Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Patsy's feet beat out the rhythm of the words on the pavement.
Delia had clearly been upset. That's why she'd left the table so abruptly this morning. And it was all her fault. Again.
"Get a grip Mount." she muttered to herself.
The cold air hitting her face gave her the perfect excuse to let her eyes water briefly. Why couldn't she have just been happy for Delia like any other normal person would be? She WAS happy for her. Inside at least. She was proud as punch. But was it really that hard to show her emotion externally?
Evidently it was. Like a tight, unused muscle, the less she exercised her emotions, the more uptight and closed off they became. The best way around it was to bury herself in her work and not allow any opportunity to dwell on feelings. The same strategy she had perfected all those years ago in her youth. When things got too hard to handle, work was the only cure. What matters is what she did not the "great show of sentiment". Close off, isolate and head down. Everything might just go away.
She had not slept well at all that week, opting for the sofa some nights and others just tossing and turning. The nightmares were still vivid, but the screaming had stopped. In its place though it had left something much, much worse. She felt guilt. All her dreams now were of her sister, her mother, her father, questioning why she had survived and not them. They pointed their invisible fingers of blame behind her eyelids and she could not shake them away. And now added to the fray was Delia. Delia's finger of guilt pointing, telling her she had failed in her capacity as a lover, as a friend. Delia leaving, cutting her off, never talking to her again. Because who could ever stay loyal to someone who was such a monster as she?
Lock it up in a box. Throw away the key.
Lock it up in a box.
Before she realised it she was standing at the foot of the tall tower block that housed Andrew Thomas. This was to be her last visit to attend the injured lad. After today he would attend a GP the other side of London. His parents had arranged for him to stay a short while with an aunt in Ealing until he could use stairs again. Why they hadn't decided that earlier Patsy couldn't fathom.
Andrew himself seemed rather chipper at the prospect of a holiday away from home.
"Does Aunty Jane still have that wooden train set?" he asked his mum excitedly.
"I'm not sure." Mrs Thomas pursed her lips. "She put it in the attic years ago, it's probably been thrown out."
"Oh." his face fell. "I bet she still has those tins cars though."
"It's not a bleedin' holiday! You're not off to Brighton for a weekend playing the penny arcades." Mrs Thomas scolded. "Isn't that right nurse?" she turned to Patsy for confirmation.
Patsy was changing the last dressing. "Not a holiday, per se - but one must always make the most of a dire situation, at least that's what my mother taught me..." her voice petered out as she realised what she'd just said.
Mrs Thomas chose to ignore this and fixed Andrew with a warning gaze. "You best stay on your best behaviour. And I'll be round every Friday to make sure."
"Yes, mum." he exhaled glumly.
Patsy finished inspecting the nicely healed cuts on the young boy's back. "Well, this all seems to be healing jolly well."
She hitched up his top a little more. There were two fresh cigarette burns on his shoulders.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Nurse - would you like a cuppa?" asked Mrs Thomas.
Pasty gently lowered Andrew's top. Perhaps she had Mrs Thomas needed to have a little chat.
"Yes please that would be lovely."
Mrs Thomas bustled around the kitchen, preparing the kettle.
"Least I can do, what with you traipsing up the stairs every day this past week for his nibbs, I feel like we owe you an awful lot more than just a cup of tea."
Patsy smiled politely at the attempted small talk. She waited until Mrs Thomas was sitting down with her before broaching the topic.
"Mrs Thomas. I must ask you... about Andrew's scars."
"Well, the doctor did explain there'd be some scarring but he's a tough lad."
"No, not from the accident. The scars on his shoulders. The cigarette burns." Patsy spoke softly, not wanting to spook the mother.
"What's he been telling you?" she hissed, the dishcloth hitting the sink with a wet slap.
"Nothing. He hasn't told me anything." Patsy held up her hands. "But as a nurse, I am concerned for his health and I have to ask."
Mrs Thomas paled but nodded. She began pacing the kitchen nervously, her hands tapping on her apron.
"If you feel unsafe there are people who can help, numbers you can call..." Patsy began.
"We don't need help. We're fine." interjected Mrs Thomas, her arms folded tightly across her chest.
Patsy couldn't help but see several bruises on her arms, revealed by sleeves the owner clearly never intended to go above elbow height. Her silent observation clearly did not go completely unnoticed as Mrs Thomas hastily pulled them down.
Patsy pursed her lips. "Be that as it may, I am concerned for Andrew's welfare and it's my duty to-"
"I'm his mother. I know what's best for him." Mrs Thomas raised her voice. "You're just here to fix his back, not to meddle in our family."
Patsy sighed. It was useless to try and break through this woman's stone defences.
"I know a mother will go to almost any lengths to protect her children." Patsy implored. "But promise me you'll ask for help if you need it."
Mrs Thomas's head wobbled on her neck as she nodded.
"Perhaps you should go now, nurse."
Patsy stared down at the spindly woman long and hard. Mrs Thomas stared back - her light grey eyed gaze unwavering. Neither was willing to be the first to show signs of defeat.
Suddenly the front door to the flat opened loudly. The eye contact was broken.
Mr Thomas staggered into the kitchen, his right wrist bleeding.
Patsy jumped to her feet, her nurses instinct taking over and helped him into a chair.
"Mrs Thomas, pass me that dishcloth." Patsy ordered.
Fortunately she complied and Patsy wrapped it tightly around Mr Thomas's injured hand.
"Keep it elevated, it'll help slow the bleeding." she instructed.
"What on earth have you done this time?" Mrs Robinson exclaimed in panic.
"Oh that's right, always assume it's my fault you daft bat." he growled. "Bleedin' dog bit me so it did."
"Why'd a dog bite you?"
"Ow' am I supposed to know? I couldn't exactly ask it could I!?" he shouted back.
"Mr and Mrs Thomas! I think it would help the situation if everybody just calmed down for a moment." Patsy's voice of reason rose above the clamour.
Both husband and wife grumbled, but fell into silence as Patsy peeled back the cloth to assess the damage.
There were two sizeable puncture wounds on Mr Thomas's wrist, clearly where said hound had attached itself. His knuckles were also bruised and bleeding.
"Mr Thomas what happened to your hand?"
"Nuthin'." he said gruffly.
Patsy arched an eyebrow.
"Nuthin' that wasn't deserved." he added in a low voice.
"Derek?" Mrs Thomas was sounding more and more alarmed.
"What!?" he exclaimed, spit flying form his mouth.
It was then Patsy caught the strong whiff of alcohol on his breath.
"Mr Thomas, have you had a drink this morning?" she asked casually.
"So what if I have?"
"Alcohol is a blood thinner. It might explain why you're bleeding so heavily."
"I may have had a couple of pints at the Old Oaktree. But I wasn't there long - had business to attend to." he spat out the word business as if it were a foul taste on his tongue.
"Is that how you injured your hand?" Patsy tried to coax a response.
"Bloody queer bastard had it coming." Mr Thomas growled. "And it weren't my fault a stray mutt hangs around that garage."
"You didn't go after that Larry Robinson did you!?" Mrs Thomas exclaimed in horror.
"So what if I did? Ain't like he can say anything - and if he does I'll tell em' the truth. I'll tell em' all he's a queer fag-"
"Mr Thomas!" Patsy interjected.
Her mind was spinning out of control. Part of her wanted to hit the man in front of her. Hard. On the jaw. At the exact point she knew would sting and smart the most. But he was a patient, a bigoted self-righteous asshole, but a patient nonetheless. Her personal opinion meant nothing right now. She could not afford to let her professional persona slide. Not if she valued her job, or her sanity.
"I do not appreciate my patient using such crude language to describe another human being." she hissed, applying slightly more force than was necessary on Mr Thomas's injured hand.
"Ouch!" he yelped, drawing his hand away sharply. "Who says anything about me being your patient!?"
"Derek, don't... the nurse is trying to help." Mrs Thomas protested.
"Daddy?" came a timid voice from the doorway.
All heads were on a swivel to locate the source of the sound.
Matilda was stood in the doorway, her teddybear still clutched to her chest. How long she had been there was anyone's guess, but it looked like it had been long enough. Her eyes were wide with terror and fixated on the bright red blood seeping through the dishcloth.
It was Patsy who moved first. She lowered Mr Thomas's hand and returned it to its owner before approaching the little girl and kneeling down in front of her.
"Now then... Tilly?" she asked.
The little girl nodded. A spark of recognition passed over her features as she took in Patsy's face.
"Why don't you be a good girl and go play with your brother for a bit. He must be lonely."
Tilly shook her head.
"It's all right. We're just having a chat in here. Your dad got a nasty cut on his hand and I'm making it all better."
Still Tilly did not speak. Her mouth appeared to be fused shut.
"Go see your brother Tilly." called Mrs Thomas in a high pitched voice full of false bravado.
"Come on." Patsy held out her hand.
Tilly considered her for a long moment before finally accepting and sliding her hand into Patsy's.
The two of them left the scene in the kitchen and Patsy allowed the door to close behind them. She left Tilly safely in Andrew's bedroom, picked up her bag and went straight for the front door.
Patsy knew she had another half dozen patients to see that afternoon but she needed space. She needed quiet. She needed ...
Delia.
Delia would know what to do. Delia would hold her close, hold her tight and tell her everything was going to be alright. But with a sob that flew off into the wind as she walked briskly back to Nonnatus, she realised Delia wasn't going to be there. By pushing away her only source of comfort she'd made her bed. And now she had to lie in it.
Unaware of where her feet were taking he she blindly followed them. Up the stairs of the front porch, up more stairs to the landing and towards their room - as if hoping she would bump into the brunette on the way.
It was not a brunette she collided with though. It was a blonde.
"Patsy?" Trixie exclaimed. "What on earth is the matter?"
Obviously the distress on Patsy's face was far from subtle. But right now she didn't care. The last of her resolve snapped and she fell into Trixie's outstretched arms.
"Come on sweetie" encourage Trixie gently rubbing Patsy's back.
She managed to ease the distressed midwife into her old bedroom. Patsy sat on the bed, tear still streaming down her face and Trixie put herself to good use by finding the tissue box.
"Big blow." she instructed. "And then tell me what's happened."
Patsy blew her nose in the offered tissue and sniffed, trying to gather herself.
"It's nothing." she began "I'm just overreacting."
"Nonsense." Trixie pursed her lips and raised her perfect penciled brows. "Whatever this is, it isn't 'nothing' is it?"
Patsy opened her mouth to retort but Trixie cut her off. "Please don't take me for a fool, Patsy. I want to help."
Patsy pondered for a moment. She could always tell Trixie the bare minimum - and keep it about the patients, therefore much safer ground.
"I'm worried about a patient."
Trixie sighed. "Go on."
"Do you remember Andrew Thomas... the little lad who got gun over a couple of weeks ago?"
"Oh, the one who's father crashed into the clinic and caused a right upset?"
Patsy nodded. "That's the one. In fact, it's his father that's causing me some concerns."
Trixie reached for a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Patsy. The redhead took it gratefully and sucked a long drag which helped her calm down a bit before she continued.
"Something isn't right with that family." she exhaled more smoke. "I don't want to jump to conclusions and point fingers but... The lad, Andrew. He has cigarette burns on his back."
Trixie winced. "Goodness."
"I asked him about them and he just told me they were an 'accident'. He wouldn't say any more." Patsy fiddled with a thread on her uniform nervously.
"And you think it's the father who's responsible?"
"I'm not sure." said Patsy honestly. "But the wife has bruises on her arms."
Trixie sighed and shook the loose debris off her cigarette into the bedside ashtray. "I've seen similar situations before. More times than I care to admit." she paused. "What's the father like?"
"He's vile." Patsy spat, barely containing her anger now. "He came barging in, his hand bleeding, clearly from fighting."
Trixie looked confused so Patsy reluctantly clarified.
"He claims Andrew's accident was the fault of Mr Robinson, a mechanic at Poplar Motor Repairs."
Trixie's eyes flashed in a moment of recollection. "Isn't that A.D Watt's - the one run by Tony Amos's father-in-law?"
Patsy nodded. A sick feeling spreading through her stomach. "From what I know Tony Amos and his family moved out a while ago. He was looking for new staff." she added, hoping Trixie would drop it. "Apparently Andrew ran out in front of a moving car and Mr Robinson was test driving it."
"So Mr Thomas took the law into his own hands?" Trixie exlaimed surprised. "Why didn't he just go to the police?"
Patsy shrugged. "I don't know."
Trixie looked thoughtful. "Did he say anything? Perhaps he has a personal vendetta against the man or something."
Patsy's heart was racing. Before she could stop herself, the words were pouring out of her mouth. "Mr Thomas believes Mr Robinson is same way Tony Amos was."
"You mean he attacked him for being queer!?" Trixie asked, horrified.
Patsy berated herself internally. She didn't have to say that. The redhead held her breath as if waiting for a blow. But it never came. Instead, she felt Trixie reach over and envelop her into a tight hug.
"I'm so sorry Patsy." she whispered.
Patsy jumped back on instinct. "Why? Why are you sorry?"
Trixie eyed her best friend sadly. The tension in the room was palpable.
"I feel there's little point in beating about the bush." she sighed. "I know. I know about you and Delia."
Patsy opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, gasping for air. She tried to fight back, defend herself but the words just weren't there. Trixie's hand found hers and gave it a small squeeze.
"It's alright sweetie." she said softly.
Their eyes finally met, Patsy's round and full of fear, Trixie's sad but compassionate. They studied each other for a moment before Patsy finally found her voice.
"I'm- " she began, her voice cracking. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Trixie frowned. "Whatever for?"
"For not telling you." Patsy bit back a sob that was threatening to overturn her composure.
"Patsy, I completely understand why you didn't. It's not something one usually proclaims from the rooftops."
Trixie's attempt to inject humour didn't work. Patsy felt tears beginning to spill as she voiced her most pressing concern.
"You won't... tell anyone?"
Trixie grapsed both of her friend's hands then, forcing them to resume eye contact.
"No. I will not tell anyone. That is not and never will be my decision to make."
Patsy couldn't hold it. The tears finally spilled over as a wave of emotion crashed over her. Trixie simply sat there and held her as the sobs permeated her body.
Patsy cried for the pain of keeping silence for this long. She cried for the relief of finally being able to share who she was without judgement. It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted, even if for just a moment, and she was soaring. Trixie did not hate her, she had not run straight to sister julienne. Her unrealistic anxieties were completely unfounded in fact. She began shaking in delayed shock.
Immediately, Trixie noticed and handed her another cigarette. Patsy calmed her breathing long enough to take another big draw before exhaling shakily. The nicotine flowed steadily through her body and her muscles began to relax.
"How long have you known?" she asked in a small voice.
Trixie smiled, happy her friend was calm enough to be speaking.
"A girl never tells." she winked. "But rather a long time. A few years."
"A few years!?" Patsy affirmed, completely horrified.
"I'm not a fool, Patience. Have you not noticed I halted all attempts to matchmake you with handsome men long ago?" she giggled.
Patsy looked back, her eyes wide before the slightest hint of a fishhook smile appeared. True, Trixie had not broached the subject of 'boyfriends' in a long time with her. She'd just assumed the blonde had been too caught up in her own dramas.
"Besides, I'm sure Delia would have had my guts for garters if I ever tried anything like that."
Patsy blushed and bit her lip, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
"Talking of which, what's going on between you two?"
This was too much. Patsy was barely wrapping her head around the concept of Trixie knowing about her relationship preference, she was already way outside her comfort zone.
"I don't want to talk about it." she said firmly.
Trixie raised a brow. "You completely ignored her this morning at breakfast. And after she'd delivered her first baby."
Patsy exhaled. Usually at this point she would have a rebuttal on hand, perhaps a jibe at the person who showering her with unwanted questions, but she had no energy left in her system to fight.
"I know. And I feel terrible."
"I'm sure she does too." huffed Trixie.
"She deserves so much better than me, Trix."
There. She'd said it. She'd said what she'd been thinking for the past few weeks - no, perhaps years. But Trixie was having none of it.
"And what makes you say that?" she challenged.
Patsy wrung her hands together in frustration. "Because I'm damaged goods. She doesn't want to spend her life waking at stupid hours becuase I've had a nightmare, or changing the way she lives her life to make me feel comfortable when obviously it's destroying her physically and mentally." she tried her best to keep her voice down but the volume was rising.
Trixie simply blinked at this. The redhead felt the heat escape her face. The lack of reaction sparking more anger.
"She deserves someone uncomplicated, someone that makes her feel special... that makes her feel safe and loved." Patsy choked out the word 'loved' and put a hand to her mouth.
The blonde took a deep breath.
"Christopher and I broke up because I felt his daughter deserved better. She was missing her mother." she sniffed, gathering courage from some invisible place. "So Christopher and I ... We could not be together, not becuase we don't love each other, because it would not be a safe place to bring up his daughter. I made that decision for her."
"Trixie..."
"She is a child, Patsy. A child who is unable to make her own decisions for something that big and scary. But Delia... Delia is an adult. She is grown up and mature enough to make her own decisions when it comes to who she wants to spend her life with."
Patsy's jaw went slack and Trixie continued.
"So before you go ahead and think you know what's best for Delia, you need to ask her what she wants."
A blanket of silence fell over the room as Patsy tried to process Trixie's words.
"But I'm a mess."
"All messes are fixable."
Patsy chuckled darkly at that.
"I'm going away for a few months." Trixie's voice rose in pitch.
Scanning the room Patsy suddenly took in the sight in front of her. Trixie had two suitcases full of clothes that were moments from being closed. She scanned them and looked back at the blonde, her eyes full of questions.
"It was Phyllis who suggested it actually. And I'm very glad she did. I'm going to an alcoholics rehabilitation program."
Patsy stared in shock at her friend. How she had gathered the bravery to ask for help was beyond her. And this was Trixie, stoic, no-nonsense Beatrix Franklin, who didn't need anyone to tell her what to do. To see her vulnerable side was more than a little surprising to the redhead.
"I'm going because I need help. It took me a while to realise I did, everyone around me clearly knew, but I buried my head firmly in the sand." her voice wobbled. "But then I swallowed my pride. Which is one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, I'm sure you can relate. Especially when one is always seen as the 'strong one'."
She reached out and took Patsy's hand again.
"It's okay to ask for help. Not everyone is out to get you, no matter how much it feels like they are."
Patsy stared dumbfounded. She had no words. Everything Trixie said was right. Brilliant Trixie Franklin was the voice of reason ringing in her ears. Of course this wasn't her descision to make. She'd never once stopped to ask Delia what she wanted, she'd always assumed she knew. The thing that was in her control though was what she could do to better herself. Not just for Delia, not just for their relationship, but for herself too.
Trixie drew her into another tight hug.
"Now. Are you going to help me pack? I fear if left to my own devices I'll end up trying to fit an entire wardrobe on the aeroplane and I'm not quite sure that's allowed." she winked.
Patsy smiled. Trixie knew when to end a serious chat and how for that matter. Humour was always her strong suit and she did not intend to fail on that front today.
"Oh I'm not so sure..." said Patsy blithely "Don't they do roof-boxes for planes these days?"
Trixie burst into giggles and turned towards her packing. Patsy sat crosslegged on the bed and watched as her friend held up a green number, pondering wether or not it should make the cut.
"Hang on, that's mine!" Patsy called.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Trixie smiled cheekily.
She threw the offending garment in Patsy's vague direction and the redhead had to dive (rather unceremoniously) to catch it before it landed on the dusty hardwood.
Their giggles were cut short by a sudden loud clatter coming from the hallway.
"What on earth?" Trixie's puzzled gaze met Patsy's, all mirth replaced by concern.
"If Sister Monica Joan has tripped over the vase on the landing again..." Trixie grumbled, replacing a pair of lacy knickers inside the duck egg suitcase.
"I've still got some spare super glue from the last incident." Patsy smiled.
"Thank goodness for that." Trixie giggled. "Come on, let's help the poor thing."
They left Val and Trixie's bedroom and padded down the hallway towards the stairs. However the sight that met them was not as they had predicted.
Trixie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
Patsy froze, her heart dropping to the floor below.