Delia fills the kettle, puts it on the hob and ferrets in the cupboard for mugs. She pulls out three: the one she's designated as Patsy's, the one she's claimed as her own, and one of the spares.
"I could have done that, you know." Patsy's forehead is against the window pane, and she's looking down into the yard three storeys below.
"I know," Delia agrees. She picks up the biscuit jar, unscrews the lid and peers in. A better idea strikes, though, and with its lid back on the jar goes back on the shelf so she can pick up the cake tin instead.
"I could," Patsy insists.
"I think it's sweet. He's fond of you."
"Fred?" Patsy looks at her, incredulous, as if the idea hasn't really occurred to her before.
Delia nods, crosses the room. "They all are, your Nonnatus lot." She leans her head on Patsy's shoulder and looks down to see Fred's progress on the little lean-to bike shed he's insisted on making for them. "And - um - I'm not sure you could, actually. Do that, I mean."
Fred's wrestling awkwardly with the frame he's made, trying to squeeze it into a corner of the yard that's probably not big enough for it.
Delia winces as it gets a bit too close to the window frame. "The paintwork..."
They hold their breath for a moment. Delia's spent the morning in rather delicate negotiations with their landlady in order to get permission for this mini-outbuilding that Fred's imposed on them, with the upshot being that the importance of not making any lasting alterations - or doing any material damage to the building - had been firmly insisted upon.
Boiling on the hob, the kettle whistles. Luckily, really, because it means Delia goes back to making the tea, and consequently she's not watching as Fred wallops the wooden construction into place with no little subtlety and scattering not a few fragments of brick, wood, and paint.
With a careful elbow, Patsy nudges the back door handle, then hooks her foot round the door to open it.
"Tea's up, Fred."
"Nurse Mount, you're a mind reader."
Patsy shakes her head. "Not me - all Delia's idea. I'm just the waitress."
"Good teamwork, then."
There's nowhere for the tray to go, so Patsy puts it on the floor, passes Fred his mug and a saucer with cake on, then takes her own. She sits on the doorstep while he perches on the lid of the bin.
"You're settling in ok, you girls?" Sipping his tea he nods his head upwards, towards the window of their flat that looks out over the yard. There's something protective, fatherly, concerned, in the way he's watching her.
Patsy can't fight the urge to look away, to look down, to look anywhere but at him. She's looking into her tea as she nods and smiles, to herself as much as to him. "Yes. We are." She can't say more. It means too much to her.
What Fred understands by what she says, or what she does, she doesn't know. She doesn't really want to think about it. But it's ok, because somehow, Fred does the right thing, and changes the subject, and so they're chatting about the cubs and the scouts and the next district jamboree, and the merits of Mrs B's Victoria sponge, and how unseasonably warm it is for November, and when, if Patsy and Delia are really thinking about getting a window box, they should think about planting it up.
They're finishing their tea when the door that Patsy's been leaning on swings away from her, and she feels Delia's hand on her shoulder.
"Nurse Busby," Fred's on his feet. "What do you think? Just in time to try it out!"
So small is the yard that their bikes - Patsy's one from work, and the slightly smaller one that's Delia's new pride and joy - have had to be consigned to the alley way beyond the yard while Fred's carpentry's been in progress. They take turns wheeling them in, first Patsy and then Delia.
Fred watches over them, squinting at the manouvering, at the snug - tight, even - fit.
"Ok, ok," he mutters, gets them to wheel the bikes out again. "A few adjustments here and there. Leave me to it, and I'll be done in a jiffy."
Half an hour later, there's a tap on the door. Patsy goes to answer it, to let Fred in, but he's not stopping, he says, since Violet'll be expecting him home. He's just come up to let them know he's finished, that the bikes fit perfectly now, they'll be safe out of the rain and ever so easy to get in and out.
Delia joins Patsy at the door to thank him.
Fred waves away their gratitude, muttering something about how maintaining the Nonnatus bicycle fleet is one of his key duties, that prevention is better than cure when it comes to vehicular repair, and its no less, really, than he ought to have done. But they all know that today's his day off and the reasons he gives don't tell the real story at all.
Satisfied at a job well done, Fred goes home.
