I would blame the slightly slow update on my exams, but in truth I rewrote this chapter several times and it took me a while to decide on which version I was going to publish. This is the one that I went with! Hopefully you will approve of my choice.
Thank you for all of the reviews, reading them is always such a joy, and I always love to hear what you think.
She could not recall for how long she had been asleep, nor, for that matter, when she had actually drifted off at all. For a moment, Patsy stared around in confusion, squinting in the dim light, trying to ascertain where she had woken up. The sound of frantic coughing came as a quick and distressing reminder.
As her eyes accustomed to the darkness, she saw Delia on her side, her shoulders heaving as she urged. Immediately the fog of sleep cleared, and Patsy stumbled to her feet, hunting desperately for a basin of some sorts. When she had found one, she held Delia's dark hair behind her and rubbed her back comfortingly, soothing her until the uncontrollable retching had ceased.
"Shh, darling, I'm here now,"
Delia's body went limp, and the arm that had been holding her up gave way, so that she collapsed back down onto the mattress, her head lolling over the edge of the bed. She looked so weak and pathetic, and it broke Patsy's heart; Her girlfriend was so feisty and strong, yet here she was looking so pitifully fragile. It took some doing, but Patsy finally managed to coax Delia back up onto her pillows, so that her head was supported.
Thankfully, the Welsh nurse had been able to lean over the edge of her covers, so her bed linen remained pristine and untouched. The floor, however, had not been so lucky. Patsy fetched a bucket and sponge and cleaned the mess from the wooden floorboards thoroughly, before filling a glass of water and gently encouraging Delia to drink a little.
"I know it's ghastly, but we can't have you becoming dehydrated, Deels,"
Delia feebly pushed the outstretched glass away and murmured incoherently, turning her head away. Patsy pulled her chair up to the side of the bed and sat back in it, sighing. The glass was placed down dejectedly on the nightstand.
"What am I going to do with you Deels, hey?" she muttered, stroking her hand softly through the dark tresses.
An incomprehensible groan was the only reply that she was given.
Filling a small dish with cold water, Patsy took a flannel and soaked it, before gently dabbing the cool, damp cloth across Delia's fevered brow, trying to ease some of her discomfort. Initially, she squirmed against it, but soon began to settle down and, to Patsy's great relief, appeared to finally doze off peacefully.
Patsy sat up for the rest of the night, devoting every waking minute to Delia. The room around her soon grew light, and her eyelids felt heavy, but she refused to leave her side. Her back ached and her neck was stiff from sitting in the same position for hours on end. By the time Sister Mary Cynthia came in to offer her a tray of breakfast, Patsy was dead to the world, her head nestled on her folded arms on the edge of Delia's bed.
"Oh, Patsy,"
Cynthia was utterly moved by Patsy's unwavering dedication to Delia. It made her heart glad to see such affection. She had wondered briefly if the two were involved, but had pushed the thought from her mind, not wanting to intrude into either of their private lives. Love, after all, was love, and who was she to question it, simply because it came in a form that was different from that that she would expect?
Careful not to disturb them, she closed the door softly and left to attend to her duties.
Delia's recovery was slow in the beginning. For the first three or four days, she spent all of her time sleeping, and rarely woke. The nausea seemed to fade gradually, and her fever eased. There had been a terrible moment on the third night when she had been gripped by yet more seizures, and Patsy, who was not the religious type, had been only able to kneel at the foot of her bed and pray that they would stop.
What affected Patsy most was the loneliness. She was used to her own company; before Delia it was virtually all that she had ever known, but she longed to be able to hear Delia tease her with some quick-witted remark in her beautiful Welsh lilt. The house seemed achingly quiet without her gorgeous laugh, and she missed listening to Delia's hysterical anecdotes from the male surgical ward at dinner. She resolved to eat her supper in Delia's room, unable to bear sitting at the table without her.
Trixie became increasingly concerned by Patsy's absence, and saw that the redhead was looking drawn and exhausted. Even her vibrant curls seemed to have dimmed.
"Patsy, I'm certain that somebody else could look after Delia tomorrow. You're almost looking as ill as she does, and I'm worried about you,"
"No, Trixie, it's out of the question. I said that I would take care of her, so I'll be the one to take care of her,"
Trixie was ready to wring her hands in frustration.
"Nobody is accusing you of being unable to care for her. Good God, Patsy, even if you walked to the bike shed and back I'd see that as a victory. I don't think you've seen sunlight in four days! Please… just see reason," Trixie implored her.
Without warning, Patsy suddenly dropped to the floor, one hand clamped over her mouth to try and muffle the sound of her cries. Hot tears spilled across her cheeks and she shook her head.
"I can't Trixie, don't you see? I can't leave her,"
It was only then that the blonde nurse fully appreciated how horrendous losing Delia after the accident had been for Patsy. She stood frozen, watching her usually unshakeable friend fall apart on the ground in front of her, not knowing what to say or do.
"She is everything to me, and I am nothing without her,"
"I know, Patsy. I know,"
When Trixie returned to the room later, she saw that Patsy had curled up on the bed in the small space beside Delia. Both were asleep, and they were holding hands, their fingers tightly intertwined. It made Trixie momentarily mourn the lack of a companion in her own life, but she did not allow the thought to dwell.
It was on the fifth day that Delia began to sit up a little more, and engage a bit in conversation. She tired quickly, and could become easily confused, so Patsy read to her. The texts were obscure, mainly borrowed from Sister Monica Joan, but the simply act of speaking the words of another aloud was strangely therapeutic.
On day seven, in the second chapter of a particularly dreary novel, a voice interrupted Patsy's reading.
"Oh, do stop with that dreadful nonsense, Pats. I think I'd prefer to listen to a Nurse Crane Spanish recital than I would another word of that,"
Delia Busby was back.
"Delia!"
"Hello, Pats,"
Two words had never sounded so heavenly.
"How…" Patsy felt herself choking up and swallowed roughly, "How're you feeling?"
Delia tried to sit up and grimaced at her pounding head and the twinge in her muscles. For a second her stomach churned and she gagged at the burning taste of bile in the back of her throat.
"Here, let me help you,"
Patsy wrapped her arms around Delia's waist, which she could feel had become noticeably thinner, and helped her up. There was an unmistakable rush within her as she felt Delia pressed against her for the first time in a week. It was apparent that Delia felt it too, and she leant her head into Patsy's shoulder, giving a low moan.
"So," Patsy reluctantly pulled away, knowing that she might lose control if she lingered any longer, "You don't like my reading?"
"On the contrary," Delia smiled, "I like your reading very much. It's what you're reading that I take issue with,"
"Well, maybe I can solve that,"
"Trixie!"
The blonde nurse's head poked around the edge of the door and she gave Delia a wave.
"Somebody's looking better!"
"I feel it too," Delia replied cheerfully.
"Well, then I'm sorry to be the bringer of bad news,"
"What do you mean?"
Trixie held up an envelope before throwing it down onto the bed.
"Don't ask me how, because I don't know, but your mother has got wind of your illness. According to this she's taking one of the first trains from Pembrokeshire that she can. She hopes to be here by Tuesday,"
"That's two days from now," Patsy groaned, "No offence, Deels, but a visit from your mother is the last thing we need,"
"You don't say," Delia grumbled, "I appreciate that she worries about me, but I can't stand it when she fusses over me; it makes me feel like a child,"
"I can't claim to know your mother very well at all, Delia, but from reading the letter, I got the feeling that your mother isn't the type of woman to be argued with,"
"As usual, Trixie, your judge of character is superb,"
"I thought as much," Trixie chuckled, "Anyway, I'll leave you to it now. Hopefully see you up and about soon?"
"You may rely upon it,"
When the door shut behind Trixie, Delia flung the covers back and swung her legs around.
"Right, that settles it,"
"Delia, you can't!"
"Yes, I can. If my mother arrives here to find me sickly and bedbound, she may well insist that I return to Pembrokeshire with her, and then where does that leave us?"
The Welsh nurse stood up, but her legs could not, despite her determination, keep her upright, and she fell into Patsy. Immediately she fought against her, pushing at her chest and trying to break free from the strong arms encircling her.
"Get off me, let me go!"
"Delia, for God's sake!"
Delia's struggling was no match for Patsy, and she managed to wrestle her back into bed. They sat opposite each other, panting. Patsy's cheek were flushed, and her jaw muscles became starkly defined as she clenched her teeth together, trying to contain an outburst of anger.
"Pats, I'm sorry…"
"Save it, Delia,"
And Patsy left the room.