Okay, so there's been a slight change of plan. When writing chapter 10 I realised that there was far too much I'd left myself to tie up, and the word count was exceeding 4000 words before I'd even finished the draft. Therefore I'm splitting it into three parts of a shorter length, but hopefully it should make it more structurally sound. Here's part 1 - I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
"So..." Connie stood over a case of clothes, her shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. She was slightly out of breath from the energy it had taken to help Rita pack up her belongings, and a flush had settled across her cheeks, forming an agreeable contrast with the freckles there.
The blonde was positioned nearby, kneeling on another case in an attempt to close it. She huffed as a trouser leg fell out, pushing back a few stray locks of hair. Connie watched, a smile playing on her lips.
"Need some help?"
"No, I can manage-" the second trouser leg fell out and Rita sank to the floor with a disgruntled 'hmph.'
"Oh really?" Connie gave her a disbelieving look, picking her way over amongst the strewn belongings to delicately fold the trousers back into the case herself.
Rita pouted, watching as the older woman effortlessly zipped it up and dusted her hands down on her skirt afterwards.
"Simple," Connie stated with a smirk.
"I suppose it comes with age," came the wicked reply, and the Clinical Lead looked outraged for a second. Her voice dropped an octave.
"Sister Freeman, what exactly are you implying?"
"Age is nothing to be ashamed of, Connie," Rita said, adopting a similar tone to the one she used for elderly patients in the ED. "It happens to us all." She pressed her lips together to conceal a grin.
The Clinical Lead said nothing in reply, just hurled a sock at Rita, and both woman dissolved into laughter as it hit her square in the face before falling into her lap.
Rita broke off a moment later with a gasp, fingers jumping to her abdomen. She pulled a pained face, and Connie's brow furrowed. The hysterectomy had only been a few weeks ago, and it was evident that she was still hurting from it.
"Paracetamol?" She prompted.
"Yeah, I'll get it," Rita said, getting carefully to her feet. "Do you want a drink?"
"Tea, please-"
"Milk, one sugar?"
Connie raised an eyebrow, a smile forming on her lips. "Well remembered."
Rita shrugged, her cheeks colouring lightly. "I'll be back in a minute."
The Clinical Lead watched as she left before returning to the suitcase. There was still a lot of stuff to pack, and frankly she wasn't sure where Rita even kept half of the belongings that were scattered across the floor of the bedroom. Connie had never thought of her as a disorganised woman, but she was beginning to have second thoughts.
She unzipped the front pocket of the suitcase in front of her and frowned as something inside it caught her attention. Leaning closer, she lifted the flap of material to investigate the contents.
There was a small, squarish envelope tucked inside the pocket. It was slightly yellowed at the edges, indicating its age, and she guessed that it had been in the case for several years. Connie glanced in the direction of the doorway; Rita was still busy in the kitchen, and was unlikely to return for a few minutes at least. Curiosity getting the better of her, she took the envelope in her hands and turned it over to open it. A small, metal loop fell out into her palm.
A wedding ring. It was delicately crafted from gold, the two ends twisting as they met, coming to rest around a small, bluish stone. Connie turned it over carefully between her fingers, tongue skimming over her lower lip. She had no doubt that this was the ring Mark had presented to Rita when they married. She could understand, in a sense, why it had not been sold or even thrown away. It was obvious from the last time they were together at the ED that Rita still loved Mark, despite everything he had done. And Connie thought for the first time about how much it must hurt to love someone so terrible.
She had blamed Rita for Mark's actions. It was something she was deeply ashamed of - so much had changed since then, after all. Now, she felt much differently about the Clinical Nurse Manager. It was not dissimilar to the way she felt towards Grace, but at the same time it seemed wrong to compare the two relationships.
The sound of footsteps outside the door jerked Connie out of her thoughts, and she tipped the ring back into the envelope, stuffing it through the zip opening of the suitcase before Rita could see. It was highly personal, after all, and she couldn't be sure how the other woman would react.
"Here you are," Rita's voice was warm as she entered the room and presented Connie with a mug. The Clinical Lead muttered a 'thank you', blowing gently over the rim as Rita continued to speak. "My dad'll be here soon to pick me up. He'll go spare when he sees how much packing I've got left to do."
"I'm sorry," Connie said suddenly.
Rita frowned, taking a seat on the floor again. "It's not your fault. I'm glad you came to help; it's been-"
"No, not that," came the quiet interjection. Connie's eyes were trained on the mug in her hands. "I'm sorry about all the things I've said to you. About Mark, and about your capability as a nurse. You didn't deserve that at all."
"Oh." Rita frowned, and she stared down at the suitcase in front of her. There was a moment where neither of them spoke, and Connie waited in apprehension for the argument that would inevitably be sparked by her words. She was surprised as the blonde shrugged, collecting a pair of socks together in her hands.
"Well, you had a lot to think about. With Grace and everything."
"There is no excuse." Connie murmured in response.
Both women fell silent. Rita didn't know quite what to say, so it came as a relief to her when the doorbell rang.
"Shit, that'll be dad," she muttered.
"I- erm, I should go," Connie spoke, getting to her feet. She felt somewhat foolish, having just spoken so openly.
"Connie, wait."
The doorbell rang again.
"It's on the latch, dad!" Rita called, running her fingers through her hair. She stood and took a few steps closer to the other woman. "Look... What happened between us, it's in the past. You don't need to apologise."
Connie lowered her gaze, a small smile gracing her features. "Thank you."
"Well, we both made mistakes," came the gentle reply. There was the sound of footsteps on the hall, and they subconsciously shifted away from each other. Rita's father peered around the door.
"Oh," he said as he laid eyes on Connie. "Mrs Beauchamp, I didn't expect you to be here."
"I'm just helping Rita finish her packing," she explained, twisting her fingers together in front of her body. She felt almost like a teenager under the scrutiny of his gaze. It was a ridiculous notion, but one that was justified completely by the mess around them.
His eyes scanned the floor, taking in the piles of unpacked clothing. "Yes, it looks that way."
A blush spread across Rita's cheeks, and she avoided Connie's gaze as he continued to speak. "Anyway, I'll leave you both to it. We're going in half an hour, Reets, whether you're ready or not."
The blonde let out a resigned puff of air as he left. "I have so much left to do."
"Maybe you should have spent less time bullying me about my age," Connie said, a petulant tone to her voice.
"Bullying? Oh, Mrs Beauchamp, we all have to put up with a bit of harmless teasing from time to time."
"People who tease me generally live to regret it."
"We'll see about that." During their exchange, the two women had once again moved closer to each other, and both became aware of it at the same time. Rita glanced up through her lashes at the Clinical Lead, her playful demeanour slipping slightly. The relationship they shared was unlike anything she'd ever experienced; just a month ago she had hated this woman with every fibre of her being. And now... it was almost like they were friends. But that was impossible - Mrs Beauchamp didn't do friends.
Connie cleared her throat, suddenly adopting a more professional tone. "I really should go."
"Oh," Rita uttered, brow furrowing. "You can stay for another drink if you like."
"No, no, you have to finish packing." She paused, trying to think of the right words. "Just... Take care of yourself. Please." It seemed inadequate in comparison to the rush of emotions inside her, but she wasn't sure how to articulate them exactly.
Rita smiled, expression soft. She knew. "You too, Connie."
And the room was plunged into an indomitable aura of mutual longing as the older woman made her way towards the door; each wanted to speak, but neither could form the right words. There were too many things left unsaid, and for exactly how long they would remain that way, neither knew. All Rita could do was watch as Connie shut the door behind her, too confused to decipher the extent of her own feelings.
