Chapter 7. In Which Barbara Makes Tea

If there's one thing Barbara Gilbert is good at, it's making polite conversation. She's actually, in fact, good at quite a number of things. But this is the one thing that she feels she's been trained her whole life to do. In all those years as a parish assistant, she learned how to talk politely about almost any small thing: to make the noises and sounds that assure someone that you are hearing what they want and need heard. To lend a sympathetic ear.

Before she attained the status of parish assistant - at the ages of 9, 10, 11 - she would accompany her father on his visits at the weekends or after school. The presence of a child in the home (especially when her father was helping households deal with something rather grim or upsetting) seemed to bring people comfort. She'd pass out sweets to suck on. So her politeness and ability to listen developed hand-in-hand with her sweet tooth.

So when Mrs Busby arrives at Nonnatus House half an hour early, Barbara is not confident of the social situation, exactly, but happy enough to sit and wait with her. It would be rude not to, and, besides, she was about to make a cup of tea anyway.

In addition, Barbara must admit to being a little curious about Mrs Busby - when she came to Nonnatus House at Easter, she'd only exchanged a brief greeting and passed her the sugar. Barbara hasn't met any of Trixie's relatives (but the story doesn't sound very happy); nor any of Patsy's (from what little she has gleaned, the same holds true there). It's strange to make such good friends without knowing their families: it's as if they're untied from their moorings, loosed from the people who have formed them, for good or ill. It's like looking at the results of a series of medical tests, but without having any idea of who the patient is, of how they live, whether they're sanguine or made frantic by doctors and hospitals. And, of course, Barbara's almost certainly never going to meet any of the sisters' relatives. So this is her chance.

Barbara is also smart enough to realise that there are certain subjects people like talking about, and certain things they don't.

Mrs Busby – she recognises instantly – isn't one to discuss 'exciting things you can do in London'. In any case, Mrs Busby is down here for a funeral, and has come a day early to visit her daughter, so she probably isn't wanting recommendations about parks to visit or trying an Indian meal. (She's also not sure whether Mrs Busby would be the type to take, instantly, to Indian food. But – perhaps she would. People surprise you.)

Barbara's father always said: get people onto a subject they're interested in, because it makes them warm up to you. Barbara has been well trained, so she does just that.

Barbara doesn't know a lot about Mrs Busby, so she doesn't have much to go on, but she does know how much she cares for Delia (as evidenced in her worry about her moving back to London, her careful monitoring of her daughter's health, and in that letter she wrote advising Delia to be sure to keep to the better areas when visiting Paris). Besides, people like talking about their children – it's a safe bet.

"Did Delia mention how she single-handedly saved the scouts' camping trip last month?"

Mrs Busby sniffs. "Yes?"

Barbara tries praise – try laying it on a bit thicker, her father would say. "Tom said he couldn't possibly have managed without her – a real godsend. I would have been quite useless!"

(Barbara adds that last sentence to show how much she, too, admires Delia's capabilities and fearlessness in the face of tent pegs and ropes.)

Mrs Busby seems slightly more engaged. She turns to look at Barbara properly. Barbara can't quite escape the feeling she's being weighed and found wanting.

"Where was this?"

"Oh, somewhere in Sussex – the Downs, I think. They went away camping for a whole weekend."

"And this...Tom, did you say?"

"Oh, I'm sorry: he's our curate. He said-" (Barbara tries to recall the exact phrasing) "-that he couldn't have managed without her, that she completely saved the weekend."

"I expect this Tom is married, then? Are his children in the scouts?" Mrs Busby sips her tea. The tea is, given the girl's age, not quite as bad as she had expected it to be. Someone must have taught her how to make a decent pot.

"Oh, no! He's much too young to be married." (This is perhaps not quite true. Barbara inadvertently blushes, hoping Mrs Busby doesn't notice.)

"And he's good friends with my Delia?"

"Oh, we're all good friends with Delia", Barbara assures her. "It would be impossible not to be friends with her."

Barbara remembers she's got a photograph of the camping weekend in her handbag. She's meant to be mounting it on cardboard for a display in the church, a show of parish activities. She locates it, and hands it over to Mrs Busby.

The photograph shows Tom, Delia and a swarm of scouts (not all of them; only the ones who would stay still enough for the camera) at the entrance to a campsite somewhere in Sussex. Tom and Delia are standing next to each other at the back, faces smiling. Barbara thinks that the photograph was probably taken before Derek Jones decided to put his hand in a campfire as a "scientific experiment".

"Quite tall, isn't he?" remarks Mrs Busby.

Barbara briefly – only briefly – glances over at the still-remaining stain on the wall, which is, coincidentally, almost the same height as Tom.

"Yes, quite tall. Not very tall. A normal height for a man, I'd say." (Barbara is acutely aware that she doesn't want to insult Mrs Busby by implicitly suggesting that Delia is short by comparison. She once managed that when visiting a new mother with two other children and her short – really, quite unusually short – husband. Barbara, stopping by at breakfast time and finding a house in chaos had tried to help with the older children by telling them to "eat your Weetabix, so you grow nice and tall like...". Except she'd had to stop before she got to the word 'father'. Anyway, the sleight was not forgiven easily: to this day, if the family requires a visit, she begs Trixie to swap with her.)

"Do Delia and this Tom spend a lot of time together?" (Mrs Busby is trying to sound casual and not hopeful; Barbara doesn't pick up on the deliberateness of the question or the inflection.)

"Well, they did put an awful lot of work into planning a birthday party for me last month. Tom said that Delia had practically dragged him out of a parochial council meeting so they could make it to the grocer's for a tin of Carnation Caramel before it closed. The cake called for rather particular ingredients, you see. And, apparently, Mrs Trevelyan, one of the committee members, was absolutely boiling with anger that he'd left before they could discuss the church's decorative budget for the next year."

Barbara thinks to herself that it really was very sweet of Tom to go to the effort of making the birthday cake himself (rather than passing the job off to someone else), especially when she knew exactly how limited his culinary skills were.

"So you can see, Mrs Busby, Delia is quite part of the family here already. Quite as much as me, and I've been here a year longer."

Mrs Busby seems pleased by this. She says (still a little stiffly), "it's very kind of you to say so."

This is going rather well; Mrs Busby seems to be warming up to her. Barbara presses on.

"And you know, Delia's a marvellous nurse too. You must have heard about how she delivered a baby over the phone. But she probably hasn't told you about when Patsy sprained her wrist a little while ago – well, at first we all thought she'd broken it, and she'd fallen over too, so we were all a bit worried about concussion. Anyway, Delia cancelled her plans for the evening straight away, and made her an ice-pack, and waited with her for hours until she could have an X-ray. And because she knew everyone in the hospital, Delia insisted that they interrupt the consultant's evening meal to have him look at it."

Obviously, thought Barbara, it wasn't really a difficult job, medically speaking, to make up an ice-pack, but Delia had cancelled all her evening plans without a second thought or complaint. She'd insisted, in fact, on taking Patsy to the hospital. Barbara wasn't quite sure that she'd have been so solicitous, so caring, without any resentment at the loss of a free evening.

Mrs Busby sits up a little straighter in her chair and looks displeased. Perhaps, Barbara worries, she didn't put enough milk in the tea.

Then, immediately, Barbara realises her mistake – what a stupid, stupid, thoughtless comment! Of course she shouldn't be using the word "concussion" around Mrs Busby, not after the terrible things she must have gone through last year with Delia's head injury.

"Oh true apothecary, thy drugs are quick!" the old nun pipes up. Mrs Busby is startled: she hadn't noticed the old nun, hidden behind her knitting, a plate of sweet cakes balanced on the arm of the big, high-backed chair. She recognises – half-recognises – the quotation.

"Is that Hamlet, sister?" asks Barbara.

"It is the Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. But your ear is to be congratulated for its Shakespearean tuning, Nurse Gilbert."

Mrs Busby thinks Romeo and Juliet seems a very strange and - she might say - inappropriate thing to be quoting at this particular moment in the conversation. Not that the old nun was really part of this conversation to begin with.

Barbara leans forward conspiratorially. "Sorry, that's Sister Monica Joan. You mustn't mind her too much. She and Delia get on like a house on fire."

Mrs Busby doesn't say anything. What she thinks about Sister Monica Joan is unreadable. Barbara wonders whether it might be time for a change of topic. But Mrs Busby isn't giving her much to work with.

Barbara casts around for a nice, safe topic of conversation, and finds: holidays.

"It was such a lovely summer, wasn't it? I'd have liked to have gone somewhere a bit more exotic, but I only managed to get to Liverpool. To see my family." (Barbara appreciates you shouldn't monopolise the conversation by talking too much about yourself, but provides this last piece of information for explanation, lest Mrs Busby think she was doing anything untoward Up North. She seems slightly old-fashioned in that respect: it's probably best to be careful.)

"What about you? Did you spend it in Wales?"

(It doesn't really look like Mrs Busby is paying attention). "Oh. Yes. The Isle of Man. Delia's father – my husband – loves it there; he used to go as a little boy."

"That sounds nice. It's so close to Liverpool, but we never had the chance to go when I was growing up. I always used to see the ferries going across and wonder what it would be like."

"We sailed from Holyhead. I don't much care for the ferry terminal there."

Barbara nods. Having never seen the Isle of Man, she was hoping – for the sake of the flow of conversation – that Mrs Busby might mention something she had liked about the Isle of Man. A beach, or a guest house, or – Barbara doesn't know – the local cuisine.

"Imagine Delia going to Paris, though!"

"Imagine." (Is Mrs Busby's only response.)

"Delia's so lucky she had Patsy to go with: she's been before, she must know all the places to stay and the places to visit."

"Yes. She must."

"Their stories made it all sound very bohemian!"

Mrs Busby coughs. And looks into her cup. "Could I trouble you for some more tea?"

Barbara happily obliges.


Any illusions are shattered when there's a clatter in the hallway, and Delia, followed by Patsy, comes bursting in. Well, they're side-by-side really. Or maybe Patsy's leading Delia.

Fleetingly, Barbara thinks how well Delia looks, how much brighter since resuming her work. People say the city air is bad for you, but that simply isn't the case for Delia: she looks so animated and alive, and moves around with a sense of purpose. Patsy, beside her, looks wonderful too – but of course, she always does. Barbara wishes she had Patsy's boldness when it came to fashion. She's not sure she could get away with a dress of that colour and cut at a dance, let alone just going out for a stroll and a spot of tea with Delia. For a moment, Barbara swells with pride: she's proud to have such lovely, kind, generous friends; and proud of herself for being friends with them. Obviously pride is a sin, but this is quite a small one in the grand scheme of sins.

Delia's face is warm with happiness, laughing over something, until her eyes fall upon her mother sitting at the table.

"Mam! We weren't expecting you until half past."

Delia looks at her watch nervously, and shakes her wrist, assessing whether it has stopped.

"I was early." The answer is self-explanatory, but Mrs Busby provides it anyway.

"Hello, Mrs Busby", says Patsy. Barbara notes it's the same expression Patsy uses when she meets someone for the first time - new patient or new nurse - as if trying hard to make a good impression. Which is strange, given that Patsy has met Mrs Busby several times before. "Are you well?"

"Quite well, thank you."

Barbara explains, "Mrs Busby and I have just been having some tea. I'm not sure my brew is quite up to her high standards." Barbara's tone is light, to show that no harm is meant by this remark. After all, there are many different types of tea and many different ways of making it. Preferences are subjective. There's no accounting for taste.

"It was perfectly nice, thank you", says Mrs Busby, her manner somewhat strained.

Delia steps in to move the conversation along. "I just need to get the tickets from my room and then I'll be right down. If we leave now, we should get good seats."

Delia and Mrs Busby are only going three stops on the bus to hear a semi-professional jazz quartet. It is, in truth, not the sort of thing that Barbara would have pegged Mrs Busby as liking. And, as it doesn't start for an hour, Barbara can't quite fathom why Delia is so keen to leave immediately. Maybe she's got things to discuss with her mother, things she - quite reasonably - doesn't want the whole of Nonnatus House to hear. It can be difficult to get a bit of privacy when you need it here.

"Are you going with them, Patsy?"

"No, we only had two tickets – and I thought Mrs Busby might like mine." Patsy smiles at Mrs Busby - Barbara recognises it as Patsy's 'making the best of the situation' smile.

In the ordinary course of conversation, this is the point at which Mrs Busby - who is, after all, taking Patsy's ticket - would stumble over a half apology; or say that it was really very kind of Patsy to give over the ticket to her, and apologise for coming down at short notice, and check that Patsy was quite sure she didn't mind missing the concert? And Patsy, in the ordinary course of conversation, would say absolutely not, it was no great sacrifice on her part, and, besides, Delia had been so looking forward to seeing her mother. But, for some reason, this routine stage of half-apologies and breezy reassurances is stepped over. No-one says anything.

"Oh", says Barbara, awkwardly. "Sorry – I didn't realise. Still, I don't imagine it's sold out – it would probably be quite easy to get another ticket."

Delia and Patsy seem to exchange a dark glance.

Sister Monica Joan, still in the armchair, ventures into the conversation again: "Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee, for wither thou goest, I will go".

Barbara knows she recognises the quotation, and that she's got it right this time. "That's Ruth 1.16, Sister", she pronounces, proudly (this type of pride in her own cleverness probably isn't very virtuous).

Sister Monica Joan nods with approval. "I see Lady Wisdom is your close friend, and Brother Knowledge your pleasant companion."

"Oh, no", says Patsy. "I've – it's fine, I offered to cover Trixie's shift for her."

Barbara feels bad for causing such awkwardness.

"Right", said Patsy, breaking the silence, "well – I'm on call within the hour, so if you'll excuse me, I'll change into uniform."

Delia goes upstairs with her, promising her mother she'll be right down. There's the noise of their footsteps on the stairs – walking up almost in perfect lock – and then the sound is gone.

"I'm sure you'll have a wonderful evening tonight, Mrs Busby."

Mrs Busby murmurs something.

Barbara considers how her father might bring this conversation to an end, by striking a supportive, empathetic kind of note. "And I do hope you're not worrying too much being down here in London. She's not alone, you know. We all look out for her. Especially Patsy."

"Yes. It must be good to have such...good friends."

Barbara opens her mouth to mention the laughter she sometimes hears coming from Delia's room quite late at night; or the supportive hand Patsy places on Delia's arm when the subject of the accident comes up; or the really rather outrageous stories the two of them brought back from the little bar in Paris. But she decides Mrs Busby might think badly of Patsy keeping her daughter up all night and distracting her from her work. Or, worse, Mrs Busby will think that Barbara is implying that they, here at Nonnatus House, know how to care for Delia better than her own mother. So she decides to opt for a comment which is soothing and non-specific.

"Oh yes, good friends. We're all as thick as thieves, you might say."


A/N (1): The sequel to this chapter would obviously be a piece about Sister Monica Joan reading and commenting upon the biblical story of David and Jonathan. I reckon she'd be all over homoerotic readings of scripture.

A/N (2): Mainly written for the reviewer (Moa) who requested the reappearance of Mrs Busby, with a dash of what others at NH know/think about Patsy and Delia. I hope it serves.