Because the Night
One hour later, Shelagh walked through the narrow door in the gate leading to the Turner's house. She was surprised to see a rather small house within what she could see in the dark was quite a large garden. She had always assumed the Turners were living in a big and fancy house as most expats of his position would and thought that this one fit a lot better to the Dr Patrick Turner she had come to know.
Shelagh thanked the watchman who had let her inside and walked towards the front door when she heard Timothy's and his father's voices from the back of the house.
She followed the narrow path leading around the house. She remained in the dark for just a short moment to take in father and son firing the grill together, laughing at something. She felt an unfamiliar surge of warmth rushing through her belly. Never before had she seen the two of them acting as relaxed around each other as in this moment and she felt grateful to witness it.
Then she stepped out of the shadow and approached the patio, greeting the two Turners: "Hello, good evening you two. You live in a very nice place."
"Shelagh!" both father and son exclaimed at the same time. Timothy came running and ushered Shelagh up the few stairs towards his father.
"Welcome to our little paradise. So good to see you, Shelagh," his father greeted her, extending his hand, holding on to hers for slightly longer than necessary.
After dinner, they cleaned up the table and tidied the kitchen together. Then, Patrick pointed out that it was bedtime for Timothy and the boy insisted that Shelagh tuck him in. Patrick told her: "You don't have to. I mean, it's not that I don't want to keep you here. But I would not want to delay you. You don't have a curfew at Nonnatus, do you?"
"No, we don't," Shelagh laughed, "but you are right in that it is not approved for us to be out too late. But never mind, I will be happy to tuck you in, Timothy."
The boy cheered and rushed to his room to change into his pyjamas. Shelagh and Patrick stood together in the kitchen. She watched him awkwardly shifting around some of the dishes and desperately tried to think of anything that remotely made sense to say to him but failed.
After a while, Timothy came running in, dressed in his pyjamas, feet bare. "Tim, you can't possibly have brushed your teeth yet," Patrick scolded and his son winced.
"Let's go together," Shelagh suggested, eager to leave the kitchen and the tension building between her and Patrick.
The two left, Shelagh following Timothy. About half an hour later she returned to the kitchen only to find it empty. She slowly walked over to the living room from which the door to the patio opened. Outside, she spotted Patrick, sitting on a bench overlooking the garden, smoking a cigarette.
When he heard her footsteps approaching, Patrick jumped up. "I am sorry, it normally does not take that long," he apologized.
"Oh, I don't mind," Shelagh assured him. "He had quite a few questions about living with the Sisters and we also discussed indigenous insects. Not that I am an expert in this area," she chuckled.
Patrick pointed towards the bench he had sat on. "Do you have some time left? Would you join me for a moment and perhaps another drink?" Shelagh smiled and raised her eyebrows in affirmation. She thought that she should probably head back as it was already getting late but an inner voice previously unheard made her forget about her concern.
Instead she sat down and Patrick asked: "Would you like a glass of wine? It's nothing special, just some South African stuff they sell at Shoprite. Not that I am an expert but the selection you can get here is fairly manageable."
"Anything you have is perfect," she said encouragingly.
Patrick raised his eyebrows and smiled a small smile. Then he went inside and returned with a bottle of wine and two wine glasses. He opened the bottle and poured wine for each before sitting down next to Shelagh.
He took in a deep breath and said: "This is my favourite time of the day. I never particularly liked evenings back home, but here I enjoy the cool air and all the sounds and smells. No matter how awful the day was, sitting outside here for a few moments usually remedies it."
Shelagh smiled and looked down at her legs. "I feel the same. I, too, like to sit outside in our garden every evening to indulge myself in the Tanzanian night for a while. Clear my head, unwind, enjoy a bit of silence after a busy day."
They both fell silent for a while until Patrick raised his glass towards her and cheerfully said: "Here's to the winner of the three-legged race!" Shelagh laughed and also raised her glass. "I am glad you came," he said quietly. "Timothy was awfully sad when you did not pick up your phone this afternoon."
"I was out hiking," Shelagh explained. "Up in Machame. Haven't done this in a while and it felt great. Although all I feel right now are my sore muscles."
Patrick opened his mouth as if to say something but remained silent. Shelagh looked at him intently. "Yes?" she asked, wanting to know what it was he held back.
"Oh nothing," he said quickly. "Just a silly comment. Hardly appropriate."
Shelagh raised her eyebrows and thought she could see his cheeks flush in the dim light. "Well, I am glad I still made it here, I would have hated to make Timothy sad," she said, attempting to steer the conversation onto safer terrain.
"I would have been sad, too, to be frank," Patrick murmured.
Shelagh felt a tingling in her stomach she was not familiar with. Why would he say this, she wondered. She glanced at him and then watched her hands intently while desperately trying to think of an appropriate reply, but failed.
The two sat together in silence, slowly sipping their wine, both self-conscious because of being near to each other but unable to find a way of expressing how they were feeling in this moment to each other.
"You are doing a great job," Shelagh suddenly said. "With Timothy, I mean. It can't be easy to do this alone, raising a child. But he is such a sweet boy."
Patrick looked at her affectionately. "Thank you," he said. "No, it is not easy and I doubt whether I am truly doing a good job with him. You know," he continued, "it is difficult if you are on your own all the time."
"I told you before, from what I see, you are a wonderful father," Shelagh reassured him. "I was eight when my mother died and in hindsight I see how my father must have struggled. Back then, I didn't always realize how hard it was on him. But now I know that he did what he could and he was a great father. Timothy will see this, too, I am certain of it."
"Thank you, Shelagh. Coming from you, that means a lot," Patrick said quietly.
Shelagh noticed his left hand twitch and wondered whether he had intended to place it on her right knee. Then she took the last sip of wine from her glass. Patrick reached out to the bottle placed next to his feet. He raised it to refill her glass but Shelagh refused while checking her watch.
"Thank you very much. As much as I would like to stay, I think I should go. It's already past my bedtime," she said.
When he raised his eyebrows questioningly she explained: "I am an early bird. I usually go to bed by ten o'clock because I am normally up by five in the morning, joining the Sisters in their morning prayers. I find this the perfect start for me. Helps you reflect and focus on what is ahead of you for the day."
He looked at her admiringly and Shelagh felt her cheeks blush. She quickly bent down, reaching for her bag. "Let me just call my taxi driver –"
"No, let me drive you home, this is safer," Patrick interrupted.
"Oh, no, I have been driving with him for a couple of years, I completely trust him."
"No, I insist. We invited you over and I want to make sure you get home safe and sound. I also would have picked you up; idiot that I am I did not remember that you don't own a car".
"All right," Shelagh sighed and got up from the bench. "Will Timothy be all right, though?" she asked concerned.
"I will only be out for half an hour and the watchman is here," Patrick said.
The pair spent the drive to Nonnatus Mission in silence, occasionally glancing towards each other. When they arrived at the gate, Omari, the watchman, came running and wanted to open the gate. Shelagh indicated that it was not necessary with a movement of her hand and turned to Patrick: "Thank you for the lovely evening. I had a very good time with the two of you."
"Thank you for coming," he replied. "I … we had a very good time, too."
They looked at each other for a long moment, unable to move. Shelagh broke the moment when she said: "I better get inside or else Omari will close the door again."
Patrick breathed in and raised his hand but then only said: "Good night, Shelagh," his voice warm with affection.
"Good night, Patrick," Shelagh said quietly, almost whispering. Then she got out of the car and walked inside the Nonnatus compound without turning around again.
Later, she lay in her bed, unable to sleep. What a day she had had. First she had enjoyed her outing with Tom, not only because she had missed hiking, but also because Tom was such a very nice man and seemed to like her very much. And then she had had dinner with the Turners. She could not rid herself of the image of Dr Turner looking at her with an affectionate smile. During the evening she had caught him doing this repeatedly when he had assumed she was looking elsewhere.
It puzzled Shelagh enormously. Not only did she suddenly find herself feeling confused because of two different men apparently being interested in her beyond the professional realm. Also, she felt irritated that this should shake her to her core so that she was no longer able to sleep or enjoy solitude, two things she had never thought possible.
Patrick, too, had a hard time finding sleep. After returning home, he sat down again on the bench at his patio. He poured himself another glass of wine, lit a cigarette and looked into the darkness. He remembered the moment Shelagh had stepped onto the patio. An angel, were his thoughts. Luckily, Timothy had immediately engrossed her, otherwise he would certainly have made another inappropriate comment about her appearance.
Patrick had never seen her with her hair loose before. She was wearing the blue scarf he had noticed a few times now, the one that brought out the clear blue of her eyes so well. Patrick had found himself dumbfounded for a moment and fumbled about with the grill until he had regained his self-composure.
Replaying this moment in his mind still made him shiver. He had been thinking about her being beautiful for quite some time now but this evening, she had looked so otherworldly, so very gorgeous. He felt his body respond to his thoughts of her and quickly drained his glass. He felt uncomfortable with this reaction, somehow he felt it was spoiling the image of her, she seemed so… pure and it felt wrong to think of her in any sexual way.
But then this was how he felt about her. He wanted her, all of her. He was in love with her, that he knew, but he was not sure she was in love with him. He could tell she liked him as a colleague and perhaps as a friend – but more?
He still felt embarrassed for having forced a kiss onto her and feared he might have spoiled whatever there might have been between them. He had noticed that she was slightly nervous in his presence. Did this mean he made her uncomfortable? Or did she feel just as he did and was as nervous as him to open up about it?
He sighed and lit another cigarette. He was not to know. He probably was too old for her anyhow. She would not want some old doctor with a young son, he thought. "Stop it, bloody idiot, just stop it," he suddenly shouted at himself and got up. He crushed his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, lifted the wine glasses and the bottle and brought them into the kitchen. Patrick decided it was too late to proceed with all this brooding and he should at least try to go to sleep.
