Thank you so much everyone who has been leaving reviews as guests. Since I cannot directly reply, I do it here because I want you to know that I appreciate every single one of your comments very much.


Nothing's gonna stop us now

Ten days later, Tuesday morning at 6.30, Shelagh stood out in the still chilly morning air, waiting for Dr Turner to arrive. She took in the crisp air, cool, smelling of charcoal fires most people here used to prepare their morning chai.

Five minutes later, she heard a car in front of the gate. When Bakary, one of the day watchmen got up to open it, she hurried towards him and indicated that it was not necessary.

Outside, Patrick and a stern-looking woman in her early fifties were sitting in Patrick's car. Patrick got out from the driver's seat and greeted Shelagh.

"Shelagh, good morning. Glad you could make it. I am sorry, the car is quite packed," he said, nodding towards the rear bench where several large metal boxes were stacked, as well as in the back of the car.

Shelagh climbed onto the rear bench and tried to move one of the heavy boxes in order to be able to fasten her seat belt.

"Shelagh, this is Phyllis Crane," Patrick, who had gotten into the car and started it, introduced the women.

"Nice to meet you, Phyllis," Shelagh greeted her. Phyllis turned around and nodded towards Shelagh. "So is this all of your new equipment?" Shelagh asked, pointing towards the boxes.

"Part of it," Patrick explained. "But most of it is in the other car. Reggie and Peter, our lab technicians, are already on their way to Mundarara with the Land Rover and the clinic equipment."

When he noticed Shelagh trying to fasten her seatbelt without success he said: "I am sorry, but we could not fit the equipment otherwise." He looked at her apologetically and Shelagh smiled at him reassuringly.

It was 8.30 when they pulled up in front of the gate of Mundarara Mine. Already parked there was a white Land Rover with the logo of KCMC and the partnership icon of Patrick's programme painted on the doors. The two lab technicians stood next to the car, talking to each other, each drinking coke from a bottle.

"Ah, Reggie and Peter were faster than us," Patrick remarked. Everyone got out of the car and Patrick headed towards the gate. When he walked towards the entrance of what looked like the administration of the mine, a middle-aged man wearing suit pants and a blue shirt came outside. He introduced himself as Simon, the site manager.

Patrick quickly discussed the plan for the day and then the mobile clinic was set up under a roof where normally cars would be parked.

Slowly, a few women and children began to arrive at the gate and gathered in the shade of a large tree. "Didn't you say today was only a test run and for miners only?" Phyllis asked Patrick.

"Yes, that was the plan. Apparently the demand for testing is higher, though," he remarked somewhat helplessly.

"Well, I don't think this is a problem," Shelagh said quickly. "Between the three of us we can organise the testing of anyone interested. If you want, I can take care of women and children and you two see to the miners and other staff."

Patrick nodded approvingly and they decided to set up two different lines for people wanting to get tested.

Before the actual testing began, the usual procedure of a special occasion was followed. First, it required speeches being given. The manager of the mine began, followed by the spokesman of the workers and finally, Patrick as the representative of the research programme, was also expected to say a few words.

Then, the manager officially announced the start of the programme and that anyone willing to be tested was supposed to queue at one of the two lines.

People first would give their details to be noted on a patient card. Then they had to deliver a spit sample into a small plastic cup which was then tightly closed. Afterwards, a sticker with a code was removed from the patient card and put on the plastic cup which would be collected by the lab technicians.

After their test, each candidate would be provided with a bottle of soda and a few biscuits; both to encourage participation but also as a means of saying thank you for their support in participating in a study.

While going back and forth between the two testing lines and the lab technicians' places, Patrick repeatedly watched Shelagh quickly organise the miners' family members. They weren't too many today, probably twenty-five women and perhaps thirty children. Not every miner had family in the area, many were migrant workers from other parts of Tanzania. But apparently, a few of the local miners had successfully motivated their families to come.

Patrick enjoyed watching Shelagh chat with the women and encouraging the children to take part in the testing. She had a wonderful way with everyone, he thought – no wonder, she was a midwife, after all and had years of experience with maternity programmes. At one point she persuaded a little boy, seemingly afraid of the testing by spitting into a cup herself, thus showing the child that he would not be harmed in the process.

"Dr Turner, if you are done staring, would you mind answering a question or two over here?" Phyllis' stern voice cut across his thoughts and Patrick turned quickly towards her. He felt his cheeks blush like a teenager and coughed while walking towards her. He wondered whether he had done the right thing in hiring her after all.

Almost ten hours later, Patrick's car entered the compound of Nonnatus Mission again. It was already dark, just past seven o'clock. Shelagh said good-bye to Phyllis and got off the car. Patrick got off, too, and walked around the bonnet.

"Well then," Shelagh said with a smile. "Thank you for taking me, it was a great day. I am happy to see your programme finally taking off."

Patrick beamed at her. "Thank you for coming and for your help. You certainly know how to make yourself useful."

Shelagh blushed and quickly said: "If you excuse me, I have to go inside, dinner has already started." She smiled at him, then turned around and hurried inside the main building.

Patrick looked after her until she had disappeared into the hallway before slowly returning to his car. "Let me drive you to your hotel," Patrick said to Phyllis.

After dinner, Shelagh went to the Nurses' Quarters. She put on the kettle and rummaged through one of the cupboards looking for her favourite tea mug when Trixie entered.

"You looked quite happy tonight," Trixie remarked inquisitively.

Shelagh turned around and raised her eyebrows at her friend. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Trixie smiled. "To be honest, I was a little worried about you. You always seemed so… sad during the past weeks and you mostly kept to yourself. I mean we all have our melancholy sometimes, but you would tell me if there is anything bothering you?"

Shelagh smiled. "Of course, Trixie, I would tell you. I am all right. Just a bit overworked. I think I might need a rest after all."

"Shelagh!" Trixie exclaimed. "I see. It must be bad if you of all people are thinking about getting a rest."

Trixie walked over to Shelagh and hugged her tightly. "I love you, my dear. Take care of yourself."

Shelagh hugged her friend back, making a humming sound. "Yes, I will. Thank you." After a short pause she asked: "Care for a cup of tea?"

"Yes, that would be lovely," Trixie exclaimed. "How about we pop a DVD? I bought The King's Speech from the Rasta guy at the market last weekend and I am dying to watch it."

Shelagh sighed while pouring the hot water into two cups holding a tea bag each. "No, I can't tonight. Since I've been out all day I have to check my email and catch up a little or I am going to drown tomorrow.

"Oh Shelagh, don't be a spoilsport," Trixie teased and smiled encouragingly.

"Sorry, Trix. But how about tomorrow night?"

"Is this a date?" Trixie chuckled. Shelagh grinned and nodded and Trixie left with her tea in hand, blowing Shelagh a kiss.

In her room, Shelagh put down the steaming mug on her desk and opened her laptop. Then she hesitated and took her phone instead. She began typing a message: "What a day we had," she typed. She could not calm down after the events of the day and felt a previously unknown need to share her excitement with Dr Turner.

But then, when her finger hovered over the "send" button, her courage left her. Why should she send him a private message? Today they had been working together in a purely professional capacity. If she sent this message now, would he not get a wrong impression? What if he misunderstood it? Or ignored it?

Shelagh took her upper lip between her teeth and gnawed on it until it hurt. She should stop thinking about Dr Turner. Why could she not focus on her actual work? She had had a great day, but this was not even her actual work, it was his and she had only been there – why exactly? To support him, yes. To see him being happy about his achievement? Maybe.

Shelagh slowly deleted the message and angrily pressed her phone's power button. No distractions. She needed to focus on these emails now or else she'd be up half the night.

It was almost 8.30 when Patrick entered his house. When he had long days like this, Timothy usually spent the night at his friend Jack's and Patrick was grateful for it. He felt exhausted and needed some quiet. He went to the kitchen and inspected the cooking pan on the stove. Teresa had prepared a rice dish. He was hungry but did not feel like heating something up. Instead, he took the bag of toast from the worktop and some slices of cheese and ham from the fridge and prepared himself two sandwiches. Not the most healthy dinner, he thought, but it would do.

Then he opened the fridge door again and reached out for a bottle of beer. He hesitated, He had been breaking his no-alcohol-on-weekdays rule a couple of times over the past weeks. He should not do it again, he resolved, and took a soda instead. Patrick gathered his plate and bottle and went to the patio. He sat down at his usual spot, quickly ate his sandwiches and lit a cigarette. He was satisfied with his day. Even though Phyllis was a rather particular woman, he was certain that she would be a good fit to lead the TB programme and he could delegate any related task to her without having to worry.

Patrick slowly inhaled the smoke from his cigarette and began to unwind. He wished Shelagh was here, curled up to him, and he imagined a conversation with her about their day and about a future he had begun dreaming of during his solitary evenings but dared not think of during daytime. He tried to remember her smell from about a week ago when they had sat together and he imagined her warmth, snuggled into him, his arm around her shoulder.

If only she could love him back, they would be able to sit here every night and share stories about their day and simply take comfort in each other's presence. Then he imagined Shelagh together with Tom and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Patrick silently called himself a sentimental old fool but he could not fight his affection for her. If only she could give him a sign, or else he would never dare again to let her know how he felt. He was still too ashamed about that one kiss from day of the fete.

Patrick drank the last sip of his soda and went to the kitchen to get himself another bottle.