She knocked on the door and waited for the owner of the soft piping voice to bade her enter. Nothing. She opened the door and peeked inside. It looked cosy and inviting. She invited herself in. It was like being enveloped in a stack of autumn leaves.

Dot's room was a blend of bland beige, walnut wood and various shades of orange. It was just like her, neat and tidy with a flash of determination in those potted geraniums. Her eye was drawn to the wall to the left of the bed. Perched on the hook hung one of Dot's most treasured possessions. Her rosary. She never forgot it when she left the house. You never know when you'll need to say a prayer Mac thought, grinning as she examined the simple wooden object. It was so far away from her life but just so familiar. Her mother had one like it. It had come to her in the end but Mac put it in a box full of things she never looked at. A lock of her baby hair her mother had lovingly cherished. Her Communion Bible. Some odds and ends from her childhood. It was her previous life and a world away from where she stood now.

They had suspected she was off centre for a long time. There was something wrong with her, their tomboy daughter. When she finally won that scholarship and fought her way into medical school, they were both ashamed and proud of her. If only she were a boy. They had sons but none that could match up to her ambition. Then when she left, they warned her that it was unlikely their paths would cross too frequently. She took that chance and barely looked back.

They knew. She was sure they knew. When the only thing that could tear her away from her studies was the smile of a girl down the street, they must have known. True happiness was found swigging cider in the shed with snatched giggles and the brush of fingertips. Tracing freckles and stroking hair, Mac had developed a voracious taste for tasting her drink on another woman's lips.

That girl had married a boy a few blocks away and had settled down with five children. Mac didn't go to the wedding. In time, she would learn the difference between mere fondness, true affection and devastating heartbreak and it took her away from home and through dire straits. War made her into the man she always felt she was supposed to be, Paris made her into the subversive creature she could only desire to be and love made her realise the depths of what she never thought she could be.

She was not made to live her life in the shadow of the church. She had betrayed the church the minute she had slipped her fingers down another woman's knickers. Guilt only took you so far and being naughty was so much more fun. This philosophy she shared with her rampantly heterosexual best friend.

She could see her mother now, rosary in hand, quietly reciting the words that she had grown to despise. She could see her when she saw Dot clicking and threading while she murmured a prayer. Too many times she'd sat by death beds and comforted the grieving. Sometimes just having her on a hospital wing calmed the sickly. Mac credited Dot with a straightforward nature where the compassion was threaded through every simple statement.

The crucifix was resting on the palm, the lifelike Jesus crying out to her. The hope and the horror. Sometimes it had given her nightmares. Strange how the words came to her after such a long time. She softly whispered the prayer she had been taught before she went to bed. She heard the footsteps a little too late.

'Doctor? Are you alright?'

Mac turned around and smiled at the virtuous young woman.

'Just lost in my memories.'

Dot always thought of Dr Macmillan as a godless heathen, same as Miss Phryne. She didn't know what kind of memories anything in her little room could hold for her.

'It's my mother's from when she was young' she motioned to the rosary.

'I thought so.'

'How?'

'I have a similar one.'

Dot was shocked at the reveal.

'Do you use it, doctor?

She wasn't shocked when the answer was a shake of the head. She knew why. Doctor Macmillan was one of…those women. But she harboured no distaste towards her. Even the heathens were creatures of the Lord. They weren't harming anybody by being who they were and neither was Miss Phryne's best friend.

'Do you remember being in the church?'

Mac nodded.

'It reminds me of my mother. It used to rule me. But it no longer does. Science is what matters to me most of all. It is the right way to live my life.'

Dot considered this. Everyone had a right way of living their lives, she supposed. Even if she didn't agree with it.

'Did you love your mother?'

'Very much.'

Dot considered it to be a mark in her favour that she admitted it with no hesitation. Maybe one day Mac would tell her more about her mother.

'Do you want to come down for tea?'

She'd got her there. Mac loved Dot's tea.

'Down in a minute. Sorry to intrude on your personal space, Dot.'

Dot assured her it was no problem and left. Mac turned back to the rosary and considered it. Later tonight she would look in that box again. Maybe hang up that symbol of her mother. It had been hidden away for too long.