'What do you want to do now?'
'I want to stay!'
Patsy couldn't help smiling. It was the very definition of eleventh hour deliverance, Delia turning up like this the day before she was due to move half a world away. She still didn't understand what had happened.
'I'm delighted to hear that, but I actually meant in the more immediate sense. Where's your mother? Have you told her you're staying?'
'Ah... no. Actually she doesn't even know I'm here, I sort of... escaped'.
'What? Why did you need to escape? What's been happening this week Delia? I've tried to call a couple of times, but your mother always came to the phone and said you didn't want to talk. She… she told me my persistence was scaring you'.
'She never told me you'd called. I swear she didn't Pats. I could never be afraid of you! I only made it here at all because Trixie was helping at Doctor Turner's surgery when mam and I arrived for a final appointment. Mam said I should stay there and chat to Trixie while she talked to him'.
'But it was your appointment! Surely you should have been in the room?'
'That's what I thought. I thought at the time that she meant to be kind, but now I wonder if really she just wanted to be able to tell me what she liked about my care needs going forward without me being able to contradict her. I wouldn't put anything past mam anymore...'
For a moment Delia's expression was distant and sad, but then she gathered her thoughts again and continued determinedly.
'It turned out to be a good thing in the end though - Trixie told me you were only acting happy for me out of nobility. I realised I needed to stop taking mam's word for everything and talk to you. I should have worked out what she was doing earlier, but I suppose I wanted to believe the best of her. She is my mam after all, and she could be so lovely and so caring when she wanted to be.. Anyway, Trixie said she'd cover for me with mam while I came to find you'.
'So your mother's still at Doctor Turner's?'
'Probably... actually by now she's probably making Trixie's life a misery over my disappearance'.
'You're 24 Delia, it's not like you're a toddler she was supposed to be minding'.
Delia sighed, her face becoming drawn with worry.
'That's not how she'll see it. She hasn't let me out of her sight for a moment since she got here. And she always finds a way to twist things round so I feel I have no choice but to do whatever it is she wants. That was just over visiting you, I'm not sure what she'll do when I tell her I'm not going at all. I can't put it off forever though... I suppose I really had better go back'.
She was looking so miserable at the concept that Patsy felt the urge to reach out and hug her again, though she held back this time. Delia needed more practical assistance than a hug.
'Why don't you let me call the surgery instead? I can tell her where you are and ask her to come to the flat. We can tell her together that you're staying. It might be easier than facing her on your own'.
'You'd really do that for me?'
'Of course sweetheart'.
She only just bit back the 'I'd do anything for you' that had been about to follow her assurance. That sounded far too much like the declaration of love that she meant, but really shouldn't say to Delia as things stood. The last thing she wanted was to make Delia's home feel uncomfortable because of unwanted romantic attentions. Especially not so soon after getting it back.
'Then yes please Pats. I'd call myself but if I had to speak to mam over the phone she'd make me tell her there and then, and I really think this is something that should be in person'.
'I agree. And I'd like to be in the room to know that she isn't putting words in my mouth again'.
It was only respect for Delia's feelings that made her stop short of cursing Mrs Busby's meddling lies aloud. Beneath her calm exterior she was absolutely fuming with rage at the woman. How dare she make Delia think she wanted to get rid of her? How dare she make her daughter trust her, and then abuse that trust over and over again? How dare she make Patsy believe that Delia was afraid of her? At least if she was in the room with them she'd be able to stand up for Delia if her mother got too nasty, or tried to convince her there was something wrong with her.
Patsy made the call from the phone box on the corner, Delia crowded close against her in the small space so she could hear what was said.
The phone rang twice, and then a professional, if slightly harassed sounding voice answered.
'Doctor Turner's office'.
'Trixie, it's Patsy. Do you still have Mrs Busby there?'
'That's right. May I take a message?'
Trixie's tone was carefully neutral, as if she was trying not to give anything away to the enraged Mrs Busby who was doubtless standing at her elbow, ready to snatch the phone at the slightest hint that the caller was her daughter.
'It's alright Trix, Delia isn't hiding anymore. We'd like Mrs Busby to come to the flat. Delia has some news that we want to tell her in person, about her supposed trip to Canada'.
She didn't actually say that Delia was staying after all, but from the warmth that flooded Trixie's voice when she replied, it was clear she'd guessed.
'I'll be sure to pass on the message at once. And Patsy, I want to hear all about this later'.
As soon as Trixie said her name, she heard a sharp question in the background, the other voice growing louder as it approached, demanding to be given the phone.
Patsy responded quickly with:
'Thanks, I'll tell you everything soon'.
And then she hung up.
Although she knew it was spiteful, it was immensely satisfying to hang up on Mrs Busby.
'We'd better hurry back, I have a feeling your mother will be running all the way to the flat now she knows where to find you. And I think we might owe Trixie a thank you present for today, she was sounding a little vexed when I first called'.
Delia seemed to know exactly what 'a little vexed' meant when it came to anything involving her mother and smiled wryly.
'A thank you present in proportion to the favour. So… Something in the region of a brand new Jaguar?'
'A Jaguar with an extremely handsome chauffeur thrown into the bargain I think. At least. But I imagine she'd settle for a box of chocolates and some posh cigs'.
'Is that all? We should make her a medal'.
Patsy laughed. Delia still looked anxious about the confrontation to come, but she was making jokes, and at her mother's expense no less.
In spite of Patsy's prediction and their hurried return to the flat, almost half an hour passed before the furious volley of knocking announced Mrs Busby's arrival. The rather strained conversation they had been attempting to pass the time with stopped at once, and Delia went pale. Whatever the week in her parents' company had been like, she clearly wasn't expecting this conversation to be anything short of torturous. Even so, she didn't hesitate before getting up to answer the door, not waiting for Patsy's offer to go instead. She might be nervous, and hurt, but Delia was brave.
Almost before she'd got the door properly open, Mrs Busby was barging her way inside, her eyes already swivelling to take in every detail of the scene, like a detective searching for clues that a crime had been committed here. Her presence was so overwhelming that it wasn't until Delia's surprised exclamation of 'dad!' that Patsy noticed Mr Busby standing in the doorway behind his wife. That explained the delayed arrival - she must have stopped by the hotel en-route to collect him. Clearly she sensed that whatever Delia wanted to tell her was something worth having back up for.
For a moment Patsy was rather pleased to see him - he had seemed so much more reasonable than his wife in their brief previous encounters, she thought perhaps he might moderate her extreme reaction to Delia's news. When she glanced across at Delia a moment later however, her face had gone from merely pale to a scary greyish-white, so that Patsy was genuinely afraid she might be about to faint. There was clearly more than she realised to the apparently mild-mannered man to make Delia look like that, and Patsy was suddenly afraid of what Mrs Busby might have told him. In their previous encounters he had been distant, but always seemed to make an effort at politeness towards her. Now when she caught his eye he turned away from her, as if he would be sullied even by acknowledging her existence.
It was his presence and its effect on Delia more than anything else that motivated her to step in and play the host, before the whole heated debate started right there in the narrow little hallway.
'Why don't we all go through to the lounge? It's more comfortable and there isn't really room for four out here'.
She had slipped automatically into her no nonsense 'Nurse Mount ordering an unruly patient back to bed' voice, and for once Mrs Busby followed her without a word. Not quite as meekly as a lamb (she had yet to meet a lamb with a glare that could bend iron and send shepherds scurrying for safety the way Mrs Busby's would have), but with far less resistance than she had offered to any suggestion of Patsy's before.
This time Patsy did not perch off in a corner when the Busbys sat down. She made a point of bringing one of straight backed dining chairs from the edge of the room and placing it right beside Delia's arm chair. When they were all seated it was hard not to notice the clear factions being set out - Mr and Mrs Busby side by side on the sofa opposite Delia in her chair, backed up by Patsy sitting close beside her. Mrs Busby certainly seemed to have picked up on it, and was looking equal parts enraged and frightened to find herself placed on the opposite side to her daughter.
If she hadn't known how deviously manipulative Mrs Busby had been all this week, Patsy might have felt rather sorry for her when she saw the badly suppressed fear in her eyes as she glanced between the two of them. She seemed for once to be lost for words, and instead of making demands she waited for Delia to explain why she had brought them here, of all places.
Delia evidently saw the sorrow in her mother's expression as well, because when she spoke it wasn't with the justifiable anger of someone who's been lied to. Her tone was gentle as she explained to her parents that she would be staying in London after all.
'You know I only agreed in the first place because you told me Patsy wanted her own space back. London's my home, and I need to keep what independence I have. I couldn't do that in Canada with you, you know I couldn't. I'm sorry mam. I want us to keep in touch properly now, but I can't come home with you'.
'But I love you cariad'.
Mrs Busby's voice was almost as soft as her daughter's, a note of disbelief filling the simple statement, as if she couldn't work out why that wasn't enough to keep her daughter.
'I know that's why you did it… but mam, you've spent the last week lying to me, and keeping my own past from me, and doing everything in your power to stop me making my own decisions for fear of what they might be. I don't want to spend my life like that. And I don't want to spend my life making up for something I don't even know was really my fault. Like it or not, this is my home, and Patsy is my family. I'm not going anywhere'.
Mrs Busby seemed about to implore her daughter further - to argue or cajole or maybe even to explain herself… but at that moment Mr Busby stood up, his face suddenly so hard it might have been a carved wooden mask. When he looked at Delia, his eyes were burning with a heat so intense it looked as though it might scorch her, and Patsy had reached out a hand towards her friend before she knew what was happening, her fingers resting on Delia's sleeve as if her presence might somehow fend off the hail of words he flung at her like a volley of bullets.
'You had a chance to be saved girl. How dare you throw that back in our faces, as if you don't owe us a thing for all the years we've given you. God wiped the slate clean and gave you a chance to repent, and you would make the same mistakes again? No. You're coming with us right now Delia, and you will do penance until your soul is cleansed. This has gone further than I ever imagined. To think I thought you had made progress, that this house was pure. I warn you child, if you choose this disgusting, sinful life then you are not my daughter'.
Patsy could feel Delia trembling beneath her hand as she gazed back up at her father, but before she could get between them and speak up in her friend's defence, Delia was on her feet. She was much shorter than her father of course, but at least she wasn't sitting there allowing him to loom over her like a frightened child.
'God wasn't giving me a gift dad. I had an accident. A horrible, tragic, life altering accident that took my memories, and now I'm fighting every step of the way to get them back. But they are coming back, bit by bit. There is no clean slate, no repenting, no penance. Not this time. I'm not five years old anymore, and I'm not going anywhere. I would like to keep in touch when you both go home, but if you refuse then so be it. I know where my family is'.
Delia smiled down at Patsy with a warmth that flooded her stomach and filled her with pride. She got to her feet beside Delia, giving her hand a little squeeze as she glared defiantly at Mr Busby to prove to him that whatever he did now, his daughter would not be left alone.
The hot rage in Mr Busby's eyes slowly turned cold as he looked from one to the other of them and it became clear that Delia was not going to back down. At last he met Delia's eyes with a chilly indifference that was worse than any amount of anger.
'Come Gladys. We're done here. This girl has made her choice, and she is no concern of ours anymore'.
Mr Busby was halfway to the door before he realised his wife hadn't followed. Mrs Busby had got to her feet as he spoke, but she made no move towards him. She was staring at Delia with tear filled eyes, one hand raised slightly in her direction, as if she wanted to touch her but didn't quite dare to do it.
'Gladys'.
The word was a command. A summons that brooked no refusal. But still she didn't obey it. Without taking her eyes from her daughter's face, Mrs Busby spoke with every bit as much force as her husband.
'No Howell. Not again. I agreed with you before because I thought it was only a matter of time before Delia came round, and a bit of tough love would make things better in the end. Instead we just drifted further and further apart. Then Delia nearly died and it was weeks before anyone told us. Well not this time. Maybe we were wrong. Maybe Delia isn't the one being given a second chance. Whatever happens, I won't lose her again after everything we've been through. I won't'.
At that Mrs Busby stepped forward and swept Delia into a hug. Patsy noticed that in spite of her emotion, she was careful not to press too hard against her daughter's healing ribs.
The door slammed as Mr Busby stormed out without another word to any of them, but his wife ignored it, speaking urgently to Delia without so much as glancing in the direction he had gone.
'You write to me cariad. Proper letters. And send photographs. I want to know how you're doing. Not just Christmas and birthdays. And nur- Patsy, you look after my daughter for me. She's very precious to me and I won't have her hurt'.
Under the circumstances Patsy decided not to point out that Mrs Busby had been the one hurting Delia over the last week, and indeed for all the years she had shut her out of their lives. Instead she said firmly:
'I will Mrs Busby'.
It seemed to cost her some effort, but at last Mrs Busby managed to tear her gaze from her daughter's face to meet Patsy's eyes.
'Yes... I think you will'.
She gave her daughter one last, long hug, and then extended her hand to Patsy in a handshake that, while not exactly warm, was only slightly stiff.
'Alright then. I suppose I'd better catch up to your father. I'll try and talk him round cariad. He really does love you'.
'Thank you mam. I'll write, I promise'.
Mrs Busby looked as though she wanted to say something else - maybe even to change her mind and insist on dragging Delia out the door with her after all. But in the end she only nodded, and ducked her head as she hurried after her husband.
Delia let out her breath in a long, slow sigh, as if she had been holding it from the moment her parents arrived. She was shaking properly now, and Patsy put a hand under her elbow to guide her back towards the chair for fear she would fall. She didn't try to tell Delia it was alright. Whatever that had just been, it wasn't alright, and tears were already spilling onto her friend's cheeks; though whether they were from sorrow, relief, shock or just adrenaline not even Delia seemed to be able to say for sure.
'I wasn't expecting that from your father. Until now he seemed so…'
'Meek? Gentle? Reasonable? I know. I thought the same, until he flared up at the hotel when I asked what had caused the problems between us in the first place. Then I remembered what he could be like when I was little. He'd just suddenly turn angry over some little thing I'd done and it would be as though he was this whole other person. He… he never went cold like that then though. It was all passionate rage and speeches about what happened to unrepentant sinners. This time it was like he didn't even know who I was. Like I was just some girl he'd never met before. Less than that. Like I was an old, broken shoe that had something disgusting stuck to it and should be thrown away before it got anything else dirty'.
Delia's voice broke on a sob and she reached blindly for Patsy through a haze of tears, sobbing into her shoulder as all her feelings of fear and confusion and rejection over the last week spilled out of her.
Patsy sat squashed up close against her, both of them somehow managing to squeeze onto the seat of Delia's arm chair instead of moving over to the more roomy sofa. She kept hugging her and rubbing slow, soothing circles onto her back until the tears eased a little. Then Delia told her, haltingly, everything that she'd missed over the last week; from the first supper at the hotel when she'd had so much hope for how things might turn out with her parents, through the days of dealing with her mother's domineering personality, guilt tripping and emotional manipulation and her father's unpredictable temper, right up to that last doctor's appointment when Trixie had finally helped her see what was really going on.
Patsy had to keep reminding herself that at the last Mrs Busby had at least partially redeemed herself by letting Delia go in order to keep her rage down to repressible levels throughout the story. Delia had the absolute, unassailable right to decide how to deal with this emotionally, and Patsy stepping in with her own anger was the last thing she needed. If Delia wanted to forgive her mother, then Patsy had to do her best to do the same. Even so, she couldn't help being extremely glad that this time tomorrow both of the elder Busbys would be gone from London and she and Delia would be able to start picking up the pieces without fear of further upheaval.
At last the story was done, and Delia flopped back against her chair, exhausted. For a moment it seemed she might be about to cry again, or simply go to sleep. Then she gave Patsy the ghost of her usual impish smile and said with as much bounce as she could muster into her voice.
'I'm hungry after all that. Can we have chips?'