We've reached the end. Thankyou to all who stuck with this piece; especially those who reviewed, 'favourited' and followed. And a special thanks to those who repeatedly offered encouragement; I have noticed and appreciated.
As always, I'm immensely grateful to Steff for proofreading.
Patsy placed her hands on Delia's shoulders in an effort to calm her. "What did Sister Julienne say?" asked Delia, shaking off Patsy's heavy limbs.
"Please stop pacing," said Patsy. She sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for Delia to join her. Delia chose to wear out the floorboards. "Honestly Deils, it's fine," said Patsy. "It was just a quick word of encouragement. 'You are an exemplary nurse and member of Nonnatus House, Ms Mount,'" Patsy mimicked.
"So we're okay then? It's over?"
"To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced Sister Julienne believes the story."
"But it was true. Well, for the most part."
Patsy nodded. "She told me to be careful," she said, arching her brow.
Delia's pace slowed. She faced the redhead.
"And yet here I am," Patsy whispered, her small smile revealing a slight glimpse of shyness. She patted the space beside her.
Delia bit her lip, surveying the spot. "Here you are," she said, relaxing at last.
They hadn't talked like Patsy had anticipated. Delia was bound to query her hesitancy to deny the accusation, Patsy thought. Instead they lay together in the small bed, talking of other things. Delia chatted about her work day; specifically her desperate need to find a cat. "Just for Christmas," she joked. Patsy found the idea of a feline play date with the matron quite amusing. She hypothesised its likely name. It wouldn't be a pretty name, she concluded. Certainly not a Princess or a Mittens. If Patsy didn't think gambling vulgar, she would have bet it bore the namesake of Gertrude Stein. The joke caused a developing bruise on her upper arm; a consequence of a swift punch from the Welsh woman. It was an abrupt end to a mundane discussion, and a start to the rambling of other routine topics. Weekend plans, the name of the song stuck in Patsy's head for the past fortnight. A slow song; female singer. "That narrows it down," Delia laughed.
Delia's body eventually moulded into Patsy's embrace. With Delia's back to the redhead, they lay perfectly intertwined, as if each body had been customised to piece together. Patsy listened to the shallow breathing of her girlfriend; its volume increasing before reaching a steady rhythm of inhales and exhales. She could feel the slow rise and release of Delia's body, as their warm skin made and then broke contact with every catch and release of breath. Patsy knew they could lay like this until early morning. Their cover would be safe, Trixie had promised.
Patsy wasn't sure how long she had lain like this. Wide awake with preoccupation; Delia huddled into the small nook of her curled frame. She heard the first sounds of Delia's slumber when the light of the moon beamed onto the floorboards. It sat, perfectly still, in the space between the window and the bed. Propping herself up, Patsy searched for the warm glow, noting its gradual movement. The translucent light now occupied the foot of the bed. Patsy could distort the glow with the slight shift of her foot. She guessed that the journey had taken an hour, at least. Much of the hour was spent replaying Sister Julienne's words; obsessing if the head nun knew the absolute truth. "Please be careful; your private lives are none of my concern, but you must give me reason to make it so." It seemed to come from insight; knowledge. As if Sister Julienne was aware of the likelihood of more evidence coming to light. The chance finding of the two women in bed as they were now. Or Delia's hand on her arm, perhaps lingering for too long. A stolen kiss under the cloak of dark, exposed by the switch of the light. Patsy thought back to all their purloined moments; it was a miracle rumours were only just surfacing. But I'm here aren't I? she thought. In bed with my Delia, Trixie to cover should any questions be raised. It's more than we could ever have longed for in the past; save a place of our own.
Patsy's eyes darted from the ceiling to Delia's shoulder blade, poking through the thin cotton of her nightie. I should tell her, she thought, tracing along the sharp bone. One day soon, I'll hold your hand and speak as loud as my feelings. One day soon we won't hide anymore. She gathered a lock of Delia's hair and thread it through her fingers. "Deils," she whispered. When the brunette failed to stir, Patsy gathered another strand, tracing it around the shape of Delia's ear. She repeated her girlfriend's name, whispering slightly louder than her first attempt. Delia's light snoring broke, replaced with a mumble. "Are you awake?" whispered Patsy. The Welsh nurse answered in a steady flow of shallow breathing.
Patsy teased Delia's shoulder blade with a chaste kiss. We can talk tomorrow, she concluded. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.
Delia sat on the edge of Patsy's bed. "Are you sure we won't be late?"
"I'm positive, Deils," said Patsy, pinching Delia's chin, before noting the dark look in her eyes. Like treacle, but not as sweet, she had thought when first witnessed many years ago. "I'll be ten minutes," Patsy reassured. "Scout's honour."
"I've heard that before, Patience Mount," said Delia, as Patsy gathered her toiletries. "But put you in a front of a mirror with a bottle of lacquer and I'm in for a lonely winter."
"It takes time to look good for my girl," said Patsy, winking. An attempt at turning Delia's treacle laden eyes into honey.
"Well today it's taking nine minutes," warned Delia, "and counting."
Patsy gave a scout's salute, then made her way to the bathroom.
Delia fell back on the bed and groaned. She turned in the direction of the absent bed beside her, glad it was unoccupied. Though Trixie had certainly made gains in her favour, a slight resentment still lingered. Delia was unsure whether she could be in the same room as the blonde without offering a callous, off-hand remark.
Turning again, she heard the muffled sound of paper wrinkling under weight, then felt a slight discomfort against the skin of her neck. Sharp yet smooth. Reaching behind, Delia grasped at the folded parcel of white. Thinking it nothing but a discarded piece of paper; a shopping list perhaps, she did not hesitate in folding open the tight seams. Whatever its contents, it would aid in passing the time.
Once the paper had retained its original shape, Delia could see that what lie within was something more personal than a reminder to buy milk. She recognised the neat writing as belonging to Trixie, though it differed somewhat to her usual style. It appeared rushed, as though the blonde had put thoughts directly to paper without rumination. Though Delia knew she shouldn't, she leaned to her side, her back disguising any sight of her actions from the open door, and read.
Trixie returned to her seat with two large cups. She assisted a blindfolded Barbara by directing a straw through a part in the brunette's lips.
"This tastes strange," said Barbara, backing away.
"Oh sorry, sweetie. That was my drink." Trixie allowed Barbara access to the second cup.
Barbara released the straw, her mouth thinning. Trixie recognised the expression; the beginning of judgement. Her mother excelled at the practice, particularly when Trixie wore outfits designed for 'easy girls.' "Just straight tonic water for me, I'm afraid," she explained. "Though it's a darn sight better than the pure sugar you're drinking."
"I like sugar."
"And it seems to like you," said Trixie. "Not an inch of excess on those bones."
Barbara smiled, showing her teeth. "You're in a rather good mood, Trixie."
"It's hard to be anything but elated when in the company of masked crusader. Though I imagined it would occur in rather different circumstances."
"I wish you'd allow me to take it off. I'm sure I look quite ridiculous."
"You're certainly no Tyrone Powers," agreed Trixie. "But if you take it off, you'll ruin the surprise."
Barbara searched for the straw; her head bobbed aimlessly. Trixie laughed at the ridiculousness of it. Barbara looked like a toddler waiting for the aeroplane of food to arrive. Trixie assisted Barbara in finding her way. Taking a sip, Barbara leaned back in contemplation. She thought of all the surprises that had occurred in the last twenty four hours. All but one was answered.
"Trixie," said Barbara, looking vaguely in the blonde's direction, but slightly off kilter. "What did you mean by 'I said something I shouldn't have' after your meeting with Sister Julienne?"
Barbara's head hung in the air, waiting for a response. "I'm sure it's none of my business, but you seemed quite unlike yourself."
"I feel like I've not been myself for some time," said Trixie, staring into space. She waited a moment. "Do you know the history of Alcoholics Anonymous, Barbara?" she asked, in such a way to suggest she would answer her own question. "It started as a sort of manifesto. Finding sobriety through truth and The Lord," she continued. "I lied," she confessed, at last. "I said I needed to attend an urgent meeting. Treading on the integrity of AA and a nun in one foul swoop. It's terrific for the conscience."
"We've all lied, Trixie. Every one of us. Even Sister Julienne, I'm sure." Barbara looked quickly to the heavens, sure she could be struck down at any moment. With her eyes blindfolded, she wouldn't even see it coming.
"It's not the lying so much," said Trixie. "If I cannot take the meetings seriously, how can I take my sobriety seriously?"
"But you must take it seriously, Trixie," said Barbara. "What else could explain your anxiety over it?"
Trixie contemplated. Her frowned features still smooth and taut. She wasn't sure she could take Barbara's advice seriously either. The brunette's masked head shifted from side to side, like a curious chicken.
"Permission to address the prisoner, sir?" asked a familiar voice approaching.
Trixie's skin wrinkled around the eyes. Her frown transformed into a bright smile.
"Patsy, is that you?" asked Barbara, turning in the direction of the voice.
"That's guard to you," said Patsy, squeezing the brunette's shoulder.
"And is that Delia laughing? Is that my surprise? How lovely," exclaimed Barbara. "Though I'm not sure the blindfold is completely necessary."
"I suppose I can put you out of your misery," said Trixie, releasing the blindfold. Barbara scanned her surroundings. She sat in a gold rimmed chair at the edge of a grand cinema foyer.
"Trixie, you didn't!" squealed Barbara.
"Just a small token of appreciation." Trixie scrutinised the three women, each looked at her proudly. "Besides, I really must see what happens to that poor mockingbird," she added, uncharacteristically ill at ease with the attention.
Barbara squeezed Trixie's hand, then spotted a figure approaching.
"Hello again, Barbara."
"Lara?"
Patsy recalled the name, but she couldn't quite place the well-dressed blonde walking toward her. She turned to Delia, 'who?' she mouthed. Delia nodded her head in Barbara's direction, then winked. "Oh," said Patsy, loudly; suggestively. The women looked to her; their mouths opened slightly, eyebrows raised. Delia leaned into Patsy's shoulder, stifling her laughter. "Rheumatism," explained Patsy, nudging Delia from her shoulder.
"How on earth have we managed this?" laughed Barbara, turning to her new friend. She was sure that a divine occurrence had taken place in East London yet again. She looked to Lara's hands, in case the blonde was holding the elusive pantihose she had asked of The Lord. She wasn't, but that was okay, she thought. The day was already perfect.
"I think you'll find dear Trixie here managed the surprise," said Lara.
"Turns out," said Trixie, "there's quite a few Laras, last name unknown, in the greater London School District. Some not so pleasant, I might add."
Barbara excitedly introduced the teacher to Patsy and Delia.
"Do you have a cat?" asked Delia, once pleasantries concluded.
Trixie gasped. "Delia," she exclaimed. "That really is an awful cliché." She shook her head dismissively. "Honestly," she muttered.
"It's merely a work related question," explained Delia, crossing her arms.
Lara laughed. "You're in luck. I'm the proud owner of a mischievous little tabby."
"Boy or girl?" Delia asked, narrowing her eyes.
Lara mimicked Delia's stance. Her mouth curved slightly. "No boys in my house," she said.
Delia nodded slowly. "We'll talk."
The sound of organ music forced the women to take their seats. As soon as she sat, Barbara felt an odd sensation pressing into the side of her hip. She reached just below the arm, into the deep crevasse of the seat. She grasped at the object, soft and malleable in her hand. Pulling it toward her, her eyes widened in horror. Dangling from her hand was a pair of used pantihose, likely hastily discarded in an amorous moment between two lovers. She hurriedly placed the pantihose back into its hiding place. My fault Lord, she communicated internally, I should have clarified my desire for new pantihose.
Barbara's panicked hiding of undergarments was not missed by Trixie. She swallowed her laughter. If she wasn't on her best behaviour she would have made a joke. Lara should be careful, she thought. Barbara evidently had a gift for making ladies drop their delicates.
Trixie turned toward Patsy and Delia; an effort to hide her amusement. The abrupt awareness of her positioning between the two 'couples' wiped the smile from her face. She sighed inwardly. She suddenly felt like a little sister, tagging along on her babysitter's date. Perhaps I should stick my head in a bucket of popcorn and call it a night, she thought, watching the blackened screen. She felt a dull nudge to the ribs. She turned to see Delia grinning before her. For how long Delia held her gaze, Trixie wasn't sure. "You're a good friend," said Delia, nodding in sincerity.
Trixie twitched slightly at the mouth. A half-hearted acknowledgment of something she didn't quite believe. She looked past the Welsh midwife to Patsy beside her. They were holding hands, openly and proudly. Patsy followed the direction of Trixie's stare, to her hand entwined with Delia's. She noticed Trixie's mouth elevate; the appearance of a forlorn smile. Catching the blonde's eye, they stared into each other for a moment. A stand-off completely at odds with the one previously held in the back alley of Gateways. Patsy broke first, her mouth widening to its full capacity.
"I'm only as good as the friends I have," said Trixie, smiling in return.