Shelagh Turner would always remember New Years' Eve 1960 as bitterly cold, but full of light.

The snow piled high as the mercury dropped, and the homeless sought what shelter they could find. Only a few patrolling policemen walked the streets, balaclavas under their helmets and flasks of tea stored in their pockets. On any other winter night like this, the houses would be dark and the streets empty.

But tonight, the windows of London glowed in the dawn of a new year. The clock had struck midnight only a few minutes earlier, and it seemed the whole world was awake to hear it.

The door to the dance hall opened, letting out a sliver of golden light and the brassy sound of jazz music. A couple followed shortly after, leaning into each other against the harsh cold wind.

Shelagh threaded her arm through her husband's and brought her other hand to her mouth as she stifled a yawn.

"Sorry, Patrick. I'm afraid the late nights with Angela are catching up with me." She leaned closer to him. "But the dinner dance was lovely. I had a wonderful time. I'm glad we came."

He squeezed the gloved hand that rested on his elbow and smiled at his wife. "I'm glad you changed your mind and let me take you out." Patrick tugged her closer. His arm wrapped around her waist, where under her thick winter coat, she wore a dress the color of the sky after it snows. "And you are wonderful."

The pink in her cheeks deepened in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. She tilted her head up to kiss him, losing herself to the sensation of his chilled skin and warm breath. The wind switched direction, blowing a flurry of snow at their backs. Shelagh shivered and reluctantly drew back from her husband's embrace.

"But let's go home now, Patrick. It's freezing out."

He nodded. Together they hurried through the snow to the car, which was parked across the street from the hall. He held the door for his wife, then climbed in the driver's side to start the car and turn on the heater.

Shelagh held her hands toward the heating vents in the dash. "I can't remember a winter this cold."

"I can." He grasped her hands in his, partly to warm them and partly out of the selfish desire to be nearer to her. "Do you remember New Year's Eve, 1957? The Henderson baby?"

Shelagh thought for a moment, then her eyes lit up in recognition. "Yes! Didn't she go into labor in the middle of a New Year's Eve party?"

"Yes, and it was still going on downstairs when she delivered her baby girl." Patrick chuckled. "Mr. Henderson gave me half a bottle of Baby Cham on my way out." He wrinkled his nose. "Awful stuff. I passed it on to my secretary."

Shelagh giggled. "Really? He gave me the better part of a bottle of whiskey. The sisters quite enjoyed it." Her laugh deepened at the open-mouthed look of shock on her husband's face. "Even Sister Julienne is fond of a small toast at the beginning of a new year."

Patrick laughed as he put the car in drive. "Now I know what to bring for Christmas next year."

He drove at a crawl toward their home, always careful of icy patches and places with heavy snow. Luckily, the streets were empty, as many were still inside celebrating.

"Do you suppose Timothy is still awake?" Shelagh asked. They had left both son and daughter at Nonnatus that night, under the care of many doting midwives.

"He'd better not be," Patrick replied gruffly. "He was given strict instructions to be in bed by ten. And if I remember correctly, Sister Evangelina said she was on call tonight. He's not likely to get much past her."

Shelagh let out a laugh that turned into another yawn. "Indeed. He's probably reading a comic under the covers."

"Or the Lancet. They keep disappearing from my office."

"He's a bright boy, Patrick." She squeezed his knee. "He wants to be like you. And after last New Year's…." she trailed off, remembering her boy's pale face on the hospital pillow. The polio had struck on Christmas and by New Year's, Timothy could breathe on his own. But his body had still been too tired and weak to move far from his hospital bed.

Patrick covered her hand with his own. "I know. But he'll have many other New Year's, thanks to modern medicine, and I'm grateful every day for that."

Shelagh nodded and closed her eyes in a brief prayer of thanks. Tim and Angela would have many, many Happy New Years, she hoped.

Patrick pulled the car to a stop in front of their home. Together, they walked arm in arm up the steps and into their modest flat. Inside was dark and peculiarly serene. "It's so quiet," Shelagh said in a whisper as Patrick eased off his coat and turned on the lamp on the sideboard.

"Without the children, you mean?" He helped her off with her coat, his hands lingering on her waist. "I suppose we should make the most of it. Get a good night's sleep."

"Yes," Shelagh said, though, now, she didn't feel much like resting. The fatigue she'd felt as they left the hall had disappeared, and she felt only a need to be warm and close to her husband. She turned but did not lean in to kiss him or touch him. They stood millimeters apart, breathing the same air, looking at each other, drawing out the moment. Shelagh felt both impatient and perfectly content.

"1960." Patrick said, his voice low. "Who thought we'd be here?"

Shelagh nodded. "I know. A new decade." A start, she thought, recalling another start, another time when she'd stood in front of him like this. Then she'd been impatient, but shy too, and had waited for Patrick to take the lead.

But now she didn't have to.

Shelagh stepped away and crossed the hall to the bedroom. After a moment, Patrick followed. She turned on one of the bedside lamps, stepped out of her heels and slipped off her earrings.

Then, knowing her husband was watching her, she took out the clasp that held back her hair.

"Shelagh," he breathed, and that was all the encouragement she needed. She stepped into his waiting arms and raised herself on her tiptoes to kiss him. The kiss started out light and slow, just a brush of his lips against hers. But the stillness of the house was too tempting. They were completely, absolutely alone, and Shelagh intended to make the most of it.

She reached for Patrick's collar to tug him closer. He obliged, his hands traveling from the nape of her neck down her back to pull her flush against him. They kissed in the dim light until they were both gasping for breath. Shelagh drew away but kept her arms wrapped around her husband.

"What was that for?" Patrick asked. His dark eyes glittered with longing – and some surprise, she thought.

She swallowed a bubble of laughter. "Just saying Happy New Year, again."

His crooked grin widened as he leaned in for another kiss. "Well, you can say that as many times tonight as you like."