This is the very final chapter of 'A Kiss Is Just A Kiss'. Huge thanks to everyone who has stuck with it all this time - thanks for your reviews, your encouragement, your support and especially for your patience! I hope you enjoy this depiction of my favourite characters, who of course belong to Heidi Thomas, Neal Street Productions, the actors who play them - and to each other! ;-)

You Must Remember This

Birth Day

At precisely 3.30am Shelagh sits up with a quiet gasp. She glances at the luminous dial of the alarm clock which rests on her bedside cabinet and then down at the sleeping form of her husband. She is relieved to hear him peacefully exhaling in the slow rhythm of deep sleep, a soft semi-snore which indicates that her sudden movement has not disturbed his much-needed slumber. She focuses on his breathing, clearly audible in the stillness of the room, soothing her as she watches the minute hand circle the dial of the clock. On it's eighth rotation, the band of tightness across her mid-section which had stolen her from sleep returns with full force and it takes all of her willpower not to gasp out loud again. Her hands grasp the sheets beneath her and she breathes deeply until the sensation passes.

The pattern repeats itself a dozen or so more times, the rotations of the minute hand gradually diminishing in number between deep breaths and bunched fists. Shelagh distracts herself as best she can as she waits for each new wave to hit. She knows this is only the beginning of what could be a long and exhausting process, one for which she will need all her strength. She alternates between reading passages from the gospels, fondly watching her husband sleep or surveying her surroundings contemplatively. A brand new crib - assembled and painted by Patrick with Timothy's proud assistance - stands at the foot of the bed. On the dresser sits a Moses basket filled with hand-knitted baby blankets, cardigans, bootees, matinee jackets and hats, the entire package a gift from her friends at Nonnatus House. They had presented it to her with teary, joyful eagerness on her last day before she was due to begin her maternity leave, and she had accepted it with equally teary gratitude. A maternity pack sits beneath a pile of towels and a wash bowl on the chair in the far corner, placed there a month previously at the impassioned insistence of her husband, "just in case".

By now the bedroom is starting to fill with an inky pre-dawn light and Patrick's breathing has subtly altered, a lighter sighing sound indicating that his body clock is winding itself up to face another day. But not just any other day, she thinks to herself. The Day. One they will all remember for the rest of their lives.

With her contractions now six minutes apart she knows she is ready to face what is to come, and ready to see the reaction on her husband's face as she breaks the news to him. She lays a hand on his shoulder and gently shakes it until she feels him begin to stir.

"Patrick," she whispers as his eyes blink open in sleepy confusion. "Wake up. It's time. The baby's coming."

Bleariness flees and suddenly he is wide awake, focused on her intently. Sitting up, his hands reach for her in almost frantic desperation. She catches them in hers and grips them firmly.

"Don't panic," she says calmly, willing him to stillness. "Everything is going like clockwork. I'm only part way through first stage. But I think it's time to phone Nonnatus House."

He flings back the covers and dashes to the door, then slows as he reaches it. He stops and looks back before returning swiftly to his wife's side, where he leans down and places a deep and reverent kiss on her upturned lips.

"I love you so much," he whispers. "Thank you."

Pulling away, he sees her eyes brimming with emotions which mirror his own, that is until she has to suddenly clamp them shut again when another contraction hits.

With her eyes still closed and her focus on her breathing, she is only dimly aware of his footsteps clattering down the stairs and the urgent words he speaks into the waiting telephone.

By the time he returns the pain has subsided once more and she reaches out a hand to him.

"Did you ask for Sister Julienne to accompany her?"

He nestles beside her, kissing her knuckles in reassurance.

"I didn't have to. It was Cynthia who answered the phone and the first thing she said when I told her you were in labour was 'I'll fetch Sister Julienne'. They should be here within half an hour." He chuckles. "I think we made the right choice in Cynthia. Her instincts are first class."

She tucks her head into his chest and murmurs an affirmation, her eyes drifting closed.

"My poor love, this could be a very long day for you. Do you want me to fetch you anything?"

"No, not yet. Will you just sit with me until they arrive?"

Knowing that he will - in all probability - be banished downstairs soon afterwards, he draws her closer, one arm round her shoulders, the other grasping her hand where it rests on the roundness of her stomach. He rests his chin on the top of her head, pressing a kiss into her hair.

They sit in comfortable and companionable silence through several deep intakes of breath from Shelagh signifying the onset of each new contraction. His hand turns white where she grips it but the shield of his body seems to absorb some of the stress from hers, lessening the impact. When another contraction has ebbed away he shifts slightly so that he can see her face.

"All right?"

She nods and he smiles at the way she bites her bottom lip while doing so.

"I know you're nervous darling," he says soothingly. "But you're brave; braver than I am - far braver than I think you even realise. You'll get through this."

"I know I will," she agrees softly. "But I am a wee bit scared."

"Of the pain?" he queries. "Because I can fetch the gas and air from the car if you want me to?"

He starts to move as if to do so straight away but she stills him with a hand on his forearm. "No, that's not it. Well maybe in a while," she relents on reflection.

She draws a steadying breath before continuing. "No, it's just that I've seen enough things go wrong in my time. We both have." Her voice tails off into a whisper: "What if they go wrong for us?" There is a glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes and he can see the faint hint of fear clouding beneath them.

"There's no reason to think that they will," he tells her calmly, measuredly: "None at all. But if they did, do you honestly believe you'd be unable to cope? That you wouldn't have the strength to deal with whatever trials might come our way?" His tone gently conveys the sheer unlikelihood of the idea.

"No," she replies quietly but with dawning certainty. "I meant it when I said 'in sickness and in health'; I meant all of us."

"Yes," he murmurs, echoing her vow. "You'd cope. We'd cope."

She gives a slight nod signalling her agreement and squeezes his hand in gratitude. Her grip starts to tighten once again, quickly followed by another sharp inhalation of breath.

"Three minutes apart now" she observes when the pain recedes. "And getting stronger. I think I might be moving into second stage already. It seems baby may be eager to make their entrance sooner rather than later."

The declaration spurs him into action and he fetches the maternity pack from the other side of the room. Wordlessly he helps her from the bed and she in turn helps him to strip the sheets back and line the mattress. As they finish and she climbs back into bed there comes a loud rat-a-tat-tat at the front door.

"Right," he says, though he doesn't immediately move to answer it. Instead he places his palm on her brow in affection and benediction, sweeping back a few stray strands of hair from her forehead. His eyes seek hers when they blink open again. 'I'll be fine' they say and he smiles in acknowledgement of the determination he now sees there.

"I'll let them in then and I'll see to Timothy. The commotion is bound to wake him up, if it hasn't already."

A quick peck on the lips follows and then he is gone. Shelagh's gaze follows his retreating form and lingers on the doorway while she listens to him usher Cynthia and Sister Julienne into the hallway downstairs.

He greets them warmly then switches into brusque doctor mode as he briefs them: "Her waters haven't broken yet but she thinks she might not be far off entering second stage. Contractions are getting stronger, roughly three minutes apart. You know the way of course." His voice becomes quieter and she can only guess at his concerned entreaty as she hears Sister Julienne's gentle response, given as she starts to ascend the stairs: "Don't worry doctor, I assure you we will."

The door creaks open and Cynthia's smiling face appears round it, to be greeted with a relieved smile in return.

"Good morning Shelagh! It's turning into a lovely day outside; an absolutely beautiful day for baby to be born. Let's get some light in here and check on your progress shall we?"

"Yes please Cynthia."

She hadn't noticed the quickening of the day, but as Cynthia parts the bedroom curtains a shaft of sunlight falls across the room, illuminating the doorway through which Sister Julienne has just entered. No words are spoken, but greetings, enquiries, solicitations and assurances are given and received in the short space of time it takes for her to cross the room and grasp Shelagh's outstretched hand.

"I'm so glad you're here Mother," comes the heartfelt admission.

"I'm glad I'm here too. I aim to be of as much comfort to you as I can today." She smiles brightly at her former charge. "Cynthia will manage the delivery and I will stay by your side throughout, unless Cynthia requires my assistance of course. That is what you wanted isn't it?"

Shelagh nods mutely, her eyes bright with unspoken gratitude.

Cynthia, meanwhile, is beginning her examination "Baby's heartbeat is nice and strong," she assures them putting aside her pinard and drawing down the covers. "My word Shelagh!" comes her surprised exclamation a moment later. "You're already about eight centimetres dilated. Have you felt any urge to push yet?"

Shelagh shakes her head but is unable to elaborate further as another contraction ripples through her lower body, this one fiercer and more protracted than any previously. For the first time she is unable to stop herself from crying out in agony.

For the next half hour they minister to her through contractions becoming ever more powerful in their intensity.

"Do you think we should break her waters Sister?" Cynthia asks quietly, urgently as another one takes hold. "Things seem to be progressing awfully fast for a first baby but I think she's definitely moving into second stage."

"I think we should, yes. If baby is in a hurry to be born then we have to respect that."

She turns to the woman on the bed, now relaxing her grip on her hand and gradually starting to breathe more evenly. "Shelagh?" she says softly. "Shelagh, are you feeling the urge to push yet?"

"No Sister, not yet. I don't think it will be long though." Her hair is plastered to her forehead by a sheen of sweat and her exhaustion is starting to show.

"Would you like some pain relief?" At Shelagh's weary nod she instructs Cynthia: "Go downstairs and ask Dr Turner if he can bring the gas and air up to the landing. I'll try and break her waters while you do so."

Cynthia quickly leaves the room and Sister Julienne releases Shelagh's hand.

Moving to the foot of the bed she lifts the appropriate instrument out of her maternity case. "I'm about to break your waters, Shelagh. I want to see if we can't get baby on the move. He or she does seem keen to arrive as soon as possible."

"Not a bit like their father then," Shelagh manages to joke while her former Mother Superior goes about the task. The quip is met with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile.

"Quite," she replies in affectionate acknowledgement of a trait which she has heard an exasperated Mrs Turner tease her husband about on several occasions in the past year.

"There," she declares standing back and witnessing with quiet satisfaction the gush of fluid which indicates that she has succeeded in her task.

While she is mopping up some of the excess, Cynthia re-enters the room and beckons her over, a concerned look on her face.

"Sister? Dr Turner is just outside with the gas and air. He's asking if he can come in and speak to his wife while we set it up. He's quite insistent in fact - almost desperate I'd say. I didn't know what I should tell him."

Sister Julienne schools her features into as neutral a countenance as she can manage.

"This is most irregular," she muses. "Sister Evangelina would never allow it." She looks over at her patient, now groaning quietly through another contraction and looking quite wrung out. "Yet he is a doctor, so it's not as if he is unfamiliar with the process of birth."

Another guttural moan rips from Shelagh's throat and they hear Patrick try to offer his reassurance through the closed door. "It's all right darling! I have the gas and air here."

"I'm just not sure if his wife would want him to see her in this condition. I think we should leave the final decision to her."

She makes her way back to Shelagh's side, wiping her brow and taking hold of her hand.

"My child, your husband is asking to speak to you. Ordinarily I am not inclined to approve of fathers being in the delivery room, but if you feel you can allow it I would be prepared to let him see you for a short time."

Shelagh's eyes widen in surprise and she whispers eagerly: "Patrick? Please Sister... I'd like to see him too. Just for a moment."

"Very well."

She crosses and opens the bedroom door to Patrick, who is cradling the gas canister anxiously. She beckons him in and he hands her the canister gratefully while he brings in the rest of machinery. He positions it on the near side of the bed and addresses Cynthia: "You know how to set this up don't you Nurse?"

She smiles brightly as she begins connecting it together. "Yes doctor. It was your wife who trained me, so I learned from the very best."

He leaves her to her task and moves to the other side of the bed, Shelagh's eyes following him expectantly the whole time. Sister Julienne has retreated to sit on a far chair, giving the couple as much privacy as the crowded room will allow.

"Hello again," he murmurs taking her hand. "How are you feeling?"

She grimaces in discomfort but tries to smile in reassurance all the same. Her wan look doesn't convince him.

"Pain relief is on its way." He glances over at Cynthia who nods encouragingly to confirm it will soon be at hand.

She draws in a breath and squeezes his hand. "I didn't think I'd want you in here during this, but Sister said you wanted to see me. I needed to see you too. You left without even saying goodbye earlier." There is an edge of hurt in her voice and he curses himself for unwittingly having been the cause of it.

He raises her hand to his lips and murmurs his apology. "I knew you'd be in the best possible hands." He looks over at Sister Julienne who is murmuring contemplatively to herself in prayer, Shelagh's bible cradled in her lap.

"And Timothy had woken up. He's downstairs having some breakfast. I hope you don't mind, but I telephoned the school and told them I was keeping him at home today. I think I will need his company to distract me." The lightness of his tone belies the worry she sees in his face. "You could hear me?" she guesses. He nods and tries to disguise his distress at the powerlessness he had felt upon hearing her crying out in pain.

"I don't want Timothy to hear that. Is he all right?"

"I was listening at the foot of the stairs," he explains. "You can't hear anything from the kitchen. He's excited. He thinks we'll be sitting down to lunch with his new brother or sister in a few hours. I've had to explain to him that it doesn't quite work that way." His rueful smile quickly morphs into a concerned frown as she suddenly cries out and half sits up on the bed, her body arched with pain.

"Here!" Cynthia thrusts the gas ventilator into his hands and he quickly presses it to her lips. "Breathe darling," he instructs urgently, "That's it, just try to take deep, even breaths." The panic in her eyes begins to recede and her body settles back down on to the bed as the pain relief washes through her. He strokes his hand repeatedly across her forehead until he senses the contraction has passed.

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave, Doctor," he hears Sister Julienne state firmly as Shelagh finally opens her eyes again.

She comes to his side and lays her hand on Shelagh's arm. "I'm sorry my dear girl, but this is no place for your husband, not at this stage." Her tone holds nothing but kindness yet Shelagh can see from the set of her face that she will brook no disagreement.

She removes the ventilator from her lips and acquiesces with quiet deference: "Yes Mother. I understand." Sister Julienne nods in gratitude and withdraws to the foot of the bed.

Shelagh's gaze shifts to Patrick; he is drinking her in, focusing on her with an intensity and a reverence which makes her feel like one of the most beautiful things on earth. In her heart of hearts she knows that's what she is to him, just as he is to her, and that their children - both Timothy and his soon-to-be-born sibling - are equally as beautiful and precious to both of them.

"I'll be right downstairs," he assures her quietly in resigned acceptance, standing and pressing a long and tender kiss to her temple. Without tearing his eyes away from hers he addresses Sister Julienne: "You'll call for me if I'm needed in any way, won't you Sister. Any way at all." He phrases it as a statement of fact rather than a question; they both already know the answer.

As he passes by on the way to the door she touches a hand to his forearm. "I won't leave her side Patrick. You have my word. I will make sure the child is safe." He can no longer tell if she is referring to her surrogate daughter or to the baby she is about to birth. Probably to both he considers as he exits the room, turning for one final glance back at his wife, whose eyes have not yet strayed from his retreating form.

"I love you," he mouths from the doorway, prompting a sudden show of tears as he softly closes the door behind him.

Sister Julienne is there to brush them away and mop her brow once more.

"He's a good man, Shelagh. I truly believe he would have this baby for you if he could, to save you from suffering any pain. You are both truly blessed to have found one other."

"Yes Sister, I know. And I believe it too. But if it is God's will that we women must suffer in order to bring new life into the world then I will endure it. After all, it is Our Lord who has truly blessed us both."

"Amen, my dear child. Amen." The two women grasp hands, both offering up silent prayers of thanks, each for their myriad blessings.

"Sister, could I have your opinion on something please?" Cynthia interrupts diffidently. The nun returns to the foot of the bed to confer with her younger colleague while Shelagh avails herself of the gas and air once more.

"Hmm... Dilation still appears the same. Is that your conclusion as well Nurse Miller?"

"Yes, and it should be at least a couple of centimetres more advanced by now after such powerful contractions."

"Dystocia perhaps," Sister Julienne muses. "Failure to progress."

At Cynthia's worried frown she continues: "It may simply be a temporary reaction to administering pain relief. It has been known to relax the body too much at times. Why don't you check on the baby's heartbeat and I'll try to determine its position."

Cynthia retrieves her pinard while Julienne lays her hands on Shelagh's distended stomach.

"The baby doesn't appear to be in any distress, Sister."

"And it's lying in the correct position for descent. Though I would have expected it to have begun to do so by now. We will have to discontinue the pain relief and monitor the next few contractions, then see how matters progress after that."

Cynthia nods and looks in sympathy at Shelagh who is still breathing obliviously from the gas ventilator.

Her eyes open wider as Sister Julienne comes to her side and begins to gently prise it from her hands. "Shelagh, my darling. I am sorry, but you will have to endure these next few contractions without the use of this."

"Why? What's wrong?" she asks, looking anxiously between the two midwives. "Is the baby in any trouble?"

"Nothing's wrong exactly," Cynthia replies in a kind tone which nevertheless fails to allay Shelagh's fears.

"The baby hasn't descended into the birth canal as we'd hoped. You're not sufficiently dilated to move through the second stage yet." Sister Julienne's calm explanation, while reassuring Shelagh on one concern, makes her collapse back into the pillows and look to the ceiling in despair. She knows what is coming, knows from witnessing it dozens - if not hundreds - of times what she must endure over the next few hours.

Without looking round she holds out her hand and feels Sister Julienne weave their fingers together, laying her other hand on top.

"I'm here my darling girl. I'm right here. I won't leave you."

By mid-afternoon Shelagh's efforts have yielded the required results and Cynthia is finally able to pronounce her fully dilated.

As promised, Sister Julienne has not left her side, though Cynthia has been dispatched downstairs several times to fetch hot water and provide updates for the anxious father. Thankfully Mrs Langley, Patrick's former housekeeper, has returned at his request and has been able to ferry refreshments up to the two midwives at regular intervals. On hearing news of the delay in proceedings, Patrick had relented and sent Timothy to school for the afternoon, though he is expected back home at any moment, no doubt eagerly expecting to be introduced to a sibling yet to make their first appearance.

Shelagh has taken to lying back with her eyes closed between each contraction, now utterly spent and almost delirious at times. Her one saving grace has been the sound of Sister Julienne's calming voice reciting the Psalms to her, soothing her with her its beautiful tone and touching her with its familiar eloquence. She has not allowed herself much thought of her husband and of what he is enduring, knowing full well how desperate he must be to see her and how he will be willing her suffering to come to an end.

She would be willing it too, she thinks, if only she had the energy left to do so. As it is, Cynthia's announcement is met merely with profound relief that another milestone has been reached.

Sister Julienne squeezes her hand and Shelagh blinks open her eyes to look at her.

"Shelagh, you'll start to feel the urge to push very soon. I want you to focus on my face when you do. I'll tell you when you should push and when you should stop. All right?"

She is met with a somewhat weary nod and so she squeezes her hand again in encouragement. "It shouldn't be long now. Cynthia has confirmed your baby is on the move. It won't take much time until you finally get to meet them. Shelagh, listen to me: soon you'll be holding your child in your arms and all of this will be over." Her words reach through the fog and Shelagh starts to smile tentatively at the picture they paint. "And something truly wonderful will be just beginning..."

"Thank you Mother," she whispers gratefully, her spirit somewhat restored.

At the foot of the stairs, Patrick's pensive contemplation of the silence which seems to have descended above is interrupted by the noise of the front door banging open and a small boy eagerly bounding into the hallway, almost barrelling into his startled father.

"Is the baby here yet Dad!? Can I meet my new brother or sister? And can I go and see Mum now?"

"Shush Timothy!" comes the harsh response. "No you cannot. Go and close the front door - quietly! - and then you can go through to the kitchen and make a start on your homework."

"But Dad...?" he begins to whine.

"I said NO Timothy!"

His face stills when he sees his son's begin to crumple. As Timothy raises his sleeve to his face to try to hide the tears which are starting to spill, Patrick realises just how cruelly he has taken out his own anxiety on a little boy who doesn't understand where it is coming from.

"I'm sorry," he whispers contritely, kneeling down in front of his son and trying to lower the arm which still shields his face. "I'm sorry Timothy. I should never have shouted at you like that."

Timothy sniffs back a sob and looks back at his father with trepidation. "What's wrong Dad? Is Mum OK? Is everything all right with the baby?"

Patrick draws Timothy to him and lowers the boy's head to his shoulder in a comforting caress. "Everything will be fine, all right? The baby's not here yet. Your Mum is still upstairs with Sister Julienne and Nurse Miller."

"Are you scared Dad?" he asks picking up on something undefinable in his father's tone.

Before he can stop himself he has whispered an unexpected confession: "Yes."

Tim looks at him wide-eyed before Patrick can compose himself enough to attempt a recovery: "But it's OK to be a little bit scared sometimes. It's perfectly natural. It doesn't mean anything bad is going to happen. It just means you care a lot about the person you're scared for."

"Are you scared for Mum?" he asks anxiously and Patrick berates himself for reminding his son of a fear which had already stalked him to a terrible conclusion just a few years previously.

"Mum will be just fine," he says emphatically. He stands up and sweeps the school cap off the boy's head. "Come on you! Mrs Langley is here. What do you say: shall I get her to make you some French toast while I go and have a chat with Sister Julienne?"

Timothy nods somewhat doubtfully and Patrick tries to reassure him with a smile which is also somewhat unconvincing. He ushers him into the kitchen and delivers the request for French toast to Mrs Langley, who is only too delighted to be able to make 'young Timmy' his favourite teatime treat once again.

"I won't be a moment," Patrick declares as he slips out the door and makes his way nervously up the stairs.

He is approaching the bedroom door when he hears a long groan and a respondent voice: "Another push for me? Yes! That's it! Good girl. The baby's coming quite quickly now." Cynthia's voice joins Sister Julienne's in its encouragement: "That's it Shelagh! I can see the head crowning. Just a few more pushes and baby will be born."

He can do nothing more than sag against the wall, resting his forehead on the edge of the doorframe, tears of relief and joy streaming down his face as he listens in.

The pride and excitement in Sister Julienne's voice is unmistakeable: "You're doing so well Shelagh, really well my darling girl. Deep breaths now now until the next contraction. I think this could be it."

He listens intently as voices of exhortation mingle with groans of effort and - finally - the unmistakeable high-pitched wail of a newborn baby taking its first breaths outside its mother's womb.

"It's a little girl!" he hears Cynthia exclaim. "Oh Shelagh, she's absolutely beautiful!"

"Oh, she is. She's perfect," affirms Julienne in a voice taut with barely-checked emotion. "Come on little one, let's get you cleaned up." Then a few seconds later: "Here she is. It's time for you to meet your Mummy."

He hears his wife begin to sob softly with joy and can picture their baby being gently placed in her arms for the first time. "Hello little girl," he hears her choke out. "You're here at last. Oh, your Daddy is going to fall head over heels in love with you!"

"Sister?" he hears her ask. "Can you call down for Patrick? I want him to meet his daughter."

"All in good time my dear," comes the reply. "Let's get you cleaned up first. I'll induce the third stage and he can come up as soon as I'm finished."

"Do you hear that little girl?" she coos at the baby. "Your Daddy will be along in a minute. Are you excited to meet him? Because I know he's going to be excited to meet you."

Still dazed, Patrick turns and pads softly back along the landing, descending the creaking stairs with the utmost care and slipping back into the warm glow of the kitchen.

At the click of the door Timothy looks up and catches sight of his father's tear-streaked face. He freezes in place, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth.

Patrick notices his reaction and immediately seeks to reassure him: "It's OK! It's OK Timothy, there's nothing to worry about."

"Then why are you crying?" the boy asks fearfully.

Patrick swipes at his cheek with his sleeve, much as his son had done just a few minutes earlier.

"Tears of joy," he explains. "Of happiness." He grins in embarrassment and strides towards his son, taking the toast from him, sweeping him up into an unexpected hug and swinging him round.

"You've got a little sister Timothy. A beautiful little sister!"

"Dad! Put me down! You can get all soppy over the baby, you don't need to do it with me."

Patrick sets his son down and ruffles his hair affectionately by way of apology.

Apology grudgingly accepted Timothy asks curiously: "What does she look like? Does she look like you? Or is she lucky enough to look like Mum instead?"

"I don't know," Patrick admits. "I haven't seen her yet. And we'll have a bit less of your cheek please young man," he admonishes good-naturedly, in case Timothy thinks his remark has gone unnoticed.

"Then how do you know she's beautiful if you don't know what she looks like?"

"Because all babies are beautiful to their parents," he muses. "And because any baby with a Mum as beautiful as yours is bound to be beautiful as well. No matter what I may have contributed to her looks," he adds with a wink.

Just then the door opens and Cynthia pops her head round it.

"Patrick? Congratulations! Baby's arrived, all safe and sound. Your wife has been asking for you. Would you like to come up now?"

Patrick visibly squares his shoulders and subconsciously straightens his tie before eagerly moving towards her. "I want you to stay here for the moment Timothy," he instructs, seeing the boy also take a step towards the door. "I need to check Mum and the baby over for myself. I'll take you up to see them as soon as I can. Mrs Langley, would you make him another slice of French toast please? I think this one has probably gone cold."

"Of course Dr Turner," the elderly housekeeper agrees happily. "And I'll put the kettle on an' all. This calls for a celebratory cup of tea. Congratulations to you both."

Patrick grins his appreciation as Cynthia holds the door open for him to follow her through. He ascends the stairs no less nervously than before, albeit this time for entirely different reasons. When they reach the bedroom door Cynthia taps on it and stands aside, gesturing for him to enter on hearing Sister Julienne's quiet call of "Come in."

He pushes it open gingerly, peeking round to see his wife cradling a tiny bundle from which she can scarcely tear her eyes. Sister Julienne is quietly packing equipment back into her bag but beams at him in beatific approval as he approaches his wife and daughter for the first time. Shelagh only looks up as his shadow falls over the bed, yet the incredulous happiness he sees in her eyes almost steals his breath away.

"Darling," she sighs. "Come and meet your beautiful daughter."

"Our daughter," he corrects gently.

"Our daughter then," she echoes in delight. "Our beautiful daughter..."

He reaches down and strokes a finger over the downy softness of dark hair on the crown of the baby's head. Her eyelids blink open at his touch, revealing a colour as bright and as clear as a sun-dappled ocean and he almost gasps at their resemblance to Shelagh's.

Slowly, carefully, he levers himself down onto the bed and sits shoulder to shoulder with his wife, his gaze now also transfixed by the tiny baby snuffling softly in her mother's arms.

"She's all right?" he asks, partly directing his question at Sister Julienne.

"She's absolutely perfect Doctor," she assures him in an echo of her earlier verdict. "Tiny, but absolutely perfect."

"Five pounds, two ounces," Shelagh informs him, brushing her thumb over the baby's exposed toes, still marvelling at just how perfectly formed they are. "Do you not want to hold her?"

"I'm dying to hold her," he confesses. "But she looks so contented in her Mummy's arms."

"I'm sure she'll be equally contented to be with her Daddy," she replies, moving her arms slowly away from her body and leaning forward to proffer the baby into his waiting hands. He slips one underneath her head as Shelagh slides the rest of the baby's body into the crook of his arm.

"Would you look at that?" he murmurs in wonder. "She fits in one arm. I can hold her with one hand, she's so tiny." He strokes her cheek with his other hand, gazing down at her in awe. Her fists flex and she fusses a little until he shushes her by brushing a thumb across her lips. Shelagh is leaning into him with rapt attention, drinking in the baby's features, watching her reactions to her father's attentions.

"She's going to be a Daddy's girl, I can tell," she says with quiet affection.

"Well if she takes after her Mummy in any way she's bound to the apple of my eye. Won't you my precious girl?" he coos, rocking his daughter gently in the crook of his arm.

He pauses and glances up at his wife before venturing his opinion: "She's got your eyes."

"Most babies have blue eyes, Darling," she reminds him, unable to resist feathering her fingers lightly over her daughter's fluttering eyelashes.

"Yes, but not this particular shade of blue. It's almost like a... " he stops, searching for the right term: "Like a cerulean blue. Yes, that's it. Cerulean blue. I've never met anyone with that particular shade of eye colour, except you."

He smiles down at the baby again. "Until now."

"I don't think you're thinking of quite the right shade Darling," she challenges. "Mine are lighter with a touch of green in them," she says, an uncharacteristic hint of vanity in her voice.

"Perhaps I may not have the exact shade," he concedes, leaning forward carefully and quickly kissing the tip of her nose."But it's still your colour. I'd know it anywhere." He fixes her with a rakish grin then coos at the baby once again.

Their quiet reverie is interrupted by a timid cough. Unheeded by them both, Cynthia has been helping Sister Julienne to clear things away and is now stood by the bedroom door in her coat, her bag in hand.

"Shelagh, Patrick. Sister? I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave now. I'm needed back at Nonnatus House. I promised Jane I would help her to study for her nursing paper tomorrow."

Patrick slides his legs off the bed and stands, carefully cradling the baby to his body. He makes his way over to Cynthia and bends down, kissing her fondly on the cheek, causing the colour to rise in it immediately. "Thank you Nurse Miller. For everything."

They both look down at the baby, the young midwife reaching out to stroke her fingers over the downy head. "You're very welcome Patrick. She really is gorgeous. I couldn't be happier for you both."

By this time Shelagh, assisted by Sister Julienne, has carefully gathered herself together and is standing by the bed, wrapped snugly in her dressing gown. She pads slowly over to them, resting her palm on her husband's arm where it cradles their baby and reaching for Cynthia's hand. She grasps it firmly and tells her "We can't thank you enough Cynthia. All of us." She mirrors Patrick's actions by placing a kiss on her colleague's cheek, causing the crimson blush on it to deepen even further. "Why don't we see you out? We can take this wee one down to meet her big brother."

She half turns back when she feels Sister Julienne lay a hand on her shoulder. "I think you need your bed rest Mrs Turner," she suggests kindly. "You've had a long and tiring labour and you might well have a long night ahead of you."

Seeing the concern on the nun's face she concedes: "Very well Sister. Actually I would like to talk to you in private if I may." She exchanges a knowing look with her husband who nods his approval. "Patrick, why don't you show Cynthia out and take the baby down for Timothy to see?"

He agrees and nudges open the door with his foot, gesturing for Cynthia to go first. He turns towards his wife who presses a tender kiss to the baby's forehead. "I'll see you in a little while, little one. You be a good girl for your Daddy and brother now."

Her eyes don't leave her daughter's face until Cynthia leans in to pull the door closed behind them, reminding Shelagh that she will be back in the morning to see how both mother and baby are doing.

At the foot of the stairs she insists on letting herself out, leaving Patrick to make his way into the kitchen, where a wide-eyed boy is waiting to greet him with an ever-widening grin.

"Hello Timothy, hello Mrs Langley. Shelagh just needs to have a quiet word with Sister Julienne so I brought someone down to meet you."

The housekeeper smiles at the sight of her former employer tenderly cradling his newborn daughter. She can recall a younger, less careworn version of this same man entering a different house holding his baby son equally close. Yet she fancies the cares appear to have all but vanished from his face in the space of time it has taken him to first ascend the stairs - alone and in trepidation - and finally descend them again in treasured company. She watches on in enchanted delight as introductions are made.

"Timothy, would you like to come and say hello to your little sister?"

The boy approaches cautiously, mesmerised by the fluttering of the baby's fingers as she wriggles in Patrick's arms.

"Wow! She's tiny! I didn't know babies were that tiny."

"They can be when they're first born. Not all babies are, but she is." He tilts his arms slightly so Timothy can get a better look at his new sibling. Timothy takes another step closer and peers at her intently.

"But why is she so small Dad? Was I that little when I was born?"

"No you weren't, not really. I remember the midwife described you as a "big bonny boy". I'd say your sister is definitely more 'wee' than 'bonny', but I suppose Mum's quite petite. You're almost as tall as she is now, aren't you?" Timothy nods proudly and then smiles in delight as the baby flexes a curled-up fist towards him.

"It's not important though is it Dad? I've heard Mum say all that really matters is that a baby has got all ten fingers and all ten toes."

Patrick smiles fondly at his son's over-simplified version of Shelagh's favourite mantra for reassuring new mothers.

"Something like that, Son. Would you like to count them for me to make sure?"

Cradling the baby carefully in one arm, he takes a seat at the table opposite Mrs Langley and pulls out the chair next to him for Timothy to sit on.

Heads almost meeting, they lean over the baby, Timothy touching each of her tiny toes in turn. When he places a finger on her palm she reflexively curls her fingers round it and he looks up at his father with undisguised excitement. "Look Dad she's shaking my hand!" He waggles his finger and pretends to shake it back. "Hello baby," he says proudly. "I'm Timothy, your big brother. But you can call me Tim if you like..."

Upstairs Shelagh is sat up in bed clasping Sister Julienne's hands in hers, their heads bowed in silent prayer, a profound and perfect peace enveloping them.

She hears Julienne clear her throat and slowly opens her eyes. "And thank you Dear Lord for blessing this family with the most wonderful gift of life. Please Lord, keep them all safe in your love, watch over them and forever keep them close in your bountiful mercy."

"Amen Sister," she whispers.

"Now my child, what is it you wanted to say to me?" Sister Julienne's eyes are twinkling, for she believes she knows what is coming.

Shelagh looks down at their clasped hands and smiles serenely before raising her gaze once more. "Sister, I used to believe that I never would - or could - be a mother. For a long, long time I thought it was my purpose in life to help other women fulfil that role."

"So it was for a time," she interjects. "And you always performed it with the utmost skill and compassion."

"Thank you Sister," she murmurs, squeezing her companion's hand in gratitude before continuing:

"As you know, I lost my mother when I was very young. But I was resilient and I turned to Our Lord. He helped me to cope. I never stopped missing my mother though, all the time I was growing up. And then I met you..."

She pauses and watches the breath catch in Sister Julienne's throat as the import of her words hits home.

"Sister, you have been more than a mother to me. You have been a guardian, a counsellor, a friend. You have been my comfort and my strength. Who I am today, where I am today, so much of that is down to you."

They are both openly weeping now, Sister Julienne's head downcast as she struggles to accept the outpouring of love washing over her.

Shelagh frees her hands and swipes at the tears on her cheeks, laughing quietly to herself. "I don't know why I'm crying. This is the happiest day of my life."

Sister Julienne looks up, smiling through her tears. "It's OK for us to cry with happiness Shelagh. I'm happy for you. So very, very happy. You will make a wonderful mother."

"I learned from the best," she states simply, clasping hands again. "The best Mother. And we - Patrick and I - we want our child to have that same example. We would like you to be the baby's Godmother."

Julienne's smile widens as the very question she had anticipated awaits her answer. "And I would be honoured to do so. My dear, sweet girl, your daughter has been blessed with two wonderful parents who will give her all the love and guidance she needs. But if you think I can be of assistance to you in guiding her through life, then I would be only too happy to accept."

She draws the younger woman into a fond embrace, raising her eyes to the heavens in munificent thanks as she does so.

"May I ask if you have picked out names yet?"

"Yes, yes we have. If it had been a boy we were going to call him Robert Patrick. After both our fathers," she clarifies.

"And for a girl?"

"Grace Elizabeth," she states, watching the surprised and deeply moved reaction which dawns on the older woman's face.

"After...?"

"Yes. Partly," she confirms with a smile.

"Well, that is quite lovely!"

She notices Shelagh glance stray towards the door for the third or fourth time since talk had turned to the baby's name.

"I think it's time Grace was reunited with her Mummy, don't you?" she suggests gently.

"And Timothy," Shelagh prompts, keen to see her stepson again and hear about his reaction to his new sibling.

"Then I'll go and fetch them straight away. I can see myself out."

She stands and raises Shelagh's hand to her lips for one final benediction. "God has blessed every one of us today. May He always keep you safe. I will call in again tomorrow, and at any time you need me."

She picks up her bag and, with one final beatific smile at Shelagh, she leaves the room, hurrying down the stairs to tap on the kitchen door.

It is opened by Patrick, his sleeping daughter still tucked safely into the crook of his arm.

"Sister," he greets her warmly. "Has Shelagh...?"

"Yes," she anticipates, unable to resist the urge to lay her hand on the baby's head. "Thank you both for the honour. I am looking forward to getting to know my God-daughter better. But for now I think your wife is anxious for a family reunion. I said I'd send for you on my way out."

"Will you at least stay for a cup of tea Sister? Mrs Langley has just made a fresh pot."

From her seat at the kitchen table the elderly housekeeper proffers said teapot in Sister Julienne's direction.

"Thank you both, but no. I should be getting back to Nonnatus. It's been a long day."

"But a happy one," he murmurs, glancing at the still slumbering tot in his arms.

"Yes. The happiest of birth days."

He laughs at her pun and she lays a gentle palm on his forearm. "Look after her Patrick. Look after all of them. And may the good Lord bless you all."

"Thank you Sister. May He bless you too."

She turns and slips silently out of the front door while Patrick turns and calls to Timothy, now busy colouring in the card he is making for Shelagh.

"Come on then Son, it's time to go and see Mum."

Timothy is at his side in an instant, then pushing past him and bounding up the stairs two at a time.

"Wait!" Patrick calls quietly but firmly after him. Timothy obediently stops as he reaches the landing while Patrick ascends in a more measured fashion, mindful of not disturbing his daughter.

He taps at the bedroom door and peeks round it to be met with a look of pure joy shining from Shelagh's face. "You're back…" she proclaims in a tone which matches her look. He makes his way over to the bed and swoops down to press a swift and loving kiss to her lips before gently easing the baby back into her outstretched arms.

He turns to see Timothy hovering in the doorway. Shelagh notices him too and immediately pats the bed beside her.

"Timothy, come here. I've missed you!"

He needs no further entreaty and eagerly slides onto the bed, nestling in beside Shelagh who leans over and kisses the top of his head. Patrick squeezes himself on the other side of his wife and reaches behind her to squeeze his son's shoulder.

"I see you've met your new sister then. What do you think of her?"

"I think she's very little. And she's very pretty. Just like you."

Shelagh looks at her husband in delighted amusement and finds him beaming back at her, pride and affection writ large on his features. She ducks her head and turns back to Timothy.

"Your Dad seems to think she's got my eyes. What do you think Timmy?"

He shrugs and confesses: "I haven't seen them yet. Can you make her open them so I can tell?"

"I'm afraid not Son," Patrick chuckles. "Babies will do as they please and the rest of us have to learn to revolve around them. Although this little one's been as good as gold," he murmurs to his wife in wonder.

"Have you held her yet Timothy?" Shelagh asks, thinking this might be the perfect opportunity to do so.

Timothy shakes his head and stares wide-eyed back at her while Patrick coughs nervously.

"Well I think you should. Shouldn't he Dad?" she prompts Patrick.

He watches apprehensively as Shelagh shifts in the bed and turns towards the waiting boy.

"As long as you're very careful, young man. Don't sit like that, sit up straighter. And make sure ... "

"Patrick?" He is interrupted by a gentle reprimand from his wife: "Please stop fussing. He'll be fine," she chides softly.

She smiles at Timothy and motions for him to lean forward slightly.

"That's it. Hold both arms out. Yes, like that. Now slide one hand underneath her head. Make sure you keep it there to support her. That's right. Now I'm going to slide the rest of her over. Stay very still until I let go."

As the transfer takes place Patrick is aware that Shelagh is breathing heavily in concentration while Timothy seems to have stopped breathing all together. Finally Shelagh moves her hands away and Timothy's face breaks out into a relieved and proud grin as he realises he is holding his baby sister for the very first time.

She seems to realise the difference too, because no sooner has Shealgh leant back against the pillows to watch, then the baby starts to stir, her head bobbing and her fists beginning to flail. Shelagh reaches over to stroke a soothing finger down her cheek, murmuring endearments and willing her to settle back down until Timothy's nerves have settled.

Her ministrations seem to do the trick as the baby opens her mouth to emit a long, silent yawn. Timothy giggles in delight and allows himself to gaze at her properly for the first time from this new perspective.

Shelagh's hand finds Patrick's, clasping it tightly as they observe their children begin to bond. He presses a heartfelt and tender kiss to her hairline and - suddenly overcome with the happiness of the scene - she turns into him, mouthing a silent 'I love you' against his collarbone. Through the vibrations he can tell her words and he leans down to whisper "I love you too" into her ear.

An oblivious Timothy is still absorbed in the responsibility of trying to hold the lightweight form of his baby sister as still as possible, an increasingly taxing task given that she has now started to wriggle and kick in his arms. Her eyes blink open and for the first time the two siblings look at each other, one intently, one unfocused, but both in wonder.

"She does have your eyes Mum!" he cries out in excitement, an act which has the unfortunate consequence of causing the baby to screw her face up in protest at the sudden noise.

Shelagh sees the warning signs and reaches for her before she can work herself into full-blown outrage. She carefully lifts the little girl from Timothy's arms and rocks her gently back and forth. "Shsshhhh," she coos, "Come on now my wee bairn, settle down."

"What's a bairn?" Timothy asks curiously.

"It's a Scottish name for a baby," his father informs him.

"Has she got a Scottish name then?" he asks, even more curious.

Shelagh looks up in surprise: "Has your father not told you her name yet?"

The boy shakes his head solemnly. "No. I asked but Dad said I would just have to wait for you to tell me."

She looks at Patrick questioningly. He meets her gaze directly, returning a smile which is gently but insistently persuasive: "I thought it would be more appropriate if it came from you, my love."

She can still recall the conversation from months ago; the one in which they had finally settled on their chosen names. The memory of it makes her heart swell with love for her husband; that he should offer her this now after she had already been so deeply touched by the consideration and compassion he had shown back then. Then as now, it seems obvious to her that those qualities are woven into the very fabric of his character, that they form an intrinsic part of who he is.

She dips her head and gazes at the beautiful baby nestled in her arms, marvelling at the idea that their daughter might well be cut from the same cloth.

"Grace," she murmurs.

"Grace?" Timothy echoes. "My sister is called Grace?"

Shelagh nods happily. "Yes, that's her first name."

"As in 'by the grace of God'?" Timothy clarifies. Shelagh looks up and sees the understanding and approval on his face. She is only too happy to confirm his astute realisation.

"Yes. It was God's grace that helped us become a family. He brought your father and I together, He chose me to become your new Mum. And now," - she strokes a finger over her daughter's cheek - "He's given us your gorgeous little sister." She feels Patrick slip his arm around her waist and she leans into his touch with fervent gratitude. "We've all been graced in so many ways, haven't we?" she asks, still gazing at the baby.

"I think it suits her - she looks like a Grace," Timothy muses. Then, more proudly, he grins and pronounces: "Grace Turner, my little sister," as if he is presenting her to a group of his scout or school chums, as something to be marvelled over.

She is, Shelagh thinks. She is the most marvellous thing in the world at this very moment. But that is not all she is, or all she represents. She draws in a steadying breath and lays her hand lightly on Timothy's arm.

"Grace Elizabeth Turner," she corrects quietly.

Patrick watches his son's face closely, watches as his smile dims and the young boy turns to regard them both with an air of seriousness.

"Elizabeth was my Mummy's name wasn't it?" It is a statement and an affirmation rather than a question.

Patrick can only nod in response, muted by the stricken look of fleeting, painful remembrance which flickers in Timothy's eyes.

Shelagh tightens her grip on the boy's arm: "It was my Mummy's name as well," she confides gently.

His distant gaze is drawn back into focus by the faint sorrow he hears in her voice, a muffled echo of the sharpness which has just pierced his heart.

"I still miss her Timothy." She fixes him with a solemn, sympathetic gaze. "I'll never forget her. Just like I know you'll never forget your own Mummy."

He nods in wide-eyed acknowledgement and she glances at his father; his eyes too are intense, glittering with emotion. She draws the strength from them to continue:

"We wanted to remember your Mummy, and mine. And we want your sister to know all about them too. When she's old enough we'll tell her about how she got her name. You can tell her all about your Mummy and I can tell her about mine."

A shy smile breaks out on Timothy's face. "Could I tell her some of the stories Mummy used to tell me? About Dad when he was younger and about me when I was a baby?"

"I'm sure she'd love that Timmy," she beams, relief washing over her at his simple acceptance.

"I could make up stories for her as well!" he continues with mounting excitement. "Mr Morris says I'm the best in my whole year at writing stories."

"He's the one who gave Timothy A+ for English in his report this year," Patrick confirms to Shelagh with undisguised paternal pride.

"Well, that's an excellent skill for a big brother to have," she declares, nudging Timothy's shoulder fondly. "Grace is a very lucky little girl."

"And a hungry one too, I think," observes Patrick as his daughter starts to stir in Shelagh's arms. Her mouth opens and closes several times, her face instinctively turning in towards her mother's soothing voice.

He takes his cue from Shealgh's slight nod of confirmation: "Come on then young man, I think we should get our tea as well. And you can finish the project you were working on," he says with a wink.

"Can I bring it up before I go to bed?" he asks, "So I can show it to Mum and say goodnight to Gracie?"

"Gracie," Shelagh echoes, smiling. "I like that."

"So do I," agrees Patrick, easing himself from the bed. He bends over and feathers his fingers over his daughter's mouth as she continues to fuss. She immediately closes her lips around his thumb and he laughs when she starts to suckle in earnest.

"Yes, she's definitely hungry. I should leave you to it." She looks back at him beseechingly and he turns towards the door. "Timothy, go on downstairs and ask Mrs Langley to put the kettle on. I'll be down in a minute."

The boy complies with a cheery "OK", waving towards the bed and calling "Bye Mum! Bye Gracie! See you later."

When he hears the door click shut, Patrick sits down again and leans in towards Shelagh, watching as she adjusts her nightgown and lifts the baby carefully to her breast. The infant latches on immediately and begins feeding eagerly and somewhat noisily.

Heads nestled together, her parents watch her in rapt awe. Shelagh delicately brushes a thumb across the baby's cheek, feeling it puffing in and out as she suckles, while Patrick rests his fingers on the downy softness of her head.

"Darling?" he says in a hushed tone. She looks up and he leans in to capture her lips with his own in a surprise and tender ambush. "Thank you," he whispers against her mouth, imbuing the words with all the adoration, wonder, love and simple gratitude that is coursing through him at that moment.

Theif eyes meet and they are drawn into another kiss, just as sweet and gentle as the first, until their daughter emits a small sigh which indicates that she is satiated. They pull apart and look down at her again.

"Beautiful," he says simply, brushing a kiss over the baby's cheek, beginning to ease himself off the bed. He cups his wife's face in his palm and murmurs again:

"So beautiful."

"Yes."

THE END

Please review if you have the time!