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It was Shelagh who first noticed that something was troubling Timothy.
Her eldest son was home from Edinburgh for the October mid-term break, and although he had been perfectly cheerful playing with Angela and May, helpful with Teddy, and enthusiastic enough when assisting Patrick at the maternity home, there was a certain reservation about him.
It was particularly noticeable in the evenings, as the rest of the Turner family shared playful conversation over dinner.
Timothy had always been a thoughtful child, but there was a difference between a young man enjoying his own company after a long day of study, and one who seemed to be searching for something he couldn’t quite name.
And Shelagh knew the difference all too well.
“Timothy, darling, would you pass your father the potatoes?”
“Hmm?”
“The potatoes, dear.”
“Oh. Yes, sorry.”
He passed the plate across the table, and Patrick accepted it with a smile.
“Thank you, Tim. I was beginning to think you were considering a career in philosophy rather than medicine.”
Timothy looked puzzled.
“Why?”
“You’ve been contemplating your plate the better part of ten minutes. I assumed you were attempting to discover the meaning of life in the mash.”
Shelagh gave a small laugh.
“Patrick!”
“Well, if he succeeds, I’d rather like to know the answer.”
Timothy smiled faintly.
“Sorry, Dad. Just thinking.”
“Anything particularly interesting?”
“Not really.”
Patrick raised an eyebrow but let the matter drop. He knew his son well enough to recognise when he wasn’t ready to talk. Shelagh caught her husband’s eye across the table. He gave her the smallest nod.
They would leave it for now.
By the time the three younger children were safely tucked up in bed, the house had grown considerably quieter, leaving Patrick, Shelagh and Timothy to enjoy the remainder of the evening together.
Shelagh was curled into Patrick’s side on the sofa, intent on finishing a little knitted dress for the Nonnatus House charity collection. Patrick had one arm around his wife’s waist, the other holding open a medical journal he’d brought home from the practice, although he had spent a considerable portion of the evening tutting about the inadequacies of its latest article.
Timothy sat in the armchair opposite, a lukewarm cup of tea untouched in his hands.
He had been watching his parents for some time.
There was something about the way they sat together that seemed to make his own thoughts rather more difficult to ignore.
His father was absorbed in his journal, yet whenever Shelagh shifted beside him, Patrick adjusted his arm to accommodate her. Shelagh, for her part, seemed entirely unaware that she was leaning against him, occasionally lifting her knitting to examine a stitch before settling back against his shoulder.
They had been married for years. And still, somehow, they seemed to seek each other out without thinking.
“Can I ask you something?”
Patrick lowered his journal.
“Of course.”
Timothy hesitated.
“It’s a bit personal.”
Patrick glanced at Shelagh.
“Well, that sounds promising.”
“Patrick,” she warned gently.
“What? I’m merely preparing myself.”
Timothy smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“How did you know?”
Patrick frowned.
“Know what?”
“That you were in love with Mum.”
Shelagh’s knitting needles stopped.
Patrick looked at his son for a moment, then carefully folded his journal and placed it on the table.
“Ah.”
Timothy shifted in his chair.
“Sorry. I know it’s a strange question.”
“Not at all,” Patrick replied.
Shelagh put her knitting aside, curious both as to how her husband would answer and, more importantly, why Timothy had asked.
“What’s brought this on, darling?”
Timothy gave a rather embarrassed shrug.
“Nothing, really. Just… university.”
Patrick’s expression brightened with recognition.
“Ah. A young lady, perhaps?”
“Dad.”
“I’m simply trying to establish the facts of the case.”
Timothy sighed, although a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth.
“There may have been a few girls.”
“I see.”
“Nothing serious.”
“Right.”
“And none of them have really worked out.”
Shelagh’s expression softened.
“Oh, Timothy.”
“It’s not that they’ve been unkind or anything. They’ve all been perfectly nice. It’s just…” He trailed off, staring into his tea. “I don’t seem to feel what I’m supposed to feel.”
“What do you think you’re supposed to feel?” Shelagh asked.
Timothy considered the question.
“I don’t know exactly. That’s the problem.”
He looked up at them.
“I’ve been out with girls I get along with. Girls who are clever and funny and perfectly lovely. And I enjoy spending time with them, but after a while I start wondering whether I’m meant to be feeling something… more.”
He paused.
“And then I feel awful, because they’re not doing anything wrong. I just don’t feel… connected.”
Shelagh nodded slowly.
“And you’ve been worrying about that?”
“A bit.”
“Why?”
Timothy gave a small, humourless laugh.
“Because everyone else seems to manage it.”
Patrick made a thoughtful noise.
“I wouldn’t always be too certain of that.”
“It feels as though I can’t walk through a study hall without hearing who’s falling in love, or getting engaged, or talking about moving in together. And my dorm mates seem perfectly happy dating someone new every other week.”
“And that doesn’t appeal to you?” Patrick asked gently.
“Not particularly.” Timothy looked between his parents. “I think you’ve rather spoilt it for me.”
Patrick blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
Timothy smiled sheepishly.
“You and Mum.”
Shelagh looked surprised.
“Us?”
“Yes.”
Patrick leaned back against the sofa.
“Well, this is an unexpected accusation. What exactly are we supposed to have done?”
Timothy laughed softly.
“Made it look easy.”
That silenced them both.
He glanced at his mother, then at his father.
“You’re always so happy together. Even when something’s troubling you at work, or Dad’s being impossible—”
“Steady on.”
“—you still look at each other as though you’re the only people in the world.”
Shelagh’s eyes softened as Patrick’s arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer.
Timothy noticed.
“There!” he exclaimed.
Patrick looked back at him.
“What?”
“That!”
“What have I done now?”
“You do it all the time,” he insisted. “You gravitate towards one another. You look at each other as though you still can’t quite believe you’re married.”
Patrick considered this.
“Well, in fairness, I occasionally find it rather astonishing myself. Tim, your mother and I are very fortunate. We know that. But I wouldn’t want you thinking that what we have simply happened without difficulty.”
“I know it wasn’t straightforward.”
Patrick let out a quiet laugh.
“That’s putting it rather mildly, son.”
“There were… certain obstacles,” Shelagh conceded.
“Certain obstacles?” Patrick repeated. “Darling, you were a nun.”
Timothy finally let out the laugh he’d been trying to hold back since the first blush had appeared on his mother’s cheeks.
“Yes, I am well aware, darling,” Shelagh replied.
“An actual nun. Habit, veil, vows, the whole business.”
“Dad, I do remember Sister Bernadette too.”
“I’m trying to convey the scale of the difficulty.”
Patrick turned back to Timothy with mock seriousness.
“You see, son, most young men have to contend with the possibility that the woman they love might prefer someone else. A rival classmate, perhaps.”
“I suppose.”
“I, on the other hand, found myself competing with the Almighty.”
“Oh, Patrick!”
“And I can assure you, Timothy, that is not a rivalry one enters into lightly.”
Timothy was laughing properly now.
“Dad, you can’t say things like that!”
“Why ever not? It’s perfectly true.”
Shelagh shook her head at her husband, still smiling.
There had been a time when references to her former life had left her feeling uncomfortable, as though she ought to apologise for the path that had brought them together. But Patrick had never made her feel ashamed for her past. He had loved and respected the woman she had been, just as he loved and respected the woman she had become.
And these days, she found herself rather amused by the extraordinary circumstances of their courtship.
“You make it sound as though I was deliberately trying to make things difficult for you.”
“My darling, I don’t think we could have devised a more complicated courtship if we’d tried.”
Timothy grinned, remembering fondly the rather unconventional beginnings of his parents’ romance.
“So what did you do?”
“Well, first I spent a considerable amount of time pretending I wasn’t in love with her. Repeating to myself that I admired her simply as an intelligent and kind nurse, though perhaps with slightly more admiration than was strictly necessary. But then I realised it simply wasn’t possible. There was too much to admire.”
His voice softened slightly.
“The way your mother could bring calm and sense to the most difficult delivery room. The way she stood up so fiercely for the women of Poplar, even when it meant disagreeing with people who were quite accustomed to getting their own way.”
He glanced at Shelagh.
“And the little quirk of her eyebrow when she thought I’d said something particularly foolish.”
Timothy laughed.
“She still does that.”
“Frequently. I’ve come to regard it as one of the great constants of married life.”
Shelagh gave them both a look of affectionate exasperation.
“And I became rather hopelessly obsessed with making her smile. I used to watch you when you were busy, darling. You were always so concerned with everyone else’s happiness. And sometimes, when you thought nobody was looking, you seemed so terribly serious.”
He paused.
“I wanted to be the person who could make you forget your worries for a moment. I wanted to see you laugh. Properly laugh. Not that polite little smile you gave everyone when they thanked you for something.”
Shelagh looked down at their joined hands.
“I don’t think I realised that.”
“Well, I could hardly tell you then.”
Patrick smiled faintly.
“I was in love with a woman I believed I could never have. I could continue trying to hide it from the world, but eventually I couldn’t hide it from myself.”
He straightened slightly.
“Although I like to think I was the very picture of discretion.”
Shelagh’s lips twitched.
“I do recall you finding an extraordinary number of reasons to visit Nonnatus House.”
“Purely medical reasons, I assure you.”
“Of course, dear.”
“I see my reputation is to be dismantled entirely this evening.”
Timothy watched them, his own smile fading into something more thoughtful.
“But seriously,” he questioned, “how did you know it was going to be worth it in the end?”
Patrick regarded him as he considered his answer. The question was asked quietly, without any of the teasing that had accompanied their earlier conversation.
“I don’t think love is really a question of deciding whether it’s worth the trouble, Tim.”
“No?”
“No. At least, it wasn’t for me.”
He glanced towards Shelagh.
“I loved your mother long before I had any reason to believe we might ever have a future together.”
Shelagh’s fingers tightened around his.
“And that was rather frightening,” Patrick admitted. “Because I couldn’t do anything about it. Not without putting your mother into an extremely difficult and unfair position.”
Timothy listened intently.
“Your mother had made vows, Tim. Vows that mattered enormously to her. I admired her faith, her dedication, the life she’d chosen. I couldn’t bear the thought of making her question all of that simply because I couldn’t govern my own heart.”
He looked down for a moment.
“I think the thing that frightened me most wasn’t that she might not love me.”
“What was it?”
Patrick’s voice softened.
“That she might.”
Timothy was quiet.
“Because then she would have to carry it too. The uncertainty. The guilt. The knowledge that we wanted something neither of us believed we could have.”
Shelagh looked at him with shining eyes.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of making you unhappy, darling.”
She shook her head gently.
“I had enough difficulty with my own feelings, but I could never have blamed you for them.”
Timothy turned towards her.
“What was it like for you, Mum?”
Shelagh was quiet for a moment. Then she took a breath.
“I think your father and I were frightened of rather different things. He was afraid of asking too much of me. I was afraid of wanting too much for myself.”
Patrick’s expression softened.
“I had spent so many years believing I knew what my life was meant to be,” she continued. “I loved my vocation. I loved the Sisters. I believed very sincerely that I had been called to serve God in a particular way.”
She paused.
“And then your father came along.”
“Quite inconveniently,” Patrick murmured.
“Very inconveniently,” she agreed, with a small laugh.
“But I began to look forward to seeing him. More than I ought to have done. I would hear his voice in the hallway at Nonnatus House and suddenly become terribly aware of where I was standing, or whether I had anything sensible to say. And when he smiled at me, I would carry that smile around with me for the rest of the day.”
Timothy looked delighted.
“Really?”
Shelagh nodded.
“Really.”
She glanced at Patrick.
“I remember feeling terribly guilty once because I’d spent the better part of an afternoon hoping you might telephone, just so I could hear your voice.”
“And I probably spent that very same afternoon inventing reasons to telephone,” Patrick sighed.
“Honestly, you two!” Timothy laughed.
Patrick shook his head, smiling.
“All that unnecessary suffering.”
Shelagh smiled too, but there was a sadness beneath it.
“It wasn’t quite so simple then.”
“No,” Patrick agreed softly. “It wasn’t.”
She looked back at Timothy.
“For a long time, I thought that wanting your father meant I was failing in the life I’d promised to lead. And the more I tried to put those feelings aside, the more I realised how deeply I cared for him. I wanted him to look for me when he came to Nonnatus House. I wanted him to notice when I was tired, or upset, or pleased about something. I wanted to be special to him.”
Her voice grew quieter.
“And that frightened me terribly. Because I wasn’t simply falling in love. I was beginning to imagine a life I had never allowed myself to want.”
Patrick brought her hand to his lips to brush a kiss over her knuckles.
“I think that’s what took me the longest to understand. That loving you didn’t mean everything I’d believed in before had been a mistake.”
“Of course it didn’t.”
“I know that now, darling,” she said with a smile, “but I didn’t then.”
She looked down at her wedding ring.
“For years, I had known exactly what was expected of Sister Bernadette. And then I was learning to be a woman who could have wishes of her own. Who could ask for affection, and give it, without feeling she ought to apologise.”
Patrick watched her with an expression of quiet tenderness.
“And I had married a man,” she continued, “who seemed determined to love me at every possible opportunity.”
“Guilty,” Patrick murmured.
Shelagh laughed softly.
“Was it difficult for you too, Dad?”
Patrick nodded.
“In a different way.”
He looked at Shelagh.
“I was so happy to have your mother that I think I sometimes forgot just how much her life had changed. I’d been married before. I knew what it was to share a home, to wake up beside someone, to reach for a hand without thinking. Your mother was discovering all of that for the first time. And I had to learn that being patient with her didn’t mean loving her any less openly. It meant allowing her to find her own way of being happy.”
Shelagh smiled at him.
“You were very patient.”
“Not always.”
“More than you know.”
Timothy considered this.
“It’s funny, really. I remember quite a lot of it. But I suppose I was too young to understand most of what was really happening.”
“You saw rather more than we realised, I suspect,” Patrick shrugged.
“Oh, I knew you were sweet on Sister Bernadette,” Timothy replied, grinning. “I just didn’t appreciate quite how hopelessly.”
Shelagh laughed, while Patrick raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you, Timothy.”
“And I remember Mum being nervous about things when we first became a family. But I didn’t really understand why. I was just so pleased she was there. I suppose I never thought about what it must have been like for either of you. You were just Dad and Mum to me.”
Patrick smiled.
“And that’s exactly what we wanted to be.”
It was strange, hearing them speak so openly about things he’d never considered before.
He had always thought of his parents as being particularly well suited to one another. His father, warm and affectionate, occasionally rather too pleased with his own jokes. His mother, thoughtful and gentle, but perfectly capable of bringing Patrick into line with a single look.
He remembered the way his father had looked at Sister Bernadette when he thought nobody was watching. He remembered the excitement of learning that she would become part of their family.
But he’d seen it all through the eyes of a boy who had been delighted to have her there.
Only now, as a young man trying to understand his own feelings, was he beginning to appreciate how much courage it had taken for both of them.
“I suppose,” Timothy said slowly, “I’ve only ever really understood the happy ending.”
Patrick nodded.
“Perhaps. Although I wouldn’t call it an ending, son.”
Shelagh smiled.
“And even now, darling, we’re still learning.”
Timothy looked between them.
“But you are happy?”
Patrick glanced at Shelagh.
“Very.”
She smiled.
“Very happy indeed.”
There was something so uncomplicated about the way they said it that Timothy felt a little of his own uncertainty begin to ease.
Shelagh reached across and squeezed his hand.
“And you will find your own way, Timothy. You needn’t hurry simply because everyone around you seems to be falling in love.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“And when you do meet someone special, don’t expect to feel on your first date what your father and I feel after years of marriage.”
Patrick nodded.
“Quite right. It would be a rather unreasonable standard.”
“I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Timothy laughed softly.
“Love grows, Tim,” Patrick said. “And sometimes it grows so quietly that you scarcely notice what’s happening until you find yourself making excuses to visit a convent.”
Timothy grinned.
“I’m beginning to think that was your entire courtship strategy.”
“It was a highly sophisticated operation.”
“Was it?”
“Certainly. It involved careful planning, considerable patience, and a working knowledge of the on-call rota at Nonnatus House.”.
“Patrick, you make yourself sound ridiculous.” Shelagh chuckled.
“My darling, I was in love with a nun. I was ridiculous.”
The simplicity of the admission brought a smile to her face. She looked at him with unmistakable affection.
“And very dear,” she said.
Patrick’s expression softened. Timothy shook his head, smiling.
“I don’t know whether to find you two inspiring or unbearable.”
“Both, I imagine,” Patrick replied.
A little later, Shelagh rose to make another pot of tea.
Patrick watched her disappear through the doorway, smiling faintly as she stopped to straighten one of Teddy’s abandoned toy soldiers on the mantelpiece before continuing on her way.
It was such a small thing. An entirely ordinary thing. And yet there had been a time when he would have given almost anything to see her moving about his home, their home, with such comfortable familiarity.
Timothy remained quietly in the armchair opposite, turning his empty teacup slowly between his hands.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Timothy said quietly, “Dad?”
“Yes, son?”
“Do you ever worry that I’ll never find it… what you and Mum have?” He hesitated. “I know I’m still young. And I know I’ve got plenty of time. But sometimes I think perhaps I’m expecting too much.”
Patrick regarded him carefully.
“Do you think you’re expecting too much because you want to love someone deeply?”
Timothy nodded.
“A bit.”
“No,” Patrick said firmly. “I don’t think that’s too much.”
Timothy looked relieved, though still uncertain.
“But I do think you need to remember that love isn’t something you can measure against somebody else’s marriage. Your mother and I have had years to build what we have. You’re only just beginning to discover what you want from a relationship.”
Timothy looked thoughtful.
“I suppose I just want someone who makes me feel the way Mum makes you feel.”
Patrick’s expression softened.
“Someone who understands me, I suppose. Who I can tell anything to.”
“That’s a rather good place to start.” Patrick smiled.
He leaned forward slightly.
“You know, your mother was the first person in a very long time who made me feel that I didn’t have to carry everything on my own.”
Timothy looked at him.
“I’d spent years looking after you, running the surgery, doing my best to manage everything that needed managing. And I was perfectly content with that, or so I thought.”
He glanced towards the kitchen.
“But she had a way of seeing when I was tired, or worried, even when I hadn’t said a word. She never made a great fuss about it. She’d simply be there, ready to listen.”
He smiled faintly.
“I think that’s when I began to understand how much I loved her. Not because she made everything easier, but because I wanted to share everything with her.”
Patrick was quiet for a moment. Through the open doorway, Shelagh could be heard humming softly as she prepared the tea.
“You know, Tim, I think your mother has made me a far better man than I ever expected to be.”
Patrick reached over and gave his son’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“You’re a good man, Timothy. You’re thoughtful, you’re kind, and you’ve got a great deal to offer someone. Don’t mistake a few disappointing dates for evidence that you’ll never be loved.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“And don’t be in such a hurry to reach the end of the story that you forget to enjoy the beginning.”
Timothy nodded.
“I’ll try.”
“Good.”
Patrick picked up his journal again.
Then, as though struck by a sudden thought, he lowered it.
“Of course, if you’re determined to follow in my footsteps, I can offer some practical advice.”
Timothy looked suspicious.
“Oh, no.”
“First my son, get thee to a nunnery.”
Timothy burst out laughing.
“Dad!”
“Preferably one within reasonable travelling distance. Long-distance courtship is terribly inconvenient.”
“Patrick?” Shelagh called from the kitchen, Timothy’s hysterical laughter having drawn her attention from the stove.
“I’m offering our son paternal guidance, darling!”
“Then kindly offer him some sensible guidance!”
“This is sensible. I’m speaking from experience.”
Shelagh appeared in the doorway, carrying the tea tray.
“And what, exactly, are you advising him to do?”
Patrick looked perfectly innocent.
“I’m merely suggesting that if Timothy wishes to find a romance like ours, he might begin by locating the nearest convent.”
Shelagh set down the tray and stared at him. Timothy was laughing so hard that he could scarcely speak.
Patrick continued gravely.
“Although I should warn you, son, the courtship process can be rather lengthy. And the competition is formidable.”
Shelagh covered her face with one hand.
“Oh, honestly!”
Patrick looked up at her with a broad smile.
“What? It worked for me.”
She shook her head, but there was laughter in her eyes.
“You are absolutely impossible.”
“And yet,” Patrick replied, reaching for her hand, “you married me.”
Shelagh allowed him to draw her into his arms.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I did.”
Patrick looked up at her.
“Though I must confess, I was rather worried you might change your mind.”
Shelagh’s expression softened.
“Oh?”
“Well, you had demonstrated a remarkable capacity for making unexpected life decisions. One moment you were a nun, the next you were agreeing to marry a middle-aged widower with a teenage son. I was beginning to wonder what you’d do next.”
Shelagh laughed and swatted her husband playfully.
“Apparently, I decided to spend the rest of my life putting up with you.”
Patrick smiled broadly.
“An excellent decision.”
Timothy shook his head, grinning.
“Did you really think Mum might change her mind?”
Patrick glanced at Shelagh.
“Not because I doubted her love. But I was asking her to begin an entirely different life with me. And I knew how much courage that had taken.”
Shelagh looked at him tenderly.
“I was nervous, darling. But I never doubted that I wanted to marry you.”
Patrick smiled.
“And do you regret it?”
She rested a hand against his cheek.
“Not for a single moment.”
Patrick tuned into her palm and kissed her hand.
“Neither do I, sweetheart.”
Timothy watched them, no longer feeling quite so melancholy.
He still wanted what they had. Perhaps he always would.
But he was beginning to understand that their happiness hadn’t appeared fully formed. It had grown through uncertainty, sacrifice, ordinary days and difficult ones. It was something they had chosen, and continued to choose, together.
And perhaps one day, he would find someone with whom he could build something equally wonderful.
Though he sincerely hoped she wouldn’t be a nun.
Later that evening, as Timothy was heading upstairs, he paused in the doorway.
“Mum? Dad?”
Shelagh looked up from her knitting.
“Yes, darling?”
He smiled.
“I’m glad you found each other.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Shelagh’s face softened into the warmest of smiles.
“Oh, Timothy.”
She rose and crossed the room to embrace him.
“And I’m very glad I found you too. You know, darling, falling in love with your father was one of the most wonderful things that ever happened to me. But becoming your mother was every bit as precious.”
Timothy swallowed.
She reached up and straightened his collar, just as she had done when he was a little boy.
“I was so frightened, at first, that I wouldn’t know how to be the mother you needed.”
Timothy looked at her.
“You were always the mother I needed.”
She held him tightly for a moment, one hand resting against the back of his head.
Patrick watched them from the sofa, his expression unusually quiet.
When Timothy finally pulled away, Shelagh kissed his cheek.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, Mum.”
Patrick rose and gave his son’s shoulder a pat.
“Sleep well, Tim.”
“Night, Dad.”
He had almost reached the stairs when Patrick called after him.
“Oh, and Timothy?”
He turned.
“Yes, Dad?”
“Edinburgh has a rather impressive number of convents, you know.”
“PATRICK TURNER!”
Shelagh’s indignant cry was followed by Timothy’s laughter echoing down the hallway.
Patrick settled back into his chair, looking thoroughly pleased with himself as Shelagh regarded him over the top of her spectacles.
“You really are incorrigible.”
“Possibly.”
“You’ll have the poor boy believing that falling in love with a nun is a perfectly ordinary way to find a wife.”
Patrick reached for her hand.
“Well, darling, it was certainly the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Her expression softened immediately.
“Oh, Patrick.”
He smiled.
“You do say the most extraordinary things.”
“Only when they’re true.”
She leaned across and kissed him.
And upstairs, Timothy, who had come down to retrieve the book he’d forgotten, caught the sound of his parents laughing together.
He smiled to himself. Perhaps he wasn’t quite so unlucky after all. He might not have found his own great love yet. But he’d been fortunate enough to grow up knowing exactly what one could look like.