Shelagh swung the door of her locker closed, flinching as she often did at the loud bang which echoed through the room. What had possessed her to offer to be Dr. Turner's — Patrick's girlfriend? What was she thinking? In all honesty, she probably hadn't been thinking at all. Is it possible to make drunken decisions from eating too much rum cake? Perhaps she could blame this whole fiasco on Sister Monica Joan and her insistence that Shelagh eat three slices to sustain her through her shift.
No, Shelagh knew she had no one to blame but herself for her actions. She shouldn't have eavesdropped outside of Dr. Turner's office and listened to his phone call. She shouldn't have spoken with such haste. Leaning back against the row of lockers, she let her head fall back with a light thud, letting her mind wander again over the events of the last hour and the emotions running through her. At the forefront was definitely embarrassment, she was never that bold and couldn't believe that she'd been that vulnerable with a man who, though not a complete stranger, was one whom she knew so little. At the same time, she was not ashamed of her actions or words. They were all true and were spoken out of compassion for poor Tim - she remembered the days after her own mother's death too vividly to not be reminded of herself every time she came upon him in the break room. He was so clearly concerned about his father and it broke her heart that he was being forced to grow up so quickly.
Shelagh pushed herself upright, standing as tall as her small frame would allow, determined to make the most of this situation she had found herself in. Thankful she'd had enough sense to ask for his cell number, she began typing out a message before she lost her nerve, trying to keep the tone light even as her heart pounded loudly in her chest: "So when is my first gig as girlfriend?" After a momentary internal debate, wondering whether a man Dr. Turner's age really made use much of emojis in texting, she added in a wink and pressed send.
Hearing the voices of several of the nurses coming off their shifts and entering the room, Shelagh threw her phone into her bag, glad for the distraction from the waiting for a response. Trixie Franklin, by far the most vivacious of the nursing crew, threw her a kind but distant smile before turning back toward the ongoing conversation with Cynthia and Chummy, two nurses whose attitudes toward life were as similar as their stature was different. Apparently Chummy had been invited on a date, as the nurses began teasing about how to enhance her allure — what she should wear, how she should fix her hair, and the things she could say. As she watched the conversation descend into a fit of giggles over something she couldn't quite hear, Shelagh began to feel pangs of sorrow at being so clearly an outsider to their group. Not that it wasn't her fault, because Trixie had tried many times to draw her into their conversations, but Shelagh had always been just a bit too busy for frivolities not involving work. She had known from talks with Cynthia in the chapel that they would all be welcoming toward her, but she had willingly shut herself out, and now she was realizing the consequences of those actions.
Shelagh slipped past them quietly, with her head down in her usual way, and headed quickly home. She heard her phone ding in her bag on the bus, but didn't allow herself to pull it out until she was safely within her small flat, as if someone might discover their new secret if she read his text in so public a space. "Saw you're on night shift. Come with us to tea tomorrow?"
She sucked in a quick breath, tomorrow was awfully soon, but she wasn't backing out now. "Sure. Where should I meet you?"
The reply was almost immediate. "We should probably avoid hospital, so we're not seen. Why don't I pick you up?"
Shelagh rummaged through her mind for an excuse not to tell him where she lived, not sure why she was so nervous for this man she didn't care anything about to see her flat. The flat itself was nothing to look at, small and quite bare, as she didn't spend much time away from Nonnatus Hospital. It wasn't really the furniture and decoration, or lack thereof, which rattled her nerves, but even beginning to imagine his presence in her home, at her table, on her sofa, stirred within her something she didn't want to face. Without any good reason for them to meet elsewhere, she finally sent him the address and added, "I'll meet you out front," with a smile and a building emoji.
Another immediate reply: "Can't wait"
Staring at the screen, Shelagh tried to discern his meaning. His lack of using any tiny pictures to communicate his feelings in ways words could not was quite frustrating. Was he being sarcastic? Was he excited? If he was excited, was it because he was hoping to finally be free of overbearing friends trying to set him up? Or because he misread the situation and was developing feelings for her? No matter how long she stared at those two small words, they held no further revelations.
Finally she simply tossed her phone on the bed with a sigh and focused her attention instead on choosing an outfit for tea. After making what she thought was a suitable choice for the occasion, a sky blue jumper, a pair of blue jeans, and black boots, aiming to look nice but not too formal, she laid the clothes out and turned toward the mirror. For the first time in years, Shelagh took a long look at her reflection. Her hair was still up in its typical bun and her eyes hidden behind her ill-fitting glasses, ones she had meant to have replaced a long time ago, but never got around to doing. Slowly, she reached up and removed her glasses, then loosened her hair from its ties to allow it to fall softly around her shoulders. Leaning in close, she studied her reflection, and allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be more than simply Nurse Mannion, picturing a life where she had people with whom she could be Shelagh.