After arriving home late the previous night, the Turner's all slept away most of that Sunday morning. Curled up, safe in his own bed, Patrick slept more soundly than he had in many years, his comforting dreams danced and flickered across his mind with the warmth of a log fire. He felt happy, happier than he had ever thought possible.
When he awoke, Patrick skipped downstairs and set about making something for them for brunch. He put the kettle on to make a pot of tea, and was just piling scrambled eggs and beans onto three plates when Shelagh and Timothy appeared at the kitchen door, bleary-eyed and fastening their dressing gowns.
"Brunch is served," Patrick said triumphantly and, making several trips from counter-top to table, carried the plates, cups and saucers, cutlery, a rack of toast, the milk jug, butter dish and the teapot.
"Patrick, this looks lovely," Shelagh said.
"Dad, it's not burnt!" Timothy gasped.
"Timothy, I can cook some things," Patrick replied, "and I wanted to say thank you."
"Thank you?" Shelagh questioned between mouthfuls, "what for?"
"For everything that you have done for me over the last few weeks. The whole trip has been about me, and you, my beautiful, brave family, helping me to heal my wounds. I could not have asked for better treatment, or more capable carers. Thank you. I could not have done this without you."
"It is the least we could have done Patrick."
"Shelagh, Timothy, I need to tell you something."
"What is it Dad?"
"Is everything alright Patrick?"
"Everything is more than alright, but please, listen to what I need to say." He turned to his wife.
"Shelagh, you are so beautiful, so loving, so loyal, I've always known that. But you have shown me more love and devotion these past weeks than I ever thought another person could give. I have poured out my soul and you have received every drop of it with your heart, your mind and your body."
He ignored Timothy's sniggers and the vermillion hue rising in his wife's cheeks.
"You have grown so much. You were so fearful when we left, but you found you wanted to travel, to explore," he chuckled, "didn't you?"
"Yes I suppose I did," she looked at him shyly "the longest trip I had ever done before this one was on the overnight train from Aberdeen to London when I came to start my training, and I was nervous for every second of it."
"You learnt to swim," Patrick continued, "you took me out, taking the lead, showing me what you wanted, telling me what you had longed for, for so long. I thought I had married an innocent young girl, and I didn't want to show you the real man that you had so trustfully married, I didn't want to hurt you. Now I've realised that I married a woman, a woman more than able to deal with the real me, then and now. I will never keep another secret from you, ever."
"Likewise Patrick."
"And Timothy, Timothy, Timothy, my wonderful son, I never realised before what a brilliant man you are."
"A, man," Timothy said, looked at his father with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Twelve years old you may be Tim, but you are wise, knowledgeable and astute beyond your years. And not," Patrick could not suppress a grin, "just in the things which Sister Julienne has added to your knowledge."
Timothy went as vermillion as Shelagh and looked sheepish.
"Things you said, things that you noticed, things that you did, helped me more than you can imagine. The ability to do what you did were not the actions of a boy, but those of a man, and only the most loving, caring, and brave of men at that. Yet only a child, my child, could have touched the deepest, darkest part of my heart and soul, the way that you did. Oh Timothy, I could not ask for a better son."
"You've never said anything like that to me before Dad," Timothy said.
"No, and I regret that very much. I'm sorry."
"That's alright Dad." Timothy paused. "Dad, Mum, there is something which I should have said to you, but I didn't. When I had Pollio, I felt ill for several days before I was taken to hospital, but I didn't want to ruin your wedding, so I stole pills out of Dad's medical bag. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," he whimpered, seeing the looks on his parent's faces.
"Why Tim?"
"Dad, you always told me to be independent. I thought I was being grown up by looking after myself. Ever since Mummy died I always thought I was in your way, I always felt that I was a problem. I didn't want to cause any more for you, especially not then."
"You were never a problem Tim, ever. Thank you for telling us." Patrick sighed, "You've just proved again what a man you are Tim, not all men are that brave. I want you to know you can talk to me about anything, any problems, any questions, big or small, I will always make time to listen to you."
"As will I," Shelagh said, "I'll always be here for both the men in my life."
"From this day forward, truth and trust will be central to our home," Patrick said thoughtfully.
"For better, for worse, until death us do part?" Timothy chirped, and began to giggle. Patrick and Shelagh looked at each other, and then laughed with Timothy until their sides hurt.
By the time they had cleared away after brunch and got dressed it was the early afternoon. They unloaded the last of their travelling things from the boot of the car, leaving the Cub's camping gear inside so that they could return it to the Community Centre on their way to Nonnatus House.
"We can deliver the presents and let them know that we are back safe and sound" Patrick had suggested.
Timothy carried his sister up the steps of Nonnatus House three-quarters of an hour later, and rapped his knuckles on the heavy wooden door. Patrick and Shelagh followed him, their arms full of boxes of presents. Trixie's blonde head poked out of the door, the suspicious expression on her face caused by the unannounced knocking melted at the sight of her friends.
"Greetings, one and all, long time no see!" she chirped, grinning at them, before stepping back from the doorway to let them all in, "we were beginning to wonder where you four had got to."
"We've been on an adventure, Nurse Trixie," Timothy beamed.
"Somewhere warm by the looks of you all," Trixie replied, "I am positively green with envy at how brown you are, you especially Shelagh, you look positively radiant! And the sun has made your hair go such a beautiful colour too. Oooh what have you got in those boxes?" she finished, a look of intrigue on her pretty face.
"We've bought you all some presents," Timothy said.
A look of glee further illuminated Trixie's face.
"Presents, how terribly exciting, well we're just about to have high tea, do come and join us, if you would like to?"
The Turners exchanged glances and then nodded in agreement.
"And then," Trixie continued "since everyone is here, the Noakes' included, you can give out presents. If you're quick you might get some Victoria Sandwich before Sister Monica Joan eats it all."
They followed Trixie down the long tiled corridor towards the dining room.
"Look who has turned up," Trixie said gleefully as she and the Turners entered the room.
"Trixie, your puns are diabolical!" Patsy said drawly, rolling her eyes.
"You're back!" Sister Julienne exclaimed, jumping to her feet and hugging each Turner, "do come and sit down."
Three more chairs and sets of crockery were found, and with a little shuffling, space was made at the table for the Turners. Sandwiches, scones, cakes and tea were passed around.
"So, where did you go for so long?" Sister Winifred asked.
"Yes, do tell," Sister Julienne said with a sparkle in her voice which she usually reserved for when she was curiously interrogating the young nurses or teasing Sister Monica Joan, "you had been gone so long, I was beginning to worry," she finished a little more sombrely.
"You shouldn't have worried" Shelagh said, helping herself to Swiss Roll with one hand and rocking her sleepy daughter with the other, "we were quite safe."
"Somewhere lovely and warm no doubt," said Cynthia dreamily, glancing between each Turner, "you all look so healthy and happy, you especially Doctor Turner, I mean, Patrick, you look like a new man." Cynthia was suddenly aware that the whole room was staring at her. "What I mean is, you look so refreshed, like you have been able to relax, unburden yourself, have a bit of quiet healing time," she finished.
Patrick had hung onto every word that had come from his usually shy colleague's mouth, astonished that he could be read so easily.
"We went to France, then Belgium, West Germany, the Austrian Tyrol and then finally Italy," Patrick began, "some places I had been to before, others I hadn't, but we went to places that we wanted and I think needed to see."
"Oh Cologne and Venice are both so beautiful," Shelagh said.
"And we went to a chocolate shop in Bruges," Timothy continued, "and Dad and I taught Mum to swim in Lake Constance, and we watched chefs throw pizzas around in a restaurant in Italy."
"Oh my!" Sister Julienne exclaimed, "You did get about."
"And yes, you're right Cynthia, we have all been able to relax and unburden ourselves, and I certainly feel much better in myself," Patrick finished.
"This jaunt sounds very merry," Sister Evangelina barked, "but was it really necessary to disappear off for an entire month, leaving the pregnant women of Poplar in the hands of that dozy thing Doctor Radcliffe? I'm amazed he can tell his elbow from his ar…"
"Thank you Sister!" Sister Julienne interrupted, "everyone starts somewhere. Perhaps we have got too used to your expertise, Patrick, I mean Doctor Turner."
"We are not at work, so please, call me Patrick," he said, smiling, "and thank you."
"Not at all, Patrick."
Patrick thought how to answer this question for a moment, and then remembered his own words from a few hours previously: "truth and trust will be central to our home." Nonnatus House was their second home, the Sisters and the nurses their extended family, so the same rules apply, he reasoned. He took a deep breath and began.
"The reason for our, jaunt," his brown eyes narrowed as he stared at Sister Evangelina, "was to help me. The journey we took traced, more or less, the journey I made when I was in the medical corps in the last war. I came home from that war with many wounds, wounds which I needed my family's help to heal. Our journey rectified the terrible memories which the war, and my eventual diagnosis of War Neurosis, left behind. Finally, all these years later, I have found peace, happiness and healing, thanks to the three people sat to my left," he pointed towards his wife and children, "I have finally shed those burdens."
The whole table stared at Patrick, unable to say anything. Sister Evangelina looked particularly uneasy. The silence was broken by an ethereal voice from the end of the table.
"'War,'" Sister Monica Joan began, "'is toil and trouble. Honour but an empty bubble. Never ending, still beginning. Fighting still and still destroying…'"
"Sister," Shelagh said, "please."
"Let me continue child," the elderly nun snapped. She looked straight at Patrick. "'If the world be worth thy winning, think, oh, think, it's worth enjoying.' My good man, there is a hard-won peace in the world and now one also in your soul. See the beautiful world you fought for, ignore the trouble caused by my Sister and do me the honour of passing those éclairs."
"Here you are Sister," Patrick said, passing the cake stand, "and thank you."
"I am sorry, Patrick," Sister Evangelina murmured, "I…"
"Opened my mouth before engaging my brain?" Patsy quipped, finishing the sentence for her.
The table erupted with laughter, the mood lightening instantly. Even Sister Evangelina smiled, fully aware how correct, if blunt, Patsy had been.
"Well," Patrick said, getting up from the table and grinning, "I think presents are in order," and skipped from the table back towards the boxes and from them produced an assortment of beers for Peter, Fred and Tom, Calvados for each of the nurses, wines for the nuns, "that is allowed isn't?" he asked as he handed Sister Julienne a crate of bottles, and took her girlish grin as a "yes," and more Belgian chocolates than any of them could possibly eat. "And finally, this," Patrick said, removing a slightly crumpled piece of writing paper from his top pocket, "is for you Sister Monica Joan."
He watched as her long bony hands unfurl the piece of paper and she began to read the black ink letters which everyone around the table recognised as Patrick's untidy scrawl.
"I hope I have translated it correctly, if so, and you give that to Mrs. B, the end result should be probably the best cake in the world, well certainly the best cake West Germany has to offer!"
Sister Monica Joan's grey eyes sparkled, and then she rose sedately from the table. "If you will excuse me, I will see that this is left where its presence with not go unnoticed," and then disappeared out of the door with a swish of her habit.
Patrick sat watching his friends with their presents, smiling and laughing, discussing the current location of Nonnatus House's wine glasses, and what cocktails could be made with Calvados. He felt truly happy, truly at peace, surrounded by those he loved and who loved him in return.
"This is what life is about" he thought, "happiness, peace and love."