Patrick Turner loved Christmas.
This hadn't always been the case. As a young doctor in training, he'd always had to work the holidays. Christmas was spent at The London, setting bones broken on icy front stoops or treating burns from rogue Christmas puddings. Christmas dinner was usually a couple mince pies, brought round by the nurses.
After Timothy was born, Christmas became more joyful. He still had to work most of the season, but he got off enough time to watch Timothy unwrap presents on Christmas Day and share dinner with his family.
The first Christmas after Margaret died was the hardest. He made himself so busy, trying to push past the grief, that he and Timothy never even managed to get a tree. The flat seemed colder without the smell of gingerbread and the trill of carols on the piano. After his late-night calls were done, Patrick sat on the sofa and wrapped presents by himself, missing Margaret so much he almost couldn't breathe.
The one bright spot had been Christmas dinner at Nonnatus. The nuns were so kind to Timothy, particularly Sister Bernadette.
Was that the beginning?
Perhaps it was, for next Christmas came Shelagh and the Christmas after that, Angela, and suddenly the flat was filled with warmth, music and joy again.
This year would be the first Christmas they spent together as a true family. Shelagh and Timothy worked an entire Saturday picking out the tree and strewing decorations around the flat. When Patrick came home to the smell of mince pies and the sound of Timothy practicing "O Holy Night" on the piano, he felt like Christmas had come early this year.
But something was missing, he noticed as he looked around. Well, he'd remedy right away.
"The flat looks wonderful, my love," he told Shelagh as they prepared for bed. "Thank you for all this."
She blushed prettily. "Timothy helped quite a bit. Next year, I don't know how we'll manage. Angela will be walking by then." Patrick followed her gaze to the sleeping child in the cot, and smiled. So many future Christmases to look forward to.
Shelagh turned for their bed, and frowned. "What is that?" she asked, pointing to the sprig of greenery pinned to their headboard.
"Ah, my contribution to the Christmas decorating," Patrick said, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You seemed to have forgotten it."
Shelagh laughed aloud, and her blush deepened.
"I didn't forget it. I was just waiting," she said, pulling another sprig of mistletoe out of the pocket of her robe and twirling it in her fingers. "Merry Christmas, Patrick."
"Merry Christmas, Shelagh."