Trixie dragged Barbara along like a mother tugging a scolded child. Barbara was a mismatch of small stumbles and long strides as she struggled to keep up with the blonde's steady pace.
"Trixie, slow down. We have plenty of time!"
Trixie was too steadfast on her destination to register the brunette's pleas. "Well at least let go of my arm!" yelled Barbara, tackling her battered limb away from Trixie's stronghold. It seemed to break the blonde's rhythm. Trixie stopped, suddenly aware of her surroundings.
"I'm quite able to walk without assistance, thankyou." Barbara smiled, attempting to lighten the nature of Trixie's actions. She rubbed her arm with her free hand.
"I do apologise Barbara, it seems my anxiety has rather gotten the best of me." Trixie inspected Barbara's arm for bruises. She traced along the indent of white finger marks on the young Midwife's skin. "My hand is quite the brute it seems!" She held out her hand to the brunette. "We'll go slow."
Barbara surveilled Trixie's open palm, hesitant to trust her word. "That's a line you can use with Lara," mocked Trixie. "We'll go incredibly, incredibly slow," her voice low with emphasis.
Barbara grabbed hold of Trixie's hand, but not in the manner anticipated by the more experienced Midwife. Barbara used her hand as a clench, squeezing Trixie's hand until it pulsated against her own. The throbbing clearly audible. Trixie lowered her hand, further and further toward the ground, trying desperately to rid herself of Barbara's grasp. Barbara grinned at the feeble attempt.
"Okay, I'm sorry!" pleaded the blonde.
"You'll stop teasing?"
"Yes!" Trixie squealed through clenched teeth, "I'll stop teasing!"
Barbara let go of her hand. Trixie pouted and massaged her fingers. "That was really uncalled for," she protested.
"It seems my hand is also quite the brute," laughed Barbara. Trixie didn't find it funny.
The two women made an unconscious decision to walk a reasonable distance apart. Trixie kept a close eye on Barbara's hands, afraid they would lunge at her when she least expected. She desperately wanted to make a joke about Barbara needing to save her hands for 'other purposes,' now that Lara was on the scene, but she feared the consequences.
"So why are you so anxious, Trixie?" asked Barbara, eyeing Trixie eyeing her hands. "You've been acting strangely since you left Sister Julienne's office."
Trixie increased her pace. She contemplated how to answer the question. She could be honest, or she could tell a lie. She was good at lying after all - she had lied to herself constantly during those last months with Tom. I can do this, she had thought, I can be the perfect Vicar's wife. I can be this person for the rest of my life... She ultimately couldn't convince herself, of course. Still, there was an immeasurable difference in lying for a moment and lying for a lifetime, she concluded.
"Well I don't know about you, Barbara, but this is my first double 'date' with a queer. So if you'll forgive my nervousness..." In her contemplation, the words had come out naturally and even-tempered, humorous even. But hearing the words aloud, the strange high-pitched, no-nonsense characteristic of her voice, Trixie grimaced at how brusque it sounded.
"I'm not sure that's a polite term," said Barbara, uncomfortable with the sentiment. "I think that's a word that some like to call themselves. But I'm not sure that we can take such liberties. At least I doubt Patsy would like to be referenced as such."
"Yes, quite," agreed Trixie, ashamed at her poor choice of words. Nervousness invaded her bloodstream, she felt suddenly weak in the knees. If Patsy were to forgive her for her current mistake, how many more faux pas was she likely to make before the Patsy ended their friendship completely? Her forehead creased in worry.
"But that's a question we can ask Lara," said Barbara, an attempt to put Trixie at ease. Trixie laughed at the thought.
"Oh splendid, inappropriate question number one! And for the listeners at home... what is inappropriate question number two?" asked Trixie, highly amused at Barbara's intention for the afternoon.
"Well I don't know," protested Barbara, "I mean surely you have questions? Ones that you definitely couldn't ask Patsy and Delia?"
Ordinarily Barbara would be right. Under usual circumstances Trixie would have an entire list - and would be completely unashamed to ask, particularly after a tipple. But try as she might, the presence of merely one looming question invaded her thoughts. "Will you forgive me? is the only one that springs to mind," sighed Trixie. "For everything."
Barbara took hold of Trixie's hand; a much softer gesture than her previous attempt. "Patsy knows that you're a good person... a good friend, who simply said something bad. Something you regret. I'm sure she has it in her heart to forgive. And what better place to forgive than at Nonnatus House?"
Nonnatus House, contemplated the blonde, the abode of Nuns, religion, preaching, truth. Trixie kicked a stone along the street. "I did something," she said, in a whisper.
"Sorry?" asked Barbara.
"This morning, in Sister Julienne's office. I panicked. I said something I shouldn't have."
Barbara's mouth inched open in curiosity. "What did you..."
"Barbara!" came a remote voice. Barbara turned to see a petite blonde in the distance, waving her hands at the two women.
Barbara looked to Trixie. The blonde midwife smiled and nodded her head in Lara's direction, an invitation to proceed.
Trixie swallowed the shame rising in her throat and smiled animatedly. As she and Barbara approached the petite woman, Trixie noticed her features for the first time. Their initial, fleeting meeting, had been under the harsh orange glow of a street lamp. She had thought her pretty, but nothing more, too focused was she on her friend's indiscretion at the time. But approaching the other blonde, Trixie could see the flawlessness of her skin, the impeccable yet understated make-up, the way her dress was perfectly tailored to her tiny frame. It was enough to make Trixie forget about her earlier wrongdoings. At least momentarily.
Barbara too, had only known Lara within the darkened light of Gateways. She was surprised at her femininity, her fashion consciousness... her lack of plaid. She glanced sideways at Trixie, then back to Lara. In fact, she thought, Lara bore a stunning resemblance to Trixie.
Trixie nudged Barbara's rib with her elbow. "Well done old girl, she's gorgeous!"
Barbara laughed. She was, thought Barbara. And for some reason, that made her proud.
Patsy found it impossible to concentrate. Though the usual routine of the clinic seemed blessedly self-sustainable; expectant mothers gathered their tonics, babies were held out for examination, toddlers wreaked havoc on the ordered displays of supplements; Patsy found she was unable to comprehend tasks she had performed for years.
"Excuse me for just a moment would you Mrs Smith?" asked Patsy, medicine in hand. The new mother rolled her eyes as she cradled a writhing baby in her arms.
Patsy found Phyllis in an adjacent space, measuring a newborn. "Sorry to interrupt Nurse Crane, but I seem to have forgotten the ratio of medicine to weight for newborns. Could you enlighten me?" Phyllis creased her brow at the red-head, ready to protest that she was experienced enough to know the precise calculation. But much to Patsy's relief, Phyllis' professional duty took over. She answered sternly.
"Thank you Phyllis," said Patsy, smiling in appreciation. Phyllis narrowed her eyes at the red-head. "I mean Nurse Crane, of course. Momentary lapse of judgement."
"I should think so," said Phyllis. She glanced apologetically at the waiting mother.
Patsy inched her way out of the room, then returned to her station. "Sorry to keep you waiting, one can never be too sure with these things," she reassured the increasingly impatient mother. Patsy collected the medicine with a feeding syringe then administered the correct dosage. There was no need to exchange pleasantries upon completion, it was evident that neither woman could muster the pretence.
Patsy ventured into the waiting area and took in the sight before her. Awaiting her expertise was a seemingly never-ending line of expectant and newly blessed mothers; her stomach dropped. Patsy was unsure of how she could breathe through the day, let alone be an actual functioning human-being. One that vulnerable people relied on for medical advice, no less.
"I'll be just a moment," she said, to no patient in particular.
Patsy walked briskly outside and braced herself against the brickwork. She searched her pocket for a cigarette. Finding one, she lit it up immediately and took a long, deep drag. Patsy exhaled in relief. "Some loss of a Nurse you'll be," she whispered into the crisp morning air.
As if in some unspoken solidarity with her girlfriend, Delia spent the morning in a daze. Though usually happy to engage with the various men who entered the ward, Delia fixed their dressings and tended to their wounds in relative silence.
"You alright love?" asked an elderly gentleman, his head propped up by multiple pillows. Delia didn't hear him. She finished re-applying his bandages.
"Now is there anything else I can do for you Mr Chisolm?" Delia registered the look of concern on his face, then matched it with her own. "Yes," he said, "you can tell me what you've done with my lovely, cheerful Nurse Busby!"
Delia smiled half-heartedly. "I'm rather afraid an imposter has taken over her body, Mr Chisolm. You're stuck with grouchy Nurse Busby today. So you needn't ask me for a cigarette!" she scolded, in feigned rigidity.
Mr Chisolm leaned forward, conspiratorially. He motioned Delia closer. "Your body's been taken over, you say? Happened to me once, in my Navy days." Mr Chisolm eyed her knowingly, like they were part of some secret society. "There are aliens among us," he said, pointing his finger.
Delia smiled at him, then backed away. "I might just see how your medicine is coming along." She placed a warm hand on his frail body then made her way to the break room.
The moment had caused her to smile, briefly, but the frown that followed was instantaneous.
Author Note 2:
- No, Barbara is not falling for a woman.