Epilogue

Our House, Madness

"Well done, Timothy!" The Turner family cheered as the twelve year old boy ran off of the cricket pitch to join his parents and siblings. Father and son discussed the specifics of the match while Shelagh began to pack up their things, preparing to leave London Fields. As they waved goodbye to the two Noakes families, Peter shouted, "Isn't this how it all started?"

The adults laughed, but Tim rolled his eyes and ran ahead, unwilling to listen to the story of how his parents met again. Patrick called after him to come back for his cricket kit, then folded up the picnic blanket and reminded Angela and May that four year old girls were responsible for carrying their own dolls.

While the family filed out of the grounds, Shelagh pushed Teddy in his pram, catching up to Tim just as Patrick was in the middle of retelling their story, "...and Mummy wouldn't even shake my hand!"

"Mummy!" May was indignant.

"Well, his hands were covered in sticky motor oil," Shelagh explained in her practical manner.

"Ewwww, Daddy!" Angela understood her mother's plight.

Tim's eyes rolled again, "Parents," he muttered.

Walking home leisurely, in the cool, Sunday evening air, Shelagh's heart ached with the bittersweet joy of a mother watching her firstborn mature out of childhood. As handsome in his cricket whites as his father had once been, her precious Timothy was growing up so fast. Shaking herself into a more sensible line of thinking, she mentally began cataloguing plans for dinner, then thought through the week ahead. "Remember, Patrick, we need to open the surgery early tomorrow for the vaccination clinic."

"I haven't forgotten," her husband pointed out with a grin.

"I've arranged for Trixie to fill in for me until I can get there after nursery drop off. Tim, you'll be fine on your bike?"

"Mmhmm," Timothy replied with his mouth full of granola bar, dodging a reprimanding look from his mother.

Turning onto Bermondsey Lane, Patrick asked, "What's on this road girls?"

"Our house!" Anglea chirped, swinging side to side so her pink dress flared out.

"That's correct. And where is it?"

May sang, "In the middle of our street!"

Patrick laughed, "Well done, girls!"

"The old songs are the best, Dad," Tim smiled.

"I can't remember," Shelagh mused, "did we dance to that one on our first date?"

"We almost didn't dance at all!" Patrick replied, then continued dramatically, "Girls, would you believe your mummy was almost too shy to dance with me?" Balancing both picnic basket and rug, he displayed some of his best dad dancing moves.

The girls dissolved into giggles, blonde and black ponytails bouncing along with their glee, while Teddy clapped his little hands, delighting in the commotion. Timothy, however, was mortified. "Dad!" he hissed. "I'd take another route home if we weren't already on our street!"

"Oh, Patrick, don't embarrass him," Shelagh sympathised.

"It's too late," Tim grumbled.

"Then there's no need to apologise for this," Patrick teased, leaning in to drop a sweet kiss on his wife's surprised lips. She blushed, as she always did when on the receiving end of his attentions, while Tim ran for the front door, the girls close behind him. Patrick winked as he helped her lift Teddy's pram up the steps, "It won't scar him for life," he reassured her, "I promise."

Several hours later, Patrick climbed the stairs after returning a patient's phone call. As he entered the bedroom, Shelagh was propped up against the headboard wearing a light pink camisole and loose pyjama pants in a similar hue printed with small clusters of red roses. "How is Mrs Prescott?" she asked.

"Calmer," he replied. "Most likely suffering from Braxton Hicks, but I've said we'll see her in the morning just to be on the safe side."

"Good," she smiled, patting the spot on the bed next to her.

"What's all this?" he asked, indicating the large book in her lap as he settled himself beside her.

She opened the cover. "Just some memories," she answered sweetly. "I felt like reminiscing after this afternoon's conversation." Pasted on the pages of the scrapbook were the messages and letters he had left for her years ago on the St Camillus notice boards.

He chuckled. "These silly things?"

"They're not silly to me," she sighed contentedly. "You wrote the most beautiful words, Patrick."

He leaned against her and together they leafed through the pages, re-reading the variety of notes: one was a Valentine card; another ended with their names written in a crossword pattern, intersecting at the A; at the bottom of the third page, a post-it contained a short, saucy rhyme.

"Well maybe this one was a wee bit silly," she giggled.

"I'm not sure silly is the appropriate description!" Patrick laughed cheekily as he bent to nip at her shoulder.

She rested her head against his and flipped another page. "I remember this florist's card was tacked up on the board with a single rose, and… Oh dear, here you're apologising for something." She turned to look at him, touching his bottom lip with her finger. "Of course I forgave you," she whispered.

He kissed her fingertip, then took her hand in his own as they turned their attention back to the scrapbook. "Are there any that mention the dance I had to help you ask me to?

Shelagh huffed, "Help me?"

"Surely you remember," Patrick winked. "I had to almost drag it out of you!"

"I'm sorry if I was shy," Shelagh stated primly. "I'd never asked anyone out before!"

"Shy were you?" His voice turned husky, "I believe the amount of time we spent fogging up the windows in the MG would be evidence to the contrary…"

"Patrick!" Shelagh laughed, failing in her attempt to appear offended.

"Speaking of," he mused, "I quite miss the old MG. It was the only place I could have you all to myself." His voice was soft and he drew a finger slowly down the length of her arm.

With a shiver, she whispered, "We don't need it anymore though, do we? We can be all alone right here…" Closing the book, she removed her glasses and leaned toward him.

His laugh was low and seductive. "That is true," he answered, taking the scrapbook from her lap and dropping it lightly to the floor. "And you've never been shy here," he murmured, falling back onto the bed and pulling her on top of him.

Confidently taking his mouth with hers, she proceeded to prove him right.