Sometimes, Patsy felt as if she must have the devil on her shoulder. That is, if the devil was simply a more paranoid version of herself.
It was insatiable sometimes - the call of that cautious watcher. Her guardian in poison armour. The advocate of bitter secrecy. She could wrap it up in endless metaphors but she knew what it really amounted to was cowardice. Or was it an uncomfortable necessity?
It was that cautious spectre, that same persistent voice that had chimed from ear to ear when a delicate hand had enveloped her own across the cafe table. Warm sensations of skin on skin had morphed to comfort and gratitude, and the older woman had felt herself instinctively wanting to reciprocate the action and revel in the peace it could provide. But at the same time that onerous voice had drowned out her more affectionate proclivities:
What if someone sees you Patsy? What if they finally figure it out? Is one moment holding a hand worth losing her for?
And with that the moment was tarnished, and Patsy was left with the split second decision of whether or not to pull her hand away immediately (hideously rude and likely to draw attention) or simply convey her anxiety through a pointed stare. In the end, she opted for the kinder option (if there was one), but the damage was already done, and Delia's hastily withdrawn hand had burned a brand into her own as hot as her icy look was cold. The atmosphere between them had practically frozen; the awkwardness holding them in this uncomfortable tableau that seemed to capture, in a snapshot, everything that was causing this relationship to flounder.
Or is it the only thing stopping it from failing?
There it was again, clear and crisp as the night air she slowly exhaled whilst staring aimlessly at the empty space before her where a telling Delia-shaped lacuna continued to burn the Welshwoman's absence into her retinas. She seemed rooted to the cobbled street beneath her, as if a woman-shaped tree had just sprouted from the gaps between the stones. Sometimes her whole life seemed to be conducted inside such gaps, the shady area between things; whether it be an unattended corner, or a deserted corridor, or the relative safety of your lover's room after a tense gauntlet of tiptoeing past closed doors that always threatened to open. She was never at the forefront in these moments, but hidden in her own shady underworld, masked with her infinite layers of caution and security, and armed with readymade excuses, like she was the world's most intricately locked vault, under constant guard. But what was the point of protecting something so well if nobody could ever break in to use it, or better still, enjoy it?
Her head dipped with the heaviness of her burden, which weighed like a lead scarf across her slumped shoulders. For an infinitesimally small moment, tears made serious threats of revolting and making an appearance at the corners of her eyes in a protest against her composure, before they were ushered forcefully back in to confines of their ducts; the prison which they struggled to ever escape from. Patsy schooled herself back into a collected pose; she would not allow herself to become frivolous and emotional. There was only one person she could bear to allow to see her in a state like that (if completely unavoidable), and as that person was not an option for comfort at this present time (on account at being utterly livid with her). Her hurt would once again have to fester deep down with every other mounting example she had collected since childhood; unaccounted for and undealt with.
The entire episode happened so fast, she suspected nobody other than her absent companion would have ever noticed it, but she couldn't help a well-practiced glace around to check her faltering moment had indeed gone unmarked. Pleased with the result of her observations, she began to walk slowly back to Nonnatus house.
As the dark streets and houses of Poplar passed by in her periphery, placing neutral and emotionless images between herself and the scene of the argument, Patsy managed to gain some space from that terrible, parasitic voice, and it finally began to occur to her that she had had maybe, possibly gone perhaps a little too far this time with her protective distancing from Delia. It was only the touch of a hand for pity's sake; if it had been Trixie across the table from her, she might have gone as far to place her own hand over the top in gratitude! But instead she treated her dearest companion like a leper, and in return she would have to accept drowning in the depth of pain she had elicited from the cerulean eyes across the table for the next week; it wasn't going to be easy to shift that image from her mind.
If that wasn't enough to send her throat plummeting down to the base of her stomach with a sickening plunge; Delia's words would have bludgeoned her guilt into her with all the subtlety of a motor car crashing into a pedestrian. Ever mindful of unwanted voyeurs, Patsy managed to keep a cool veneer as she recalled some of the more cutting elements of Delia's speech, but inside the implications bounced around her bones and sent shockwaves through her organs.
"And just accept that you and I can never be."
Maybe she is right.
Within an instant, that dread-laden voice had returned, echoing Delia's words and adding her own assent to them. She stopped in her tracks then, stilled in her march away from the disastrous meeting, and had to shake her head in admonishment; that was definitely too far.
Or is it?
She couldn't deny that the thought had crossed her mind in her darker hours when her more fatalistic, pragmatic self took temporary control over her and the whole venture just seemed like a romantic dream that had got out of hand. Perhaps it was that women like her (a phrase which always elicited an internal cringe from Patsy) just could not be afforded the happiness they desired. She ached with the love she felt, and had gone to such great lengths to maintain it, but there was always the possibility that it would never get any better than this. As she restarted her solitary walk, not wanting to loiter at this hour, Patsy wondered if in 50 years' time there would be another woman like her treading this same path. She hoped, blindly, that things could perhaps one day get better and people could be left to live in peace; why such a taint had been placed on her simply for something so harmless was something she would never understand.
But it was something else that Delia had blurted out that finally managed to chase away these more self-destructive thoughts from her mind.
"Yes, more than anything…to you, you fool"
Despite everything, that did cause a slight wave of adrenaline and an almost unnoticeable (but significant) curve at the corners of Patsy's lips. It wasn't every day that someone told you they wanted to marry you, let alone the one person you actually wanted to hear it from. Patsy supposed she should be happy that Delia felt that way about her; if it wasn't for the absurdity of the proposal given the legal context, there would be no doubt that it was the right thing to do. Patsy wouldn't allow herself the luxury of ruminating over something so futile; but she couldn't deny the pull in her chest that belied her true feelings. They had that at least; adoration, dedication, and sometimes hope. It was a shame that she had pushed the woman that far to cause her to admit it, but at least it was there. If that was all they could survive on for now, she'd take it.
Exactly. So perhaps it is better this way after all? Isn't a week of angry Delia worth keeping her for a lifetime?
As she abruptly realised that she was at the foot of the lonely staircase leading up to Nonnatus House with only her own taunting thoughts to keep her company, she allowed herself a brief moment to reflect before ascending. Maybe her overcautious demon had a point; she only did all this to keep it all together. If they were both as bleeding heart as Delia, goodness knows what a state they'd be in. Patsy had lost too much in her life; a mother and sister to typhoid, and a father to distance. With the carefully erected walls she maintained around her personality, there was only one person left who could look right over the top, and ironically that was one of the shortest people too. If the price to pay for heeding the advice of her watchful guardian was occasional unintended offence that was an acceptable cost, because in return she got to maintain the last bastion of love she had left. Every pull away, every warning look was just protection from a world that seemingly wanted to tear them apart. She wished (absurdly) she could take Delia and build their own life without the constant threat of discovery, so they could always be as free as they were when they were alone. No danger, no secrecy, just the pair of them.
Patsy took the first step towards her home, and steeled herself back into her usual self once more; the next few days were going to be tricky. She would have to find a way to apologise to Delia for upsetting her so badly, and also a way to assure her feelings were just as strong as hers, so the Welshwoman didn't feel threatened by the strength of her confession. Patsy couldn't stand imbalance in their relationship. It would not be simple, but there would be a way.
When Patience Mount her mind to something, you could be sure it would get done.