Perhaps the reality had set in that the two of you had been separated and wouldn't be reunited for many, many long months.
Or perhaps it was disappointment that you hadn't taken the chance that had been offered up to you on a plate, as if presented by the gods themselves.
You knew which it was.
When she walked away, up the cobbles with her suitcase in hand, her shoulders slumped and a weary gait about her step, you knew your cowardice had won. Again.
You remember the day you first laid eyes on her as clearly as if it was yesterday. Matron had been giving you one of the worst rollickings you'd ever had in all of your nineteen years of existing - you think it was something to do with turning up a minute late with your apron askew to your first ever shift on the ward - but that was by the by because truth be told, you'd barely registered a word of what she was saying. How you had managed to confugure your features into resembling anything remorseful when all you could focus on was the tall redhead standing off to the side was beyond you, but you must have done somehow.
You didn't even know her name. All you knew was that for a few short seconds your heart had stopped dead in its tracks. Perfect that you were in a hospital. Perfect place to be having a cardiac episode, you surmised as five feet nine inches of the purest heaven you've ever clapped eyes on graced you with the most enchanting lopsided smile you've ever clapped eyes on.
Patsy. Her name was Patsy.
She was the imposing figure, brusque beyond reproach and professional almost to a fault, striding around the ward with all the confidence in the world, never quick to anger but certainly not shy of opening her mouth if it was needed to pull a patient down a peg or two.
As it happened, she'd been a qualified nurse for a couple of years already and seemed more than happy to take you under her wing on male surgical almost as soon as you stepped through those heavy, imposing wooden doors. You were thankful, you really were, because being in a foreign land where you had the potential to stick out like a sore thumb due to your lilting accent and sunny disposition (Londoners could be so bloody finicky when they wanted to be) had the tendency to get you into your fair share of scrapes. Not just with the patients and their salacious comments and wandering hands either. Your colleagues could often be far, far harder to deal with. Bitchy mostly - especially if one of them believed you may have had your eye on the very same doctor they were hoping to get their talons into - but often downright vindictive too.
How wrong they were in their assumptions of you.
But you were new and vastly inexperienced in how to deal with the so called heirarchy of your workplace. Consultant, Doctor, Junior Doctor, Matron, that part was the easy bit, you knew exactly how that worked, but you had no idea of the internal food-chain within your own rank.
Patsy gave you the basics of it one day over lunch, albeit with a tone of voice and a look on her face that suggested she couldn't care a fig about who wanted a crack at playing queen bee, and advised that you pay the worst of them no mind.
So you did. You were courteous, of course, you had to be when in your working environment but you were unapologetically picky when it came down to who you spent your free time with. For the most part you were rather well liked by most, with the exception of a few, though you never had too much of a desire to dedicate your evenings to attending the seemingly relentless trips up west to have hijinks with the pretentious junior doctors. No, in fact, your desires couldn't have been further from that.
In a casual setting when the two of you would be sitting side by side in one of your rooms sharing a tot of whiskey and listening to the wireless, or down at The Silver Buckle enjoying a pot of tea and a slice of its infamous lemon drizzle cake, she would let the mask slip a little. Not much but it was enough to give you hope.
Occasionally the two of you would partake in a little gossip about which doctor Nurse Mostyn had been sneaking into her room after curfew, then she'd regale you with hilarious little anecdotes of her time in boarding school, reliving via memory the shenanigans her and her peers would get up to when the nuns had their backs turned. The constellations in the sky couldn't hold a candle to the twinkle in her eyes as she retold the better snippets of her youth.
Oh how those baby blues had you entranced. And that mouth, good lord, you could get lost for days, watching in rapture how just before she would break out into the most breathtaking smile, her lips would quirk at the corners before the half-smile that never ever failed would send your stomach plummeting two flights of stairs to the cellar.
Your training continued and she guided you through every high and low, blip and peak, and you grew closer. Often turning down an evening out with the other girls to catch the latest flick or show at the theatre in favour of spending what was - to you at the very least - a few precious hours in each other's company. And you should have known better, you really should have because that was when the rumours started. Little whispers had gotten back to your closest friend that the two of you were perhaps more involved than met the eye. No chaps to speak of, no evident want to even to even find yourselves one either by the looks of it, and the amount of time you spent huddled together a fraction too closely or hauled up in one another's rooms had sent the wheels of London's rumour mill turning. Women were truly the worst. Not content in dragging only you down, but to drag Patsy down too was downright infuriating. Admittedly your feelings towards her were not strictly of a friendly nature but you didn't believe she was battling through the same internal turmoil as you. You were friends and that was all, nothing to worry about.
As the months trickled by slower than molasses in January, and you became increasingly inseperable, you began to realise that your feelings towards her were getting the better of you. Silly, nondescript little quirks she had about her had you so completely entranced and you'd have to force yourself out of staring when her third finger would rub at the pad of her thumb between each drag of her cigarette, or the way she would pout into the mirror on her dressing table when she put the finishing touches to her hair.
Probably all done subconsciously to her, but to you, well, you had to try with every fibre of your being to not look at her like she hung the bloody moon in the sky, although you weren't sure you ever really succeeded.
The subtle hints stared late one evening after supper by the docks. The walk back to the nurses home had been gorgeous in every way. Pink streaks across the darkening sky and a light breeze providing a soothing balm to the flush in your cheeks as the woman you were almost certain you were falling for slipped her arm through your own as you strolled lazily through the quiet streets. The question tumbled from your lips before you had the chance to stop it, but when she told you with that beautiful smile and her eyes locked on your own that, yes, she did absolutely have her eye on someone, you thanked every higher power you could think of for allowing you to keep your legs holding you upright and without falter.
Every once in a while you'd catch her with her eyes on you, an almost adoring look on her face. Whatever it was, you still couldn't say for certain and maybe you were foolish for even contemplating it, but once again you'd feel your heartbeat trill inside your chest and you'd feel suddenly light headed, and then you'd be enjoying your ritual nightcap and her fingers would linger on your own when she would hand you that sacred glass of amber liquid with that wry smile, and by god, Patience Mount was going to be the death of you.
Meredith Thomas was the girl who had opened your eyes. Four years previously, she had been your best friend as you neared the end of your compulsory education, and you spent months tearing yourself to pieces trying to figure out exactly why it was that you were feeling the way you were. It was nigh on impossible to wrap your head around the fact that you knew you didn't look at the boys in the same way as the other girls. Instead, it was the other girls who held your attention, and affection in the particular case of this girl. Realisation hit you like a freight train one summer night when the pair of you were sitting in comfortable silence underneath and old soldier pine. Shoulders and hips flush together, neither of you doing anything other than breathing when she turned your face towards hers and kissed you soundly.
It was the proverbial lightbulb moment, but for all the euphoria you felt at being able to finally see so clearly what had been plaguing you for so long, you were absolutely petrified. Your secret was yours to keep and you tried your damned hardest to keep it, lest you become the talk of the village and subsequently shunned by your family and community. The shame you could potentially bring to that tiny corner of South Wales was all you needed to throw your nose into the books and secure yourself a training position in the bright lights of London, even if it did mean leaving your mam and dad and everyone else you loved behind.
London was moving along with the times and you hoped and prayed that perhaps, just maybe, you would find a way of being true to yourself. Bigotry be damned, you deserved to be as happy as anyone else.
Patsy had become your saviour and demise all at once. Loneliness and homesickness were never really an issue even though you only really had one true friend and you were hundreds of miles from home. Thick as thieves, they would say, but you never cared, not truly, especially now you were starting to believe that Patsy may be harbouring the same interests as yourself.
Time and time again, those selfish desires would bubble up and engulf you and you lost count of the times you almost acted on your instincts.
The late nights were the real test of self-restraint, when you and Patsy had finished your nightly scotch. She would hover by your closed door, and looking back you know why. She was as in love with you as you were with her but the fears you both had kept it all repressed. No dark secrets, ladies, had been Matron's words on your fisrt day, and for how much you hated yourself for your cowardice, you couldn't strike up the courage to bite the bloody bullet, push her up against the door and show her just what she meant to you. Everything. She was everything.
Absence truly did make the heart grow fonder, you discovered after taking a week of leave to return home. It had been some kind of torture to recount your tales of the big city to your family but have to omit your favourite element. The fewer details they knew and the better.
You arrived back at your accommodation late on the Sunday night but before you could even entertain the thought of a cup of tea or something to eat, there was a knock at your door. Timid almost.
"Come in," you called out, knowing it was the beautiful redhead you had missed so terribly. Her face was sullen and she looked so dejected as she recounted the conversation she'd had the previous Friday.
"Matron told me I'm being seconded to the infirmary in Edinburgh, Deels. I leave on Wednesday."
Your heart began to break then and there. The thought of being apart from the woman you knew you loved without a trace of doubt had your chest physically hurting.
"How long will you be gone?" you asked whispering, not trusting you voice to remain steady.
Patsy looked up at you imploringly, almost begging you to help her find a way out of being sent to the other end of the country.
"It's difficult to say for certain but Matron reckons it'll be six months at least." Her voice broke at the end of her response and so did the rest of your heart.
Six weeks, six months or six years, it didn't matter. Any one of those scenarios told you that you would be enduring a significant amount of time without the woman who made you equally the happiest you've ever been, and also the saddest. You were hers, in whatever capacity she wanted you, but she wasn't necessarily yours.
Goodbyes had a knack of making that typically British stiff upper lip quiver, so when Wednesday rolled around and you couldn't face a barrage of sadness, you took yourself to the docks, determined to leave Patsy to get on with packing her belongings before leaving to catch her train. At this point, the less chance you had of seeing her and the less chance you had of throwing caution to the wind and telling Patsy how you truly felt. About her leaving. About her. All of it.
Though fate was clearly not on your side. As you sat by the wooden fencing with your legs dangling over the side, turning your thoughts over and over in your head, the familiar form of the woman you loved slipped in silently beside you. Her head rested against your shoulder for a moment, allowing you to breathe in that familiar scent of tobacco, coffee and bleach that was so intoxicating for one last time. Breathing in so deeply as if to ingrain it into you senses for as long as you would need it. Long minutes passed by in silence before you eventually spoke. Your tongue felt too big for your mouth but you knew you'd been foolish to think you could let her go without so much as a few parting words.
"Will you write to me as soon as you get there?" you asked quietly, once again feeling betrayed by the crack in your voice.
Patsy turned her face to look at you but you didn't dare allow yourself to catch her gaze. The tears in your eyes were already brimming and you couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now. Her eyes were boring into the side of your head, silently begging you to say something, to do something, anything, but you were still too craven to look at her. It would be so easy to turn your head to look at her, to cup that beautiful face in your hands and kiss those mesmerising lips you've dreamt of for so long. But you couldn't. The timing would be so perfect and so tragic all at once.
She nodded and laid her hand over yours, her fingers sliding seamlessly between your own. "Of course I will," she whispered back, "I can't have you forgetting about me, can I?"
The tear that tracked silently down your left cheek went thankfully unnoticed.
With no-one else around, a quietness and an eery calm had settled around you both and you let those final precious few moments slip by with your hands still held comfortably together until you glanced at your watch. Patsy realised the time and shifted away, barely at all but enough for you to already miss her presence beside you.
"Goodbye, old thing. I'll miss you." And with that she was gone.
You sat for hours - how many, you're not sure - turning over every interaction you'd shared along with each heart wrenching missed opportunity. And looking back there had been a lot.
The air around you grew decidedly chilly so you thrust your hands into your coat pockets, idly twirling your room key between your fingers and before you realised what you were doing, the words I should have kissed you here were carved into the wooden post where you'd last sat beside the woman you love.
Patsy was true to her word, as you knew she would be. A few days later there was a letter waiting for you when you returned home after your shift. You sat on your bed, tracing over the neat, cursive lettering you were so familiar with and reading and re-reading the words over and over again. Most of the content was of the actual work itself but there was comfort in the script. A comfort you needed now more than ever.
The frequency of your correspondence never waned but as each week passed you felt further and further away from the person you needed most. Each letter was more of the same every time; work, general goings on and a little gossip from your end thrown in for good measure, but each one was always signed off the same way by both of you.
I miss you,
All my love.
Nine hellish months had been and gone and you were still no closer to finding out when Patsy would return and the longer it stretched on and the more lost at sea you felt. The other friends you had had nothing on your beloved Pats but for the sake of saving face you found yourself enjoying the distraction they provided. Saturday nights in the pub and weeknights playing board games at the kitchen table worked wonders for keeping your thoughts at bay, but when you'd part ways, climb the stairs and close your bedroom door, you would be consumed by her once again. Her smile, her laugh, her eyes, the curves of her body that you'd glimpsed beneath the tight jumpers she wore, and many a night you'd find yourself feeling leaden with guilt as your own hands roamed over your body with her name breathlessly whispered from your lips.
The docks were your salvation again one evening as you sought the peaceful tranquility they offered late at night. You sat next to the post with your biggest regret carved into it as you fought with yourself about how much longer you could keep on like this. Heartache was a physical pain and you'd had first-hand experience of it for almost a year. It was exhausting.
It was the scent that caught you. So undeniably familair. She slipped in beside you, wordlessly, seemingly not wanting to break you from your thoughts. The whole image was like looking into a mirror, reflecting back to the last time you both sat in this very same spot with your fingers laced together. And what could you say? Why didn't you say you were coming home? Do you have any idea how many nights I've cried because I was scared I might never get to see you again? I've missed you so bloody much, please never leave me again. But words weren't needed.
She turned your face towards hers, her eyes flicking from yours to your lips as she inched towards you slowly, silently bridging the gap that had been thrown so wide open lately, and softly pressed her lips to yours. You kissed her back slowly, running your fingers through the hairs at the nape of her neck and teasing her mouth open with the tip your tongue, pouring all the love you had for her into her.
"You should have done," she whispered against your lips.