Dear Patsy,

There's something I need to tell you, but I'm not sure how. I'm… I'm afraid, I suppose. I know that's ridiculous because you know already - of course you do, you've known all along. But I've only just worked it out and it still feels new to me, so please bear with me if through this if it comes out a little jumbled. I'll try to explain it all. You see, I've remembered something important. Or rather, someone important.

My early days at The London have started coming back to me at last, and there's one thing most of my strongest recollections have in common. A girl. Time and again I get little glimpses of a blonde nurse in my memories and it makes my heart lurch every time I see her. In the time that has come back to me so far I haven't been properly introduced to her yet, I just see her across the ward or in lectures but for some reason she stands out more than everyone else around us, as if she is the only reason I bothered remembering the moment at all. And… I think I know why. I think I finally understand.

She was there on my very first day, when I arrived flustered and breathless at the lecture hall because my place at the Nurses' Home hadn't come through yet and I'd gotten utterly lost on my way from the boarding house (it looked so close to the hospital on the map but in reality there were so many little streets and I kept getting turned around in places shut off because of the rubble left over from the war). Eventually I had to ask for directions and ended up getting a lift to the hospital in the back of a fish monger's van (I really would have been late if not for his kindness, but bumping along between crates of sole and oysters was not at all the way I imagined my grand arrival in my new life and I spent the entire day terrified that I stank of mackerel).

It wasn't until I arrived in the corridor where everyone was waiting and saw all the tight clusters of happily chatting girls that it really hit me. Everyone else had already been there four months. Friendship groups had been made, everyone knew their way round the wards, everyone knew which doctors to avoid and who might lend a hand to a struggling new nurse. Everyone except me.

I had had as much training as the rest (possibly even more given how much extra time I had devoted to study in Aberystwyth), but I felt suddenly as though I knew nothing at all, and for a moment I was too shy to even think of approaching anyone. I had never really thought of myself as having an accent before, and yet amidst all those uniformly English voices I was all too aware of how different I would sound to everyone else when I opened my mouth. I know it's a silly thing to worry over but you must remember I had never spent any great length of time away from Wales and my accent was just one more thing that would make me stand out among people who already knew each other but didn't know me. I actually had a moment's doubt that I had done the right thing in coming to London at all, though I did my best to push the thought away as first day nerves. Luckily before my standing alone could begin to feel truly awkward the whole problem was put out of my mind as the doors opened and I was able to join the throng to get inside and sit down.

I found myself sitting beside a blonde girl who flashed me a warm smile as we got our books in order. It was such a little thing, but it made me feel better, as if I might not be the outsider I had feared I would be at all. After all she had chosen to sit beside me when there were plenty of empty seats elsewhere, and she was smiling at me as if she genuinely wanted to know me. I let my relief and gratitude spill onto my face as I answered her smile and she opened her mouth as if to make introductions, but before she could say so much as a hello the room was called to order and we had to be quiet and pay attention to what we were being told. She didn't just forget about the new girl sitting beside her though - later on when my pen ran out of ink just as I was trying to get down a particularly complex point she wordlessly handed me her own spare one as naturally as if we had been sitting together every day for months. I tried hard to focus on the lecture but for the first time ever I just wanted this particular bit of nursing instruction to be over so I could get on and talk to my new friend. But at the end of the lecture I had time to do no more than hand her back the pen and say 'thank you, I'd have been flummoxed without that! I shall have to bring plenty of spares in future. I'm-'
'Nurse Busby!'
Hearing my name in that moment, as well placed as if the interruption had been scripted that way made me jump. You'll laugh but I snapped to attention as smartly as a soldier, I was still that high strung with new-girl nerves. It was the Sister of course, calling me over to get my assignment and chastise me for not arriving early enough to come to her office before the class. She gave me a very stern lecture but said she would let me off this time since reports from my previous placement all concurred that I was generally extremely punctual and diligent, and she understood the difficulty of traversing a new city, especially one like London. 'But do not let this happen again Nurse Busby or there will be consequences. I expect nothing less than perfect time keeping from my nurses, even if it means getting up two hours early to map your route. Do I make myself clear?'
'Yes Sister. Sorry Sister, it won't happen again'.
'Alright then. See that it doesn't and we will say no more about it. Welcome to The London Nurse Busby'.

By the time I was given directions to my next placement and allowed to go to join the others in my group my new acquaintance was nowhere to be seen. I had hoped she would be on the same rotation as me, but alas I had no such luck and I didn't see her again that day. After that I would catch glimpses of her but never quite seemed close enough to say hello. She would always be on the other side of the dining hall surrounded by people, or I'd see her walking past in the corridor with the ward Sister or bump into her on the way to or from somewhere when we were both in too much of a hurry to do more than flash a quick smile as we went our separate ways. I didn't know her name to ask after her and I wasn't sure where she was working, though I really wanted to find her even after I started making friends with the other girls on my rotation. She seemed more dedicated than any of the other girls I'd met and I actually wondered for a while whether she was a qualified nurse and not one of us students at all, in spite of having met her in the lecture that first day. She just seemed so exactly the kind of nurse I aspired to be that I could hardly believe she was as new to this as I was.

That's all I remember about her so far, but I do know for certain that those glimpses are not all there was to our friendship. You see… I've figured it out. The sadness I mean- the thing that was missing. I know I told you that the business with the jug on Christmas morning was to do with my grandmother, but honestly I don't really think that was the case, and I suspect you know that too. It might sound crazy (but I don't think it will because you KNOW, so you'll understand) but for the past couple of weeks I've been growing more and more convinced that you are sad too, and until now I couldn't work out why that could be. I told you I had dreamt of you, but I didn't tell you what it was about. Well, now I will. In my dream you were kneeling beside my bed and sobbing so hard you could barely breathe let alone speak, and I was holding you but I couldn't fix it. I couldn't make things right for you and I woke up feeling empty and so alone. I didn't want to tell you at the time because it seemed too intense, too private a moment to be written out like this even if it was only a dream, but now I know what it symbolizes I feel I must.

Oh Pats, I can't believe I've been moaning all this time about my amnesia and feeling stifled by mam as if that was the worst thing in the world, and you never told me the truth of it!

I'm sorry; I'm not blaming you for not saying anything. In your situation I would have done the same thing so I truly do understand. It was kinder that way. But please tell me now Pats. The reason I got so upset over that jug wasn't to do with the flat at all was it? It was about the person that was to live there with me. Oh Patsy, how have you been writing to me so cheerfully when the loss must have felt so fresh and horrible to you every time you read my letters? You are a better person than I realized to have kept on writing and making me feel so cared for all these weeks. In spite of everything I've put you through; you're still trying to save me.

You see, I know who the blonde girl must have been, and why all my London memories seem to be centred on her. She was the girl I was moving in with. And oh Patsy… she's dead isn't she?

I've thought it over, pieced together all the little puzzles and feelings that I couldn't make sense of and this seems like the most logical answer. Why else would I be so sad about reminders of a flat I never even lived in? And why else would YOU be sad as well? Those memories were the missing link that brought it all together – the girl who I feel so very fond of, who makes my heart leap with gladness when I see her and yet leaves me with a sense of loss so strong I almost want to cry. I wasn't the only one in that car accident was I? I can't believe I never thought to ask if someone else was hurt! I feel so dreadful and self-centred. Why didn't I ask?

But now I know, someone was with me, and I escaped alive while she was killed. Please tell me honestly… was it my fault Patsy? Did I cause the accident? That would explain why no one told me, it makes sense that if I couldn't remember you wouldn't want to burden me with the truth. But I'm sure you knew this day would come, so please, please tell me now. I know this must be so painful for you to write about, especially to me. The two of you must have been good friends as well. But I really need to know. I asked mam to tell me about the accident weeks ago but she won't, she just says 'don't think on it cariad, it will only upset you and that's behind us now'. If she knows I know the truth now it'll only make her more determined that I shouldn't dwell on it. But I need to know what happened. Was I driving? Was she in the car or did I hit her? Oh Patsy how could I have done something so dreadful?

Who was she Pats? Please tell me about her because I can't remember. I can't remember her name, or what she liked to do in her free time or anything about her except for that glimpse of blonde hair, a friendly smile and the fact that I have this loneliness and sense of loss inside me. I hate myself for failing her like this, when she is gone and all there IS is memory. So please Patsy. Help me remember her?

And oh goodness, her family! I should write to them, tell them how sorry I am. Do you think they'd want to hear from me, or would it make it worse when all this was my fault and yet I am the one who is still here while she is gone? Oh Patsy I don't know what to do. I can't make this better. No matter what I do, I can never, ever make this alright. I almost wish I hadn't regained these memories because it was easier before I figured this out. I know that's selfish of me and I'm not really sorry I know, but I don't know where to go from here. How can I ever begin to make amends?

I'm so, so sorry Patsy.

Love,
Delia

... ... ...

Dear Patsy,

Oh God, oh God, oh God. WHAT HAVE I DONE?

You said in your last letter that everyone in The London was anxious for my return and if you had told me that at any other time I would have been absolutely thrilled. But how can I go back now? How can I look her friends and family in the eye after all the pain I have caused?

I don't know what else to say except I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Love,
Delia