Where to begin.
A/N- a little scene from Hong Kong. It's not a full on letter fic as I don't really like letter fics.
Patsy moved to the heavy curtains and pulled them apart to let the sunlight into the room, she hated that the nurses felt the urge to close them at every given opportunity. She also hated sitting in her chair and watching the dust dance in the slim shaft of light that always, no matter how you shut them appeared in the place where the two lengths of material should meet. She would take them down and rehang them at some point when it would cause the least disruption to her father.
Patsy's Father stirred now but didn't wake and she watched as he placed a hand to his heart and took a deep breath, seeming to soothe himself before tumbling back into a relatively peaceful slumber.
The young woman took the crisp envelope she held reverently in her hand and curled into the large slightly shabby arm chair at her ailing father's bed side. She traced her finger across the letters of her own name, a smile springing to her lips as she pictured Delia taking care to neatly inscribe it there. She felt closer to her love already and she took her time gently opening along the creased top of the envelope without causing too much damage, she would keep this as well as the letter inside, treasure every scrap of this and every other scrap she received from England, from her home.
This letter was one of many and as she unfolded the paper she was shown a mountain of information even before she read the content. She could see when Delia had written a note in haste, words struck through and lines that started straight but began to droop by the time they reached the right of the page, when she had been writing before bed or after a long shift, letters slightly shaky but words always more full. From looking at this letter she could see that it was exceedingly neat and at least four pages long. Delia had written on her day off. She had sketched flowers in the margin and taken time and care over each word. Patsy felt her heart lift as she read the first line.
My dearest darling Pats,
As you can probably tell by the length of the letter, I followed your orders and am allowing myself an entire day off.
Patsy's smile moved to the side of her face. Delia had been taking every extra shift she could get her hands on since Patsy's departure, keeping herself busy until her partner could return, however long that might be. Patsy had become concerned by the ever more erratic, rushed nature of Delia's writing and had most recently put her foot down. She could sympathise wholeheartedly with keeping oneself busy, a tried and tested tactic that she relied on heavily herself, yet she worried Delia would work herself into a state if she continued at the recent rate.
I have taken myself off to retrace some of the steps we made together in our evening strolls and am meeting Trixie and Babs later for a trip to the pictures. Nothing romantic! We've managed to get Barbara to agree to a bit of Hitchcock so she probably won't sleep tonight! Speaking of which...
Trixie has asked me to move into your room with her until you get back. She did a great job of making out that I would be doing her a huge favour as she hates the empty bed and the endless quiet, but really I think she senses that I could do with the evening company even more than her. I confess she may have caught me lingering outside your door looking forlorn just once or twice on my way to bed. Perhaps when you get home no one will notice if I just stay where I am? Although they say three's a crowd.
Perhaps when Barbara marries Tom I could move in with Phyllis, she's been a brick as ever and has been watching over me without crowding me, she would have made someone the perfect Mam and I feel as close to her now as to any of the others.
Patsy wasn't particularly surprised by that admission. She had always seen a lot of herself in Phyllis Crane and felt a particular affinity with the older woman. She took great comfort in the fact that someone as practical minded and efficient whilst being perceptive and kind was looking out for Delia and Trixie too seemed to be rallying. Sometimes Patsy was so full of her yearning for Delia that she forgot just how much she missed the rest of the people she had left behind, not to mention her work.
The poem I sent you last time I wrote was another of Lorca's, but Phyllis has me on Tennyson now.
The letter went on.
I heard that Mrs Reed was in clinic with Baby this week and they're both doing well you'll be glad to know. I don't think I told you how much it meant to me to work properly with you before you left and see first hand what I've always known, what an amazing midwife you are. If I can be half as good all this training will have been worth it.
Patsy hadn't noticed her Father wake, but she saw now that he must have been watching her for a little while, all signs of sleep were gone and he looked most alert as he half smiled at her.
"Who is it?" He asked, his voice gruff and slightly broken from lack of use. "Who makes you smile so?"
"Just a letter from London." Patsy informed even as she began to fold it and put it away for later.
Her Father raised his hands. "Read on." He instructed.
"I should get you some water…" Patsy said moving to stand but seeing the wince from the bed, she shrank back to her seat. Her Father hated the fact that his words once firmly adhered to were becoming unheard.
"Later." He ordered. "Read your letter and tell me about it… about your life there."
"I… I've told you about my work…" Patsy squirmed slightly.
He nodded his agreement but looked unsatisfied, almost disappointed.
"What of the rest?" He croaked, his eyes pleading, pleading for her to open up a little, to share something of herself with him, pleading with her not to force him to have to voice all those things in order for her to comply.
"It's a letter from Delia. She is the one who writes me so often. She's terribly busy but she always makes time for that. She and I met in nursing school and we've stayed in touch all these years. She knows me better than anyone." Patsy felt her fragile heart swell and took a moment to steady herself.
Patsy dared look at her Father who smiling lightly closed his eyes and nodded for her to continue.
"Delia's Welsh and she has the most musical voice, I can hear it in the words she writes and I.." Patsy broke off for a second, not trusting her voice, then deciding she didn't care. "She's what I miss most about London, about my life there." She confessed boldly.
Her Father's eyes opened again and his smile widened as he looked into his daughter's determined face.
"I'm glad that you have someone." He announced. "I feared...I feared you never would, you were so hurt, you became so hard and I thought, perhaps you'd never be happy again."
"I have been Father. I am happy. I'm also glad that I came home, that we've had this time to know each other more. I think we're very alike and perhaps that hasn't done us any favours." Patsy teased a little.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't fill the gap your mother left and I couldn't make things better for you because I couldn't make them better for myself…" The old man turned his head slightly to gaze out at the newly revealed window and some scene beyond it. "Now it's getting closer to the end I can see just how much I've missed her. I'm tired now Patsy. Tired of being without her."
Patsy leant forwards and reached for her Father's hand. She had touched him often in the weeks since she arrived here, but never like this, only to clean him or move him, only as a nurse never as a daughter. She laced their fingers and felt how cool and lined the skin was. Patsy's fingertip touched the gold band of the wedding ring he still wore.
"I shall miss you Father." She told him clearly. "I know that sounds ridiculous being that we have barely spent any time together in recent years, but I shall."
Patsy saw the tears in the corner of her Father's eyes as he turned his face back to her and gave her hand all the squeeze that he could muster.
"Tell me more about your…" He didn't finish.
"Delia?" Patsy supplied happily, catching her own tear neatly with her thumb. "Where to begin?"