"Mum?" came the voice from the hallway. "Mum? Are you in?"
"I'd be Mother if I 'ad a pinny on!" his Dad shouted from his seat in the living room in front of a rather roaring fire.
"Dad?" Peter asked, closing the door gently behind him.
"Who else'll it be ye daft bugger?"
Peter smiled and rounded the corner of the living room door to find his father, his leg up resting on a stool; a newspaper on his lap.
"Is that bad again?" he asked, feeling warmth hit him the moment he stepped into the sitting room.
"Nuffin a rest won't cure". He saw his son nod, quite used over these years to his father's varying health as he would be called upon on to lift and carry when Dad had simply tried to do too much. "Missus left you too then?"
"She's in work" Peter replied taking a seat opposite, resting his hands by the flames.
"You after Camilla and you comin' for New Year?" his Dad asked having thoroughly enjoyed his first Christmas as a father-in-law. As much as his boys were his world, he would have liked a girl but they had never been blessed after Philip. He'd had to wait 33 years for his daughter, but he'd been ever so pleased she'd arrived at last.
"We haven't thought about it. I don't think she's working. I'm not". For that he was thankful; years past turfing out drunks from pubs, a target for abuse because he simply tried to keep the peace. He hoped she was not working on New Years Eve.
"Well you two're welcome son", his Dad continued, seeing that something did seem to be bothering him. "Come on son, spit it out. Seen that face before too many times. Missus giving you earache?"
Peter knew his Dad was joking and he shook his head. "Far from it" he replied, frowning, having every intention to ask about a photograph until his mouth started to fail him. "Dad whilst Mum isn't here…."
"Go on?"
"I was wondering if….." he paused.
"Son, spit it out!"
"Do you remember that photograph Mum had taken of me and Philip when we were about 5 or 6? When he started school?" he asked, having a very clear recollection of the picture in his head that used to sit on the windowledge.
"It'll be somewhere, I'd a thought. Why?"
"Do you think she'll object if I ask for it? Camilla thought it might be nice to have a photograph of Philip and me".
He saw his father tip his head slightly to one side, thinking. He knew that it was only time to time that his son spoke of his brother. It had quietly pleased him as he thought about it that he had someone to talk to and that she seemed to have managed to encourage him to speak. He'd always liked the girl; right from that first moment when his son had pushed her forward to say hello.
The front door banged behind them and they both heard Irene's footsteps.
"Ver she is. Ask her".
He walked carefully back to Nonnatus on the way to collect her, the photograph tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket. He had seen his mother's eyes quieten when he had asked, but she had, quickly, found the very one he had been thinking of in an album on the bookshelf. He had every recollection of it being taken, decked up in his Sunday best on a Saturday - quite the protest for a 5 and a 6 year old having been commenced for having to dress up - for the trip down the road to old Mr Sadler's studio. The brothers sat side by side on a decrepit leather chaise longue that squealed with every movement, both boys legs dangling not quite reaching the floor as they tried not to look bored.
"She's not here" were the first words he heard as he put one foot into the empty kitchen at Nonnatus. Turning he found Sister Evangelina, tablecloth over one arm and plates balanced on the other.
"Lay the table", she announced, handing him the plates, "and you can stay for supper". It was an order and there was no choice to be had.
An hour or so later, Peter was helping Jenny clear the table when they heard the door go.
"There's food in the oven for you" Jenny said, seeing Chummy appear in the kitchen.
"No thanks old girl" she replied, shaking her head. "Decades past being hungry, besides one needs to get out of this wretched uniform" she continued, opening her gabardine to an unholy mess. She saw Peter pull a face before he walked past her to collect more dishes from the table.
"What did she have?" Jenny continued, turning on the hot tap. They were always interested in each other stories of a particular labour or delivery, how straightforward it might or might not have been.
"A boy", Chummy continued, deciding not to take her gabardine off as she was a sight to behold. "Proper little bruiser as well for someone so small. She tore like there was no tomorrow and he wasn't a happy chap so it's a night or two in the London".
"Do you always have to talk like that?" Peter said walking up from behind her, carrying the remainder of the dinner plates.
"Sorry" she replied, catching Jenny's eye with a smile. "Delicate stomach?"
"I have just eaten" he said.
Chummy laughed. "I'm going to get changed" she said and departed from the kitchen.
"Camilla hold on a minute!" he said, putting the dishes he was carrying on the side. He ran after her, catching up her with at the bottom of the stairs.
"I spoke to Mum before" he said, unconsciously resting his fingertips on the belt of her uniform.
"She gave me a photograph". It was still sitting in his jacket pocket.
"Did you mind asking her?" Chummy asked, knowing he was apprehensive, again petrified that she would push just that touch too much and he would end up resenting her for it.
"No and she didn't mind either".
Chummy smiled. "Splendid" she replied quietly. She had been rather relieved and pleased for that that he had asked. She understood how much it might have perhaps taken to open up that avenue, knowing what she now knew. It might be the first step to soothing these memories.
"Are you going to have something to eat? You need to" he said. "Both of you" he concluded in a very hushed tone.
"Wait for me while I get changed and I will have something at home".
He nodded and smiled and departed back into the kitchen to wait for her, hearing her run up the stairs.
He was falling asleep again; seeming to spend most of his life either trying to sleep or working now, just this afternoon adding his name to volunteers for extra shifts in the knowledge that there would be one more mouth to feed soon. It didn't help either that the rather full dining table at Nonnatus had started to take its toll as well. The photograph stood, unframed, on the mantelpiece with a promise from her that she would buy a frame in the market tomorrow.
The radio in the background, playing Tchaikovsky, lilted in the background of their sitting room as Peter's eyes slowly closed. He suddenly woke though with a start as his head lolled against the cushion of the sofa, legs tingling with pins and needles. He looked down. She was asleep, her head using his legs as a cushion, her arm over his knees. Peter needed to move himself - and her - before he lost all sensation.
He tried and failed to not disturb her too much, but as she sat up and he shifted, he felt the relief of blood rushing back to his feet.
"What time is it?" she asked, rubbing her eyes, glasses long discarded to the coffee table.
"Nearly 9".
"Is that it?"
He nodded, as amused as his tired body was capable of, that here were two relatively young people ready for bed at this early hour. She moved and sat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. They both knew why they were tired and nothing needed explaining for the weariness on their faces or the unspoken need to just simply sleep undisturbed.
"If we don't move now we may be here for the rest of the night", he said, supressing another yawn as he saw her nod. "Do you think you have enough strength to roll me into the next room?" Chummy could hear that he was not entirely joking.
She smiled sleepily, getting up from the floor. "In all perfect and fundamental honesty, no", she replied, holding out a hand for him to take.
How complicated it all looked, hooks, elastic, metal contrasting against silk as watched her change for bed as she undid her suspender belt, rolling her stockings down those ever so long legs. How glad he was to be male that his only concern was his wife's bare legs wrapped around his waist, rather than the jigsaw he saw every morning and every night.
"What are you smiling at?" She had caught him.
"Just remembering the first time I ever went near those things". He'd snapped her elastics against her skin when what had been a rather pleasant evening sitting, talking that after a kiss or three had taken a turn she had found herself in front of the fire entirely clothed but with, in both cases, a severe case of wandering hands as she slowly let down the barriers between them. He'd managed to catch his thumb around the clip and she had cursed him for hours as the red welt appeared.
"I had that mark for 3 days!" she commented. "Thankfully it was only a place you were allowed to see". She paused, taking her nightdress from the back of the chair. "Even I've never managed to do that to myself and you know how much of a maladroit I can be."
He looked confused.
"Cack-handed" she replied.
In the semi darkness she slipped her nightdress over her head, smoothing the pale blue satin, feeling suddenly conspicuous that she as being watched, still not being able to shake her anxieties about her body. She had already noticed changes to her skin, blue veins appearing more prominent and the fact that she thought she could see a slight change in her profile. It might have been imagination, wishful thinking or most probably cake.
Not that he was watching her completely as his eyes closed as each second passed, feeling rather than seeing her slide into bed next to him. She pulled his arm over her waist letting his body encase hers. She felt safe like this; a tiny, delicate, protected creature. As she got inevitably bigger she would have hoped that she would continue to feel the same.
As she felt a brief kiss touch the back of her head as exhaustion took them both, she sent a silent prayer that tonight all would be quiet and a good night's sleep was waiting for them.