I'd taken far longer to write it than is necessary for a Christmas card. Using my best handwriting, Sister Evangeline would say that all writing should our best but I was particularly careful for this one. If love and emotion could be carried in ink then everything I had went into the curl of the D and the round of the A. I paused as I signed it, wondering if "love always" was too obvious but "best wishes" didn't convey how I really felt.

I ended with "all my love Pats" I added more kisses than I usually would and pressed my lips to the card. My lip rouge long gone after a long day of rounds so no sign of my affection would be noticed by Mrs Busby.

-

I hate addressing cards by myself, I gather up my things and head down the corridor to Barbara room, stopping at the threshold to tap on the open door.

"Can I join you, addressing envelopes is frightfully dull by oneself"

I flashed her a smile and sat down on the other bed without waiting for a reply.

"Hear hear. I think Trixie has gone for edible supplies"

-

We continue in comfortable silence until Trixie returns.

"Sister Monica Joan is in bed with a fever and dosed up on aspirin. Doctors going to call tomorrow." She reports as she sits on the bed next to Barbara.

"She sounded quite delirious when I walked past her room" Barbara adds while I continue to stuff envelope.

"Poor old thing," I paused for a moment "would it be frightfully callous to enquirer about the pudding"

Trixie look up with a grin.

"According to Sister Evangeline we'll be having Swiss roll and custard for dessert on Christmas Day."

She hunts through the Quality Street time pulling out a purple sweet and throwing it over to me.

Barbara enquires about a coffee cream, I have a look though the tin and find the only one. I carefully pick it out with one hand while lifting my pile of sealed cards with the other.

"If you lick my stamps I'll give you what appears to be the only coffee cream in the tin"

I passed her the cards without waiting for an answer and tossed the coffee cream back into the tin.

"One for Delia, how is she?"

Her question caught me somewhat off guard, I thought I'd tucked Delia's card out of sight. I take a slight breath in before I reply, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Well I believe, her mother hasn't written in a while."

Trixie throws in something about head injuries but honestly I'm not listening, instead absorbed into my own thoughts. I hadn't heard from Delia personally since she returned to Wales although her mother did write for the first few weeks. I'd sent to her every week, I say sent as if written every day but kept many of the letters in a shoe box under my bed. Not wanting to overwhelm her or raise suspicion with anyone else.

They don't press me any further on the matter and I continue to sign my cards in silence wondering if I'll ever see or hear from the woman I love again.

-

I lower myself to the floor and feel under the bed for the box. I know Trixie won't barg in as she's out on a delivery so I've got plenty of time to myself. I grasp it with my fingers and pull it up onto her bed taking a seat next to it. Lifting off the white lid to the remainder of my secret life.

Among other things theres the glass we used to toast our flat.
Bus ticket stubs for day trips we've taken.
A handful of photographs - one of Delia and I at the barn dance and another of Delia in her uniform, I run my finger over her face. My heart aches every time I look in this box. Every time I think about her, which lets face it is every minute of the day. Not a moment goes by without me wondering how she is, or what's she's doing. Or thinking about what the two of us should be doing now.

I lay the photographs on my lap and glance out the window allowing my mind to wander yet again from Poplar to Pembrokeshire in the vain hope of finding an answer.