"Just don't make your dad cry"
East End London. 1971.
Patsy heard the phone ring as she finished up the dishes at the sink. They had just finished up dinner together, and as was their habit, Delia cleared up while Patsy was on dish duty. Habit, routine, a clear delegation of chores...well, they were nurses. It was to be expected. Even after all this time.
She realized how domesticated (and dare she say, boring) they had become in the last 10 years. Barbara & Trixie had long ago married up and started families, however they still managed to get together every once and awhile. Every few months they made it over to Chelsea to check in, but they were fast approaching being too old for that crowd.
She turned toward where her love was talking on the phone. Sighing, she hoped it wasn't a medical emergency or a salesman. Neither was desirable when they had a rare evening off together. Although all they really had planned was a night listening to the record player.
She listened in and made herself ready to jump in if needed.
"Hello. Mam! What a surprise" Delia answered with a mixture of surprise, happiness, and strain.
In the years that they had been together, the couple had found a way to build a life together. They had moved from nunnery to flat to better flat while no one had seemed to question their need to live together. It was just understood. Girlfriends moved in together all the time it had been said. They had managed to find a flat where no one was nosey. The years had taught them discretion and no one seemed to have twigged. Or if they did, well no one said anything. The landlord just cared about the rent.
They had managed holidays in Paris, Spain, and Ireland, over the years. However, Wales had become hostile territory over the last ten years. Whether it was consciously or subconsciously, they managed to find reasons to successfully avoid holidays, visits home, or any reason to visit Pembrokeshire. Truthfully, Patsy didn't find it that hard. She considered Poplar to be their home and it was really the only place that she wanted to be. Of course, only if Delia was with her. Still she knew that her Deels was a bit lost. And while she showed a brave face about it, Patsy knew that it was a constant ache.
"Mam, you're not bothering me" Delia sighed. "When did it happen?" Delia asked as her shoulders shrunk.
Patsy knew instantly that something had gone wrong. It could be a myriad of things, sometimes it was hard to tell. The redhead hoped that it had nothing to do with Delia's young nieces. Children could be so accident prone. She leaned against the sink watching her love in anticipation of whatever this phone call was about to bring.
"Mam. You should have called me" Delia insisted. "All right, well, Patsy and I need to make arrangements...yes...Mam, she'll be coming with me...I'll need her" she insisted. Delia had turned toward Patsy as she finished the call. Her heart clenched as she saw her lover's eyes. As she saw the shrunken form of her love's face, all sound seemed to fade away.
Delia hung up the phone slowly. She paused, lowered her eyes, and then stared at her silently. Patsy noticed her lower lip quiver as she sought out the words to explain what was in her head. The need to urge her girlfriend to speak was maddening, however Patsy knew that it was useless to force it out. The brunette would tell her in her own good time.
After a few moments, Delia finally spoke while looking straight into Patsy's eyes.
"Pats, it's my Da. He's gone" she said in a strangled high voice as tears dripped slowly down her face.
They had packed up the motor car and left at dawn. Taking the train or bus had been briefly discussed, but the Zephyr allowed them the ability to leave quickly. It was good to be able to bail out of family situations.
The Zephyr had been acquired after Patsy's father died. He had never recovered from World War II. His fixation on it had caused a real distance between father and daughter. It was all they could manage as the past had long ago diminished any thread between them. Upon hearing of his final stroke, Patsy maintained her cool controlled demeanor. An observer might have considered her uncaring, but it was just because she didn't know the proper way to "feel" about her father.
Her father had been a mystery to her for so many years. Drifting into town, they would meet for lunch or dinner at the club. Stilted conversation, drinks, and he would pick up the check. She rarely subjected Delia to these exhausting encounters. Her father was like a far off blurry figure in the distance, even when he sat across from her.
Still Delia had held her the night of her father's funeral as the sobs ripped through her. It was hard to feel as if he had never even bothered to learn about his only daughter. Missed opportunities was all they had left now. She had never asked for an allowance from him over the years. She didn't really need to bother with the family export business, so she sold her shares. Patsy had nearly donated any excess money from the sale to charity. Having grown up posh already, it felt revolting to return to such frivolity. Such an idea made her inwardly nauseous, having seen what she had seen.
But it was Delia who had suggested that perhaps the purchase of a motorcar wouldn't be the worst idea. "Think of the day trips Pats" she had said eagerly at the time. Of course, Patsy gave in-when it came to the Welsh brunette she always gave in.
"How long is it Pats?" Delia asked as she shuffled the radio stations.
"About 4 hours depending" Patsy estimated. "We should be there before sundown dear" she winked.
Delia sighed having finally settled on a radio station playing Motown. A comfortable silence settled between them as the road unfurled before them. It had been a difficult night as the brunette had poured out a lifetime of regrets, breaking her lover's heart in the process. Emotion and feelings were not always easy for Patsy to find, but comfort she understood. And she had comforted her girlfriend as she had learned to do over the years.
Scotch. Cwtch. Open Ears. Empathy. It was how they worked.
Settling in for the long drive ahead, she reached over and gave her companion's hand a squeeze. As Delia looked up and towards her she saw the small of upturn at the corner of her lips.
Marvin Gaye came up on the radio suddenly.
"Ah hah! I like this one. Turn it up Deels" she cheered. And Delia did.
Pulling into Pembrokeshire, both women were weary. It had been a long drive and while neither got tired of the other's company, they each looked forward to a night's rest.
Of course sleeping accommodations had become the first source of contention.
"Deels, I can easily sleep in your brother's room" Patsy had conceded.
"NO" Delia stood firm. "I don't care what my mam says, I haven't slept without you since the convent. I'm not going back" the brunette had stubbornly asserted.
"I really don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, especially your mother" Patsy tried to rationalize. "She dislikes me as it is" she sighed looking back towards the road.
They were pulling up to the farm already. Patsy could see the lights on waiting for them. As the car came to a halt. Looking toward the brunette she saw a familiar look of grim determination.
"Look" Patsy paused. "I bet we can both share whichever bed you choose love" she held Delia's hand. Her girlfriend squeezed her hand back nervously.
Looking into each other's eyes, the redhead leaned over and kissed her lips firmly. After a moment she pulled away but kept her eye contact.
"Well, let's crack on old girl" Patsy grinned as they each put on a brave face. With a firm nod, they headed into the Busby family cottage.
Mrs. Busby had tea waiting for them. Having received a call ahead she had been able to estimate her daughter's time of arrival. Anticipating that both ladies would be worn out but in need of a least a meager bite she had put out some biscuits. While she had done so out of kindness, she also had to admit it had settled her nerves.
The arrival of her other grand-children over the years had eroded any disappointment she felt on that issue. Her oldest son Gerald was married with a passel of children, same as his sister Elin. The future of the Busby name was assured. Delia's lifestyle choices could remain far away in London.
Over time, she had conceded in her mind the fact that her daughter was different. Unlike her siblings, Delia was not meant to settle down. Slowly she came around to the idea that Miss Mount was not going to disappear. The red-head's presence in her daughter's life was becoming harder to explain. Her late husband had never remarked on it in her presence. While he was a simple Welsh man, he was no fool, so she had to assume he had ignored it too.
Room-mates. Co-workers. Girl-friends.
These hyphenates were all she had to hold onto without facing the truth. It was just another thing that she chose to "not notice" anymore. Still, it was easier to be ignorant of when it was far away. Now, this part of her daughter's life would be right in her face and it flustered her.
Answering the knock at the door, her own self concern turned to empathy as her daughter and companion entered the cottage. Both women looked worn down from the journey. After a solicitous greeting the three ladies dropped down in front of a cup of tea.
Mrs. Busby took in her daughter and Miss Mount. Although they had been traveled all day, Miss Mount still managed to look well put together. Her usual posh demeanor remained having never shed what she had assumed was an upper class rigidity. However she noticed the relaxed nature between the redhead and her daughter. Little reassuring touches here, a look of adoration there. Also she couldn't help but see the simple rings that each woman wore on their left middle fingers on their right hands. She chose not ponder on what it could signify about her daughter's relationship. Mrs. Busby chose to not think about it.
"Well, cariad, it's late. We have a busy day tomorrow" Mrs. Busby sighed as she rose from the table. Her daughter nodded in agreement as she rose. As she came around the table, she gave her mother a good cwtch and a kiss on the cheek.
"Thank you so much for calling me mam" she whispered.
They broke apart and the other ladies headed to her oldest son's room. It had been quietly decided that they would share it. Mrs. Busby chose not to think about what that meant either.
A/N: Reviews are always welcome. This will definitely be a multi-chapter story, so I can promise you that the more interest that I see in this story than the more motivation I'll have to continue on...
