Chapter 4

Patsy leant her head against the cold, stone pillar, staring wistfully at the dreary day outside. She needn't have bothered: the steady, uninviting rain had been echoing its rhythmic drip-drip-drip around the ward all day.

In the distance, footsteps sounded, growing louder with every second; but, though she really should have been changing Mr Peters' bed by now, Nurse Patience Mount couldn't have cared less if she were caught neglecting her duties, caught staring into nothingness. The paces quickened in response to a gruff command from a male voice that Patsy knew only too well.

"Nurse!"

It was Mr Gillespie, scourge of the hospital and their resident consultant. Notorious for his harassing and bullying behaviour, Male Surgical had the highest turnover of staff in the hospital; many new nurses were reduced to nervous wrecks or left nursing altogether because of him: but not her. Oh he'd tried; becoming so violent in temper on one occasion that even Matron had come to investigate the disturbance: but she, Nurse Patience Mount, was made of sterner stuff than that! He could attempt to bully, control and dominate all he liked but she would never surrender, never submit to his will. She had known far worse men than that in her lifetime, had survived their brutality: she would never be beaten by a petty little man like John Gillespie. Still, her first few months at The London had been pretty horrendous because of him and the other girls marvelled at her cheery disposition, her astonishing ability to keep smiling all the while he berated her - usually having found fault where there was none. But she knew that was the way to beat such a man, that he'd soon tire once he knew she wouldn't cave in to his demands: and, she had Delia.

Delia. The very thought of her name filled the nurse with such happiness, memories of the times they'd shared flooding her heart with such tender warmth; but then her spirits fell, heart heavier and more painful than it had been before.

"Yes Mr Gillespie,"

Patsy's head jerked involuntarily towards the sound of that voice, that unmistakably melodic Valley voice: Delia's. They were there, the two of them, in the corridor outside the ward. Even through the tiny windows of the wooden swing doors, she could see them so clearly, could make out those features she'd admired for so long: dark sapphire eyes; naturally heart-shaped lips; the almost ebony hair that made patients affectionately name her 'Dusky'. Yes, even from this distance, the tall blonde could see the smile from her 'friend's' (oh how hollow that now sounded) lips fade at his hands.

"Poor Delia," she sighed, the name cascading from her mouth like the waterfalls outside and in her heart.

She tried to think how long it had been since she'd last spoken that name – weeks, perhaps. Once upon a time, her heart would have quickened, her very being filled with ecstasy at the mention of that name, let alone the sight of the Welsh brunette (albeit from a distance); but now… now things were so different.

After the Benefit, everything had changed. They'd walked back to the Nurse's Home pleasantly enough, Tom and Mike making them shriek with laughter at their (pun definitely intended) tomfoolery: can-canning along the Commercial Road, then performing the most hilarious, and frightfully accurate, impression of the Andrews Sisters. All had been well then, walking along arm-in-arm, giggling at the boys' silliness; but when Patsy had suggested a nightcap in her room, her room-mate being on nights, Delia had seemed to go pale, then bade a very curt good night and rushed off to her room.

Days passed, then weeks, with barely a sight of her supposed friend. Where before they'd had similar shifts at least a few times a month, now their timetables seemed to be quite the opposite and never the twain did meet. In the canteen, Patsy would push open the doors expectantly, eyes scouring the room for a glimpse of her friend; but expectant became hopeful as, more often than not, Dee wasn't anywhere to be seen. On those few occasions she had caught sight of her, the Welsh girl had been surrounded by a bevvy of nurses and young doctors, laughing animatedly, seemingly oblivious to the arrival of the woman with whom she had once been so close. A few times she'd glimpsed her heading off out with the same man, walking close together, his arm around her.

Patsy's heart panged again at that memory. When that had first happened, she'd been filled with envy, a jealousy that gnawed at her insides as every fibre of her being longed for it to be her arm draped around the brunette's shoulders. But, envy gave way to anguish, misery and despair as the long summer ticked slowly by without her - without Delia.

The night of the Benefit she had hoped to be able to spend long, summer days off picnicking with Dee in the park, or in a quiet spot by the river. On more than one occasion, she'd daydreamed at the thought of watching Delia sunbathe, imagining the delicious thrill of being asked to rub oil onto her back, her shoulders – her thighs. Several nights running, she'd had to escape to the bathroom for fear of awakening her room-mate: even she couldn't stay silent at all times. But, though they were very long summer days, they weren't filled with sunshine or picnics in the park; they were dull, dreary, depressing days with rain that stretched on for an eternity, seemingly without end – without Delia.

The torrent still drummed against the window and, with a dismal heart, Patsy searched again for the reason behind her abandonment: what could she have done; what could she have said to anger her friend so? Was it Mike? Had she angered her that night by dancing so outrageously with him; by accidentally kissing him? Patsy didn't think so, and she had neither heard from nor seen him since, so Dee must know that nothing came of it.

It got so as she was almost haunting the nurses' lounge and the corridor past Delia's room, trying to seek out her friend; but, like in the canteen, Dee hardly seemed to be around at all. Once, when she'd encountered her by chance in the sluice room, the brunette had seemed almost embarrassed to see her; but Patsy was so friendly, smiled so warmly, that they'd ended up chatting a few moments. In fact, it had been so like old times that the blonde had begun to think that everything would be as it was, even mentioning a Cary Grant film that was on at the Regal that night. Sadly, this was met with a look of derision from the Welsh girl's eyes and a sharp retort of "I don't really have any time at the moment, you'd better take someone else,": Patsy gave up all hope, there and then, of them ever being reconciled.

So the summer drew on; long, pouring, depressing days, and Patsy's heart grew heavier with the burden of her loss - her work and general well-being suffering in equal measure. She had lost count of the number of times Sister had berated her for 'inattention to duty', her uniform or her appearance, and had been summoned to Matron's office four times. Only yesterday, she'd received a tongue-lashing from her superior, being warned that her ideas had better 'buck up' soon or one of the patients' lives would be endangered. That made her seethe with anger! She may not have been as efficient as usual but she would never, ever do anything to risk harming a patient.

At that thought, Nurse Mount gave a well-trained glance around the ward, eyes sweeping every bed, every patient, to ensure that all was well.

In fact, throughout those entirely miserable months, only once had she been asked if something was bothering her by one of the men - so good was she at keeping a brave face. No, her bedside manner had not changed an ounce (despite her internal turmoil), and she continued to laugh and joke with them as always - though perhaps not quite as heartily as before. Then again, she'd had so much practice at 'facades'.

"Cor! He ain't 'alf laying into 'er."

"The man's an absolute cad! Bullying a young girl like that. Peters! Hand me my crutches. I'm going to tell that swine just what I think of him."

Patsy was snapped out of her melancholic reminiscences by the men in the two beds opposite her. Distracted by sorrow, she hadn't noticed the increasing volume from the corridor, nor the animated response of her patients.

"Mr Peters, get back into bed this once! And Mr Townsend - don't you dare think of moving an inch." she marched towards to the two over-excited men who, at the formidable sight of Nurse Mount bearing down on them, froze in silence.

She helped the elderly Peters into bed, while Townsend remonstrated indignantly, though rather more quietly:

" Surely you're not on his side? The man's a swine: look! The poor girl looks like she's going to keel over at any moment."

At that, Patsy turned, following the direction of his outstretched arm, and saw to her utter horror the sight of Nurse Delia Busby head bowed, clearly in some distress. She was all astonishment: John Gillespie was a pig of the first order, and he'd made more nurses (and doctors, too, though they were less open about it) cry than she'd had hot dinners; but not Delia. Dee was like her - solid as a rock, impregnable to such pathetic male behaviour. In fact, Nurse Connell had once joked that the pair were both very queer ducks to be so unbothered by him, so perverse in their habit of smiling all the while through one of these ordeals. Patsy remembered the near heart-attack she'd suffered at those words, swallowing a bit of sandie too quickly in her panic, the subsequent choking fit causing Connell to laugh hysterically and Delia to blush.

"There's no point snivelling about it! You're a shambles, Nurse! Those patients were not ready for my rounds and I will absolutely not stand for it! I shall see Matron at once. Standards WILL be maintained on MY wards: you're an utter disgrace!"

It was like a red rag to a bull. Delia's distress, the consultant's inexcusable behaviour: she would not, could not let him continue. Heart pumping, her body seething with rage and concern for her friend, the only thought in her head was to protect Dee from this intolerable little man. Without thinking, without really knowing what she was doing, Patsy strode forwards along the aisle, her pace building with every thudding step, her anger increasing in equal measure to the noise as she neared the doors. Closer and closer she came, her heart beating so quickly that her head dizzied, spots flashing in front of her eyes; faster and faster until...

BANG!

She thundered through the barrier with such force from her immense frame that the door collided with the back-turned, unsuspecting surgeon, sending him sprawling to the floor and leaving Patsy in its wake.

It was as if the world had slowed down, pausing for just one second to tip its hat to Patience Mount - that venerable Amazonian who had finally conquered the vile villain that was Mr John Gillespie. She had a moment's blissful satisfaction at her victory, the reward of a quick glance from Delia who was no longer crying, was now struck dumb by the event but had the very faintest etch of a smile upon her lips. That was all it took for Patsy to melt: the butterflies swooping and soaring around her stomach; her mind spinning, settling on those ecstatic daydreams of a sunbathing, almost naked Delia - she could almost feel the warmth of her supple body as she sensuously applied the oil.

"My back!"

The blonde was brought back to harsh reality by the sound of the groaning, floored surgeon, sprawled on the parquet flooring. But, in response to Dee's almost smile, Patsy gave her friend a subtle wink and was rewarded by a brightening in the brunette's eyes. It filled her heart with even more valour and fortitude that she knew she could stand the inevitable explosion.

"Nurse Mount! I should have guessed. I..."

Before the consultant could continue his tirade, Patsy swiftly interrupted:

"Oh, Mr Gillespie, I'm ever so sorry," she sneaked another subtle glance at Delia again, all the while maintaining the most sincerely apologetic face for her superior, "I had absolutely no idea there was anybody out here; Mr Townsend and I were only just commenting on how peaceful the hospital was this afternoon.

Patsy proferred her hand to the glaring surgeon, smiling angelically and continuing her sincerest apologies as she helped him to his feet. That was when she saw it. Mr Gillespie had recommenced his snarling reprimand at her thoughtlessness, her carelessness, her downright dangerous actions for which he would have her resignantion; and, as his anger grew, his head shook in rage causing Patsy to see (and clearly so did Delia from the look of amused wonder on her face) that his hairpiece had come loose. The nurses had joked for years that he must wear a wig but, in his vanity, he had never acknowledged its existence. Now it was sliding down with every jolt of his head, slumping to the side of his crown like a hungover hamster.

"I've had it up to here with both of you..."

In that brief hesitation, Patsy put her hands to her cheeks in seemingly sincere concern, gaping so convincingly that the surgeon stopped, flushing with the initial confusion of someone who is yet to discover a bird mess on their head.

"What... what?" he stammered, for once lost for words as he attempted to regain composure. "What are you staring at girl?"

Sweet, innocent, Nurse Patience Mount put down her hands and answered, with a show of concern of which even Larry Olivier would be proud:

"There seems to be something wrong with your hair."

After that, Mr Gillespie had put his hands to his head and, though feigning ignorance of the problem, had growled a very quick "I'll deal with you later" before making a fast exit in the direction of the Gents.

Alone in the corridor, Patsy's heart thudding in sweet victory, there was a a momentary hiatus as the consultant's hurried footsteps died away. The two girls were alone in the shadow of the gloomy corridor, in which the blonde now found herself lost for words, wanting so desperately to say the right thing, to make everything well between them.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I... Oh... oh..."

Patsy looked up to see Dee doubling over in fits of hilarious laughter and, suddenly, her face lit up like the Blackpool illuminations; it was as though somebody had turned on an electric lamp and suddenly all those long, dark days had been obliterated by the brightest light in the Universe: Delia's smile.

"Oh Pats,"

She felt her body quiver with liquid heat at the mention of her special name, the one that Dee had chosen.

"You...will...be... the death of me!"

The Welsh girl's eyes were once more filled with tears but these were tears of laughter, of happiness. Filled with an uncontrollable urge - an irresistible longing for her friend, for the friendship she had strived so hard all summer to resist, to forget - Delia found herself happier than she had been since that fateful night as she straightened up and gazed into the beautiful crystal blue eyes of Patience Mount.

Oh those eyes... those eyes in which she'd swum, in which she'd dived head-first the very moment they'd met; those eyes, the eyes of the girl who'd invaded her thoughts throughout each and every day of that horrible summer. Patsy was the first thing she thought of in the morning, the last thing she thought of at night. Eternal nights that had left Delia tossing and turning, her dreams so vividly steamy that she awoke several times to find herself dripping with sweat and frustration. On one such occasion, the brunette was so unable to calm herself after a particularly imaginitive scene reminiscent of From Here to Eternity (Patsy's heaving chest pressing down against hers with such force in the dream that she could feel her own nipples harden with desire), that she'd fled to the bathroom for release. En route to the facilities though, she'd had to dive behind a pillar to avoid detection by the very woman who moments earlier had been soaked to the skin in her dream. Dee trembled with desire at Patsy's divine appearance in striped pyjamas (the girl really was gorgeous in anything), though she was a little confused about the glowing, satisfied look upon her face. The release the Welsh girl felt, minutes later, was the quickest and strongest she'd felt in all her twenty-four years - wave upon wave hitting her with the full force of that Hawaiian sea.

Delia wondered at herself now, wondered at her willpower, the incredible strength it had taken to keep away from the blonde - and it all just melted into nothingness. The rationale she'd recited to herself like a mantra a thousand times a day after the Benefit - 'she caught you staring at her... she suspects... you have to keep away before she guesses... before anyone finds out...' - seemed utterly ridiculous, utterly insignificant in comparison to the most important thing there was: their friendship.

As their gazes met, it was like old times between them; Patsy dropping her grin, staring in innocent wonder to tease:

"Why, Nurse Busby, whatever is this undignified behaviour?"

At that, the brunette errupted into a fit of the giggles, Patsy lasting only a fraction of a second longer before her face cracked and she followed suit. Physically shaking with hilarity, with a force of laughter that only Pats could induce in her, Delia slumped against the wooden door, having to hold onto the door handle for dear life before she fell through the opening.

That was how she saw the distant, blurred but unmistakable shape of Matron heading ominously towards them.

Grabbing her friend's hand, their bodies pulsing with heat at the touch of skin, Delia had just enough time to gasp "Matron" before they fell through the doors into the ward. A crescendo of noise rang out, echoing round and round the walls of the long, dull room.

"Well done!"

"You showed 'im, Nurse!"

"The swine had it coming!"

Every single patient was sat up in bed, clapping, waving and cheering loudly: like a cup final. Both girls stared wildly around them at the scene, horrified at the chaos, desperate to restore order before they were found out - though Patsy was briefly torn between wanting to take a bow, to enjoy her victorious moment, or saving them both from Matron. Coming to her senses, Delia ran down the aisle to the farthest reaches of the room, gesticulating wildly at the men, shushing them as she went, frantically searching for somewhere to hide.

Nurse Busby had also been in their superior's bad books that summer: liike Patsy, for appearance, uniform and poor attitude. She was also repeatedly being warned for leaving her post - usually because she'd spotted the blonde approaching and couldn't risk the temptation to see her, to be near the woman who made her feel that the whole world must know her dark secret. If Matron saw the brunette in here, when she should be assisting Nurse Simms on Day Ward, she'd be for the high jump.

Patsy turned to her patients, brandishing the international sign of 'Matron's Coming' - a Nazi-esque click of the heels and one hand drawn across the throat. The men instantly hushed, falling into their well-practised 'Stealth' mode, each sliding down their beds and, Patsy thought rather proudly, doing a marvellous job of feigning sleep: all, except Peters.

"Crikey!" the blonde thought to herself, "What on Earth is he doing?"

At the far end of the room, the elderly man was gesturing to Delia, beckoning her towards him with a chuckle.

"Quick, Nurse! You can hide under the sheets with me."

Dee flushed and gave him a quick, disapproving look, all the while thinking what a truly dirty, old man he was; but, at the sound of Matrons paces coming ever closer, she realised that his plan wasn't entirely without merit. Diving under the bed, she pulled herself into the wall as much as possible, hoping to be hidden by the angle and the protruding bedside cupboard.

Grinning, Patsy was momentarily distracted, wishing that she could join the brunette in her hiding place, imagining for one blissful moment the feel of Delia's warm body pressed against hers; but, on Matron's nearing step, there was no time to make a dash for it! Grabbing a thermometer, like the efficient professional that she was, Nurse Mount began to take the nearest patient's temperature.

"Open up please, Mr..."

Oh Lord! Glancing down at her patient, she realised with horror that it was the irrascible Mr Brown: a middle-aged; thoroughly miserable financier; who found fault with everything and made an art-form of complaints.

"...Brown; Doctor will want to know if that fever's droopped."

Heart thudding, waiting for the inevitable swing of the door and Matron's angry reproach, Patsy performed the procedure mechanically, and absolutely by the book. She couldn't be sacked now - not now that she and Delia had (the optimist in her hoped) made it up.

The footsteps paused, the door swung open and Nurse Patience Mount turned to face the music, flouting ten years of agnosticism as she prayed for all her might, hoping to see a not entirely fierce-looking Matron.

And that was when the miracle happened.

A voice broke the silence; deep, like Matron's, but coming from an entirely different direction, coming from much closer to her - right by her ear.

"How's my temperature doing, Nurse Mount?"

Patsy stared in astonishment. There, beside her, asking what seemed the most natural question in the world, sat a smiling, polite and seemingly grateful Mr Brown: what had come over him? Before she could reply, the transformed man turned towards the vast, formidable older woman, continuing pleasantly - as if discoursing with the 'Bull', as she was not-particularly-affectionately known, was an every day occurrence:

"You know, Matron," he smiled sweetly, "Nurse Mount here is an absolute gem! Oh, she's a stickler for the rules - won't let this motley lot play her up - but she's got such a gentle, reassuring touch, makes a chap feel very grateful for the NHS. I think I shall jot down a letter to the hospital board."

The world seemed to slow down again, just for a fraction of a second in which a multitude of events occurred simultaneously: the rain that had kept its solemn drum on the windows all day long now stopped, leaving an eery silence in its wake; the sun, that hadn't been seen for days, broke through the perpetual London clouds, its brilliance reflecting off of the ward's starched white walls, dazzling its inhabitants and ensuring it would be impossible for Matron to see Delia's hiding place. Finally, but most importantly, for the first time in living memory Matron was lost for words. She may not be off the hook for good, but right now, right this very moment, as she dared to look at her astonished superior, Patsy knew that everything would work out.

Of course the silence did not last; the spell broke and, clearing her throat, Matron looked sternly at the middle-aged man, replying with a firm:

"I'm glad we met with your approval. I'm sure that we all appreciate such glowing praise and that Nurse Mount is at least giving someone her full attention."

And at that, with a cursory "Carry On Nurse Mount," Matron swept from the room, leaving the wooden doors swinging almost joyously in celebration at her departure.

"Phew!" Patsy sighed with relief, sitting down abruptly on the bed with a thump. "That was more excitement than I can cope with. Thank you for saving my bacon, Mr Brown."

"My pleasure Nurse," he replied with a wink, "Now, as for excitement, I'm always happy to help a nice young nurse practise - I've got plenty of stamina for the both of us. Why don't you sit a little closer to me?"

The bedcovers rustled and Patsy had the distinct, rather unpleasant, feeling of something warm brushing against her bottom from underneath the blanket. Honestly! Men! They were all at it - after anything in a skirt: well, she couldn't argue with that.

Face flushed, she gave another reproachful look and retorted: "Mr Brown! You naughty man!"

Still, she stayed seated a few seconds longer - one good turn deserves another - before rushing off to the aid of the secreted nurse. Helping her up from under the bed, Patsy went to brush off some dust from her friend's uniform, catching Dee's hand as she went to do the very same thing. They giggled, though both were thinking thoughts entirely unrelated to laughter: Delia marvelling at the way the sun caught Patsy's blonde hair, how it made her crystal-blue eyes sparkle even more radiantly than normal; Patsy, in return, trying so hard to resist the temptation to take the gorgeous brunette in her arms.

"'Cor! My luck's come all at once!"

Their daydreams were interrupted by the sight of the grinning, elderly, Mr Peters, bouncing up and down in bed with such energy that Patsy began to fear what all this excitement might do to his heart. The old man gestured to them both with a chortle:

"Come 'ere then girls. Room enough on this 'ere bed for the three of us. hmm...I do like a girl in uniform."

Responding with censorius looks and the promise of a cold blanket bath if he didn't behave, both girls grinned to themselves, thinking:

"So do I."