sure you'll feel just as proud having a husband like that."

"Finally, the last thing you need to know about Dad is that he's got lots of what Uncle Kenneth calls 'hidden depths'. In fact, he's actually a hero! I know he doesn't look like it and I never even knew it until a few weeks ago because Dad doesn't talk about what he did in the war, but I wrote to the man who was his commanding officer at Dunkirk and he wrote back." At the name of the place, pregnant with its tugs of pride and courage within their collective memory, every pair of eyes had sharpened their focus, each head raised, while breaths were more intently taken. Patrick alone looked down again after his first swift stare at his son, the expression upon his face frozen. "He told me that Dad was an excellent field doctor and always did what he had to make patients not suffer as much and," he took a quick breath, then ran at the word, "alleviate it if they were hurting because Dad never forgot the men they were treating were people first, patients second and soldier third. He also told me that Dad volunteered to be one of the last people to be evacuated because he thought that all the doctors who had children or were married should go first. This is what Dr. Stewart said at the end of his letter:

"'None of the men in our field hospital were decorated for bravery at Dunkirk, however I find it hard to believe that there were many who were braver and am honoured to have commanded them. Captain Turner was one of the bravest and you should be very proud to be his son. It was a privilege to serve alongside him.'"

Patrick neither heard the awed silence of the room nor felt the pressure of admiring glances. He had not known his fingers had curled into his palms, livid streaks smeared over the white knuckles. He only realised his knee was involuntarily trembling when the smaller hand rested upon it, exuding its soothing brand of peace, the lace cuff like flecks of snow against his dark trousers. As he covered it with his own hand, ornamented with its simple circle of gold, both continued to listen.

"Well, I think Dr. Stewart's right and I am very proud to be Dad's son. Even if he didn't get a medal or anything, I think saying you'll let everyone else go first is really brave and some other things Dad's told me about Dunkirk were really brave too.

"And I also think Dad letting all the dads and husbands go first is extremely important today because it shows he thinks being a dad or being married are really important and that probably means he's a brilliant husband. I don't know for sure if he is but my mum would've and just before she died she told me that Dad was the best man she'd ever known so I think he must've been." The fingers shifted and interlaced; her knee touched his. Still the childish treble wove its magic. "I do know what Dad's like as a dad though and he's definitely brilliant at that. Since my mum died it's been a bit tricky because Dad's sort of had to be my mum and dad and to be honest he's not a very good mum, because he's late for things and can't cook and stuff like that, but he's a fantastic dad. And it's really great that you've married him because he can go back to just being Dad again. So, thank you ever so much for saying yes when I asked you to marry him because it's made Dad and me really happy and it's going to be brilliant too! Just remember the four things I've told you: Dad's not good around the house and he's a big hypocrite, but he loves being a doctor and he's a hero underneath." There was no need to look down for Timothy to remember the only line written on the paper which remained unsaid. Instead, for the first time since the start, he looked fully at them: at her, drinking in his words, her lips slightly open, her eyes wide in their earnest contemplation; at him, mouth twisted against the aching pride which threatened every moment to drown him, vulnerable and stunned by what he had heard. Briefly Timothy paused, the edges of the paper crinkling as he crushed them. Then he grinned, and, with a puff of exhalation, it was finished. "So, there's only one more thing for me to say and it's the most important thing of all: welcome to the family!"