Three Bags Full
December, 1949.
"You're really not going home for Christmas, Patsy?" Victoria asked for what seemed like the one-hundredth time. The curly brunette seemed unable to understand that she really ought to stop prying, and she could tell that the other girl was desperate to know her reasoning. Victoria had a funny, nay, utterly unhumorous, way of trying desperately to find out her business. Unfortunately for other girl, she didn't particularly have much of it. She enjoyed a bottle of wine or swig of scotch with some of the girls she was closer to when they could get away with it, she sneaked a cigarette in where she could, she wandered out of bed after hours to go and join one of the more livelier dorm rooms than her own, but other than that her life was utterly unremarkable. She didn't have any grievances with any of the girls here, none of her relationships here were of such a depth that they would lead to bickering or gossip, and that was the way she liked it. However, it left her something of an enigma to girls like Victoria, whose whole world seemed to revolve around socialising and status within the school.
She turned to Victoria, lifting her head out of King Lear – getting a head start on her English work for next term. "No, I'm not." She said, not too curtly but perhaps with just enough impatience that she would stop asking such silly questions. "Do you mind if I have a cigarette?" She added, wishing she'd asked before she had shot Victoria's curiosity down.
The other girl shrugged, "I'm going home today, so Sarge will think it was you anyway." Sarge was their nickname for matron – a frightful old woman called Jacqueline. She didn't have much of a problem with Patsy though, she'd always found herself able to get along with her teachers and superiors at school. She wasn't a blatant rule breaker, only reserved her cheek for girls in her year who irritated her, and her restrained, unfussy way seemed to endear them to her over more giddy, frantic types like her dorm mate. Victoria continued to fold her clothes, out of uniform now, ready for her parents, or whomever they had sent, to pick her up. "Most people are leaving. Won't you get lonely?" She asked, "With only Sarge and the nuns for company?"
"I don't think so. I'll just work, I suppose." She reasoned bluntly. Last year when she had remained at school, they had eaten a solemn and unfussy Christmas dinner. The nuns by no means celebrated the holiday frivolously, and that was something she appreciated. For them it held symbolic and religious meaning, and when she distanced herself from all of that she could pretend it was just another day with a particularly large and long meal. It was the best way, better than being home with her father, whilst they both mourned the loss of their family. In another world, a better one, they would visit their graves, lay some flowers, pay their respects. But Patsy suspected that the wilderness had long since claimed back her mother and sister and the crude wooden crosses that had once marked them out in a corner of the camp that was a cruel reminder of everything bad in this world.
Victoria huffed, "I don't suppose you make much effort with anyone anyway."
It wasn't that she didn't make effort – she was friendly enough. She just had a tendency to hate complaining. What did anyone here have to complain about? Well to do young ladies in an excellent school, who would all go on to make well to do marriages and produce well to do children. Girls who didn't want for anything, yet boiled with jealousy at another whose parents were richer – that's what made them felt hard done by? She simply couldn't always pretend to be okay with that kind of nonsense. She supposed they weren't all like that, but too many of them were, and she rarely gave anyone a chance long enough to let her distinguish that fact.
"If you say so." She shrugged, getting back to act two of her play and placing a cigarette between her lips, lighting it smoothly.
Snubbed and frustrated, Victoria continued, with Patsy attempting so very hard not to roll her eyes, "Lucilla said its because you don't get along with your father, that's why you don't go home."
Lucilla was in a dorm with her in second year, with two other girls, and she had rather liked her at the time. Not anymore though. "Just because we share a room it does not mean you're entitled to know every detail of my life. If you must know, at the risk of sounding an awful swot, I rather wish to maintain my grades. I see no better way than to remain here and study without the incessant moaning of certain girls at this school." Patsy delivered flatly.
Victoria's eyes blazed, "You're awfully rude, Patience Mount. Did you know that?"
"No, I just wouldn't say that behind someone's back. It's called honesty." She retorted with a sigh. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to find an empty classroom - it's a cacophony of whinging in this room." She stubbed out her cigarette, leaving it in the inconspicuous cup she placed by her bed in lieu of an ashtray. "Good luck packing, and I do hope you enjoy your Christmas." And with that, Patsy snapped her book shut and exited the room into the hallway, trying to mask the annoyance on her face.
"Someone's in a hurry to go home!" She had stridden headlong into someone, their mug crashing to the ground. She glanced at it, in one piece, but empty on the floor with tea rapidly soaking the carpet, and then up at the person she had manage to assault. It was Clarissa Dupont, a girl in her year, another prefect, but not in the same house as her. Patsy spoke to her often, she had to because of their duties – especially at the beginning of this term with the new first years. She didn't mind Clarissa, in fact she didn't mind her one bit. She was extraordinarily pretty – blonde, green-eyed, and always impeccably turned out. She was the target of much affection, male and female alike. The boys at stared at her from the pitches when they watched each other's games, and the girls here were desperate to be her friend, but she seemed rather above it all and Patsy thought she was a kindred spirit in that sense. The only problem was she was always too afraid and embarrassed to speak to her – it was ridiculous really.
"I-I'm not going home." She started. "I'm going to read." Blast. She wished she had said something less silly – perhaps that she was going to sneak a cigarette behind the equipment shed, or that she had fencing practice, or that she was going for a walk and maybe Clarissa could join her. No, that would have been a stupid thing to say. "I'm sorry…about the tea…did it burn you? I-"
"Quite alright." She smiled, bending down to pick up the mug, waving her hand at the mess, "That carpet has seen far worse, I'm sure. It's dark so it won't stain. Did you say you're not going home? Are you leaving tomorrow then?"
What was it with everyone's surprise about her holiday plans? So what if she wanted to spend Christmas with Sarge and the nuns? She never had understood the particular quirk of her countrymen and women that led them to pretend so hard that they liked their family when they didn't. Or perhaps it was universal, but she didn't care for it. Still though, she didn't get annoyed with Clarissa for asking like she did with Victoria. "No, I'm not going home at all."
"Oh, I say. I'm not going home until the twenty-second. I thought I'd have no company, but now I'll have you." Patsy couldn't help but smile, all of a sudden not too disappointed that her plan to essentially mirror the nuns in their vows of silence and peace was out the window.
"That'll be nice." Patsy managed to say without tripping over her words. "And I am sorry, about bumping into you."
"Oh, do stop apologizing. Quite the honour to be bulldozed by the school hockey captain, to be honest. Now I know why the other girls on the pitch fear you." She quipped with a smirk. "I suppose I'll see you soon. I'll knock on you, the rooms here are bigger than in our corridor so we'll call it a date at yours." Patsy clutched King Lear to her chest, carrying on down the corridor with a soft smile, quite looking forward to the start of the holidays now.
March, 1950.
A crowd of girls was forming around someone, and Patsy, further downfield in her position as right wing jogged over, wondering who had fallen, and who was making a fuss this time. She pushed through the group, only to see Daphne hunched over on the floor, a forced grin on her face. "Quite alright, chaps. Nothing too serious." A few of the girls were sniggering, and Patsy frowned. Her new roommate had grown on her rather quickly, and was a vast improvement on Queen Vic. She was almost glad that her nighttime disturbances were persisting to the point where the snotty girl had begged for a change. Daphne was a sweet person really, oblivious to the social norms and hierarchy that had been constructed by the girls around her, or perhaps just not interested in them. She never seemed to let their gossiping and snickering get to her, or maybe it was that she was good at pretending. But nevertheless, Patsy was defensive of her.
"Move." Patsy said bluntly to Lucille, extending a hand as no one else had to Daphne.
"Thanks, old thing." She grasped it, and though Patsy was bigger and stronger than her, she still couldn't help her to stand up. As she slumped down again there was another grating chorus of chortling.
"What is all this fuss about, ladies?" Mrs. Keaton the games teacher had marched over, piercing through the crowd and sighing at the sight of Daphne on the floor. "Daphne Bowden-Grey, what are you doing? Are you actually hurt or are you just having a little rest?" The giggling of the girls grew more obvious, louder.
She stalled for a moment, her cheerful and confident exterior fading in the presence of the assertive young teacher, before Patsy answered, "She can't get up, Mrs. Keaton. I didn't see what happened though." She said, glancing around at the girls, expecting them to shed light on the situation.
The games teacher sighed, bending down to inspect Daphne. It became clear quite quickly, that under her games skirt, the girl's knee was bleeding profusely. Her classmates cringed at the raw looking injury, looking away, but Patsy didn't. There was blood dripping down her leg, showing no signs of stopping – in fact, she couldn't believe that the girl wasn't making more of a fuss about it, she didn't appear to be anywhere near tears. She just raised her eyebrows, "Cripes, would you look at that."
"I'd rather not, Miss Bowden-Grey. That is quite a gash." Mrs. Keaton acknowledged, her tone toward Daphne softening. "Someone escort her to the nurse's office."
There were no volunteers, but there didn't need to be for Patsy to pipe up. "I'll take her." Daphne looked up at her gratefully, still trying not to grimace though. There were sounds of protestations from the girls who'd been on her side. "Patsy, you're our best player!" Honestly, it was a non-competitive games class practice session, and she didn't care.
"Mount doesn't need the practice, which is more than can be said for some of you. Besides, Daphne was on the other team, so there are still even sides. Now if you aren't back on that field within the next ten seconds, your matron will know about it."
Between her and Mrs. Keaton, they got Daphne on her feet, with one arm slung over Patsy's shoulders, which she had to stoop a bit to even be possible. As soon as the girls were back into their game, and the attention off of her, she let the pain that Patsy knew had existed all along show. "Are you alright? What happened?"
"Me? Fine." She limped, most of her weight on Patsy. "I'm just no good at hockey, in fact, no good at games at all. Not my forte, never was – clumsy as a newborn calf." She rambled as per usual.
Patsy sighed, "Who tripped you over?"
Daphne paused for a moment, "I won't say." She said. Perhaps because she knew that Patsy would give them a piece of her mind this evening – oh what she would say to them, she had a few choice words left over from her days in the camps, and she wouldn't be afraid to employ them in these circumstances. But she knew it was more likely that for Daphne it was bridge under the water. The other girl would hold no grudges, and she didn't want anyone getting in trouble, with teachers or with Patsy alike. "You don't have to stick up for me. You think I care, but I'm like you, I really don't. It's just an inconvenience to think of something jolly to say when someone's being foul to you."
"But you always do." Patsy remarked. "Has it stopped bleeding?" She asked.
"Slowing, I think. Wait, where are you going?"
"To the nurse's office."
"No, no. I don't want to see the nurse. Anyway, I have to get my bag from the changing rooms."
Daphne really should see the nurse, and Patsy knew it, but she supposed they could get her bag and then she could try to convince her as they slowly made their way back to the school. "You have to let me see to it then." She'd had enough experience to know how to patch up a nasty scrape, and was already deep into a thick nursing textbook that Louise had ordered to her address at school for her once she had confessed her ambition to study it as soon as she left. Daphne agreed, but continued to persist that they just had to get her bag.
Patsy pushed open the door of the eternally draughty changing rooms, and eased Daphne down onto one of the benches. The other girl pointed out her bag, and Patsy grabbed it to save her getting up, holding it out to her. "You're not getting changed are you? You'll just get your uniform all bloody."
"No, I'm getting this." She produced a slip of paper from it, and when Patsy looked confused she seemed to relent. "I met one of the boys just before games, behind the equipment shed. He told me to meet him there so he could give me a note, and some of the girls saw."
She couldn't help but feel a pang of something that she couldn't put her finger on at that revelation. Daphne had never had any regard for rules though, and was often escaping the boarding house in the small hours to run off across the pitches to meet with the boys, to have a drink and a smoke and a bit of adventure. Despite her gently curious questions, Daphne seemed to maintain that they were all simply her friends and that she wasn't interested in any of them one bit. Why go through so much risk for no romantic reward, she didn't understand – it wasn't what any of the other girls would do. But Daphne was a strange one, and perhaps she did it for the fun and the risk of it all. Patsy had been convinced she'd been lying at first, when she'd insisted she'd never so much as let one of them put their arm around her, but she had soon gotten to know the girl and had realised she always, always told the truth, to the point of brutal but appreciated honesty.
She understood now, some of those girls were jealous creatures, "I see, one of them tripped you so they could get into your bag and read it."
"Spot on." Daphne said.
"I know," Patsy smiled coyly, wanting to get the girls who had done it back in her own way, even if Daphne wouldn't let her rip into them full steam. She grabbed Daphne's bag and replaced it exactly where it had been, and then grabbed a piece of paper and pen from her own belongings.
I'll find out who tripped Daphne, and when I do, hell hath no fury like a hockey captain scorned. Watch yourselves. All my ire, Lord Mountbatten.
After quickly penning the note, she placed it in Daphne's bag, and shot her a wicked smile. "What did you write?" She was grinning now, genuinely, her pain momentarily forgotten.
"I wrote 'better luck next time'." She lied seamlessly, though it seemed to earn the happiness of the other girl despite her downplaying her true intentions.
When they returned to their room, Patsy washed and dressed Daphne's knee with genuine care. She felt sorry for the other girl, though she supposed she shouldn't – she didn't seem phased, and it made her wonder what the other girls had said and done to her before they had gotten to know each other. Of course, she had always heard them discussing what an oddball she was, giggling all the while, making fun of her preference for her brother's old slacks and simply pulling her hair back into a ponytail. She'd never joined in, but she felt guilty that she had never defended her back then.
"You've done an awfully good job on me, Mountbatten. Where did you learn to do that?" Patsy wondered perhaps if she should have placed the gauze a little more carelessly, wrapped the bandage a tad askew, knowing that Daphne commented on everything. When she asked her prying questions though, and Patsy replied in what was clearly a lie, or said nothing at all, she never pressed – that was why she could tolerate her. Victoria, and many of the other girls, made a great deal out of her aloofness, as if instant trust with sensitive secrets was a deal breaking factor in whether or not Patsy wanted to be their friend. That didn't make sense to her though, and she supposed if other people could just understand that then she might have more friends, more people like Daphne. When she couldn't think of a reply, the other girl looked at her for a long moment, her gaze piercing, as Patsy knelt in front of her, pretending to inspect her work but knowing it was perfect, and then flipped the subject.
"You want to read the note. I was waiting for you to ask, but you don't like to ask for things, do you? Not even from me." Daphne remarked, her observations always making her shrink away from how cutting and accurate they were. "Here – enjoy James Gregson's penmanship and prose." Her eyes scanned over it, and it was simply a time and a place and the promise of a bottle of scotch and smokes. "I've run out of cigarettes, so this is good timing. They were all friends with Charlie, my brother, before he went to university; a few of them have visited us in the holidays and such. It's a shame the nuns won't just let us all be pals."
Patsy wondered if she was as innocent as she seemed in saying that – surely she knew that the other girls wouldn't want to just be friends with the boys, and vice versa. Though she supposed it was unfortunate for Daphne, whose intentions were just good company and an adrenaline rush. She supposed she would only like to be friends if some male company was offered to her as well – she wasn't interested in the boys like the other girls were, and she had stopped pretending to be for a while. In fact, she was starting to think something was wrong with her. Actually, she knew there was something wrong with her. The time in the Christmas holidays she had spend with Clarissa had been so very odd. It had been nice, in a sense, but also incredibly stressful in a way she couldn't quite place. She had felt nervous all the time, pathetic really, and she'd never been one to say things simply to please another person, and especially not to impress them, yet she found herself doing exactly that with the pretty blonde. She felt giddy around her, and she hated to admit that it was the exact kind of giddiness that certain girls in her boarding house got that usually she hated and couldn't comprehend. To say she was terrified about the true nature of what all this meant was an understatement.
"Indeed. It would be nice." She agreed. "To be friends, that is." She added. Strangely, she couldn't help be relieved that Daphne's ongoing liaisons with the boys were still friendly ones, and strangely she wanted to reassure the other girl that if she were to be pursued by them, she would be the same about the whole affair.
May, 1950.
The last term of her final year at school had come around, and Patsy was not tinged with the sadness and premature nostalgia of many of the other girls. It wasn't that she was miserable here, but she was happy to be going soon, to move on, and not to mention that providing she got the grades she was expecting to, there was no doubt she'd be accepted onto a nursing course in London. Yet again she had spent most of the Easter break here, albeit a few days at her aunt's house in Herefordshire at the woman's absolute insistence. Her mother's sister, Aunt Audrey, had written to her, imploring her to take a break from school, to come and visit her and her cousins and celebrate her eighteenth birthday with her family. She had relented, as the woman had been so very good to her, the only person in her life who had truly let her be sad when she needed to be. Her father had come for dinner one night, no doubt after a stern conversation with Audrey, and it had been pleasant enough, she supposed.
The others had been back a week or so, and as usual she had to fight the urge to be irritated by the renewed noise, the whispers in the corridor, the drama that came with their return. She wondered if the nurse's home she'd inevitably live in would be any better, if everyone would have matured a little – she hoped so. True to scatterbrained form, Daphne was still in the process of unpacking, but had nearly finished after matron had all but threatened to give her knuckles a seeing to with a ruler despite her being legally an adult. She burst into the room in her usual fashion, breathless, grinning; her dark curls bouncing loosely around her face.
"Organ?" Patsy asked.
"Indeed. Good session, actually. Could you hear?" She asked, grinning, dropping her thick stack of sheet music on her desk, only for her to desperately have to rummage through the now unorganized pile the next time she was playing. Daphne was no sportswoman, but as for music – she was the best in the school.
Usually able to hear choir practice, and Daphne's organ playing, when her window was open, she'd been using her new record player – a gift from her aunt. "Sorry, Daphne. Was enjoying some of the records you gave me."
"Quite alright. What did you think? Was it the Stravinsky or the Prokofiev, or Charlie Parker?" Her eyes lit up with enthusiasm, and even if Patsy hadn't enjoyed what she'd listened to she would have pretended to anyway, lest that look disappear from her face.
"Charlie Parker, the jazz one." She smiled. "And it was very good. I think I'll study to it." Daphne looked thrilled.
"Or we could listen to it together." She suggested, "If you liked it enough to play it again."
Patsy's lip twitched, as she tried not to give away too much, "That would be lovely."
"So," Daphne's adopted a mischievous look, "Since we're leaving soon, but not quite yet into exam fever, I thought I'd have one last soiree before everything gets terribly boring around here, and I was wondering if you would like to join me. The boys so want to meet you, I talk about you all the time."
Patsy looked up, surprised, and gauged the hopeful look on Daphne's face. She was unbelievably flattered and strangely pleased that the other girl talked about her to such an extent that her male friends wanted to meet her. She didn't have much of an interest in their company, but Daphne's was always fun. Not to mention that the naughtiest things she'd done in her time here had only included creeping around the hallways at night – never leaving the school – and the drinking and smoking that a good proportion of the girls got up to anyway. She supposed she ought to come away from here with a good story or two, since she hadn't made the swathes of lifelong friendships and happy memories that her mother had once told her she would when she spoke of her own schooldays. Besides, she only had a few months left – the worst that could happen would be being stripped of her prefect's badge. She stopped weighing up the pros and cons though, because she realised that she couldn't say no to Daphne even if she tried.
"Fine, I'm in."
Daphne leapt onto her bed from her own, jumping up and down, "Yes!" She said gleefully, dropping to her knees in front of her and grabbing both of her hands, "We're going to have so much fun, Mountbatten. Just you wait." Patsy glanced down at her hands where they were connected, and then back up at Daphne, whose smile didn't falter for a moment and was strangely infectious.
"Fine, but if you don't finish unpacking soon then matron will come knocking tonight - tomorrow at the latest - and if we're not here, or I'm halfway out of the window having morning smoke, then I'm done for." Daphne rolled her eyes playfully, climbing off her bed straight away to her disappointment, and making a great show of opening her trunk. She started on pinning things above her bed. A poster advertising a jazz concert, one of a classical one at the Royal Albert Hall, pictures of her family, but mostly of actresses – Judy Garland, Rita Hayworth, Lauren Bacall, Katherine Hepburn – with not a Cary Grant or Walter Huston in sight, a welcome change from Victoria's display. She never did manage to complete the task of fully unpacking her things though, her side of the room looking somehow even messier, before they began preparations for sneaking out.
Daphne was awfully experienced, and Patsy had seen her do this many times. They got changed out of their nightclothes, which they had put on for a show in case anyone came around, despite matron very rarely checking that final years were actually in their bed at lights out. Sarge had a particular fondness for Patsy too, despite her frustrations with Daphne, so they were fairly safe in that department. And then it was time to wait until two am, which was, according to Daphne, the time at which every member of staff and nun would be asleep unless they were terribly unlucky.
And so they went, creeping down the corridor – the easy part – slipping through the door at the end of it. Luckily they weren't at the very top of the building, and only had to descend one set of creaky stairs. Past matron's room ever so carefully, outside which there was the door to the common room. She watched in anticipation as Daphne eased it open, having explained earlier that there was an exact point at which it squeaked terribly, but tonight they were lucky and slipped through it silently. Then came the door from the common room onto the patio, which would lead them outside – heavy and old, she watched in awe as the other girl tackled it in almost complete silence. Anyone else would have been caught red handed by now, but she was in such expert company it all seemed a little too easy, and she understood why Daphne was forever doing this. If she was so good at it, why wouldn't she?
Then the other girl grasped her hand tightly, and they ran across the pitches, breath picking up and laughter overtaking them as they got further and further away from the school, their destination the equipment shed. The boys had further to come, but she promised that they would already be there, unless they had been caught. Daphne explained that if she arrived and they didn't show up, not being able to risk it, or already being caned within an inch of their lives, she would take a walk of the grounds in the darkness, and Patsy almost hoped that the young men they were meeting would be a no show. It became obvious though as they drew closer, walking now, out of breath, that they were there. Quiet chatter and laughter rang out from behind the old shed.
"Good evening James, Frankie, Alastair! Meet Patsy." She grinned, releasing her hand and ushering her towards the trio. They welcomed her warmly, and it became evident rather quickly that they weren't the kind of boys she despised, the kind of boys that expected her to be grateful or reciprocal toward their advances. "Where's that scotch then, and my cigarettes?"
"Alright, alright." James rolled his eyes, holding out the bottle, which appeared to have already been laid into a little bit, and a brown paper bag. "So impatient."
Daphne accepted them; "You've got to keep your promise to my brother. Told him you'd look after me, the lot of you did."
"I don't think he had in mind alcohol and cigarettes, but the chap was the first head boy we've had not to beat us all to a pulp and let the prefects run amok, so I suppose we do owe him rather a debt." She had heard about the boys school – the older boys bullying of the younger ones – and it sounded rather horrific.
"What in the good lord's name is this?" Daphne looked outraged at the contents of the paper bag. "Have you emptied the contents of my cigarettes into a bag? What for?"
Alastair sighed, the bespectacled blonde looking forlorn, "You have to roll it into a cigarette. It's all we could get in town on the weekend. Sorry, old thing."
Daphne began to look more and more confused, dipping her hand into the bag of loose tobacco and plucking some from it, inspecting it in the dark. "And how on earth is that supposed to work?"
"It doesn't…really." Frankie replied. "Or at least none of us have figured out how yet."
"I nearly did it." James held up a twisted looking mass of paper and tobacco. "But it wouldn't light."
"Well, that's just great." Daphne sighed, "Yes, I'm sure these will help massively." She added, as James meekly handed her a packet of rolling papers and a packet of filter tips.
Patsy bit her lip for a moment, before piping up. "Pass it to me."
"It's impossible, but knock yourself out." Frankie shrugged.
Patsy didn't openly object, but simply thumbed a paper from the packet – much thinner and easier to fold than the thick paper they'd had in the camp – and inspected a filter tip, which should help keep the shape. They all went back to chatting, clearly unable to believe that it could be done, and not bothering to watch her struggle. It all came back to her rather quickly though, and she put a sprinkling of tobacco into the crease of the paper, popped the filter in, and began to gently roll and press the brown shag into shape. Then she tucked the corner in, and to her surprise realised that the thin slip of paper even had a sticky strip. She licked it, and smoothed out her creation, then held it out to Daphne.
"Holy smokes." Alastair exclaimed.
"Beginners luck." Frankie insisted.
Daphne gaped, plucking the cigarette from her fingers and inspecting it closely, her mouth wide open. Then she grinned, throwing her arms around Patsy's shoulders and planting a kiss on her cheek. She was glad that the darkness was hiding her blushing, "You marvel! You wonderful thing, Mountbatten. How on earth did you manage that? Can you do it again?"
She didn't answer her first question, but nodded in affirmation to her second. In the camp it hadn't been long until the Japanese army began to make life hard even for their own soldiers, rationing their food and drink and cigarettes. Normal packets had soon been replaced by rolling tobacco, and cigarettes were what the women in the camp had bribed, traded, and begged for in large swathes. In the weeks typhoid had claimed mummy and Nancy, she had no longer found herself being told off for speaking to the women who always seemed to have the most tobacco, and the most luck with getting things from the guards in general, one of whom was Anne. She would sit with her, teaching her to fashion cigarettes out of the crudest materials, never letting her smoke them though, despite her cheekily asking once or twice. It was from Anne she had learned the very worst ways of insulting people, and the very best of human nature.
She happily rolled cigarettes for the rest of them, becoming so proficient and smooth at it that she continued doing so the whole time they spent together, so that the boys would have an ample supply, spurred on by the awe with which Daphne gazed at her, and interrupted by swigs of the scotch she took when the bottle came her way. By the end of the night she felt warm, happy – the boys were nice enough, and Daphne seemed in her element somehow, able to be herself with people other than just Patsy. She could have felt jealous, but instead she enjoyed watching her, gesturing wildly as she always did, running a hand through the hair that fell into her eyes, pushing it from her face, dragging on cigarettes and talking about jazz, art, philosophy so intensely that Patsy often found herself out of her depth – she focused on science these days – but she was satisfied just to listen, and observe Daphne's enthusiasm.
When they journeyed back, lightheaded from the scotch and the ample amount of cigarettes, Daphne had to remind them to be quiet – getting in was almost as hard as getting out. But despite their clumsiness and the stench of smoke on their clothes, they somehow managed it, not able to resist a giggle as they made it safely to the hallway, shutting the door behind them.
Daphne let out a huge breath, and then they launched into laughter again. As they slipped back into bedclothes, lest matron or another of the girls walk in and wonder why they had both slept in normal clothes, Daphne asked, "So where did you learn to do that? The rolling. You have to teach me."
Patsy paused, her teeth pressing into her bottom lip once again. The scotch had loosened her tongue and the evening with Daphne had her feeling more trusting and fonder of her than ever. "In Singapore." She started slowly, "During the war." She added.
Curiosity passed Daphne's features, and she didn't say another word for a few moments, "But the Japs had Singapore. If you were in Singapore then…then it was occupied." She said carefully.
"Yes, it was." Patsy affirmed, watching the other girl closely. She could see that she was thinking, that she was putting the pieces together – perhaps she already had. "The British, all the foreigners, we were in camps." Daphne was quiet, her eyes darting down. She didn't say oh sweetheart, how ghastly or darling, I'm so sorry, she just looked at her, with no pity in her eyes but also not an ounce of awkwardness. "Just one of the many things we had to learn to do, I suppose." She tried to lighten the mood, but Daphne was still quiet.
"It explains a lot." Daphne said, and Patsy's gaze snapped up. Usually it was awkward condolences, but never before had anyone said that to her – not that she had told many. "I don't mean it like that, I don't mean it shows in every part of you. Just things you've said, a handful of times. You can be quite cryptic." She supposed that was true – she slipped up sometimes, not always fully able to keep every secret every minute of the day under total lock and key, she wasn't strong enough for that, no one was. After a moment she added, "You'll talk in your sleep tonight, won't you?"
Patsy nodded, "Probably."
"I worry about you when you do. Its rather…disconcerting." Was it that bad? She supposed she wouldn't know if it was. "If you wake up, you can wake me up too. If you like." She appreciated the offer, but she probably never would. The other girl crossed the room, and sat on the bed where Patsy was reclining.
"Or you could stay here." She suggested, regretting it immediately. Why would she say something so unbelievably foolish?
Daphne nodded, completely unphased, rather worryingly so. And then she felt guilty, because she knew what part of her had risen up and urged her to implore the other girl to stay right where she was in this moment and it was a part of herself she despised and didn't want to exist. Daphne never would have agreed if she knew, but instead she thought that she ought to do what Patsy asked because she was upset. Was she using her grief to live out the dark part of her she tried so hard to bury, that she couldn't even admit the true nature of? It was so wrong, and the guilt of it began to surpass her grief and it was showing.
"Mountbatten?...Patsy? Why don't you get the light?" Daphne started, smiling warmly when she looked up at her, throwing back the covers and squeezing into the bed with her. She made some space for her, but they were still very close indeed. "It's alright, old thing."
No, it wasn't alright. Patsy lay, seething in self-hatred, in regret and wrongdoing. There'd be no worry about her talking in her sleep tonight – she doubted she'd catch a wink. But then, in the darkness, Daphne pulled her close, and her head rested comfortably on the other girl's chest. She could hear Daphne's breathing, her heartbeat, and she found herself listening carefully, not even needing her nursing textbook to know that it definitely too fast. At first she thought that Daphne had interpreted her request as completely innocent – it wasn't, and she hated that, hated that she wanted something that she really shouldn't – but now she wasn't so sure, as she could almost feel the other girl roll her eyes, smirking in the darkness as Patsy shuffled, trying to get comfortable without giving herself away too much. By morning, their silent and careful adjustments had led to Patsy draped over the smaller girl, curled into her side. Well rested, and guilt free now.
A/N: You know what's coming next - adulthood, and Delia. Stay tuned.