Message in a bottle

Meanwhile, Shelagh watched father and son drive off. She was inside the equipment room and in the process of checking the boxes and other materials they needed for the mobile clinic the next morning. She knew that they were complete. She had made sure that a rigid protocol regarding the immediate re-stocking of the boxes as soon as anyone using them returned from their field visits was in place. Still, she felt better to double-check just in case. She hated the thought of arriving at a clinic site and miss an important instrument or medicine.

Shelagh sighed. She had enjoyed herself very much while spending some time with the Turners, even though the conversation had sometimes made her self-conscious. Thinking of Dr. Turner in his wrinkled shirt and his very tousled hair this afternoon caused a tingle in her stomach she had never felt before. She wondered why she felt so elated. After all, the doctor and she had already spent many hours in each other's presence, either during long project meetings or during various Nonnatus Mission clincs where he volunteered without her thinking about him at all afterwards.

Shelagh closely inspected her face in the small mirror above the sink and wondered why she was suddenly thinking of her colleague in a different way. She had never felt like this before and did not quite understand what made her feel the way she did.

She had just turned thirty-one. Looking at her eyes, she noticed that a few lines were beginning to form. Her hair, a light brown by nature, showed lots of golden streaks, bleached from the many days living under the tropical sun. There were quite a few freckles on her nose. Otherwise, her fair skin was not as tanned as that of many other people living at the Mission; she was either red from sunburn or pale as a sheet.

Was she beautiful? She had never considered herself as such. She had come to the realization that she was rather invisible. When she had been a teenager, and later, during her nurse's training, she had never been among those girls boys were particularly interested. But she herself, too, had never been interested in boys. "You will meet the right one, eventually", her friends had said teasingly, but she had never really missed someone in her life.

This was also part of her plan to join the order. Her aim in life was not to find a man or have a family. Rather, she wanted to serve poor people and their communities and to dedicate herself to God. It had been her aim for years. She sighed. It was time to make an appointment with Sister Julienne and talk to her about the process of becoming a postulant, she thought. That would help her straighten her thoughts and finally find her way out of the fog of confusion that surrounded her ever more tightly.

Meanwhile, Patrick and Timothy had arrived at their house. Patrick had lit the stove to heat up the food their housekeeper had prepared for them while Timothy had stomped off to his room.

Patrick put two plates, two glasses and cutlery on the dining table and went to the bathroom to quickly wash a little and change into a fresh shirt. He stood in front of his sink, face wet and stripped off his shirt, he bent forward to take a closer look at his face. He examined his eyes, surrounded by ever more wrinkles, as well as new shadows beneath. His whole face had gotten somewhat craggy in the many years since he had arrived here. The tropical sun paired with his personal worries had done their job, he thought.

He looked down on his abdomen and found that while his figure was still lean overall, he did have a little belly growing. He should really stop eating fried food, he thought.

Patrick wondered what Shelagh might think of him only to feel embarrassed to even think of her this way. He would probably be too old for her anyways. He was going on fifty and she was not much older than thirty, he estimated. No wonder she would rather develop an interest in Tom. His handsome young colleague was certainly a few years younger than Shelagh and came with considerably less baggage than himself.

But after what she had told him this afternoon, she would probably not develop an interest in anyone save God. Patrick breathed in deeply. She thought of joining the order. His mind still could not process this. Why would a beautiful and talented young woman like her want to hide herself behind the rigid rules of a religious life?

Just then he heard his son shout: "Dad, something is burning, I can smell it in my room." Patrick rolled his eyes and cried: "Damn bloody idiot!" at his image in the mirror. He sprinted to the kitchen, seized the smoking pan from the stove and threw it into the sink. "Hells bells," he cursed.

"Did you have to burn our food again?" Timothy, who had come up behind his father, asked. Patrick turned around and looked at his son enraged.

"Tim, this does not help!" he shouted.

Timothy ducked his head and rolled his eyes. He had learned best not take it to the edge with his father. He preferred to retreat to his room where he would wait for his father to calm down.

Meanwhile, Patrick had taken a bottle of Tusker out of the fridge. He had made it a habit to not drink on weekdays, but right now, he felt he needed a cold beer to calm him down.

When he had half-emptied the bottle, he put it down and went to his son's room. "Tim," he called when he entered, "I am sorry, I was just in the bathroom for two minutes and did not pay attention to the food. Now, how about I drive down to Roberto's and get two pizzas for us? We could have dinner while watching a film, how does that sound?"

"Ok, Dad," Timothy replied, not overly enthusiastic. His father kept burning their food, even when he only had to warm it up. Then he usually tried to make it up by getting some take out food to eat while watching a film. Not that Timothy did mind, but it was nothing special anymore since it happened regularly at least once a week. Timothy thought just once in a while he would prefer them to sit down at the dining table and have a decent home-cooked meal like other families did.

Three hours later, Timothy was sound asleep and Patrick sat outside on his patio overlooking the small garden. He smoked a cigarette and sipped on a glass of whisky. After having had a beer already, he thought he needn't worry about his rule regarding no alcohol on weekdays.

The garden had been Marianne's realm and she had been proud of the many flowers and blooming bushes she had planted. Since her death, it looked a little wild. Patrick did not see the need to pay a gardener. Instead, he paid the watchman some extra money to keep the lawn short and water the plants during dry season.

Patrick loved sitting on the porch in the dark, listening to the sounds of the Tanzanian night. The cicadas chirping, leaves rustling in the light breeze, faint voices from neighbouring gardens and patios, the voices from the night watchman's radio. He came out every evening after Timothy was asleep, smoked a few cigarettes and let his thoughts wander. There was nothing better to help him unwind after his long days. Before her death, he and Marianne had sat out here together, and talked about their day and anything they wanted to discuss with each other.

Recently, he noticed how his thoughts kept wandering to Shelagh. While it partly excited him, it was mainly painful because of his nagging feeling that he would never have her. He thought about her beautiful smile and her slender figure and felt a longing like he had not felt in a very long time.

In the months after Marianne had died, he used to imagine conversations with her when he sat on the small rattan sofa outside. Since that conference in Arusha he noticed that he had begun to envision talking to Shelagh. Not only did they have long imaginary conversations. He also pictured her being curled up next to him, his arm around her shoulder, so intensely that he could feel her warmth against his side and smell her hair close to his face.

Patrick felt miserable. After what Shelagh had told him today, there was no chance she would ever want to have any kind of relationship with him. Not if she considered joining the order. Technically, Nonnatus Mission workplace policy already forbade her to have a relationship with him - and she would certainly be too proper to break any of these rules, he supposed. And she would do so even less if she considered becoming a nun. But had she not blushed repeatedly when they were together? Had she not looked at him differently than some weeks ago? More affectionately, more intense?

Patrick sighed. He felt like a complete fool. Then he heard the jingle of the BBC news from some radio in the neighbourhood and he was annoyed when he noticed that is was already midnight. As he had left his office early today, he had taken home at least two hours of work which he needed to complete before next morning.

With an extended groan he got up and stubbed out his cigarette, trying to remember how many he had already smoked that day (too many, he was certain), and went inside. It would be another short night for him.