Chapter 4
Thank you to all who have supported this story (both on Tumblr and here)! I hope you enjoy the final chapter. I am forever grateful to Birdy and Ginchy for hanging in there with me and this fic and for helping me add some depth to it.
In the week that followed their night at the club, Trixie couldn't help but notice a few subtle changes in her colleagues. Shelagh, for one, was displaying a bit more social confidence around the nurses and this had already begun to have a positive effect on their skill as a midwifery team. During an especially complicated labor two days ago, the budding friendship between Shelagh and the three nurses resulted in the absolutely vital abilities not only to communicate non-verbally but also to offer the proper emotional support to both mother and fellow midwives. On the other hand, Shelagh was still the soul of professionalism around Dr Turner, much to Trixie's disappointment, although she had noticed her making a bit more effort to engage him in conversation. She would have to see if there was an additional something she could do to pave the way for those two; after all, she was nothing if not determined. And speaking of Dr Turner, he had been unusually distracted this week, forgetting to follow up on several inquiries and often appearing like he was lost in his own world with alternatively a mysterious half smile or a melancholy look in his eye. She couldn't fathom the reason for either, but she vowed to pay closer attention in the hope she might find out.
Trixie, Jenny and Cynthia were delighted when Shelagh began to alter her break time routine; still taking some of her time off on her own, she had joined the nurses for almost half of her free time this week. The foursome were slowly growing closer as Shelagh grew more comfortable, she was letting them in and sharing her own confidences. During some of their talks they even touched on various personal topics of their past and current lives.
Today, Trixie and Shelagh were the first to arrive in the hospital tearoom, saving a table for the rest of their group. Seeing as she had Shelagh on her own for a brief moment, Trixie decided to take the opportunity to work on her matchmaking plan.
"Has Dr Turner agreed to help with the fete?" she asked innocently.
Shelagh looked down at her lap, her cheeks turning a pale pink. "I'm sure he has more important things to do with his time," she hedged.
"Have you asked him?" Trixie wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily.
"I… I haven't had the chance to," Shelagh waffled.
"Is that so…" Trixie grinned, "not even one chance during any of those tete-a-tetes you've shared this week?"
Shelagh's blush was crimson this time. "Trixie…" she whispered, glancing nervously around her.
"You don't need to worry Shelagh, no one is paying any attention to little old us," she laughed.
"Well," Shelagh continued quietly, "it is true that I have found myself engaged in a few more...discussions with Doctor as of late; but I seem to be feeling more comfortable speaking to everyone on the ward since I've become friendly with you and the girls."
"That's wonderful! Most of the staff would love to get to know you better; you have a lot to offer as a friend." she stated earnestly. Then with a mischievous twinkle in her eye she added, "and he is quite handsome."
Shelagh looked back down at her lap but she couldn't completely hide the grin she was trying to suppress nor the sparkle in her own eyes. Instead she gave in to both and, with her gaze still downcast, nodded ever so slightly in reply.
Trixie, giddy on the wave of her sleuthing triumph, took pity on her and moved their chat toward a more benign topic.
When Cynthia and Jenny finally appeared, bearing tea and biscuits, Shelagh was sufficiently recovered. The younger nurses gossiped about the latest exploits on each of the more popular wards before Shelagh brought them back to matters concerning the rapidly approaching hospital benefit.
"You'll be happy to learn that our curate, Reverend Hereward, has agreed to serve as keeper for Beat the Goalie," Shelagh smiled, directing her comment at Trixie; clearly there was more than one romantic at the table. "We'll set that up, along with all of the other games, on the far side of the fountain," she added, gesturing to the square across the road.
Trixie's eyes lit up as she inquired, "Then may I please request that the tombola is within a good viewing distance?"
"You may," Shelagh replied primly and made note of it, but her dimples gave her away. "Now Timothy and the Cubs are going to handle the Pick a Lolly, but we could do with some young men at the Tug o' War and someone with good organizational skills at the Egg and Spoon Race."
Jenny volunteered to appeal to the Children's Ward for junior doctors who might be available for the Tug o' War, then offered to Cynthia, "If we stop by the dispensary together with a clipboard in hand, we can look official while innocently asking for Egg and Spoon volunteers." Cynthia blushed, but nodded her agreement.
"Wonderful!" Shelagh beamed, "now before our shift starts back up, do you think we could walk over to the square and plan out where we can fit the rest of the stalls?"
Consent was demonstrated with the scraping of chairs on lino and the gathering up of the remains of their tea. Three nurses headed towards the entrance but Trixie turned in the opposite direction, calling after them, "I'll meet you there in two ticks, I just need to fetch my jumper."
As Trixie ran back into the ward for her cardie, she could hear whistling, of all things, coming from Dr Turner's office. She slowed until she came to a spot where she could just see inside. He stood behind his desk, straightening files and swaying slightly to the rhythm of his tune - a tune she distinctly recognized.
Catching sight of her, he abruptly stopped whistling, "Nurse Franklin, is there something you require?"
"Oh no, just popping back for my jumper," she informed him brightly, stepping to the doorway; then because she couldn't let it pass without comment, "I wouldn't have taken you for a Caro Emerald fan."
"Sorry?"
"That song you were whistling, it's by Caro Emerald."
"Oh? Haven't heard of her, must have overheard it somewhere though," he continued to move files around his desk, appearing rather flustered.
"You know," she pressed the issue, "a few of us nurses sang that same number at the staff night out last Friday."
He fidgeted nervously, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger. "Staff night? Oh, right. You sang a song you say?"
Trixie hid a smile; he was a terrible liar. "We sang that very song. Myself along with Nurses Lee, Miller...and Mannion." She watched him suppress a twitch then swallow with apparent difficulty when she mentioned Shelagh's name. "In fact," she went on, "it was Nurse Mannion who chose that particular tune."
He started to speak, then cleared his throat before continuing nonchalantly, "Did she?"
Trixie turned and spoke over her shoulder as she left, "Indeed, it seems she has a soft spot for one of the doctors here." Moving back to her original place of concealment, Trixie watched as his face smoothed into a look of peaceful joy. It was short lived, however; in the next moment he sighed and shook his head, as if resigning himself to disbelief, then fell back into his chair and set himself to the task of endless paperwork.
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Another Friday night arrived, marking two weeks since Patrick's clandestine visit to the club and what an agonizing fortnight it had been. He was exhausted by his attempts to hide from the staff that anything had changed, when in fact, for him, everything had. He knew what love was, had been in love before, and this was without a doubt the state he was in. It was definitely not just mere attraction, although that was what had finally brought her to his attention. And that bloody song, he couldn't get it out of his head, let alone the memory of her singing it. His one mistake had been allowing himself to be overheard by Nurse Franklin; but he had avoided her suspicion, he hoped.
His mind had been filled with Nurse Mannion these past handful of days and as a result every aspect of her person had been brought out into the light: her compassion and competent care for their patients, her calm and kind manner with both senior and junior nurses, the passion she displayed in her vocation of service and healing, the time she took for Timothy. Here, it seemed, was the answer to his thoughts and questions of just a few weeks ago. At the time he hadn't felt ready to seriously consider the possibility nor had he any idea of how to begin again. Yet here she was, and had been, as if waiting for him to reawaken. The bittersweetness of his predicament, however, did not escape him. Each day he looked forward to working with her, finding he enjoyed her humor and skill much more than ever before; yet he knew that was all he could have. Would it become easier to settle for only that small part of her as time went by? He supposed it would have to.
Now, as his evening shift drew to a close, Patrick glanced over at the small couch in his office where Timothy was half asleep, then looked up, surprised to see Nurse Mannion in the doorway. It was no small effort to make sure the butterflies in his stomach created by her appearance were not evident on his face. "May I help you, Nurse?"
"On the contrary, since we're both finishing up for the night I thought to stop by and see if I could offer help," she said, then taking pity on his overflowing desk, "with the filing perhaps?"
"Thank you," he smiled, "that would be most appreciated." He wanted to say more, to prolong this encounter which was fortuitously between just the two of them, but Timothy, roused from his nap by their voices, sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily.
"Hello, Timothy," she whispered, "sorry to wake you."
Normally cranky when awakened like this, his boy was surprisingly gracious in the presence of his favorite nurse, "I wasn't really asleep," he fibbed. Then, as if having used up his civility, turned his sleep-deprived rancor towards his dad, "now can we go home?"
"Tim," Patrick warned, accompanied by a stern look.
"Timothy," Shelagh spoke up, and both men turned their attention to her, "I'm sure your father would like to go home as much as you would. Now if we all help with this filing, we'll be finished in no time at all."
Tim acquiesced and stepped towards the desk, accepting Shelagh's task of finding the files starting with whichever letter of the alphabet she called out. Patrick felt comfortably at ease as the three of them worked together, Shelagh keeping Tim entertained with tidbits about the upcoming fete. He assured her that the Cubs were well prepared for their help with the Pick a Lolly and was delighted to hear that Beat the Goalie had been added as one of the games.
"I can't wait to have a go," he piped up, "and the curate will be more of a challenge as keeper than one of our dads!"
Patrick winced; did Tim really need to draw attention to his advanced age? He consoled himself with the fact that she was polite enough not to laugh.
Instead she smoothed over Tim's dig with her reply, "Your father has other talents; you know he'll be indispensable if anyone needs first aid." She ducked her head and attempted to hide a giggle, but then Timothy joined in and their laughter filled the small room.
The contentment Patrick felt from their sudden outburst was palpable as he watched the joy shared between these two special people, one who had always been so and the other just beginning in her significance to him. Adding to his pleasure was the faint idea that she just might have been teasing him, however subtly it was executed. If only the moment would last and it could always be like this. Lost in his daydream, he was unaware of how much his son was enjoying bantering with Shelagh and was therefore unprepared to recognise the direction in which Tim's next comment was going.
"It's too bad there isn't a talent competition," Timothy chortled, "Dad could sing his new favorite song! It would be awkward though because it's about a doctor; I heard Nurse Trixie tell Nurse Jenny that Dad heard them singing it a few weeks ago!"
"Timothy!" Patrick hissed, but it was too late. He felt the heat rise in his face as he glared at the boy even though he could tell by Tim's countenance it was an innocent mistake. Nevertheless, his foolishness was now known to her and as much as he was loathe to, he slowly shifted his glance from Timothy to her.
Whatever he had expected her response to be, he was startled by what he saw in front of him. She appeared to be frozen in place, the files in her hand halfway to their intended location. She wore an expression of shock and the already pale skin of her face was drained of all color. Abruptly, she dropped the paperwork haphazardly then darted out of his office and down the corridor.
He closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face, cursing himself for his stupidity. Whatever friendship he had managed to build with her these last few weeks as a substitute for what he could never have was certainly lost now. His mind foggy with regret, he could hear Timothy, seemingly in the distance, questioning her sudden departure. Sighing, he realised that as much as he wanted to blame Tim for this situation that would not only be misplaced but would likely do nothing to relieve his own embarrassment. Instead he leaned down to pick up the files she had dropped, but just as quickly he stood up again. Embarrassed - that's what he had expected her reaction to be...or possibly annoyed, at his impropriety. But she had displayed neither of those emotions; what was it her face had reflected...was it fear? Why would she be afraid? Nurse Franklin's words played back in his mind, "it was Nurse Mannion who chose that particular tune...it seems she has a soft spot for one of the doctors here." No, he told himself, that couldn't be possible, the doctor in question was definitely not him. But if there was some small chance that by her expression she had told him he was...well then he had to find out.
"One moment, Tim," he muttered to the already bewildered boy before hurrying to the door and looking wildly left and right. Not seeing any sign of her he moved into the corridor and towards the nurses station where Sister Evangelina was holding court. "Did Nurse Mannion pass by here?" he asked, as casually as he could. When she gestured towards the stairs, he wondered aloud, "Tearoom perhaps?"
"Not the way she was moving," the sister asserted, "I'd say she's halfway across London by now."
Offering no other response than a nod, Patrick dashed back to his office where he grabbed two jackets off of the coat rack. Tossing the smaller one to Timothy, he beckoned the lad to follow him. "We're going after her," he announced.
"Nurse Mannion?" Tim had to jog to keep up with his father's long strides as they moved from the Obstetrics corridor through the doorway to the stairs.
"Of course, Nurse Mannion. Now where could she be?" he mumbled the last part more to himself than Timothy, as they clattered down the multiple flights towards the first floor entrance.
"Probably by the river; she likes to sit there and think."
Patrick paused instantly, in the middle of the reception lobby, and had to reach out to stop Tim as well. "The river? How could you possibly know she would go there?"
"We're friends," Tim said simply, "we talk about things."
"Of course you do," Patrick commended him, "now let's get the car."
Minutes later they were easing out of the car park. Tim expressed concern, "it's a long river, how will be able to find her?"
"There's a road right off of the hospital that leads directly to a nice stretch of the water; let's hope she knows about it." They drove off towards their destination, moving through the darkened streets while looking out for her amongst the few pedestrians along the way.
When they reached the spot Patrick had in mind, he pulled up to the kerb. They could see a lone, small figure seated on the only bench provided. A mist was beginning to come in off of the river, obscuring their view. "I think it's her," breathed Tim, appreciating the solemnity of the moment.
Patrick nodded, "stay in the car, Tim, and keep the doors locked." With that he climbed out of the vehicle and tentatively approached her. She started and looked back as she heard his footsteps behind her. Then, recognising who he was, she stood and faced him as he came round to her side of the bench. She looked so small and he could see that she had been crying; sections of hair had come out of her swept back style and fell carelessly around her face. She kept her gaze toward the ground and he hesitantly reached out his hand, longing to take care of her in some small way. Encouraged that she had neither left nor told him to go, he gently tucked a few of the errant strands behind her ear. Then, being reluctant to take his hand away, he left it where it was. He watched incredibly as she visibly relaxed at his touch; he heard her sigh, then felt her shiver. "You must be freezing," he observed as he removed his coat and placed it around her tiny frame. She slid her arms into the sleeves, her hands lost in the voluminous lengths of fabric. He moved his hands to the front of the coat, doing up two buttons near the top in an effort to further tend to her.
"Thank you," she whispered, still looking in the direction of their shoes. After several moments, she continued, "did you really come to the club that night?"
"Yes," he admitted softly, "you were breathtaking."
She shook her head in denial, "I've had no formal training."
"Not the singing," he clarified, still in a hushed tone. "You."
Finally she lifted her face to look at him and he saw everything he had hoped for in her eyes, exactly what he supposed she could see reflected in his.
"Doctor Tu-"
"Please," he interrupted, cutting across her words, "call me Patrick."
She made a small, surprised noise in her throat before saying it for the first time, "Patrick." Then, seeming to have forgotten whatever she had meant to say, she just continued to look at him and he at her, enjoying this privilege which had previously been unavailable to them. Several minutes later she managed to work her hand out of his coat sleeve to brush away her rapidly drying tears. His hands still lingered inexplicably near the coat buttons he had done up for her and she now placed one small hand on top of his in a gesture that sparked a quiet joy.
"I didn't realise," he breathed.
"Neither did I."
"I'm sorry."
With an almost imperceptible shake of her head she soothed, "there's no need for that now."
The look in her eyes along with the small movement of her thumb over his gave him courage; he knew her given name, but had never used it. He took a deep breath to steady himself, sensing now was the proper time, "Shelagh…" he began, and his voice shook slightly. Almost immediately, a brilliant smile graced her features erasing any question he had ever had. Mirroring her expression he reached out with the hand she wasn't holding and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb. "Shelagh," he repeated, with a small increase of confidence, "may I kiss you?"
She took a deep breath of her own before answering, "Yes." Beaming delightfully, she blushed a bit as her gaze dropped to his mouth before quickly returning to his eyes.
The mist was closing in, but they were too focused on each other to notice. Patrick drew away from her grasp and took her face reverently in his hands. Lowering his head he pressed his lips gently to hers, lingering for as long as he dared. Pulling back, he gazed at her intently; her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted and he felt the intimacy of her sigh on his face. Encouraged by her contentment, he leaned in once more, gradually increasing the intensity of his kisses. As she moved closer to him, her eager responses to his attentions thrilled him, even as he reminded himself of the need for propriety. Folding her in his arms, he contented himself with one last kiss, then held her close as the fog surrounded them.
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The day of the fete arrived with the blessing of lovely weather, all the more appreciated because as autumn approached it would likely be one of the last fine days of the year. As Shelagh walked into the square, her heart was full of joy with Patrick by her side, his hand holding hers. Timothy strutted alongside them looking smart in his Cubs uniform. As excited as he appeared, he was grumbling just a bit, "I was hoping there would be Welly Wanging this year!"
"Now you know there's not enough room here in the square for that, Tim," his father chided, shaking his head at Tim's exaggerated sigh.
"Patrick," Shelagh implored, "can we take him to a proper village fete sometime, out in the countryside?"
"Absolutely, my love, I'll do whatever it takes to ensure the happiness of the future Mrs Turner," he smiled broadly and raised her hand to his lips. Shelagh giggled and glanced down at her left hand, enjoying how her engagement ring sparkled in the sunshine.
The night he had found her by the river they had stood in each other's arms, unaware of the cold or damp, until an insistent honking alerted them to Timothy's presence in the car. Laughing together, they had returned to an inquisitive Tim. Patrick had patiently answered all of his questions while at the same time being sensitive to any topic that might make her uncomfortable. She had made both of them smile ridiculously when she told him she needed no such protection. Their combined certainty was affirmed two days later when he asked her to marry him and she happily accepted.
Standing now in the midst of the fete, Shelagh felt a sense of belonging she had never known. Looking around her, she saw so many familiar faces united in support of the hospital. The ladies from her church staffed the potted plant stand and the used book stall. Closer to the fountain, Sisters Julienne and Evangelina were using their respective administrative and forthright skills to judge the fruit and veg competition. The nurses were doing their part as previously promised and of course Timothy's Cub pack was assisting in their own small way.
As a newcomer six months ago, the church and the hospital were the two things that grounded her here and gave her a sense of purpose. To see them working together in this way was gratifying. But of course Shelagh knew it was more than that. The connection she finally felt here was because of the people, people she had tried to keep at a distance. How that had become a habit for her she didn't fully understand, and how many others she may have missed getting to know was not what mattered now. All that she had been through before was to prepare her for what she now was able to receive. Once she took that first step toward connecting, her world had gradually unfolded before her and she grew in confidence to the point where she was able to love and be loved. She would not focus on regrets but instead hold fast to the blessings that surrounded her today: her church, her vocation, her newfound friends, the little family she already held dear, and Patrick. He was more than she had ever dared to hope for - kind, compassionate, a brilliant doctor... and he really did make her eyes go ooh!
xxx the end
