"I wanted you to stay."

Shelagh looked up from her magazine to find Timothy had put down his comic and was looking at her. He responded to the enquiring tilt of her head.

"When they were doing the lum...lumbar puncture," Timothy stumbled over the unfamiliar word, "I wanted you to stay."

Shelagh's smile crumpled into sadness as she moved from her chair to sit on the edge of Timothy's hospital bed, taking his hand in hers.

"Oh, Timothy dearest, I'm so sorry. I wanted so much to stay with you but..."

"They wouldn't let you," Tim interrupted. "I know. It wasn't your fault, it was mine."

"Your fault?" Shelagh was incredulous. "How could you think that? You had nothing to do with it. It was hospital rules. I wasn't allowed to stay because I'm not your mother."

"Yes, and if I'd stayed well for just a couple more days you'd've married Dad, then you would've been my stepmother and they'd've let you stay. Now, because I got ill, you're still not married. They only let you be here because Dad said it's alright and it's all my fault."

"Timothy Turner, don't you ever say that. There's nothing you could have done to stop, or even delay your illness and I won't have you blaming yourself. Do you hear me?" Shelagh's words were sharp but softened by her tender hug. "Hospitals have rules and we have to follow them even if sometimes they don't seem fair. They're trying to do the best thing for their patients. I'm afraid they don't always get it quite right."

Timothy gave her a mutinous look.

"It isn't fair, it wasn't the best thing for me and they didn't get it right. I just wanted you to be there with me but they wouldn't let you stay because you aren't my mother, I know you're not but it feels like you are."

"Oh Timothy..." Shelagh folded his hands in hers giving them a gentle squeeze.

Timothy studied their joined hands for a moment before continuing.

"It started to feel like that when you were still Sister Bernadette. After Mummy died you were the only one who asked me how I was and actually listened to the answer. When I need a mother you're just there. You watched me in the Christmas play. You ran the three-legged race with me. You made it better when I hurt my arm. You help with my homework and nag me to comb my hair." He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I do miss Mummy but not so badly with you here. I wanted you to stay and they should've let you because even if you're not my mother and even if you're not married to my Dad yet, you are my Mum."

Tears welled up in Shelagh's eyes as she struggled to speak around the lump in her throat.

"Oh Timothy, I couldn't love you more if I was your mother, I loved you even before I loved your father. I don't need to be married to your Dad to feel like your Mum."

Timothy studied her face for a moment before giving a half smile. "Is that true? Did you really love me first?"

"Yes, it is. But don't tell your father. It's our secret."

Timothy's conspiratorial grin quickly turned back into a frown. "I'm scared," he admitted, softly.

"Scared of what, dearest?" Shelagh's voice was husky with concern.

"Scared that I'll get sick again and they'll make you go."

"It's not going to happen again, you're getting stronger every day and I think they understand now that I'm the closest you have to a mother."

"I want to make sure they remember. I don't ever want you to have to leave me." Timothy hesitated for a moment. "I've been wanting to ask for ages. Would it be okay?...would you mind?..." He stuttered to a halt then continued in a breathless rush, "Dad says I should call you Auntie Shelagh but that doesn't feel right. Please can I call you Mum?"

A tear spilled over and trickled down Shelagh's cheek. She pulled Timothy into a close embrace and placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head.

"I think I should like that very much indeed," she whispered.


Author's Note: This was inspired by a discussion between Laura Main and Max Macmillan on "Call the Midwife Unite" 15 April 2020 in which they contemplate exactly when Timothy started calling Shelagh "Mum"