Delia entered the dining quarters and sat in the only chair available - between the judgement of Nurse Crane and the incoherence of Sister Monica Joan. Delia's blotchy eyes and weathered dressing gown were not out of place at the dining table, but Phyllis couldn't help but mutter as Delia sat beside her.
Sister Julienne's eyes wandered the table, silently aghast that women of God were dining with a motley crew of nurses who, frankly, were old enough to know better. Phyllis was certain that if any company were to stumble upon them, they would think they'd entered a halfway house of paupers and vagrants.
Delia looked as though she had just sat through a viewing of 'Old Yeller.' Patsy looked like the type of person who had enough friends; distinctly unapproachable. Trixie, usually quite talkative at any time of day, had suddenly taken a vow of silence. Barbara sat like a deer in the headlights. Seeing them with their nightclothes and forlorn faces, it would be easy to think that last night, they had been the thirstiest in all of London. Whatever happened, thought Sister Julienne, it was best left unsaid.
Sister Monica Joan, however, had not noticed anything amiss. Too busy was she, staring at the rare appearance of tea cake at breakfast.
"Thank you for joining us Ms Busby" said Sister Julienne.
"Thank you Sister." Delia looked briefly to Patsy. The eye contact was not received.
"Well please enjoy," said the head nun. She motioned for the women to eat.
Sister Monica Joan lunged toward the tea cake, tipping over Delia's cup in the process. Hot tea spilt over Delia's dressing gown and splashed against her exposed skin. Delia stood up with a start, wincing. Patsy stood immediately, ready to tend to the burn, but seeing Trixie's gaze from across the table, she sat just as quickly as she had risen.
Delia noticed the nonchalance and sank to her seat. "It's nothing," she reassured an oblivious, cake-eating nun, "this needs a wash anyway."
Sister Monica Joan nodded, mouth full of cake. "Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin."
Sin. Delia's face crumbled. She looked to Patsy, who took a sudden intense interest in buttering her toast. Barbara checked her wrist for a non-existent watch. Trixie consumed a heaped spoonful of porridge. Sister Julienne watched them all with bewildered interest.
Sister Monica Joan finished her mouthful and addressed the table. "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."
Barbara laughed loudly, forcefully. "Oh Sister Monica Joan! You must have a quote for all things known to man ... How about socks?" She paused. "Because I have this theory that they were invented by someone with the surname of Sock." Barbara reached over for the jam. "Now my only flaw in this theory is that I have never met any person with such a last name." She looked to Sister Monica Joan, "perhaps it has biblical origins?"
The last thing Barbara wanted to hear over breakfast was Sister Monica Joan's rambling over religion and clothing accessories, but she was about to go on 'a date' with a woman and was nervous enough. Hearing about sin would surely lead her to break down and confess to the whole table.
"A test, how joyous!" exclaimed Sister Monica Joan, looking to the sky for answers. She smiled and bounced excitedly in her chair, "Yes!... The LORD God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife, and clothed them. Thus it was He!" She clapped.
Barbara nodded, "The Lord invented socks... of course." She took a sip of tea.
"And of course, the divine wisdom of Genesis 38:14... 'so she removed her widow's garments..."
Trixie choked on her porridge, the image of women 'removing garments' had caused her to flash back to the events of the last night. Moistened oats flew across the table and landed in Phyllis' tea. "Oh gosh, I'm awfully sorry," remarked Trixie, wiping her mouth with a linen napkin, "I'm afraid it went down the wrong way." She smiled at Phyllis remorsefully. Though successful in removing the remnants of breakfast, she could not remove the blush forming on her face. Patsy took a break from re-buttering her toast to eye Trixie suspiciously. Trixie avoided looking at her, unsure if she was able to do so with a straight face... so to speak.
"Well I certainly hope that you lot are fit for duty today, we certainly cannot afford any accidents"... Phyllis spooned the oats from her tea, "happening on the field."
"I'm sure the girls will adhere to their duties with their usual expertise and... usual appearance," noted Sister Julienne.
Suddenly self-conscious, Trixie checked her appearance with the back of a spoon. Though in her nightclothes, her quick up-do and oriental pyjamas ensured she still looked fabulous, despite how she felt. Delia, in contrast, dabbed at her tea-soaked dressing gown with a napkin. She glanced apologetically at the head nun, ignoring her will to wring the napkin back into her cup.
"Yes of course," reassured Patsy, ashamed at her rare lack of professionalism.
"Ms Franklin," addressed Sister Julienne, "I understand you and Ms Giblert saw a film last night?
Phyllis scoffed, she doubted very much that the two women's appearance was caused by the latest showing of Gone With The Wind. Sure it was a long film, but it would have allowed for at least some sleep. The nurses looked like the walking dead! Phyllis was aware that all eyes were upon her, but frankly, she didn't give a damn. She took a sip of spoiled tea and grimaced at the taste.
"To Kill A Mockingbird, was it?" asked Sister Julienne, ignoring Nurse Crane's lack of decorum.
Barbara looked to Trixie in panic. Trixie took another mouthful of porridge, gesturing with her hands that she would answer as soon as she could. "Yes, we did!" interrupted Barbara with loud urgency. "It was just as good as the book, I must say." She glanced reassuringly at the blonde, "I'm sure Trixie slept through most of it though. Romance films are more to her liking I should think."
Sister Julienne nodded, "so what were your thoughts on the film, Ms Franklin?"
"Hmm?" Trixie continued chewing already dissolved oats.
"The film, did you enjoy it?"
Trixie swallowed, hard. "Yes, it was splendid." Sister Julienne smiled, waiting ... "Ah, it really captured the spirit of the American Scouts with great enthusiasm."
A silence filled the room. Trixie basked in a misguided air of confidence. Barbara died right there in her chair. "And that poor Mockingbird," Trixie continued, winking at a corpse-like Barbara.
Barbara regained her ability to breathe and laughed with superfluous volume and urgency. It caused Sister Monica Joan to shift her seat back slightly, afraid her madness was contagious.
"Trixie, you're a riot!" exclaimed Barbara, her hand flopped at the wrist.
"It seems the film really did cause Trixie to slumber," reassured Patsy, her mouth curled harshly at the edge. It was evident to her that Trixie's deliberate show of ignorance was an act of sabotage.
"Yes," agreed Barbara, "I think she saw the film poster, heard a lead character's name and put the plot together in her head!" she laughed. "I'm just glad we didn't see The Philadelphia Story! Trixie would think it a biography of cream cheese!"
Whilst Sister Monica Joan's ears pricked up in sudden interest, Trixie seethed. She may not have seen the film but at least she had tried to act like she had. She swallowed her anger, washing it down with another spoonful of porridge.
Barbara addressed the table, keen to re-direct the interrogation. "It might be fun if we all came up with a funny little summary for famous films!" The young midwife could see that her fellow diners would rather eat cuisine prepared by Sister Monica Joan but persisted regardless. "Nurse Crane, would you like to start?"
Phyllis looked at Barbara as though she had asked whether the older nurse had ever considered a more flattering undergarment. "No?" Barbara gulped.
"And how is your mother, Ms Busby?" asked the head nun and saviour of the breakfast table.
Delia held a morose fascination with the luke-warm tea that remained in her cup. Sister Julienne noted she had been stirring it's contents since the spill. Phyllis kicked the Welsh woman's foot, motioning toward an expectant Sister.
"Sorry?" asked Delia.
"Your mother? How is she keeping? I'm sure she misses you dearly."
"Yes," said Delia, slightly panicked, still stirring. "She's well. Still reminding me of the differences between Wales and London," she said, taking a quick glance toward Patsy. Though the briefest of moments, it was not missed by the Sister - Delia's frightened need for reassurance from the always composed midwife.
"And I trust you reassured Mrs Busby that we are taking good care of her daughter, Ms Mount?"
"Of course Sister," Patsy smiled, "but be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." Patsy had remained her calm and composed self, but there was a slight shift in the eye – a fleeting lack of eye contact, that left Sister Julienne unconvinced.
"Mothers learn to mark their mothering success by their daughter's lengthening flight," commented Sister Monica Joan, stealing another piece of cake. "Yes, quite," agreed Sister Julienne.
Barbara studied Sister Julienne as she took a break from her inquisition to pour a cup of tea. Though the nun had exemplary poker face, Barbara's intuition led her to believe that she was suspect of all four women. She giggled nervously, believing her indiscretion to be marked on her forehead. She rubbed at it with the sleeve of her dressing gown.
Trixie stared at Barbara in slight shock, Barbara had gone mad, she thought. And soon enough, the whole table joined Trixie in a curious fascination with Barbara's antics. Such was the scene that Delia stopped stirring her tea. Phyllis' brow creased in disappointment, it was evident that Barbara was still suffering the effects of last night.
Realising the surveillance, Barbara ceased the rubbing of her forehead and smiled weakly. "I have a tension headache it seems."
"Nothing relieves tension like an honest day's work" remarked Phyllis, determined that Barbara would see her shift through.
"Indeed. It seems I am not used to such late nights," said Barbara, watching curiously as Sister Monica Joan made a beeline toward her, piece of fruit in hand.
The eccentric nun had recognised Barbara's descent into madness, and, believing her own rattled thoughts to be aided by the consumption of food, she had taken a banana from the fruit bowl to offer the brunette. There were no apples to keep the doctor away, but surely the banana, in it's stunted growth, would offer a pleasing alternative to keep the demons at bay.
"Lady finger?" she asked, presenting the fruit proudly.
The innuendo caused Delia to choke. She attempted to stifle a laugh by drinking from her tea but but instead it spat from her mouth like a sprinkler. Remnants landed on Phyllis' face. Patsy too, could not contain herself. Head lowered, she laughed as silently as she could. Her cheeks attempted to suck the laughter in, but the exaggeration of her heaving shoulders failed her.
Barbara held the banana limply. Though mortified, she too, could not suppress a smirk. Delia uttered endless, giggled, apologies to an increasingly angered Phyllis. And Trixie, at last, realised what had accounted for Barbara's odd behaviour; innuendo was her specialty after all. She smiled but masked it quickly, noting Sister Julienne's measured scrutiny.
Trixie found Barbara in her room, contemplating the clothes laid out on her bed. She leaned against the door frame, observing Barbara as she matched a blouse against two different skirts.
"At first I thought you were drunk," said Trixie, Barbara turned toward her voice. "You were rambling on about socks again."
Barbara shot Trixie a look of disapproval.
"But you know, don't you?" asked the blonde.
"About what?"
"You know very well!" accused Trixie, closing the door.
"If you are referring to Patsy and Delia, then yes, I know."
"And?"
"And what?"
Trixie took the blouse from Barbara and placed it back in her wardrobe. "Brown is not your colour Barbara... or anyone's." Trixie scattered her fingers along the coat hangers, then paused. "Please tell me you were nice about it?" She looked to Barbara. "What am I saying? Of course you were. You're practically Florence Nightingale."
Barbara smiled at the compliment. "I needn't ask the same of you I assume?"
Trixie sat on the bed and sighed. "The endlessly cheerful, always accepting, Nurse Franklin?" Barbara enquired, hopeful.
"I'm a bloody fool!" said Trixie, quietly.
"Oh Trixie," whispered Barbara. She sat next to the blonde.
"I was positively ghastly. The things I said. I'm afraid Patsy will never forgive me."
"I'm sure it wasn't that bad, Trixie. Perhaps the shock of it..."
Trixie shook her head. "I was awful. Am awful."
"But why? You're always so accepting of others."
"I don't know," said Trixie, her head lowered, "perhaps it's because of who she is. Or who I am. Perhaps I'm a bigot."
Barbara stood and addressed her. "I don't think that's true Trixie, and I'm positive that neither do you." She placed her hands on her hips. "If I were to tell you I was about to spend an afternoon with a lady of homosexual nature, what would be your first instinct?"
Trixie laughed, "that you really are a lush! And an easily impressionable one at that!"
Trixie noticed that blush come over Barbara's face, then looked to the outfits laid beside her. "You're not!" Trixie exclaimed, her mouth opened so widely that Barbara could see her tonsils.
"Inadvertently," confessed the brunette. "But's it's your fault! I didn't know it was a bar full of women who like women! I would never have asked otherwise!"
Barbara waited seven years, she estimated, for Trixie to finish laughing (she had an invisible wrist watch after all).
Trixie composed herself and practiced her serious face. "You're not scared?" she asked.
"I'm terrified! But any opportunity for friendship... and I'll explain to Lara that's all there will ever be." Barbara sighed. "The poor girl, It's going to break her heart."
Trixie sat back, her hands supporting her frame. "Oh I'm sure she'll muster the courage to reach old age, Casanova," she winked.
Barbara ignored Trixie's teasing. "And perhaps she'll give me some insight into how poor Pats and Deils must be feeling. I confess, I didn't quite know what to say about the revelation. I still don't."
Trixie rose to her feet, a look of contemplation on her face. "Let me come with you," she demanded.
"Absolutely not!" exclaimed Barbara. "Lara is not a zoo animal to be gawked at!"
"You're getting mighty defensive of your girlfriend, Barbara!"
Barbara took a scarf from her wardrobe and threw it at Trixie. It floated down just inches from Barbara's disappointed face.
Trixie rose from the bed and approached the brunette. "Look, I just want to understand their relationship. And my own reaction, of course. At this stage I'm even willing to take advice from Sister Monica Joan!" Trixie looked to Barbara pleadingly, "but I assume a lady-loving-lady would perhaps have more insight?"
Barbara furrowed her brow.
"Unless you want some alone time with... Lara, is it?"
Barbara groaned, her arms exaggeratedly leapt in the air then fell to her side. "Fine!"
Trixie clapped excitedly.
Barbara took another shirt from her wardrobe and placed it on the bed. She stood back and admired it. "But aren't you on shift soon? Phyllis is in a foul mood, I doubt she'll make allowances."
Trixie joined Barbara in studying the outfit, "I'll just explain that I'm helping you explore your feminine side." Trixie gave the brunette a knowing nudge. Barbara gave a harder nudge in return. It caused Trixie to brace herself against the wardrobe. "If you're making fun, " laughed Barbara, "you're not coming!"
Trixie examined her shoulder for bruising.
Barbara frowned at the outfit. She turned to her wardrobe once more, "now, what on earth do we wear to an afternoon with a lesbian?"
The two women stared at the contents of the wardrobe.
"Do you have any plaid?"