To celebrate making it to the 20th chapter, this is a nice and long one! It was fun to write, and so I very much hope that you enjoy it equally as much. Thank you ever so much for the reviews so far, they are so wonderful to read and I appreciate every one.
"Delia, we're going to be late,"
There was a muffled shout from upstairs and Patsy could not help but grin at the thought of Delia charging haphazardly around her room, trying to be as quick as she could.
"Are you off somewhere?"
Barbara emerged from the kitchen, medical bag in hand, ready to set off for work.
"Lunch with Delia's mother," Patsy replied, grimacing a little.
Barbara pulled a face, "Jolly good luck then,"
There was a bang and Delia came careering down the stairs, skidding to a halt between the two other nurses. She held out her arms and looked urgently at them both.
"Do I look alright?"
The blue dress hugged her curves beautifully and wonderfully complimented the exquisite colour of her eyes. Patsy resisted the urge to make some wildly inappropriate comment and just smiled at her. Barbara nodded enthusiastically.
"You look fantastic, Delia," she beamed.
"Right. Good. We're not terribly late are we, Pats?"
Checking her wristwatch, Patsy shook her head.
"We should be fine,"
"Shall we go then?"
"Take an umbrella," Barbara added, as she headed for the door with them, "It's supposed to rain later,"
The walk to the restaurant was pleasant enough, and Delia was pleased to be out in the fresh air again. The restaurant itself was a little place, happily situated on a smart road, surrounded by the exciting London hustle and bustle.
They reached their table, and were both relieved to see that Delia's mother had not yet found her way there. It was quiet inside, with only a few other couples dining. For a brief second, Patsy felt relaxed, as if she and Delia were like any other couple in there; two people in love out to spend the day together.
A sharp intake of breath brought her back to her senses, and she saw Delia's mother edging down the steps towards them.
"It's good to see you, Mrs Busby," she said, extending her arm in a friendly greeting.
Her outstretched hand was ignored and Delia's mother stared around disdainfully.
"I don't much approve of this place, Delia," she commented, "Far too modern, if you ask me. Very tasteless,"
Delia just flushed and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"And what are you wearing? It really won't do. Did your father and I really fail to teach you anything about modesty?"
"I think that she looks gorgeous," Patsy said defensively.
"Oh, you would, wouldn't you?" Mrs Busby muttered acidly.
Patsy chose to ignore this, and signalled for the waiter to come over to them. While Mrs Busby remonstrated angrily with him about the apparent lack of sensible British food on the menu, Delia leant over to Patsy.
"I thought you said that I looked alright!" she hissed.
"And I meant it! I didn't realise quite how conservative your mother is,"
"This is my mother we're talking about! She was hardly going to be an enlightened liberal, was she?"
They both clamped their mouths shut when Mrs Busby fixed them with a suspicious stare.
"Are you ready to order?"
Patsy placed her request first, and Delia followed after, but Mrs Busby predictably intervened before she had finished speaking.
"I wouldn't have that, cariad. I'm not sure that I trust the sound of pasta,"
Delia did not acknowledge her mother's recommendation, but Patsy saw a tinge of pink creep into her cheeks as the waiter walked away.
"So then. What's this I hear about you being ill then, Delia? Meningitis, was it?"
"Yes, mam,"
"It's no wonder," she said, staring with contempt out of the window, "This filthy London air could kill an army,"
"Meningitis is not caused by pollution, mam,"
Mrs Busby appeared briefly peeved at being corrected, but gathered her composure quickly.
"A little girl in my village died of it when I was young," she said haughtily, "Very nasty business. Huge rash all over her body, right from head to toe,"
Delia gritted her teeth in agitation, and her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fist.
"For starters, mam, that was a different type of meningitis. It's much more severe than the viral version that I had. And secondly, that was in 1923. Medicine has progressed since then,"
"You still could have died, cariad,"
"Patsy was looking after me. I was in safe hands,"
Mrs Busby sniffed, eyes sweeping condescendingly over the redheaded nurse.
"You should have had a doctor,"
"I'm as capable as most doctors, Mrs Busby," Patsy said, her gaze defiant.
"No," Delia declared, "She's better. And I don't want a doctor, mam. I want her,"
The bold statement clearly shook Delia's mother, and she was grateful to see the waiter approach with their food. It provided a good excuse to abandon that particular conversation topic for the time being. Patsy looked a little nervously at Delia. The brunette nurse, whilst on the mend, had not yet managed to stomach a full meal yet, and she wondered if she would be alright.
Almost ten minutes of silence passed by, with only Mrs Busby airing the occasional view about the toughness of the meat or the temperature of the gravy. Delia was pushing more food around her plate than she was consuming, although Patsy could no longer tell if her lack of appetite stemmed from her illness or being under the intense scrutiny of her mother.
Eventually the quiet became too much.
"So!" Patsy began brightly, her broad smile swiftly faltering when she realised that she had nothing to follow up with.
"I've looked more into the possibility of becoming a midwife," Delia said, bravely attempting a cheerful tone.
"You're not still on about that, are you, cariad? Tell me that you don't really aspire to spend your days crawling around every slum, tenement and poor house in London, delivering babies in dingy backrooms, surrounded by God only knows what sort of people. I'm not ignorant you know. I am fully aware of what sort of unmentionable practices go on in London,"
"Mam, you're jumping to conclusions,"
"Delia's right, Mrs Busby. I am in the opinion that midwifery is one of the most rewarding jobs around, and also that your daughter would make one of the most accomplished midwives possible,"
Delia's mother shook her head scornfully and dropped her fork down onto her plate.
"This lamb has not been cooked long enough. It should be more tender than this,"
Rolling her eyes, Delia leant her head in her hand, her patience wearing thin.
"Don't look so insolent, Delia! And get your elbow off the table. Look, I've said this more than enough times, and I'll say it again. I am not happy about you working in London. I am not happy about your career choice. You are blessed that I am a reasonable and generous woman and have allowed for you to indulge in these foolish ventures when you have so wished,"
Delia gave a snort of derision and shook her head in disbelief.
"But you're not a girl anymore. You need to start acting like an adult woman. You need to start seeing sense; London is not the place for decent young ladies. It's made you ill, and I can already see that your temperament is becoming increasingly unseemly, no doubt influenced by the new and unsuitable company that you are keeping,"
"I'm not ill, mam,"
"You treat me as if I have the brains of a child! You've barely touched your food, cariad, and you look unattractively thin too. Do you think I was born yesterday?"
There was no chance to answer. The clouds opened, and the rain that Barbara had predicted earlier began to pound against the windows. People walking past outside broke into a run, briefcases and handbags being held up to act as temporary shelters from the water.
"It was sunny in Pembrokeshire when I left," Mrs Busby remarked irritably.
"It was sunny in Poplar before you arrived," Delia muttered.
If Delia's mother had heard her daughter speak, she did not show it. Her expression remained as coldly indifferent as ever. Patsy was beginning to feel that she should not have come, and busied herself with re-reading the entire menu, just to give her something else to focus on. For a while it worked, but when she reached the end of the wine list, she was forced to re-join the conversation.
"I'm not returning to Wales with you, mam, and that's final," Delia said flatly, "I like it here, I have friends here and my work is here. I'm sorry, but that's all there is to it,"
The waiter returned, his feet dragging a little, showing his reluctance to approach the table. Mrs Busby dismissed him with an angry flick of the wrist.
"You're not the daughter that I thought I had,"
"No," Delia agreed, "I'm not. But I am your daughter nonetheless, and you are my mother, and I am asking for your support in the decisions that I am making,"
There was a fleeting point when the hard line of Mrs Busby's mouth twitched, as if Delia had somehow managed to break through the icy façade, but it did not last. The older woman shook her head.
"I'm not sure that I can do that, cariad,"
"Fine," Delia said, "That's alright, because what you said earlier is true. I am a grown woman, and, as much as I would like to have it, I don't need your blessing to continue leading my life in the way that I wish,"
"And that's it?"
"Yes," Delia said, reaching forward to briefly clasp her hand before standing up, "That's it. Goodbye, mam. Take care,"
She leant over to place a kiss on her mother's cheek, and then put the money for the bill on the table.
"Lunch is on me, mam. Have a safe journey,"
The two nurses left the restaurant, walking out onto the street into the rain. Once they were out there, Delia pushed her hands through her hair, the water droplets running down her arms and saturating her dress.
"Deels, I'm so sorry…"
"Oh, Pats, it's not your fault," Delia smiled sadly, her wet hair clinging to her forehead, "The fact of the matter is that unless my mam realises that I am no longer a child, or unless I sustain a head injury serious enough to actually trap me at home, she'll never be happy. I can't give her what she wants, and that's something that we're both going to have to learn to live with,"
"Even so, I wish that it didn't have to be like that,"
"So do I, Pats, but we can't have everything. And she's not my priority at the moment. You are. Come on, let's head back to Nonnatus,"
Patsy glanced across the street, and through the rain, she saw a bus. An idea sparked in her mind.
"No," she said, grabbing Delia's hand and hurrying off to get on board, "There's somewhere else that we need to go first,"
She paid the conductor quickly and they sat down. Their seats and floor around their feet was soaked. Delia tugged at Patsy's sleeve, her face a mixture of curiosity and mild amusement.
"Where are we going?"
The redhead just chuckled, "You'll see. Just sit tight, we'll be there soon,"
It took a while, but eventually Patsy gave Delia a nudge and they both alighted. After a short walk, the Welsh nurse stared around her in amazement, her mouth falling open.
"Patsy… this is Bond Street,"
"Oh good," Patsy grinned, "We did get on the right bus then,"
She set off down the road, disappearing into a mass of people, and Delia rushed after her, trying to keep up through the crowds. From a distance, she saw that Patsy had turned off into one of the shops and she ducked inside, not stopping to read the shopfront sign emblazoned with the words 'Bentley and Skinner'. Once she was in, she stared around her, searching desperately for the redhead. Suddenly she felt a tap on the back, and she spun around. Patsy was leant over a glass display case.
"There," she said, "What do you think of that one?"
Delia gave her a blank look of confusion, before following Patsy's finger and peering down into the case. Inside, sat in the centre, was a stunning gold ring, with a single blue sapphire set into the top, and delicate claws holding it in place. When the light caught the precious stone, it seemed to shimmer, as if a real ocean was trapped within it. She blinked, a lump rising rapidly in her throat.
"For me?"
"Yes, for you… if you'd like it,"
"It's beautiful,"
"Good. I thought so too,"
She conversed quietly with the smartly dressed shop attendant behind the case, and the ring was purchased. Delia watched the whole proceedings in a daydream state, unable to believe that it was really happening. When they finally left the shop, the brunette turned round to look at Patsy, her eyes brimming with emotion. Other people surrounded them, absorbed in their own thoughts, their eyes to the ground, or on one another, and it was just as Delia had always said; they were in a crowd, and they were invisible. Nobody stopped to notice the two women embracing one another tightly in the middle of the street.
"Thank you," Delia whispered, her arms holding her beloved as close to her as she could.
Patsy pulled back and carefully slipped the exquisite ring onto Delia's finger.
"There," she smiled in satisfaction, "Now it's official,"
"Patience Mount, I am so in love with you,"
Patsy cocked her head to the left, "Is it just my excellent taste in jewellery?"
Delia laughed but shook her head.
"No," she said, "It's so much more than that,"