A/N: Thank you immensely to Steff for her help with the Britishisms and grammar that I'll understand some day. You should check her fics-they are particularly spiffy. Feel free to give some feedback. It would certainly give me some holiday cheer.
"Dear, please tell me that you didn't do that to my son's hair on purpose?" Patrick asked smirking over his cup of coffee.
Looking up at his son, he just couldn't believe his eyes. Having been out late the night before in surgery, his family had been asleep when he had made it home. He had expected to be tired in the morning, but this sudden change was a bit of a shock.
"Timothy simply asked to get his haircut in a new style," Shelagh explained in an even voice.
"I wanted a change dad. It's all part of the new plan," Tim said confidently.
He had poured over magazines at the shop trying to imagine different looks. Having narrowed it down to three possibilities, he figured that he would give each look a trial period and measure the results. After enough time, he would decide depending upon success or failure. With his options and criteria clearly defined, he took an example to his mum, who had traditionally given him haircuts.
Shelagh had sighed wearily but eventually gave in to her stepson's eagerness. His excitement was a welcome change, even if it was just over a change in appearance.
"Well, I just never thought that I'd have a son who sported a fringe," Patrick said dryly.
Tim rolled his eyes.
"Mick Jagger does it! And he dates models," Tim said as if that settled the debate irrevocably.
"All right, well at least you won't be stealing my Brylcream anymore." Patrick looked back to his paper.
They ate in silence for a moment as Shelagh looked after Angela in the parlour.
"Dad?" Tim started hesitantly. "Since I'm not grounded and it's school holidays, can I go and see the new Steve McQueen film? Everybody's going so we will be in a group," he asked.
"Is that the one where he escapes from a POW camp?" Patrick asked looking up from the sports page.
"It's practically historical," he argued.
Patrick chuckled and shook his head at the very idea. He paused thinking it over.
"And how will you get there?" he asked.
"Michael's mum will drive us. The closest pictures showing the film is in Chelsea," he said as he scooped up some eggs.
"That's nearly an hour away. Isn't there a film closer that you can go to?" he asked pointedly.
"Dad! It's Steve McQueen and she'll pick us up afterward too. She plans on doing some Christmas shopping in Soho," he said and popped some toast into his mouth.
"All right. You can go. But only as a reward for all the hard work you've done helping me and Fred at Nonnatus," he gave in as he turned back to his paper.
"Doing good works is its own reward, but can I have some money for popcorn?" Tim asked.
"Don't push your luck son. I'm already letting you out the door with that mop on your head," Patrick turned back to the football scores.
Shelagh walked in and placed some coins in her stepson's hand. Patrick shook his head in mock disapproval. Tim's face broke out into a grin that threatened to split his face.
"Now we've got to get to the clinic, dear. Tim will you…" Shelagh started.
"Watch Angela until noon, then drop her off and bring your lunch," he repeated by rote, as if it were an amateur maths formula. He then took his bowl to the sink.
Shelagh felt her heart grow three times as she saw her two men seemingly in good spirits as she re-entered the kitchen. All seemed to be back in balance with her family again.
Tim headed into the front room where he unfurled his notes on Delia Busby. He had recreated them from memory in the days that he was house bound. Then he cross referenced his notes with what traits it seemed that women valued based on the magazines that he had purchased at the newsagent. He was confident that he would be able to create a profile of whomever this secret boyfriend could be, or if he even could exist.
Timothy Turner was determined to figure this out.
Lunches in hand, Timothy headed into the clinic. He had been nervous about debuting his new look. However, he remembered when Nurse Mount had told him that fortune favoured the brave. He grinned at the fond memory, but then remembered that he was in Nurse Mount's bad books. Resolving to find something to do to bridge the gap between them, Tim wrote an apology letter that he would drop off at the clinic. Perhaps it would get him closer to Miss Busby again, since she was best friends with the ginger-haired nurse. It couldn't hurt at any rate.
As he approached the building, he saw Michael and John waiting for him. They had all agreed to meet up there before the film. Michael's mum would be driving them later, but they wanted to play games beforehand.
"Turner! What have you done?" John reached up toward Tim's head.
"I think my mum has that kind of fringe," Michael snickered.
"This guys is the future. You'll see," Tim gestured to his head.
"If you end up pulling any birds with that mop then I give up," John threw his hands up.
"I'm only looking to get the attention of one woman," Tim said confidently.
"Oh listen to that, mates, Turner and his fringe are on the make," Michael said with mock credulity.
"Excuse me sweeties, you're in my way," they heard as Nurse Franklin waited impatiently in her nurse uniform. The two boys jumped a foot high at the sound of the blonde nurse. Instantly mumbling apologies to the ground they moved to one side. Walking toward the doors, Tim saw that the blonde was laden down carrying supplies. He leaped toward the doors to hold them open for Nurse Franklin.
"Why thank you dear! Also nice haircut Mr. Turner," she grinned with a genuine sparkle in her eyes. "I approve," she winked at Tim having given him the once over. Looking over his shoulder he smirked at the other boys who shook their heads in disbelief.
He headed through the bustling clinic area and headed to the table where he knew Shelagh would be set up. Looking around, he saw Nurse Mount looking over the day's patient list.
"Nurse Mount," he greeted her nervously. Looking up she fixed him with an icy glare.
He audibly gulped as he held up the packed lunches he was meant to deliver.
"Lunch delivery for the Turners," he said in a shaky high pitched tight voice. Pushing a grin onto his face, he waited for Nurse Mount's eyes to regain their friendly countenance. They didn't.
"You can drop them off in the office," she gestured down the hall.
Looking past him, she greeted the new patients that had lined up behind him. Her brisk voice maintained a politeness, but he could tell the difference with which she had clinically dealt with him. In his experience, Nurse Mount had one of the most efficient no-nonsense professional facades that he had ever seen. He had also seen her out of uniform, and knew that underneath that cold demeanour was a deep compassion.
Dropping off the lunches on his dad's desk he then sneaked into the coat area. Looking through the standard issue Macs he narrowed in on what he knew was Nurse Mount's. It was confirmed by her initials that were stitched in the collar tag. After slipping an envelope into the coat's pocket, he headed outside where his friends were waiting.
"I tell you Pats, I would not object to the acquisition of automobile," Delia smirked as they sat cuddled close together in a booth.
Gateways was full of such areas, each filled with couples not unlike the two nurses. Delia laid her head on Patsy's shoulder more through exhaustion from dancing than the hour. It was still relatively early by club standards. Unfortunately the hour's bus ride to Chelsea rather cut down on their dancing time.
"Might I remind you, that I'm the only one who would be able to drive it," Patsy teased.
"Only because you had the opportunity. I'd like to see you try and operate a tractor," she protested.
"Dear, I suspect that would be quite the sight down the Commercial Road," she reposted. Patsy openly laughed at the very picture of it in her mind.
Delia poked her in the ribs in mock dismay.
"I'll show you, Patience Mount," she said determinedly and raised her glass of gin. "I resolve next year to get my own licence! I'm sure Nurse Crane would teach me like she has Barbara," then she threw the liquid down her throat dramatically.
"I have no doubt that you will be brilliant," Patsy nuzzled closer. Her chest warmed as she relished the experience of Delia being Delia. "However, I rather think that might be a bit difficult when we leave Nonnatus," she whispered.
Delia leaned back and looked into Patsy's face dumbfounded.
"Do you really mean that?" she asked.
Patsy took Delia's hands and wrapped them in her own. She nodded and squeezed her lover's hand. Delia smiled as her blue eyes lit up.
"I could kiss you Patsy Mount," Delia waited. "But why now? It's just that you've been so hesitant dear," Delia asked.
Patsy released her hands and reached into her handbag. She pulled out two things: A folded piece of paper and an opened envelope.
"I'm so sorry," she paused, a bit choked up. Taking a sip from her glass of water she took a moment to compose her thoughts.
"I have let myself down and I have let you down," Patsy said in a soft voice.
"This was in my coat this afternoon," she sighed. She slid the envelope across the table. Delia took it and scanned it quickly.
"Ever since we talked to Mr. Turner about the photographs, I've been harbouring such coldness toward that teenage boy. I lumped him in with every man who has treated me terribly. Every man who treated you badly. But he's just a boy. The same boy that I've taught in Cubs. The same boy whom Shelagh makes a sandwich for every morning. I need to rise above this anger and fear. And move on. As should you and I. Forward, always Forward," Patsy finished.
She paused, her emotions dancing under the surface. Remembering that they were in a public place she took a breath and pushed a grin on her face. Leaning back into the booth, the redhead put her arms around her girlfriend's waist.
"We can find a place where we can close the door and not worry even about sitting on the settee listening to records, or whatever you'd like to do," she rambled getting lost in the many words that she meant to say.
"Dear." Delia reached her hand out to take the piece of paper that laid on the table. She turned it over and looked at it herself. She looked to Patsy for an explanation.
"I made some calls this afternoon. My father has always kept money in an account and I know that we can find somewhere rather nice. No offence, darling, but I'd rather not live in a hovel this time."
She pointed to the listings.
"There are some rather nice houses between Nonnatus and the London. We can go and see them together as soon as you like," she said with a lopsided smile.
"Well, Patience Mount. I think this deserves some celebratory dancing," Delia said with a broad smile. She leaned in and kissed her softly.
"I'd never need an excuse to dance with you Delia Busby," Patsy responded softly.
The teenage boys waited anxiously on the King's Road for their ride home. The film had finished a little later than they'd thought it would so they lingered on the corner of Bramerton Street.
"You told your mum to get us right? It's getting late," Tim asked as he looked at his watch.
"Of course I did Turner. Don't get your knickers in a twist," Michael protested.
"I just don't want my parents to worry. Maybe I should find a phone box." He looked around. He saw a green door which seemed to be the entry to a club. "I could try that club there. They might just let me use the telephone inside," he offered.
"If it means you'll quit whining then go ahead, but if my mum comes then we're leaving you behind," Michael warned.
Tim turned around and hurried toward the club with the green door. Noting the sign on the door he rang the bell. The door opened to a woman who quickly gave him the once over and made to shut the door. Tim quickly moved his foot to stop it.
"Bugger off young man," the woman growled.
"I just need a telephone. My ride home is late and I don't want my mum to worry. Can I just come in to call her? I'll go straight to the telephone and straight out. Scout's Honour," he smiled.
The woman chuckled and looked over her shoulder.
"Gina! This lad wants to use the phone to call his parents," the door woman hollered.
"Fo'fucks sake. Just walk him back to my office," he heard as another woman strolled up and opened the door a bit wider.
"You keep your head down and forget what you see inside?" the doorwoman asked in a challenging tone.
Tim nodded. He had accompanied his father to all sorts of places. A club was no big difference to the young man.
"All right c'mon. Haven't got all day," she beckoned him through.
He followed the woman through a smoky hallway and down a dodgy staircase. Looking around he noticed that the place was occupied by females predominantly. Music played loudly from a jukebox and the heat climbed as he headed through a back hallway to an office area.
"Right in there," the woman gestured as she lit a cigarette of her own.
He went into the office which looked not dissimilar to his father's own at the hospital. All offices contained the same components he observed. Grabbing the telephone he gave the operator his number and waited.
"Turner residence, Shelagh Turner speaking," his mum answered.
"Mum, It's just me. I can't talk long, but Michael's mum is running late so I didn't want you to worry," Tim reassured her.
"Where are you calling from?" Shelagh asked.
"Nowhere, just a phone box," he responded trying to muffle the noise from outside the office.
"Should I get your father to come and get you lads?" Shelagh asked worriedly.
"No mum! We're just a little late that's all. The film overran but I'll be home soon. Gotta go," he said quickly. They said their goodbyes and he hung up the telephone.
Going out into the hallway, he noted the same woman waiting for him. She stubbed out her cigarette and grunted at him to follow her out.
"Straight out," she growled.
Tim tried his best to keep his head down as he followed her. Still his curiosity got the better of him and he looked towards the crowded bar area. His eyes narrowed as he spotted a familiar pair of faces. Quickly, he snapped his eyes back to the woman in front of him who was nearing the door.
"Straight in and straight out Gina," she said as she pushed him out into the street.
"Well, never let it be said that I'm not full of charity to men and women alike," she chuckled.
"Now scarper. And forget that you ever saw this place," the doorwoman pointed.
Tim headed back to where Michael and John waited. A few minutes later a car pulled up and Michael's mum urged them to get in.
"Sorry lads, you know what it's like when you're shopping at this time of year," she said as the boys piled in.
"Better drop Turner off first mum. He even had to call them he was such a worry-wart about being late," Michael ribbed him.
"This boy is an example to you lads. He doesn't want to worry his parents, unlike you wretched son of mine. Remind me to give you some money for the call before you get out," she offered.
"Oh that's all right, I didn't need any money. A place with a green door let me in and I made a call from there," he answered.
"Green door? They let you in there?" she said incredulously. He nodded. "That's a ladies club. I hear, men never go in there," she said.
"Maybe they mistook you for a girl with that hair," John jeered from the back seat.
"Shut it you," she shouted back. Turning her attention to the radio, Tim looked out the window.
Having other things on his mind, Tim didn't hear the ensuing argument.
It made sense that he had seen Miss Busby and Miss Mount in a ladies club. They were women after all, and perhaps they had only wanted female company that night. But that didn't explain what he had seen when he had seen them shoulder to shoulder at the bar. Miss Mount had playfully plucked a bit of fluff from Miss Busby's front in such an intimate manner. Even from across the room he had felt an electric charge between the two women. Then they had intertwined hands as they ordered from the bar.
It had felt like he had been intruding on a moment, and he didn't know why.
TBC...