Before

Now they are lying on the grass, looking at the stars. Patsy points out the constellations. Delia closes her eyes and listens to Patsy's soft voice drifting in the quickly retreating summer's heat. They can hear the pulse of the waltz from indoors, the light from the open door a soft glow in the distance. It was getting too hot for them in the hall, the rising heat of bodies stifling the hall's air. The place is grand, almost too grand, for a simple hospital dance and it makes Delia feel slightly incongruous amongst the trickling fountains and landscaped lawns.

"These gardens are beautiful."

"Yes." Patsy replies, her voice distant.

She sits up."You alright? Too many martinis? "

She giggles lightly and glances at Delia."I'm fine. Just thinking."

She would ask: What are you thinking, darling? But she doesn't want to annoy her. And plus, sometimes it's best not to ask.

She lies back down, her heart thumping, and somewhere deep inside aches.

She turns to head to look at Patsy, her wet eyes staring blankly at the sky.

She presses her lips together, the thumping of the band echoing the thumping of her heart. She shuffles towards Patsy, until their bodies are pressed against each other and they can feel the rise and fall of each others breaths. Everything is okay. And then for one blissful moment Patsy turns her head and presses her lips onto her cheek.

Patsy jumps back and clasps her hand to her mouth, searching Delia's face for a reaction. Delia can't do anything, it's like her brain has frozen. All she can do is breathe. She glances back up at Patsy.

"Delia. I-I'm sorry. Please don't. Please. I'll leave now. I'll go."

Strands of her pinned back hair catch the light of the moon creating a halo around her head. Delia wants to comfort her but she doesn't know how. Tentatively, lovingly, she puts her arm around Patsy. Her shoulders shake under her touch. The song from the open doors has come to an end and the chatter increases, mingling with occasional giggles. She doesn't know what Patsy is thinking but she feels a sudden impulse that this is the time.

"I'm the same." Delia whispers softly in her ear.

Patsy glances at her, her eyes wide, and bursts out crying. It is strange, seeing her cry, it almost wants to make Delia cry. She is normally so strong. Delia wraps her arm around Patsy to comfort her. "Oh Pats."

Patsy flinches back again. "Don't Delia." She glances around as Delia's face subtly twists in confusion. "We can't."

"We'll find a way though, won't we? Pats?" She looks up at her, stubbornly optimistic.

Patsy turns to her, her face engraved with the familiar everything-will-be-alright smile she always wore. It reminded Delia of her mum. "Of course Delia. Of course."

After

The green door swings shut behind Delia's mum and for a moment she glimpses Delia through the gap.

Patsy steps in to the room. She clings onto her strength, controlling her breathing, her emotions. Her grip is so strong she fears she'll kill the flowers in her hand.

How does she manage to look so beautiful, even lying on a hospital? Patsy wonders. Her eyes are closed and for a second her jumpy heart thinks that maybe they'll never open again. She can feel the sound of her own heart beat raising, so loud it fills her ears, but she does not take her eyes off Delia. She can't.

You angel.

She settles down on the seat next to Delia, listening to the rise and fall of her breath. She reaches out for Delia's hand, red and swollen from the crash. She wants to hold it, heal it. She wants to heal her. She would give anything. Everything.

Their hands touch and Delia opens her eyes. They focus blurrily on the face in front of her, her ears on the soft voice ringing in the air.

"Pats?" Her dry throat cracks, her words barely audible.

Tears linger at the corner of Patsy's eyes.

"Patsy, darling." A smile forms on Delia's swollen face and Patsy breathes out. She is alright. Everything is alright.

The jolt of the train shakes Patsy awake. She hates the dreams. They confuse her. She never knows if she should like them for making everything better, even if it is for a moment, or hate it for reminding her what could have been but what was not.

It seems she has woken just in time. The weary voice of the conductor echoes down the train corridor, calling out Patsy's stop, the last on the line. There is movement around her but Patsy feels momentarily still, unsure, afraid of what is to come.

Sometimes you just have to put on a brave face and get on with it.

She lifts down her case from the railings above her head and, following the last stragglers, steps down on to the platform. She holds the letter tight in her hand, refusing to let the gentle evening wind take it from her. The address, written in scrawling hand at the top, is just visible. Her fingers trace the letters that make up her name. Delia Busby. Those golden words. How did they manage to end up meaning so much to her?

She finds a map in the centre of the village and walks down the hill, towards the sea. The wind from the bay tastes slightly salty as it brushes her lips, ruffling her lose hair so it streams out behind her. She wants to make an effort, she really does, but it seems like there is no effort left to give.

The bay opens up in front of her, the glowing lights from the houses seeming to warm the cold air. The sea, mysteriously winking and glinting in the fading light, is calm. The sun is just disappearing under the twinkling horizon and the last glimmer of red surrounds it like a halo.

You angel.

She recalls the path she traced with her finger, turning left into a cobbled road. She can hear low singing the lighted pub in the harbour, drifting through the air.

And then, there it is. The door. It seems oddly daunting, the bronze knocker almost daring her to touch it. She has played this scene out so many times in her head. The good scenarios and the bad ones. Its almost as if she prefers the wait, the imagining. She almost doesn't want to find out what lies inside. What if she is worse?