Delia shook her head. "No." She matched Barbara's gaze, "I'm not going to lie any more."

Barbara looked to Delia with sympathy. "Don't worry Delia. You simply weren't ready to tell us about your gentleman." Barbara took hold of Delia's trembling hand. "I understand," she said, "life in Nonnatus can be hard when everyone knows your business."

'Don't I know it," replied Delia, chest thumping.

Barbara laughed. "Yes, well try dating a chap who was once engaged to a fellow resident."

Try dating a fellow resident, thought Delia.

Delia broke contact with Barbara's hand and concentrated on the space once held.

"Well, you see Barbara…" Delia paused, contemplating how to put her admission delicately, "there is no gentleman."

Barbara's eyes grew grey with disappointment. "Oh," she said, "I see."

Delia doubted it.

"But…" Barbara hesitated. She was about to say 'but you've admitted… you're happy.' Then she realised it was 1962 and she wasn't her mother. Happiness, a modern girl knew, wasn't dependant on a gentleman.

"Oh gosh, I feel so embarrassed!" exclaimed Barbara, her hands touching her flushed cheeks.

Her reaction had caused Delia to feel that perhaps Barbara had understood; there was no need to elaborate further. It wasn't a great reaction but at least Barbara wasn't chasing her with a pitchfork.

"I wouldn't have jumped to conclusions ordinarily, but... you just seemed so unlike yourself," said Barbara. "Of course, seeing you happy... finally, well it doesn't mean you have a gentleman. People can just be happy. I'm sorry Deils."

So she didn't understand, thought Delia. That made two of them.

"Unlike myself?" she asked.

Barbara looked to her sheepishly. "Now don't take this the wrong way, but I always thought there was a sadness about you. Maybe it was the circumstances that bought you here, I mean that terrible accident you had – it was just..." Barbara searched for the word.

"Terrible?" Delia suggested. She smirked, concealing the dull ache she felt when thinking about the accident. It wasn't so much the event itself, but the contrast between what she had before and after that moment. One minute she had shared a home with Patsy, a chance of living as normally as she could, the next she was in Wales trying to piece her life together. And now, well, she lived in a house with nuns; just as the boys at school had joked she would. "I wouldn't even try it with Delia," they had sniggered, "she's practically a nun!" But Delia had always felt the joke was on them; her sixteen year old self wouldn't have minded boarding in a house full of women. Her much older self, however, would prefer to live with just one.

"Yes, quite," agreed Barbara. "it was terrible."

"I am happy, Barbara, just like you said. I can't even remember the last time I felt blue, to be honest... It was most likely when I was in Wales, missing London." She looked to her friend. "Missing Patsy."

Delia had said the word with all the meaning her voice could convey. She focused on the fine expressions on Barbara's face, hoping to glimpse a sign of discernment in the minute details; the arch of her brow, or a twitch of the mouth.

"Yes, there is something about this place," agreed Barbara.

Nothing. Delia sighed but it was missed by Barbara; too lost in her own thoughts.

"No, it was something more," said Barbara, frowning. "It was like you were never your true self. Perhaps that's because you're new to Nonnatus. I felt like a fish out of water too when I first arrived." She looked to Delia and smiled. "I'm glad you're finding your feet. And having such a good friend as Patsy by your side, well it must be an enormous comfort."

"Yes!" said Delia, the excitement in her pronouncement startled Barbara. She let out a nervous giggle.

"Patsy has been, is, an enormous comfort," said Delia. "Sometimes I feel like she's the only one who knows me. The only one I can truly be myself with."

Delia looked to Barbara with intent, sure that this time, her words and the look in her eye would convey her secret. "We're very alike, Patsy and I. We're not like other girls." Delia's eyes widened. "You see?"

A deep flush crept over Barbara's face. "Well, that explains why you seemed so free earlier" said Barbara. "I had a friend like that once," she said, with a sense of urgency unfitting of the sentiment.

Though frustrated Delia couldn't help but laugh. She covered her mouth. I'm absolutely positive that you didn't, she thought.

"What?" Barbara laughed, more an attempt at camaraderie than sharing the humour. "I did! We were both in this dastardly sewing class together. All the other girls just seemed to take to it, but Susan and I, well we were like a fish out of water. I managed to sew the most lopsided pillow case you could imagine! Ordinarily I would have been mortified that I had managed to produce something so imperfect. My grades were at stake!"

Delia nodded at Barbara, suppressing her laughter.

"But with Susan by my side, and her equally disastrous apron, I didn't mind at all." Barbara laughed. "In the end we had a competition as to who could produce the most awful monstrosity." Barbara placed her hands flat in the air for emphasis. "I'm pleased to say, Ms Delia Busby, that my lopsided pillow case was victorious."

Delia grinned. "Do you still have it? The pillow case?"

Barbara thought for a moment. "You know I think my mother uses it as a rag when cleaning the windows!" she laughed again. Delia joined her but stopped abruptly, realising that her moment of truth was passing with time.

Risk the imitation of friendship for an authentic one, Delia mentally repeated. Just like Susan, Delia could be the unashamedly imperfect friend to Barbara. She just had to find out whether Barbara could be the perfect friend to her.

The literal approach to the matter had failed though, Delia conceded. Honestly, she thought, who doesn't know what 'we're not like other girls' means? Barbara was much more clueless to the ways of the world than she had first imagined. Perhaps she would have to start by introducing Barbara to the radical concept of two piece bathing suits or the possibility of women wearing slacks! Take it one baby step at a time. Still, she thought, perhaps a different approach was more sensible.

And so, Delia had decided to take the Patsy approach to things: use your head before your heart.

Just as she had done with friends before, Delia would ascertain Barbara's thoughts on people like her. If she failed, like so many had done in the past, Delia would know that Barbara Gilbert was not the Patron Saint of All Earthly Creatures that she thought she was. She wouldn't tell her – and no harm done. If she passed – a real, tangible friendship could begin.

"Barbara?" she enquired.

Upon seeing the now serious look on Delia's face, Barbara ceased her laughter. "Yes Delia?" Her forehead creased.

"How religious are you?"

"What a strange question." Barbara pondered. "Quite religious, I guess. Though if you had asked my father, he would have said I was quite the little heathen!"

"Why so?" asked Delia, hoping it was due to her unrivalled love of homosexuals. Delia could imagine her, placard in hand, leading a bunch of hand-holding men to the steps of Parliament in the most polite protest in history.

"Oh, I'm not quite as devout as my father, much to his dismay. I only pray occasionally, usually when I want something, I'm ashamed to admit. My father would say 'Barbara, though the Lord works in mysterious ways, the miraculous appearance of silk pantihose and the latest rouge is not one of them.'" Barbara smiled at the memory. "You see, he would only see me praying very occasionally. So he naturally assumed that my speaking to the Lord was not for matters of the purely religious nature."

"So were you? Praying for rouge and silk pantihose? Honestly you don't seem like the type!" squealed Delia.

Barbara seemed hurt at the insinuation, her mouth quivered slightly.

"Oh I didn't mean that you don't make an effort, just that you seem to put others, or causes, first."

"Well, no. I hasten to agree with you. Usually I was praying for the homeless person I met that day, or one of the church members who had just lost their job. We served a very poor area, you see. There was always someone to pray for."

Delia smiled at her. "You, Barbara Gilbert, are quite simply one of the kindest people I've ever met!"

Barbara blushed and traced the seat in front of her with her finger, gingerly. "In fact," said Delia, "I bet there isn't a person, or say, group of people, of whom you didn't want to protect?"

Barbara thought for a moment. "No, I don't suppose there is. I wouldn't necessarily protect a murderer though!" she exclaimed. "Or someone who hurts children." She paused. "Or women." Barbara stared ahead, fleetingly. "I mean I would protect women. You know, if someone hurt them." She looked to Delia. "It sounded as though I wouldn't protect them. But I would. Most definitely" She stared ahead once more. "Unless they murdered someone. Or hurt children. Or women – if they hurt each other that is... That's a tricky one."

Delia bended her head to catch Barbara's eye – an attempt to keep her on track.

"What about sinners? Beyond murderers and those who hurt women and children, I mean" asked Delia.

Barbara ceased tracing the chair before her and looked to Delia inquisitively. "Everyone sins, Delia."

"Yes, but doesn't it depend on the sin?"

"Well, there are some sins that are graver than others, I suppose. But 'he without sin shall cast the first stone,' as father used to say." She paused. "Well he got that from the Bible," Barbara clarified. "He used to quote from all sorts of texts. His favourite book..."

"What about Mr Amos? What about his sin?" Delia interrupted, quick to stop the rambling.

"Mr Amos?"

Barbara hadn't remembered him. Of course. Though the event had weighed down on Patsy and herself, it would be insignificant to Barbara. The fact that a queer had been arrested for 'unnatural acts' would not have formed part of her history.

"He was arrested for being... with a man. His wife was a patient of Patsy."

"Of course", said Barbara, "Poor woman. And fellow, I guess, having to live with that."

Delia looked to the window. Barbara hadn't branded him a criminal but she certainly hadn't talked about him lovingly.

"So you have sympathy for him?" asked Delia, without turning to her.

"He's an adulterer", said Barbara. "It's hard to feel sorry for him." She smiled, "but let's talk of more pleasant things. We shouldn't ruin..."

Barbara saw the anger rising through Delia's face and stopped abruptly.

"But he was forced to pretend, to lie! Certainly society is as much to blame?!" said Delia, louder and more urgent than she had intended. She turned away.

Barbara sat shocked at the sudden outburst. A heavy silence fell between them.

Barbara clasped her hands together and rested them in her lap. "What are the answers you seek, my child?" she said in a low, monotone voice. It was an effort to make Delia laugh, or at the very least, change the subject. It didn't work.

Delia looked to her, her anger giving way to sadness. Barbara had failed the test, but so had she. She was about to use her heart before her head. So desperate was she to unleash her burden.

"Answer me this", said Delia, her voice raised. "What gives a policeman, hell the whole of society, the right to call how I feel unnatural..." She softened her voice, "when it's the most natural thing in the world to me?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," said Barbara. She turned from Delia and looked out the far window. "Is that snow?" she asked, placing a hand on Delia's knee. It wasn't.

"I mean," said Delia, grabbing Barbara's attention, "that when a woman like me does that," she gestured toward Barbara's hand placement, "to a woman like me." Delia paused. "They're not just friends."

Barbara removed her hand quickly, just as Delia knew she would. Part of her knew this was a natural reaction, but another resentful part, hated her for it.

Barbara rose from her seat. "Oh" she said.

And that's that, thought Barbara. Delia's explicitness, her own reaction. It had meant that she could no longer hide behind the pretence of naivety. Missing Patsy, we're not like other girls, unnatural acts. She knew what it all meant. She was a woman of the world - she owned a two piece bathing suit (she hid it in her bottom drawer, under the Bible and a long abandoned nightgown). She had just hoped that Delia would give up on her and find someone who had more experience of dealing with such matters. Someone who would give all the right answers and not ask all the wrong questions.

Barbara had heard of women like that, sure, but her only real experience of them was theoretical – biblical. Well, not in the 'biblical sense' that Delia perhaps had experience with. But in scripture - the ones where the priest turned red and spat the words out. Though the Bible had only mentioned men, her congregation was quick to point out that women were also capable of such unspeakable acts.

"You're..." Barbara couldn't say the word.

"Yes" said Delia, nodding.

Barbara sat in the adjacent seat and fell silent.

"Please say something Barbara," said Delia, moving closer in her seat.

Though Barbara didn't mean to, had never thought of her 'normal' friends in such a way, her mind instantly imagined Delia in bed... with another woman. She was somewhat thankful that she had no idea what two women did in that department. Her vision had started and ended with hand-holding above silk sheets. Naked hand-holding. She gulped, her mouth suddenly dry. Barbara blushed, refusing to look at Delia, despite the Welsh woman's pleas to do so.

Delia sighed. What a fool she had been. Her best friend, her Patsy, had already provided her with everything she could ever desire, why on earth did she need another close friend? One who couldn't possibly understand?

"Barbara if you no longer wish to be friends, I understand." said Delia, a tear fell down her cheek. "It would be a great loss to me, but it would be a significant loss if you told others." She paused. "We'd lose our jobs, our home..."

Barbara looked to Delia at last, a mixture of sadness and concern on her face.

"I know I've placed a huge burden on you Barbara, I shouldn't have said anything. We could just forget and never talk of this again." Delia turned to the window, fighting back tears.

"You said we," said Barbara, quietly. "We'd lose our jobs, our home."

Delia closed her eyes. Patsy. She had ruined what little life they had together, just as she had before – with the accident. Everything they worked for had been taken. Because of her. And it would taken again. If Trixie didn't tell, Barbara surely would.

Barbara looked to Delia. Her face fell, seeing the tears resting on her friend's face.

Delia couldn't say Patsy's name. She buried her head in her hands and cried out all the hope she once had for a meaningful friendship.

We'd lose our jobs, our homes. Suddenly, it seemed to Barbara, that she did have experience to deal with this. She thought of the people in Liverpool that she had prayed for. Who had lost their jobs, were close to eviction. It was not through fault of their own, but through circumstance, a changing society, and sometimes – prejudice. If Barbara could not quite understand what Delia and Patsy were or how they felt toward each other, she could understand what they faced. She could at least be a support.

She crept over and folded Delia into her arms. It was supposed to be a comfort but it had caused her friend to wail even louder.

Barbara wasn't sure what to say, beyond asking a million questions, most – inappropriate. But Delia had revealed her truth, thought Barbara, and the truth was always good place to start.

"You know," she spoke softly, "when I first saw you two together, it was at the clinic. You were helping her put posters on the wall. The look on Patsy's face, I had never seen someone so happy." Barbara paused. "Until tonight... Patsy was laughing and you had looked at her like she was the single cause of everything right in the world."

Delia wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I can't see how there could be anything wrong with that," said Barbara.

Yes, it was slightly sentimental, but it had been the truth. The memory of it, at least. Saying it aloud had even helped Barbara understand their connection. A little. Baby steps, she thought.

And so Barbara swapped the pretence of naivety for the pretence of acceptance. It wasn't, of course. that she didn't accept her friends, nor never would. Barbara was conflicted. She feared for them. Their livelihoods and their souls. She feared that she could never be the friend that Delia had hoped she could be; one completely authentic and free from judgement. But she loved them too, dearly, and would support them as she would any flock that had asked for her help. Just as her father had taught her.

"Well this is our stop," said Barbara, breaking the sentimentality. She was thankful the journey had ended.

Delia had wanted to hug Barbara with all the strength she had gained from unleashing her burden. But she knew it was perhaps too soon for unsolicited physical contact. Instead she thanked her and led the way, down the steps of the bus and toward the stoop of Nonnatus House.

Delia searched her hand bag for the key. She was about to turn the lock when she felt Barbara's hand on her arm.

"Thank you for telling me," said Barbara. "I can't imagine how difficult that would have been."

"I'm sure it wasn't easy to hear."

Barbara smiled, weakly.

"I wonder how Trixie's dealing with it, the look on her face!" exclaimed Delia. Now that her truth had been revealed, Delia could see the humour in the night's events.

"What do you mean?" asked Barbara.

"Let's just say," Delia leaned forward and whispered, "she caught Patsy and I in the club, in a rather compromising position." She laughed.

Barbara blushed, suddenly imagining what position that entailed exactly. "You were positioned compromising-ly in the club?! In public?!" she stumbled, aghast. "What if someone had caught you?"

Delia ushered Barbara away from the door. "The only people who really care what we do at Gateways are people who shouldn't even be there! Like Trixie." She nudged Barbara, "and yourself." She laughed.

"Well yes, we shouldn't have spied. Again, I'm sorry." Barbara failed to grasp the humour.

Barbara moved Delia further away from the door, afraid that Nuns had harnessed the gift of sonic hearing in their absence. " But I'm more concerned about your open affection in the club. That place was jam-packed tonight. Honestly Delia, I'm trying not to judge, but you really need to be more careful."

Delia sat down on the stoop and patted the cement next to her. Barbara joined her.

"Now about Gateways..." said Delia.

Xxx

Though she was tired, for the first time in months, Barbara found herself at the foot of her bed, kneeling. Her father would be dismayed that yet again, instead of merely speaking to the Lord, Barbara was asking of the Lord. She did not, as she had thought she would upon hearing the news, ask the Lord to help her friends see the error of their ways. She did not ask to send them on the path to righteousness. Instead she asked the Lord for help, so that she may understand and accept her friends with all their differences. So that she would have all the right answers and not so many of the wrong questions. She knew it would take time, but she was prepared to ask of the Lord nightly. For that and some pantihose She had picked a hole through hers on the bus.

Barbara crept into bed and ruffled her pillows. She noticed, for the first time since arriving at Nonnatus, the strangeness of the underlying pillow. The fabric was as uniform as her other pillow and there was no difference in its bouyancy, it's fit for purpose. But the coarseness of the stich, the lopsidedness of the shape... so much for it's use as a window rag, she thought. Barbara traced along it's unashamed imperfectness and smiled.

The Lord did indeed work in mysterious ways.