August 1, 1968
Patrick was unsure what was going on. Shelagh had been strangely quiet all day. She'd gone to see Tim the day before so he could help her with some of the recipes she had questions about. She had been happy upon returning, telling him all about the things she learned about cooking from his son. But she'd been quiet otherwise. When she wasn't paying attention, he would watch her and notice something almost nervous about her that he had not seen since her days as a nun. They'd gone to bed that night with a soft kiss and a little cuddle and she hadn't said anything. He hoped, now after they'd finally come together as a proper couple, that she would tell him if something was bothering her.
But there was no use worrying about it now. They were heading to Tim's for dinner, just as they did every Thursday. Shelagh seemed even quieter now than before, but now whenever he looked at her, she gave him an encouraging smile. Patrick wasn't sure why.
"You look very pretty this evening," he said as they walked through town. Tim's house wasn't too far, about a ten minute walk, so they never bothered with the car. And in the summertime, it was especially nice to be outside.
Shelagh beamed proudly. "Thank you. I thought this would be a nice occasion for this dress."
It was a very pretty dress. It was shorter than others he'd seen her wear, but that was the fashion nowadays. And Shelagh had incredible legs to show off. The dress was sleeveless and had a green and pink and white mod pattern. Looking at Shelagh now, it was almost impossible to believe she'd ever been a nun. "It's very seasonal," he complimented. "You always wear such bright colors."
Her face suddenly turned grave. "Should I not?"
"No," he said quickly, disabusing her of the wrong idea. "I think you look like you've stepped out of a fashion magazine, and I think you look beautiful and happy, and happy is the most important part."
Shelagh rested her head on his arm, giving him a loving squeeze. "I am happy, Patrick."
He gently kissed the top of her hair, careful not to disturb the pretty style she'd coifed. "I'm glad."
But then Shelagh went quiet again, and Patrick could not understand what could be wrong.
Patrick put it out of his head, however, when they got to Tim's. He knocked twice and opened the door—it was well-established between them that neither he nor Tim waited to be let into the other's house—and called out, "Hello, boys!"
Mike immediately appeared out of the kitchen and in the foyer. "Hi Patrick, can I pour you a drink?" he offered. "Shelagh, Tim wants your help in the kitchen."
Shelagh and Mike shared a look that Patrick found very odd indeed. But she went off to the kitchen and Patrick joined Mike by the bar cart.
"How about a scotch?" Mike asked, holding up the bottle of single malt that Patrick had given the boys a while ago.
"Sure," Patrick agreed. Everyone was acting very strangely. It was almost as thought Mike were keeping him busy while Tim and Shelagh did something else altogether.
Mike brought him a glass of scotch and the two of them sat on the sofa, just like they'd done a hundred times before in the evenings when Patrick would come over. "So how's your practice been going?" Mike asked pleasantly after they clinked their glasses with a muttered 'cheers.'
"Same as always," Patrick replied. "No patients today, but yesterday I had a man come in about his arthritis and I did a house call for a pregnant woman on bedrest. She's getting very close to term, and if she wants to give birth at home, I might have Shelagh come and assist me."
"She's still a midwife, isn't she?"
"Yes, and one of the best I've ever seen. And I don't just say that because I love her. Ever since I met her, she's always been the most skilled midwife I've ever had the pleasure of working with," he answered proudly.
Before Mike could respond with more than just a smile, Shelagh herself came back from the kitchen. She wordlessly came over to Patrick and sat down beside him. She took his hand in both of hers and rubbed the back of it with her thumb and kissed his cheek.
"Everything alright?" he asked with concern.
Shelagh forced a smile and nodded.
Tim then came to join them. Patrick watched as his son went and poured himself a bit of scotch and downed it in one swallow. "Tim?" he asked worriedly. Everyone was acting so odd and secretive and he could not imagine what was going on.
With a heavy sigh, Tim turned around and faced the sofa where Patrick and Shelagh and Mike sat. Tim looked to Mike who then stood up to stand beside Tim.
"Tim, what's going on?"
"Dad, I…we…I've got something to tell you," Tim said nervously.
Patrick was starting to get very worried indeed. "You can tell me anything, Tim. You know that," he said, hoping to comfort his son over whatever it was he needed to say.
Shelagh's hands gripped his tighter.
Tim looked over at Mike and took his hand. "Mike and I…we're…we're not just friends. We're not just housemates."
Patrick looked from Tim's pale, frightened face to the way the boys clasped hands and back to Tim's face. "What do you mean?" he asked. His heart was thundering in his chest over the tension filling the room, but his confusion won out over any other emotion in that moment.
"We're not just housemates," he said in slightly cryptic explanation. He looked to Shelagh, who nodded. "Mike and I aren't just housemates the way you and Shelagh aren't just housemates. We…we're in love."
The world tilted on its axis for Patrick in that moment. Tim and Mike…the way he and Shelagh…they were… Thoughts would not form in any coherent fashion inside Patrick's head.
He could not process, in that moment, anything with regards to what Tim had said. He just couldn't, not right then. But something did stick. Tim had looked at Shelagh. He'd been in the kitchen talking to her. That…that was something he could cling onto right now.
"You knew?" he asked sharply, turning to look at her beside him.
She nodded. Her eyes were filled with a kind of terror that he did not appreciate at all.
"When?" Patrick demanded.
"Yesterday," she said in a voice so quiet and afraid that it would have broken his heart if he'd been able to think about that right now.
Patrick ripped his hand away from hers and stood up. He downed his own scotch and put the glass down on the table haphazardly. What was happening? What was going on? How…why… Everything seemed to be unraveling right in front of him. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. The walls were closing in and his heart was pounding so hard in his ears that he could not hear anything else.
Without a word, Patrick stormed out of the house. He slammed the door behind him. If anyone called out after him, he didn't hear them. No one followed him, as far as he could tell. But at least outside, he could breathe fresh air. And he started to calm down. Much easier to do without everyone there staring at him.
Well, at least Patrick now knew why Shelagh had been so quiet all day. Tim had told her or perhaps she'd found out somehow. That was a question to ask later. But she had been—what? Nervous? Upset? Uncomfortable?—about it since she'd found out about it. That must have been it.
He paced back and forth in the front garden, trying to wrap his head around all of this. Tim and Mike. They were in love. Tim was in love with a man. With Mike.
"Patrick?"
Shelagh's voice came from the front door, which she closed behind her. He watched her come over to where he was.
"Timothy's inside crying," she said softly.
"I feel a bit like crying myself," Patrick replied. And he did. He felt an ache inside him that he hadn't felt in a long time. A long, long time.
"I think you should come in and talk to him," Shelagh suggested. "And please be kind."
That request startled him. Be kind? What sort of warning was that? Why did she… It dawned on him what she and Tim and probably Mike must have thought with him reacting as he had. And that settled it.
Patrick went back inside without saying anything else to Shelagh. She followed behind him. He could talk to her later. He would talk to her later. But now he had to talk to Tim.
He found his son on the sofa, curled up in Mike's arms, his face pressed into Mike's neck. "Tim?" Patrick addressed warily.
Tim looked up at him, his face red and blotchy and wet from his tears. Patrick did not much like having Mike here to talk about this, but Mike was obviously very much a part of this. And Tim's way of telling Mike everything now made much more sense.
Patrick sat down on the coffee table, ignoring the protest of his bad knee at the low angle. The way Tim was looking at him, waiting for him, it was almost too much to bear, almost made him turn away. But he didn't. He couldn't. They had to deal with this.
"Tim, I need you to tell me how long you and Mike have been…"
"Since we were in school together," Tim answered quietly. He wiped his eyes and sniffed back more tears.
Since they were in school. That was years ago now. "And is he the first man you've been with?" The very question made bile rise up in Patrick's throat.
Tim shook his head.
"In Poplar?"
He shook his head again. "Not till Oxford."
"That is a bit of a comfort at least," Patrick reasoned to himself under his breath.
"Why?" Tim snarled angrily.
But Patrick would not back down from his own anger. "Because I want to know how long you've been keeping this from me!" he shouted.
Tim was taken aback. "You…what?"
Patrick leaned forward and took his son by the shoulders. "Tim, I thought we told each other everything! I thought we were close, that we didn't have secrets, not since you've grown up! My god, I told you the first night I saw Shelagh again that I was in love with a nun! And you didn't trust me to know that you and Mike have been living happily in love all this time? You didn't trust me with the truth?"
Tears filled Tim's eyes again. "I just didn't want to disappoint you," he said, his voice cracking.
"Tim, are you safe? Are you happy?" Patrick asked him with a deadly serious tone.
The young man nodded.
Patrick smiled encouragingly and wiped some of Tim's tears away. "Then you couldn't possibly disappoint me. All I ever want is for you to be happy and safe and loved."
"That's what Shelagh said," Tim said with a watery little laugh.
"Yes, well, she's very smart and you should always listen to her," Patrick replied, looking over to where Shelagh stood, watching and smiling and wiping away her own tears.
Patrick pulled Tim up and into a big hug, kissing his hair like he used to when his son was little.
"Everything's alright. Thank you for telling me," he whispered gently until Tim's breathing had slowed and his tears had stopped.
Tim pulled away after a minute. "I should…I should go finish dinner," he said awkwardly.
"Would you like any help, Timothy?" Shelagh offered.
"In a minute," Tim replied.
They all understood that he wanted a little time to compose himself, and they'd let him have it.
Patrick then turned his attention to Mike who was sitting on the sofa still and was looking up at him with awe. "My family would never react like that," he said.
"Well, we're your family, and we've reacted…well, we've reacted," Patrick said, looking to Shelagh for some assistance.
She came to join him, putting her arm around his waist. "We love you both very much," she told Mike.
"That's right," Patrick agreed.
Mike smiled again, that bright, charming smile he always had. "Thanks, Doctor T."
"You know, Mike, you can call me Patrick. Or even Dad, if you want to. Since you are my son-in-law in every way that really matters," he realized.
"Really?"
"Whatever you like, Mike."
Mike held out his hand to shake Patrick's, but after all of this, Patrick wasn't having any of that. Patrick stepped forward and gave Mike a hug just like the one he'd given Tim a moment before. And as they embraced, Mike whispered, "Thank you."