Having successfully reached their rendezvous point, all three transferred into an unmarked police car to complete the last few miles of their journey, eventually reaching the court house just before 09:45. Whilst the reflective windows meant that nobody on the outside could see into the vehicle, for Trixie and Delia, it was the first time in several months that they had laid eyes on the outside world, the world beyond the confines of the safe house. It was, in truth, a little overwhelming and both were secretly relieved when the car approached a security barrier and proceeded down a ramp, entering an enclosed underground parking area. Stepping gingerly out of the vehicle into the dimly lit basement, Delia and Trixie instinctively edged closer to each other, anxious to glean reassurance from the only familiar thing within the vicinity; each other.
DI Miller noted their wary expressions and took the lead, guiding them across to a lift. Having inserted a security card, she then entered a PIN number which granted them access. The mechanism whirred quietly as the lift carried them from the basement up into the heart of the building. However, when the lift pinged, signalling its arrival at the required floor and the door opened, neither Trixie nor Delia made any move to follow Cynthia out. The officer turned back and caught their exchange of nervous glances.
"It's OK girls. This is a restricted access area; you are perfectly safe. We just need to go through that door and round the corner to our room."
The pair forced themselves to proceed and both breathed a sigh of relief as they entered their not unpleasant waiting room and the heavy panelled door clunked shut behind them.
The room was laid out to make it as comfortable and welcoming as possible - there were sofas set around a coffee table on which sat a selection of magazines and a basket of fruit. Across to one side was a counter with a kettle, a fridge full of drinks and, most importantly, a vast array of chocolate bars.
"Well it certainly looks as though they knew we were coming," said Cynthia brightly. Her valiant efforts to lighten the mood fell flat, however; neither Trixie nor Delia showed the slightest scrap of interest in the generous provision of hospitality. They stood side by side in glum silence, taking in their surroundings.
"Shall I boil the kettle, make us all a nice cup of tea?" suggested Cynthia with somewhat forced enthusiasm.
To give her her due, DI Miller was certainly a trier. Sadly, Trixie was in no mood to be gracious, opting to cast the well-meaning officer her most disparaging look, whilst wishing that she had the energy to let rip and tell her what was really going through her mind. She couldn't help but think that she would feel a damn site better if she did.
"No, thank you," muttered Delia politely, her crippled emotional state not having diminished the manners her mam had firmly ingrained into her as a child.
DI Miller frowned, appearing momentarily at a loss.
"I'll...errr, I'll just go and check whether they have any idea of the order for today," she said quickly, taking her leave.
"Could that woman be any more bloody annoying?" exploded Trixie, the moment the door was closed. Delia looked slightly perplexed.
"Who? Cynthia? I think she is just trying to help, Trix," she responded weakly.
"Well that's one thing that she is certainly NOT doing, at least not to my mind," steamed the agitated blonde.
Delia shrugged, her fingers toying with the pendant that hung from the chain around her neck. She didn't really care; all she knew was that the one person that she wanted most of all, the only person that stood any chance of making her feel remotely better at that moment, was not there.
Cynthia returned about ten minutes later; she didn't expect a warm reception which was just as well because she certainly didn't get one. Neither woman so much as looked up. The detective cleared her throat as she sat down opposite them.
"Delia, it looks as if you will be called first," she said gently.
Delia reacted as though she had been punched in the stomach; she clasped her arms around herself, her eyes wide with panic. Trixie slid along the sofa and wrapped her arm around her.
"They will give us a ten minute warning," Cynthia assured her.
"Oh, well obviously that makes it so much better," spat Trixie bitterly, glowering at the officer.
"I need the bathroom," gasped Delia, scrambling to her feet.
"Down the corridor, second door on your left," Cynthia called, as the brunette fled the room.
When Delia eventually returned, there was a tangibly frosty atmosphere in the room. Trixie glanced up at her friend.
"Are you OK, sweetie?" she asked sympathetically.
"Did they call for me?" demanded Delia, ignoring Trixie's concerned enquiry.
"No, not yet, come and sit down for a bit," soothed Cynthia.
Delia shook her head, too worked up to sit; instead she paced the room, her fingers still clasping the silver pendant that hung around her neck, consumed by anxiety. Little did she know that just over 100 miles away, a certain redhead was marking out a very similar route as she counted the endless seconds until her Delia would be returned to her.
Inevitably the call did come and Delia battled to force her trembling legs to carry her out behind the court clerk. As she entered the court room, the first face she noticed was that of Superintendent Turner. He smiled, attempting to offer some moral support, but couldn't even be sure that the young woman had recognised him, such was her haunted facial expression.
"Ms Busby?" The court clerk appeared to have realised that Delia was so deeply troubled that she was struggling to function and he tried to reach out to her so that he could guide her to the witness stand.
Delia turned to look at him.
"This way Ms Busby," he prompted kindly.
Standing in the witness box, Delia swore her oath and waited for the questioning to begin. The hour that followed was, quite simply, excruciating. In her head, she repeated over and over the last words that Patsy had said to her;
"Just tell the truth, that's all you can do."
But the questions just kept coming; the defence barrister was twisting what she said, making her doubt what she knew to be true; he was trying to make her out to be a liar. Her throat was raw and her hands were bleeding from having gouged her nails so hard into her palms. She was so mentally exhausted that, initially, she didn't react when the judge dismissed her from the witness box.
"Ms Busby?"
It was the court clerk who, again, came to her rescue.
"Would you like to follow me?"
Delia stumbled from the court room in a daze; she had no recollection of the lift ride up to the waiting room and could barely formulate a sentence as Cynthia welcomed her back inside and led her to the sofa.
"Trixie?" spluttered Delia hoarsely.
"She has already gone down," explained Cynthia. " I really do think that you should have a cup of tea now, Delia; you are so terribly pale."
That well intentioned cup of tea was still sat untouched on the table in front of Delia when Trixie was brought back to the room two and a half hours later. Exchanging a few hushed words with Cynthia, the clerk confirmed that the girls had completed their testimonies and that the jury had been dismissed for the remainder of the afternoon. Cynthia promptly picked up her phone and organised for the vehicles to be on standby, ready to take them back to the Safe House.
If the atmosphere in the car had been strained on the journey down to the courthouse, the return passage was tenfold more uncomfortable. Not one of them spoke; even Cynthia had conceded defeat, leaving them to their thoughts, and spending the journey focusing on her blackberry. She messaged Louise to give her their expected arrival time and to warn her of the girls' extremely fragile states.
Patsy and Barbara had passed an agonisingly slow day, unable to concentrate on anything. Louise's initial thought had been to get them to spend some time with Jenny, thus giving them an opportunity to voice their concerns and release some of the tension. It quickly became clear, however, that this was a pipe dream and there was not really anything that was going to help relieve their anxiety. She conceded to leave them in each other's company, only coming to find them when she could let them know that the girls were on their way back. From that moment on, neither Patsy nor Barbara moved from the kitchen window. The second they heard the clunk that signified that the main gates were opening, they raced down the stairs, almost flattening Jenny, who happened to be passing by the bottom of the staircase at the time.
Patsy and Barbara held on to each other as Louise proceeded to open the door. Whilst they could see the car, the lack of windows in the rear meant that, for what felt like the longest few minutes, they could see neither Trixie nor Delia. Finally the side door was opened and first Cynthia emerged, followed by Trixie. Barbara gasped in shocked horror; the blonde looked completely broken and she stumbled as she clambered out of the car.
"Take your time," Louise told her gently, offering a steadying arm.
"Trix" gulped Barbara, her voice breaking with emotion.
She reached out to hug her friend but Trixie quickly released herself and ran for the nearby bathroom, where the retching sounds that reverberated from within suggested that she was being violently sick.
Delia had been slow to exit the car and, when she did so, it was clear that she was terribly disorientated. Patsy was so appalled by her desperate appearance that she was momentarily paralysed. Louise, however, was quickly at her side and placed an arm around her waist, to support her as she coaxed her into the house.
Quickly recovering herself, Patsy rushed to Delia and pulled her into her arms.
"Oh my darling, my poor sweetheart, you're home now, I've got you."
She promptly felt Delia go heavy in her arms as the brunette's legs buckled beneath her and the final whispers of resilience evaporated.