Chapter 3. Vicars, Tarts, A Few Policemen and Spinsters

There was a joyful party going on at the Illyria Nurses' Residence large living room. It was a farewell party and a kind of bridal shower for Chummy Fortescue by her friends. She was leaving for another job, and she was going to be married, too, to Constable Peter Noakes. As the date was the 28th December, the party doubled this year as a New Year's Party.

Chummy had been consulted if she minded if they arranged the traditional costume party the Illyrians usually held on New Year's Eve. The costume code for it was Vicars and Tarts. Chummy didn't mind, she had cheerfully accepted the suggestion.

In the course of the evening, this required costume code was becoming a little awkward. Some of Peter's friends had come straight from duty in their uniforms, so it started to look like a mixture of the church, law and order and bunny girls. Some nurses arrived to the party after their late shifts in their nurse uniforms.

Moreover, Chummy had invited with her usual knack for accidents a real-life Vicar Tom Hereward to the party. He was going to be the man to wed them, and besides, he was Trixie's boyfriend. So there were humorous encounters, when new people asked confused questions about who might be a real Vicar or a real policeman. It created a riot when someone started to demand that the real tarts should also announce themselves.

But it was a happy chaos. There was a noisy game of Trivial Pursuit going on around the table in the living room. Chummy and Peter were one team, the Tarts the second team, the Vicars the third team (led by the benevolent Tom) and Policemen and Nurses the fourth team.

The kitchen, however, served as an asylum for those not inclined to take part in the game. Patrick and Shelagh sat there drinking wine, and making conversation of their own. Every now and then someone visited the kitchen to fetch more beer or snacks from the fridge.

Both of them had also resisted the costume challenge. Patrick was dressed in jeans and a black pullover, and Shelagh in her customary black Goth lace, leather and satin.

Shelagh knew that Tim had visited his father only briefly for Christmas, and that he had left for his gigs straight away on the Boxing Day. The visit must have been at least somewhat successful, as Patrick didn't seem to sulk. His mood seemed light, and he commented some of the Trivial Pursuit questions heard even in the kitchen with good humour.

"What are the best known Robert De Niro movies? Come on, Mannion. I will say The Raging Bull."

"Taxi Driver."

"I will say New York, New York."

"And me Falling In Love."

Patrick furrowed his brow and took a sip of wine. "Falling In Love? What is that? I haven't seen it."

"It's a remake of Brief Encounter. With Meryl Streep. De Niro is fantastic in that movie."

"I really can't believe you can make a good remake of Brief Encounter…" Patrick was suspicious.

"It is really not that bad. It takes place in New York."

"But it can't have the charm of the original. Has it that famous line: Please let me help, I am a Doctor?"

Shelagh laughed. "No. But the great actors save much of the plot. There is a real tension of…unsaid feelings in it. And if you start with this no remakes business, no new James Bond movie can exist."

Patrick chuckled. "Oh, but Bond is different. Bond is a franchise." He looked at Shelagh whimsically: "I've been told that I look a little bit like that one Bond from the 1980s, Timothy Dalton."

Shelagh snorted wine out of her nose at this remark. Patrick laughed at her:" Hey, it is not that improbable. I am dark, with a craggy face, and I am not that old. I am really seven years younger than Dalton, although I don't look like it."

Shelagh gazed at him with some glee: "Oh yes, when one looks at you close enough, there is some resemblance. The name is Turner, Patrick Turner. Licensed to heal."

He shared her mirth. "And a special agent Shelagh Manniova, a cyber spy who can kill the world with her computer." They cackled for a moment at this. Then Patrick dried his eyes and said: "Tim has in fact tried to educate me in the Bond franchise. He says it is time for me to move on to Pierce Brosnan movies."

"So you still watch the Roger Moore ones?"

Patrick grinned a bit self-consciously. "No. I watch Sean Connery. Yes, I am a traditionalist. Don't laugh."

"I wasn't going to," Shelagh said evenly and poured them another glass of wine.

Patrick listened to the voices in the living room. "Oh. Now they play this game of having to choose one from three. A forced choice game. I used to play these word games with Tim. It is a little bit like the Prisoners Dilemma. Do you know what is the Prisoner's Dilemma?"

Oh, Shelagh knew that well enough. To talk, to reveal, and to destroy yourself by revealing.

"So, I will give you a choice of three. You must choose one. Are you ready?" Patrick asked.

"I am."

"Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth, Timothy Dalton."

Shelagh sniggered. "I can hardly lose with these. Dalton."

His face melted into a funny smile. "That is so nice of you."

"My turn," Shelagh said. "Jodie Foster, Madonna, Sophie Ward."

"Sophie Ward. She has a remarkable face." He grew slightly uncomfortable. "And she's the only - straight one in that lot."

"No, she isn't. Of course we really don't know about Jodie Foster. But Sophie Ward is now in a relationship with a woman. After her divorce."

Patrick whistled. "I didn't know that. Interesting. Such a beautiful woman, and she has two children, hasn't she?"

"Yes." Shelagh was staring at her drink.

Patrick moved a bit closer to her. His voice was a bit concerned: "Shelagh, you know you can tell me if….?"

Shelagh looked at him with chagrin. So he thought she was gay.

He withdrew instantly. "Sorry, not my place to ask."

"No, I am glad you brought the subject up. I am heterosexual. Very straight. Not perhaps apple-pie-pink-bras kind of straight. But straight."

He examined her for a moment. "That's OK. I mean, I am straight, too." She let out a stifled laugh. This was comical. He started to guffaw. "In case you wondered." They seemed not to be able to stop laughing.

A lady in a very expensive-looking green two-piece suit emerged at the doorstep. She had honey-coloured hair stretched into an elaborate bun on her head, and very red lips and fingernails. "I am sorry to disturb you. I was told there might be wine or beer here in the kitchen- - Oh, it's you, Doctor Turner."

Patrick rose and offered his hand to the woman. "I am Patrick. Nice to see you again, Doctor Mount."

"I am Patsy. It's nice to see you, too. This is a bit odd way to be introduced to your new colleagues. I didn't get the message about the dress code for the party." She considered Shelagh: "Oh, you decided to come as a Goth? I thought it was Vicars and Tarts only, and policemen."

Amused, Patrick put his hand on his mouth, and Shelagh raised her eyebrows and forced a smile. "No, I like to dress in black. In Goth black. Not Tart Black or Vicar Black." She greeted Patsy. "I am Shelagh Mannion, the IT Support Person and part-time receptionist. Delighted to meet you, Doctor. "

Patsy gave her an appreciative look. "You look good in black, Miss Mannion."

"I am Shelagh to everyone here. Except to some of the IT bosses. They prefer Miss Mannion. I prefer Miss Mannion when I am with them."

"Shelagh is our most excellent defense line in the world of computers. She fights for sensible health care," Patrick said proudly.

There was laughter. Shelagh withdrew a little in her mind. That is how Patrick saw her: the mother's-little-helper, the good comrade Shelagh.

Wine was offered to Patsy and she sat down by them. Shelagh followed the small talk Patrick and Patsy engaged in with wary eyes. Patrick seemed oddly elated, like he hadn't seen a beautiful, made-up fair woman in high heels ever before. That flashy, lopsided smile of his was in fact quite charming. Shelagh felt bleak.

'Even so quickly may one catch the plague?'

Patsy was friendly and nice, she had to admit. The talk moved to medicine quite soon, and Patrick was in his element, introducing Patsy to all the aspects of ante-natal, post-natal and gynecological care the Clinic offered.

Shelagh excused herself and went to the living room. There she was approached by yet another stranger, a woman in her fifties. "Are you Shelagh Mannion? My name is Phyllis Crane, Nurse Crane. Nice to meet you."

"You can call me Shelagh."

"And you can call me Phyllis." The woman had cropped hair and a manner that screamed "spinster" from 1000 miles away. She seemed a very interesting and capable woman, though. "Why do I think so….rigidly?" Shelagh mused. In fact, you could call Doctor Mount a spinster too, even though she must be only in her early thirties.

'The spinsters and the knitters in the sun'. We keep the world going, she concluded, with some melancholy.