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"I'm sorry, what?" asked the Vicar of Dibley, an expression of complete innocence and I'm-pretty-sure-I-didn't-hear-what-I-think-I-just-heard adorning her face. "Did you say pregnant?"

Harry Kennedy blocked his ears as he turned to the doctor. "Brace yourself."

It was only much later that day that Geraldine calmed down enough to have a rational conversation that didn't involve screaming, blubbering and other assorted noises.

Harry sat on the couch, his feet propped up on the table as his wife paced the short stretch between him and the desk.

Deciding enough was enough, he pulled his feet off, rose and took his familiar perch on the couch edge. He snagged her the next time she marched on by, her mind miles away as her arms flew everywhere.

Geraldine was confused a moment as he tugged her to him, before she looked up at her man and bit her bottom lip. "I've been a bit of a dolt, haven't I?"

"Just a little," Harry confirmed, placing his hands on her hips, loving eyes bearing down on hers. "But I still love you. Both."

"I know that I probably didn't react to this too well, but I want you to know that I am happy about this," the expecting woman said earnestly, erratically pulling at the wool of her husband's jumper.

"We'll do okay." He bracketed her face then, running his thumb over her cheek before he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

The Vicar of Dibley opened her eyes once more and rested her forehead against his when they finally parted. "God help us."