#misty roads

 Patrick’s tan coat was like an old friend, he had worn it on so many memorable occasions.

 He’d been wearing it in the smog, when he was called to Conchita Warren’s 25th and premature baby. Although the obstetric flying squad were already there, the situation was so critical, he never even got the chance to take the coat off that night.

 On another occasion he had been called, as back-up to Nurse Browne’s first breech delivery. He could only stand back and watch Nurse Browne developing into a first-class midwife. His assistance was not needed, so the coat stayed on.

 The day Sister Monica Joan had been found wandering by the river by Constable Noakes, Patrick had been called to Nonnatus. He had spoken to Sister Bernadette, as she was in charge, whilst Sister Julienne was on retreat. All was going well, until he made a flippant remark about Sister Monica Joan’s dementia. The look of pain in Sister Bernadette’s eyes showed how deeply she cared for her fellow Sister. He understood though, he too had a soft spot for the elderly nun.

 Patrick had worn his tan coat on a visit to Mrs Jenkins. He would’ve preferred his thicker winter coat, even though it was old and moth-eaten as it was warmer. That one, however was at the cleaners, a small child had vomited all over it on a home visit.

 That terrible day when he visited Mrs Kelly and her baby son Thomas, how he hated calls like that and would never get used to such tragedies.

 There’d been a nip in the air, even though it was summer, so he’d needed the coat that evening on his visit to the Master’s Arms. Why were some patients so stubborn? He only got called when there was nothing he could do for them. It was so frustrating sometimes.

 It had been windy, that momentous day when he and Sister Bernadette had gone to do battle with the medical board. What an amazing woman, just when he was about to lose his temper with the board, she stepped in and worked her magic. Afterwards he was so exhilarated he wanted to pick her up and spin her round with joy. Thankfully she walked off before his feelings overtook him. He was still wearing the coat, when he went to Nonnatus later to relay the good news of their success against the board.

 The day he took Sister Bernadette to the London for tests and then on to the sanatorium, he’d felt so cold, the cold of sadness and his coat was a gesture of warmth. He remembered standing outside the sanatorium, looking at the closed door, the rain had soaked through the coat, so even his suit was wet. He didn’t mind though, the rain masked the tears that streamed down his face. He’d stood there for a while, but he knew she was gone. He returned to Poplar, but his heart remained with Sister Bernadette.

 One night Patrick had sat in his car, his coat had been protection against the rain. He was lost in thought and felt so alone, despite Timothy dozing on the back seat. The pouring rain seemed to reflect his feelings of hopeless longing. He’d written countless letters with no response and he wasn’t sure he could go on like this for much longer.

 One cool autumn morning there was a ray of hope in his grey, lonely world. Patrick had hung up the tan coat, while Timothy looked through the post at his surgery. He was surprised when Timothy had said he had a letter. When he found out who it was from, hope bubbled in his heart. He corrected Timothy’s pronunciation of the word sanatorium with a look of dazed wonder across his features. He wanted to rip the envelope out of his son’s hands. Sister Bernadette was talking about a dead butterfly. What about his letters? Had Timothy really sent the nun a dead insect? He tried a half-smile to his son’s ecstatic grin. When Timothy read Sister Bernadette’s thanks for ‘his kind letters’, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She was sending a message to him and she would reply to him. Like Timothy he wasn’t sure what she had meant by ‘in due course’, but he fervently hoped it meant soon. Timothy had gone happily off to school with the letter in his pocket. Patrick would have to find it later that night after Timothy was asleep. He needed to read her words for himself. Was it too much to hope that she might leave the Order to be with him? These last few months had been almost too much for him to bear.

 It was a normal morning, apart from being half term. When he’d arrived at the surgery, he had hung his coat on the coat-stand. Dr Turner had sent Timothy to wash equipment, much to his son’s disgust. The phone rang and the voice from his dreams spoke. He thought he understood what Sister Bernadette was saying, but wasn’t totally sure. He needed to see her. His thoughts about Nurse Noakes and Dolly Smart were unprofessional and definitely for his mind alone. Nurse Noakes looked like she was caught in a whirlwind, he was in and out of the room so quickly. He hurriedly switched from his clinical coat to the tan coat and rushed out of the maternity home.

 His mind barely slowed to register Timothy in the car, but he was a man on a mission. He needed to find Sister Bernadette urgently. What was going on, he thought? Was she telling him she was leaving the Order? That couldn’t possibly be true. She wouldn’t leave her whole way of life just to be with him? That was the stuff that dreams were made of.

 Patrick and Timothy drove through miles of autumnal mist. Where was she? They had followed the bus route all of the way, but there was no sign of her. He stopped briefly at the sanatorium, but Sister Bernadette had already left. Why hadn’t he told to wait for him? If he had she might’ve been waiting hours for him. To dash off and leave work behind was something he had never done before. He decided to continue along the bus route, but away from London and into the countryside. The mist thickened and the temperature dropped. Patrick was becoming frantic with worry. What would this weather do to her fragile health?

 ‘Dad, there’s a woman in the wrong clothes and I think it’s her,’ Timothy called to him.

 Patrick slowed the car to a stop, Timothy was right. There was a woman walking along the road carrying two suitcases. It had to be her, please let it be her. She put down her suitcases as he got out of the car. It was her, but she was in normal clothes. He ran towards her and lifted his hand to feel her forehead.

 ‘What if it had started raining? What if you’d got lost?’

 ‘I was lost. I got the wrong bus.’

 Patrick noticed how thin she was as he saw her shiver. She must be so cold. He took off his tan coat and carefully wrapped it around her shoulders. It was warm from the heat of his body after travelling in the car. He wrapped it close around her like an embrace. His hands held onto the lapels. He wanted to hold her in his arms, but he didn’t dare to just yet.

 ‘I was on the right road’

 ‘Yes’ she took a deep breath. ‘I know you so little, but I couldn’t be more certain’

 ‘I am completely certain.’ He shook his head ‘I don’t even know your name’

 ‘Shelagh’

 ‘Patrick’

 ‘There we’ve made a start’

 They stood in the silence of the mist gazing into each other’s eyes. Lost in the moment. Patrick thought later that there should have been a fanfare of trumpets. The world had changed and the dream he had dared to dream was now real. Shelagh. The image of her enfolded in his coat would stay with him forever.

 In the months leading up to the wedding Shelagh started on the monumental task of updating his wardrobe. She smartened him up and he looked better than he had done for many years. His suits matched and his ties toned. He exchanged the tan coat for a smart dark grey one.

 One day, several months into their marriage and after her terrible infertility diagnosis, when he returned home from work, both the living room and kitchen were empty. He could smell food cooking and he knew Timothy was at Cubs, but where was Shelagh? He found her in the bedroom curled asleep on the bed under the covers. As he got closer he saw her face was streaked with tears and he felt his heart break for her. He loved her so much and he was a doctor, yet there was absolutely nothing he could do. He stopped to pull down the blanket, to cover her stockinged toes. With a jolt he realised it wasn’t a blanket covering her. It was his old coat and she must have dug through to the back of the wardrobe to find it. As he looked down at Shelagh, he saw a misty road and a woman newly revealed.

 He bent his head to kiss the tears from her cheek, the brush of his lips woke her from her sleep.

 ‘Patrick, I’m sorry I should be seeing to the dinner.’ She stammered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

 ‘Don’t worry about the food, my love.’ He bent to remove his shoes, before climbing onto the bed and pulling her into his arms.

 As he cradled her body in his strong arms, one hand gently stroking her hair, she started to cry again.

 ‘My love, I wish I could make things better for you. I know how much you wanted a baby, I did too, but we have each other and Timothy too.’

 She snuggled against him. She knew he couldn’t make things right, but his presence definitely helped. This is what she had wanted when she was in the sanatorium. She wanted his arms around her, because somehow things felt less big with him there.

 ‘Shelagh, why are you wrapped up in my old coat? There are blankets and an eiderdown on the bed if you were cold.’ He asked puzzled by her choice of covering.

 ‘I wasn’t cold, I was…I don’t know. Sometimes I feel so empty, as if I’m hollow inside. I feel angry with my body for letting me down. I so wanted to have your baby, Patrick. I know we have each other and I don’t think I would’ve coped without Timothy, but my heart aches so so much.’ There was nothing he could say to her, but hold her tighter in his arms.

Shelagh took a deep breath, continuing. ‘Today I have been really struggling, I don’t know if it was the babies at the clinic yesterday or all the pregnant women. I’ve tried praying, I’ve prayed endlessly, I just want some answers.’ He kissed the top of her head.

 ‘The coat?’ he reminded her gently.

 ‘Well, I was feeling so low and I needed you. I wanted you there with me, to feel you hold me. I knew I couldn’t because you were working and that’s fine as your job is important. It doesn’t stop me wanting you with me though. I thought back to other times I needed you and you comforted me. I remembered how good it felt to be wrapped in your coat in the mist after leaving the sanatorium. So I found it in your wardrobe, I hope you don’t mind’

 ‘Shelagh, how could I possibly mind? You’ve reminded me of something very special between us. Actually, I have to say when I realised what was covering you, I saw in my head a misty road and seeing you as Shelagh for the very first time.’ He smiled at her, his whole face crinkling with love for her. ‘I am still completely certain’

 ‘Me too’, she smiled back.

 ‘We will get through this, my love. We just have to keep walking forward together.’

 Shelagh pulled the coat from under her body and covered them both with it. They lay under the old coat, re-living those precious memories and marvelling about how far they had come since that misty road. They were only disturbed later, by Timothy’s crash through the front door, needing his dinner.

 He had other coats now, the very smart dark grey one he particularly liked. Shelagh had chosen it, when she re-vamped his shabby and ill-fitting wardrobe. He’d told her his clothes were fine and anyway he’d added cheekily, she’d fallen in love with the shabby doctor, not the spruced-up one. She countered him, with the fact that she no longer wore her habit and he, of course had fallen for her when she was still a nun. A brief vision of the TB examination and a dream he’d had that night of removing her from her habit, came into his head.

 Patrick suited the re-vamped wardrobe, he looked taller and more professional. He’d always had admiring glances from women, even more so with his new well-fitting suits. Anyone looking at him or Shelagh knew that it was a hopeless cause.

 When they had sorted through the wardrobe to give away his old clothes they were quite ruthless. When it came to the shabby tan coat, their eyes had met, as they had done on the misty road and it was placed reverently into the back of his wardrobe.