Chapter 1

The Letters

The subtle clunk of the letter box was accompanied by hurried footsteps as a small nurse with a great deal of expectation ran to receive them. She rifled through them at speed with shaking hands, rapidly scanning for the red and blue striped edges of an airmail envelope.

Nothing.

Only plain white envelopes and British purple stamps with an all to familiar face that screamed home. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. Unfortunately this had been something she had become accustomed to feeling every morning after she'd got up early to check the post. She bit her bottom lip to prevent it from quivering as the large wooden door of Nonatas creaked open behind her.

Lowering the letters she raised a weary head to see Phyllis looking between her and the letter with concern etched in her motherly features.

"Nothing from Hong Kong?" Nurse Crane asked gently.

Delia struggled to maintain a level voice but she was very aware of her misty eyes.

"No." She paused. "Not yet."

It had been over a month since Patsy's last letter. She'd written religiously every week since she'd arrived in Hong Kong, delivering updates and words of comfort to her love while she cared for her father. And Delia had replied - half her wages spent on stamps and stationary. Patsy's long, eloquent cursive had been somewhat of a lifeline she'd clung onto since the spring. Even if they hadn't been able to share their innermost thoughts and feelings, they had to keep things superficial in case of prying eyes. Sister Monica Joan had a tendency to read private letters, even discarded ones after all.

At the beginning, every time Delia received a letter her heart would jump into her mouth with excitement. As time wore on the excitement turned to longing and finally to a pang of sadness. She knew it wouldn't be forever. At least, she kept telling herself that. But for some reason no matter how many times she repeated that mantra it didn't seem to help. She'd read the letters under cover of darkness by candle light. Ripping them open methodically she'd inhale the scent of their contents. The paper always smelt vaguely of Patsy - but still at some remove as though reminding her of the oceans that separated them.

She had thought the absence of Patsy would have made her love for the redhead grow stronger, but as she stood with trembling hands filled with disappointment she could feel only emptiness.

Nurse Crane give her another sympathetic look and walked off, the sound of her heels reverberating off the walls of the empty house. And it was empty. No matter how much Phyllis silently sympathised with Delia, she was no replacement for her love. She couldn't begin to even think about what she missed most about Patsy, it would hurt too much. What at first had been an exciting game of lovers on an adventure was now turning into something a lot less romantic. Instead of blind excitement and anticipation she found herself in tears most nights, silently sobbing away her evenings to herself. Her final midwifery exams were coming up soon which certainly did not help the sway of emotions pulsing through her tired mind. The frustration had caused her to become irritable and rash, sometimes acting without thinking. And this had not gone unnoticed by Sister Julienne. She'd been reprimanded a few times for tardiness and neglect of chores. Often followed with a muttered rebuttal or a quick apology and attempt to hide the tears as she retreated.

"Nurse Busby, I would appreciate it if you would stick to the cleaning rota as it is written. It is your turn to make sure the autoclave is clean and dust free." Sister Julienne was brisk in her manner.

It seemed today was likely to be stressful, Trixie had been assigned to St Cuthbert's and they were short staffed.

"I'm sorry Sister, I'll get it done right away." She bowed her head.

Sister Julienne's face softened slightly as she took in the nurse's weary face and baggy eyes.

She knew Delia was on edge and was prepared to be lenient to a certain extent. After all she was stressed with studying and of course she missed her best friend. People didn't know of the long nights she spent staring at the ceiling, yearning to feel the warmth of Patsy against her back, her long arms wrapped safely around her, enveloping her in a cocoon of safety.

Delia scrubbed at the autoclave until her hands were raw. She laughed at herself dryly. It was Patsy who was always the one for cleaning to take away the pain. Now she began to understand why. There was something about the mundanity of cleaning that put an order to the chaos. It felt controlled and the results easy to see straight away.

It was getting late as she dragged her weary feet into the communal area later that evening. Socialising was the least of her plans but she knew she had to seek out some form of company for fear of regressing into her own negative thoughts. Sister Monica Joan was engrossed in the offerings of evening television and seemed unwilling to engage in much conversation.

She sat on the sofa and observed the set, but none of the images or sounds registered with her. Her mind felt numb, as if doused in ice. She couldn't be here right now. She needed to be somewhere she could breathe, where she could be herself. Just then Trixie appeared in the doorway looking rather lopsided with her hair in curlers but very excited nonetheless.

"Delia, we're browsing some bridal magazines for some inspiration. Would you care to join us? We'd welcome an extra fashionista into the mix!"

And so Delia found herself sitting opposite what had once been Patsy's and was now Valerie's bed, flicking through the pages of white dress pictures. It had been quite a good distraction for a while to get caught up in the excitement of planning a wedding. Barbara however seemed intent on something low-key, as was her style. But as Delia sat staring at a picture of a beautiful red haired model in a gorgeous strapless number, her mind wandered.

She'd never really yearned for a fairytale wedding when she'd been younger. While many girls her age had played at happy families and getting married she'd always been more partial to climbing trees and making dens out of sticks and mud. Her mother would tut loudly when he daughter would arrive home with a muddy face and grazed knees. But the beaming smile on her face would always ensure she was never punished.

But seeing Barbara caught up in the whirlpool of romance had struck somewhat of a painful nerve. She might never have desired a white dress wedding but even if she did, it would never even be an option to her. She would never be in Barbara's place, stressing about flowers and hairbands and material. The thought filled her with a sudden sadness. She had told Patsy, in no uncertain terms that she wanted to marry her. And for all pretence and purposes she supposed they were married in a way. It was sad because they would never be able to make it official. It had to be kept behind closed doors, hushed exchanges and fleeting glances. They had been together for years now but only by being apart for months did Delia fully begin to understand how much she needed Patsy in her life.

"Delia, are you alright?" Valerie was looking at her shrewdly as if she could hear the heartache erupting inside her head.

Delia shook herself out of her thoughts and forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just a bit tired." She stood up. "I'm sorry Barbara I think I'm going to have to call it a night, I really need to finish up on brow presentations before next week."

Having excused herself from the frivolity of bridal planning she slunk into her bedroom, lit the oil lamp and eased into her pyjamas. Opening the third drawer of her bedside cabinet she fumbled with some undergarments, pushing them aside to reveal a stack of letters secured with blue ribbon.

She would have to seek comfort in words tonight.

Bitterly cold winter air cut through Delia's woollen coat like knives through paper. She trudged through the cobbled streets trying desperately to shake the suffocating feeling that had once again enveloped her senses. After a long hard day there was nothing more she wanted than to curl up in bed but she knew Patsy's letters would once again call her. The thought of reliving the agony of the words she'd already memorised a thousand times over was unbearable. And so she'd wrapped herself up warm and began to walk. Where, she had no idea. But she knew she had to escape the confines of Nonnatus, even if it was for a brief moment.

The others had been so kind so she could barely say she was alone. She welcomed their company in fact. But despite the hours spent playing board games with them and the mundane chit chat Delia had never felt more lonely.

It came as no surprise to her that she walked the route that she and Patsy had taken before. The pristine streets of Chelsea were such a stark contrast to that of poplar's winding roads that Delia began to breathe easier. She felt like she was finally escaping and even though her destination was a subconscious decision, it felt the right place to be right now.

The green door of Gateways was strangely inviting. A door which had once caused her and Patsy so much anxiety when they'd first decided to venture out into London's "alternative scene" - Patsy had called it. Delia supposed this was another example of her lover being unwilling to use open words and terms to describe who they were. Although the redhead was never ashamed of who she was, she was clearly very guarded. This didn't bother Delia as much as it used to, they'd figured out ways to make it work. Patsy was a person who was quick to build walls around herself but unwilling to break them down. Delia was the only one who had managed to chip away at the façade with a measure of success. The breakthrough of going to Gateways together had been a huge milestone in their relationship. But thinking about the first time they danced in public, in each others arms, swaying to the music was too painful. So Delia pushed the memories from her mind and entered the club.

The smokey interior hit a hard contrast from the cold outside air. The atmosphere was buzzing, clearly it was busy that night. Delia headed straight for the bar, pulling herself up a stool. A young brunette to her left cocked her head to one side and smiled, winking in her direction.

"A bottle of house red please." Delia requested.

The barmaid nodded and Delia pushed the money across the counter. She had been saving this week's wage to reply to Patsy's latest correspondence, but nothing had come. She'd put a fair amount on the whip around for Barbara's wedding dress, but there had been some left over. This seemed like a more than reasonable use for the remainder of her money.

"Here you go lovely." The brunette barmaid placed the bottle next to Delia along with two wine glasses.

"Thank you but I only need one." Delia said, prompting the barmaid to cock an eyebrow.

"Where's red?" she asked nonchalantly, cleaning an empty pint glass with a dirty rag.

Delia shook her head.

"Long day?"

"One of my friend's getting married in a few days." She attempted to steer the conversation onto a less sensitive topic.

"Oh, how lovely for her." The barmaid sighed.

She drank the first glass straight down. Wincing slightly as the alcohol burned her throat. It was a good feeling, soon the numbness she'd feel would be happy and warm and fuzzy, rather than cold bleak and miserable. Spending a little more time with the second glass she'd consumed around half of its contents before the bartender spoke again.

"You know it doesn't work."

Delia looked up. "What?"

"Alcohol. It never fixes the problem. Only makes you feel better in the meanwhile."

Delia scoffed and finished her second glass.

The barmaid tried a different tact. "I find talking to be much more useful - less of a headache in the morning too."

Delia remained silent to the hint, filling her glass again.

"Sorry I shouldn't pry. Not my business." The brunette made to leave.

"No, wait." Delia said.

She didn't know this woman but her face seemed very kind. The alcohol was beginning to take hold and she felt inhibitions sliding away from under her.

"Do you ever wonder… just who you are any more?"

The brunette laughed dryly. "All the time love. All the time."

"I say to myself sometimes, "Deels, you know who you are, nobody else does. That doesn't matter, it's probably just as well." She paused and gathered herself, staring blankly at the bottles that lined the back of the bar. "But someone knew who I was once. But it's as if she's vanished. And because I can't reach her… I've just disappeared."

Her face crumpled as she bit back the tears that were threatening to fall onto the dusty bar. Suddenly she felt a hand on her own. Up until that point she'd been completely unaware she was shaking. The hand felt unusual, but warm, welcoming… it felt like home.

"I'm going to get you a taxi." The barmaid said gently.

Delia felt ashamed. Why was she even here? To pick up some random stranger and hope that she'd remedy her heartache overnight with a woman she barely knew? This wasn't her at all. Gasping she made her way to the entrance of the club, pushing past women cuddling and dancing and grinding - she had to get outside.

The cool air washed over her but she barely felt it over the pounding in her ears and her alcohol soaked brain. She didn't wait for the taxi the kind barmaid had called. She just walked.

By the morning of Barbara's wedding she had all but erased the escapade from her mind. Today was a day of happiness she decided. Her friend was getting married and she would be happy for her. Nobody wanted a sad, sulky Delia at their wedding. And so she began the day with the perfect mask of content as she sang in chorused harmony with the other girls at Barbara's bedside.

The ceremony was a short affair, nothing too spectacular but there were very few dry eyes in the house. It gave Delia an excuse for being misty eyed even though the happy couple were not the cause of her tears.

She considered excusing herself afterwards - a reception was hardly something she felt she could go through - but Barbara's face was enough for her to change her mind.

"Breach births and brow presentations be damned!" Trixie exclaimed when Delia had made her excuse. " Don't abandon Barbara on her special day! Besides we all want you here."

The rest of them smiled and nodded. And so Delia caved in.

Snowflakes had begun to fall and Delia thought inexplicably of a phone box on the corner of whittle street where all her hopes and dreams had once resided. Their phone box. The interruption that had got in the way of their life together those few years past.

She had refused point blank to go on the merry-go-round. "Honestly, the moment I get on anything that moves I feel terribly sick." and instead wandered around the edge, watching the others laughing and waving.

It was like something out of a fairytale. The Turners and their new baby boy, wrapped tightly in warm crochet blankets, held close by his mother and watched over by his father. Their family was complete, she could see the pure joy in Shelagh's face as she cooed and doted over the newborn. Yet another thing that would never happen to her.

Tearing her eyes away from the happy family she noticed the nuns, laughing with pure unadulterated joy written on their faces. They had become something of a family to her these past few months. More of a family than Delia's blood ties had been in some ways. For all intents and purposes she should feel at peace here. But for the one missing piece.

Then a flash of auburn caught her eye.