Barbara ran her sweaty palms down her skirt, wishing she could smooth away the butterflies in her stomach as easily as she smoothed wrinkles from the fabric. She checked her face in the mirror again and scrubbed two fingers across her mouth to remove her borrowed lipstick. This was not a date.
She'd told Phyllis as much when the older nurse had questioned her plans to spend the evening with Reverend Hereward - Tom.
"It's just dinner," she'd said. "It's not 'going out' going out."
Phyllis gave her the same suspicious look she always gave diabetes patients when they told her they hadn't touched Quality Street in years. "Does he know it's not 'going out,' going out?"
"Yes," Barbara insisted. With a jerk, she turned her bike to cycle away. She studiously avoided looking toward the vicarage as she passed.
She and Tom were only friends, just like Tom and Trixie were now only friends. The reverend and the bubbly blonde nurse had been engaged once, and nearly married, but something had happened to set them at odds, and now they weren't anymore. But they still talked on occasion, and more than once, Barbara had seen Trixie staring at her former fiance in such a lonely, sad way, that she thought she must still be in love with him.
So tonight was not a date. It was dinner with a friend, who had only invited her because she'd expressed an interest in trying Indian food.
Trixie had probably already tried Indian food. She was terribly worldly and clever, much cleverer than Barbara, who often felt like she was a child who had been permitted to sit at the adult's table whenever she talked with Trixie and her equally mysterious roommate, Patsy. They'd both probably been on loads of dates, and knew exactly what to wear and say and do. They'd know if this was even a date or not.
Oh Lord, what if it was a date? She should cancel then. She couldn't go out with Tom. He'd only just been engaged to Trixie last year. She couldn't do that to her friend. She'd go downstairs, call him and cancel right now before either of them made a mistake.
She reached for the door, but it swung open of its own accord. Sister Julienne smiled at her from the other side.
"Nurse Gilbert, Reverend Hereward is here to see you." Her smile faltered. "Why, you look lovely."
Was there something on her dress? Barbara glanced down at her outfit. "Thanks? Do you think it's all right?"
"Is what all right, Nurse Gilbert?"
This dinner, which may or may not be a date, with a man my friend may or may not still be in love with. She looked to the Sister, hoping she'd sense her distress and give her an easy way out, but the nun's face remained placid and inscrutable. "The - The dress," she finally stuttered. "Does it look all right?"
Sister Julienne gave her a quick once over. "I'm sure it will do, for dinner with a good friend."
Dinner with a friend. That's all this was. Barbara let out a long, deep breath and felt better. "I won't be back too late," she promised the Sister as she passed her. "It's only dinner, and then home."
She told herself that again when she saw Tom waiting at the bottom of the stairs and her heart started kicking in her chest. It's only dinner, and then home. He turned and smiled at her. He looked different without his dog collar, dressed in a crisp, smart shirt with his hair slicked back. She felt her face flush - oh no, was she blushing? Deep breaths, Barbara. It's only dinner, and then home.
"Hello," she said, with forced breeziness.
"Hello. I, um, got you these." He held out a striped paper sack. "Sherbert lemons, on the off chance dinner turns out to be terrible. I don't really know what to expect."
She laughed and accepted the sweets, touched he'd remembered their conversation on the bus. "Thank you. I don't know what to expect either," she confessed with a sigh. "I have a couple patients from India, but I've never tried any of their food. I've heard it can be quite spicy."
He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "I'll consider myself warned."
She let him help her into her coat and usher her out the door into the chilly spring night. She tried not to think about his hands, light on her shoulders, or the brief whiff of his aftershave she'd caught when he'd stepped near or the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled, making him look suspiciously roughish for a vicar. This was not a date. Only dinner, and then home.
###
It was awful. She had a wonderful time, and it was awful.
They talked continuously during their walk to the restaurant and all through the meal. Barbara was certain she'd never said so much in her life, but Tom was a good listener (he probably had to be, being a vicar). They talked about her patients, his work in the parish, their families - they both came from large ones - the silly things the children said and did during Sunday School, and why they'd both come to Poplar.
"I was assigned here by the bishop," Tom said. "I wasn't sure about leaving home at first, but now I think it's where I needed to be most. I needed to make something of my own."
Barbara smiled, a spark of kinship flaring in her heart. "My mum and dad hated me going so far away. And I do miss them," she said, remembering her melancholy at Christmas. "But I'm glad I came here, too."
When the food arrived, they both put on brave faces and dug in.
"This is delicious," Barbara said, sampling a dish covered in a yellow sauce. "But I'm not exactly sure what it is."
Tom laughed, then took a large bite from his own meal. His eyes widened and his face turned bright red.
"Tom? Are you all right?" Oh no - was he choking? Barbara was just about to rise from her seat and help him when he reached for his water glass and gulped it down.
"Sorry," he rasped. "That was spicier than I was prepared for."
She gave him a sympathetic smile and pushed the carafe in his direction. "More water?"
###
"So, what's the verdict?" Tom asked, two hours later as they left the restaurant.
"It was wonderful!" Barbara exclaimed before she could stop herself. "I mean, the food was different, but overall, it was an interesting experience," she added, borrowing a phrase from Phyllis.
Tom grinned. "Shall we stick to fish and chips next time?"
Next time? Barbara blanched. She hadn't thought. She'd been so caught up in the conversation and laughter and food and talking with Tom and listening to Tom and watching Tom smile that she'd completely forgotten to remind herself that this was not a date.
"Or we could all come next time - with the others," she said, nerves making her voice hitch and catch.
Tom frowned. "The others?"
"I'm sure Patsy and Trixie and Phyllis would love to try a place like this. Phyllis especially. She's very interested in other cultures."
Tom nodded but said nothing else.
On the walk home, Barbara talked a little about her plans for the Sunday school class the following week, but Tom only smiled politely and nodded, his mind seemingly elsewhere. Silence descended on them like the night, and Barbara was relieved when they finally reached the convent.
"Thank you for inviting me," she said at the door. "It really was rather splendid."
"I'm glad you liked it." Tom stepped closer, his eyes full of something Barbara both longed for and dreaded. "Barbara, you should know that Trixie and I -"
She spoke quickly, afraid of what he might say and how it might change her. "I'm afraid I've got early rounds tomorrow. Nurse Crane put me on the district rota this week, so I really should be turning in."
He stepped back, his face a blank, polite mask. Only Reverend Hereward again, not Tom. "I understand. See you Sunday?"
She nodded, words she lacked the courage to say stuck in her throat, and then let herself in.
No one greeted her at the door. The nuns were at Compline; she could hear their plainsong. Phyllis was most likely asleep, and she imagined Patsy and Trixie were up in their room, gossiping and listening to records. Yes, she could see a light under their door as she passed. Barbara tiptoed to her own room, not wanting to disturb anyone.
It had not been a date. But it was still lovely, she thought as she slipped into bed, and allowed herself a small, giddy smile. She'd never had anyone pay attention to her the way Tom did. She'd always just been practical, naive, reliable Barbara. A good friend to have in a pinch, but easily forgotten when things were rosy. Tom had sought her out, treated her to dinner, bought her sweets and made her feel and want things she'd never considered before. He made her dream.
A loud burst of laughter, Trixie's infectious giggle, emanated from down the hall. Barbara frowned, guilt twisting her stomach. Even if it wasn't a date, she would have to tell Trixie.
Because, even though it wasn't a date, it had been wonderful, and that was the problem.
