"I'm sorry. Let's go find her."

Even though she came across dismissive to Betty – like her problems were unimportant, like helping Kate was unimportant – she hadn't stopped thinking about it. Even as she "stuck one" to her parents (Vera's words, not hers), it was on her mind. You could leave if you wanted to. She was right. So was that what it boiled down to? Her not wanting to?

"I found Kate."

"Kate," she'd murmured, the smile dropping from her lips. Of course. Kate.

At the start, all she had wanted was for Kate to be found. For her to come back. Surely then, in turn, the smile would return to Betty's face, and everything would go back to normal (sans James, who would still be at war; but even the happiest of endings had a flaw or two). You've always been naïve Gladys Witham, always living in your own little fairytale world, her father had always said, and perhaps he was right. 'Normal' – whatever that was – no longer existed and never would. Even if Kate did return, she and Betty could never go back to how they were. The dream that Gladys wished for each night was never going to come true.

Weeks had passed. She had stopped wishing. She had focussed on the present, the people left behind, tried to forget about who had left and who was never coming back and who never even wrote to say they were 'okay'. Betty didn't forget, though. No matter how hard Gladys tried, Betty wouldn't forget. It was still her name that she cried out in the middle of the night, still her ghost who she followed endlessly in dreams, and still her face that haunted her even when wide awake. Gladys knew, even as she stroked her hair, lowering her face to Betty's and kissing her softly, that it was Kate's lips that she pictured, the feel of Kate's skin under her fingertips, Kate's knee grazing against her thigh.

It was always going to be Kate.

Silently, ashamedly, she'd started to wish again. She'd wished Kate would never come back. She'd wished they'd never hear from her and eventually Betty would get past it, realise that the girl who couldn't return her love was long gone, and one who could – who wanted to – was staring right at her. But she knew it could never happen. She knew Betty was oblivious, and even if she wasn't, James was going to come back and Kate would change her mind and these nights were all they would ever have, and even then, they were only half-real. So, she made the most of them. She tucked herself up around Betty and she watched her sleep and she pretended that this was what normal people did and that it meant as much to the sleeping blonde as it did to her. She'd cook them breakfast wearing nothing but Betty's robe, breathing in the smell of her, and imagined doing the same thing every day for the rest of her life, knowing all the while that any day now the illusion would be shattered.

It wasn't as if she had done it on purpose. It wasn't like Betty had told her about Kate and she'd instantly been overwhelmed by jealousy and a need to replace her. It wasn't even like she'd seen it coming. Maybe if she had, she'd have stopped it, but she hadn't. One night she'd just leant in a little too close, touched Betty's hand a little too softly, and the blonde had reacted, and Gladys hadn't stopped her. Betty had apologised and looked away, alarmed, expecting to be pushed aside; to lose another friend. In some ways, neither of them had really expected what did happen instead. A gentle hand on the base of Betty's jaw, a sharp intake of breath, half a moment's hesitation, then a barely-there kind of a kiss. Another. A deeper one, Gladys' sighing against her, hands everywhere and nowhere at the same time, scared, hesitant, but wanting. It was so unlike anything either of them had experienced. It had felt right, though. Gladys had thought that it made sense when she looked back on it, and she'd more than hoped that Betty felt the same way too. The moment of realisation – realising, that is, that she was nothing but a poor substitute for Kate – had come days later, and even once the information had sunk in, she couldn't bring herself to stop.

"I can't believe this is how you treat your friends," Betty had blurted at the fundraiser, tears in her eyes.

Friends. That was all they were. And, according to Betty, now, she was struggling to even be that.

Betty was sitting on her bed. She looked up at the door in surprise, as if Gladys hadn't called at her room every night for the last however many weeks. Or, perhaps, like she hadn't wanted her to this time.

The word 'sorry' was always a bitter one to choke out for Gladys, especially when she truly meant it, but it came easily around Betty. She truly, deeply was sorry. Not just for what she'd done tonight, for refusing to help, but for everything. For the wishing in the dark when Betty was fast asleep, and the times she'd wanted to find Kate herself and tell her never to come home.

Betty's expression had softened, and – for a moment – Gladys thought they would be okay. That nothing had changed. They'd go out into the night and look for Kate and then they'd go home. They'd sleep snuggled up together in Betty's tiny bed, and wake up tomorrow forgetting any of this had even happened.

Then, she watched Betty glance at the other side of the room, and her stomach began to turn, even as she told it not to. You're not that good an actress Gladys. If this is what you think it is, she's going to know. They're both going to know. The door opened marginally and there she was, looking just the same as ever, as if she never left at all. And Gladys wanted to be mad at her. She wanted to shout at her for not writing and for treating Betty like dirt and for destroying everything that she'd worked so hard to build in her absence, but she knew that wasn't fair. She knew what role she had to play here and what Betty needed her to be, and so she let it all go. She hugged her tight, asked if she was okay, all the while watching Betty light a cigarette, not looking any happier for finding her than she had the night before when this moment had seemed so far away. Even as Gladys looked at her, smiling broadly, hoping her façade wasn't about to slip, Betty could only manage a tiny glimmer of a smile.

They shared a bed, but didn't sleep. Not that they weren't exhausted; she could see it in their weary expressions and hear it in their voices as they made small talk. Betty, she knew, wouldn't want to sleep for fear of waking up and it all being a dream. As they passed a cigarette around between themselves – a small, intimate gesture that meant the world to Betty and Gladys knew it – she tried to come to terms with the fact that this was how things would be now. There was no more her and Betty. She rested her hand on Betty's stomach, twisted her fingers gently in her robe. Their robe. The one they had shared for weeks, but that was now entirely Betty's again. She wanted to run her fingers over the skin hidden beneath her daisy yellow pyjamas, to brush her lips over Betty's one last time, but she knew she couldn't. She knew that all that had ended now. Kate was back; Betty didn't need her replacement.

As the night drew on, and they lay there in silence, it got dark. Kate drifted off to sleep first. The bed was too small for the three of them, and Gladys lay there trying to draw up the will to leave. Once you leave, you're not coming back. Ever. she told herself, sternly. Eventually, she moved herself to a seated position, careful to make sure she didn't wake Kate, or disturb Betty who she was sure wasn't going to sleep a wink tonight. She slid off the edge of the bed and padded over to where she'd discarded her shoes and her coat.

"Princess?" Betty whispered, noticing her absence almost immediately.

"I'm going to go home," she squinted in the dark, just making out Betty's bleary expression.

"At this time of night? Your folks will go mad. Stay... please?"

Gladys gathered her belongings and stood, staring at the bed, her coat loosely draped over her arm. She didn't want to go – Betty was right; her parents would be horrified if they caught her sneaking around in the dark – but she knew she had to. She couldn't stay here like this. Not anymore.

"You don't need me anymore, Betts. No point in me staying."

She watched the faint outline of Betty scramble out of bed, only pausing when Kate mumbled something in her sleep, before falling quiet again. Gladys looked at the floor as the blonde arrived in front of her, clasping her by the shoulders.

"Stay. Please? I'm scared. I don't know what's gonna happen with her. What if she changes her mind, decides this aint the right place for her after all?"

Gladys wanted to turn her down, to insist she had to go and that was final, but she couldn't refuse the pleading look in Betty's dark eyes. She was like a little puppy dog; impossible to say no to. Gladys sighed heavily, regretting the decision before the words even left her mouth.

"Fine. But I'll go down to the common room, make myself at home on one of the couches," she insisted, holding her coat tighter.

Nodding, Betty let go of her shoulders, and instead began to unknot her robe, "you'll need this," she whispered, "it's cold out there and I have no spare blankets."

She wanted to tell her she didn't want it, she'd use her coat instead, but the words got caught in her throat. She would sleep better wrapped in the warmth and smell of the woman she had found herself falling unexpectedly for. Betty thrust the blue material into her hands, taking the heavy coat off her arm and laying it carefully over a chair. They stood there awkwardly, and Gladys wondered if she might kiss Betty just one last time. She stared at her mouth in the dark, the determined little pout on her lips. She couldn't imagine not being able to feel them against her own ever again. Hesitantly, she leant forward, one hand reaching for Betty's elbow where her arms were folded across her chest.

Kate stirred.

Betty stepped away, as if Gladys' fingertips had burnt her even through her pyjamas.

"Betty?"

They both turned towards the voice.

"Gladys is just going down to the common room. Don't worry. Go back to sleep."

Kate muttered something, but she was already drifting back off into the land of nod. They waited a moment, and then Betty cleared her throat, low enough not to wake Kate again.

"I'll see you in the mornin'," she said, evenly.

Gladys nodded. That was her way of saying "that's it, go now, no messy goodbyes, just go. Please. For the sake of Kate and I". She knew it without Betty even having to say the words aloud. She could sense it in her eyes. Gladys felt her heart sink, the feeling in the back of her throat telling her tears were about to come.

"Yes. Goodnight," she willed her voice not to betray her, and it didn't. This time.

As soon as she was in the hall, the door closed, she began to cry, holding the robe to her face to muffle the tears. She allowed herself to cry for one whole minute, and then she padded off to the common room, knowing damn well she wasn't going to sleep a wink.