Chapter 1
The pair sat on the bench; their skin glowing in the early spring sunshine. A gentle breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle and traces of the women’s laughter. The red-head threw back her head in response to her companion’s soundless words and smiled. Placing a hand into the taller woman’s, the brunette leaned her head closer. The red-head lifted the cigarette she was holding to her lips and inhaled, releasing a trail of smoke before resting a hand on the shorter woman’s knee. She dropped the cigarette to the floor and stood. The watching figure edged further into the shadows.
~~~~~~~
Turning it over in her mind for the umpteenth time that evening, she roughly unscrewed the jar she was clutching and jabbed a finger into its contents. Stay out of it you nosey old bugger, she told herself as she quickly massaged the cream into her skin. No good ever came from interfering in other folks business. What will be will be, as they say. She didn’t much relish the idea of what would be however, if the wrong people discovered their secret, and that would only be a matter of time, she was certain, if they continued being so careless.
There was of course, a possibility that she had been mistaken in what she had seen, she conceded as she replenished a finger and rubbed cream into the dry skin on her elbows. She stopped rubbing and dropped her hands into her lap as she once more pictured the scene. No, there was no mistake. What on earth were they thinking? In public, for any Tom, Dick and Harry to see. They could explain it away as being friendly affection; of course they could, if it weren’t for all the other things. The lingering looks, the subtle touches, the room visits late at night… signs she was all too familiar with. She screwed the lid back on the jar and angrily banged it down on the bedside table. She had witnessed the ruination of many a promising career in her time and was damned if she would see it happen to them too. She had, after all, become very fond of them both. She approved heartily of Nurse Mount’s brisk efficiency and attention to hygiene, and knew that, like her, there lay great warmth and kindness behind the stern demeanour and strict professionalism so many folk failed to see beyond. And as for Nurse Busby; she had always found her to be a sweet, affable girl; most capable and eager to learn. A little on the cheeky side at times, but bursting with the vitality and passion for life she loved to see in young women. No, she reasoned, it would be such a waste, and for what? As long as their exemplary standard of work continued unabated, she supposed, it was no concern of hers.
She looked up thoughtfully as she heard cheerful, animated voices drift closer along the hallway and enter the room next door. They clearly made one another happy, she smiled, retrieving her glasses from the bedside table and cleaning them distractedly on the skirt of her uniform. The lack of a special companion had never troubled her all that much. You don’t miss what you have never had. But during those private, pensive moments, lying quietly alone in bed at night, she had often imagined how her life would be if things were different. She couldn’t help feeling, if she were honest, pangs of loneliness during those moments. She smiled wistfully at the muffled laughter coming from the other side of the wall. And perhaps even envy she admitted.
She felt glad though, that they at least, had found that special person. That they were in love, she was in no doubt. Who was she, or anyone else for that matter, to say that it was wrong? Love, whatever form it took, should be grabbed and clung tightly onto with both hands. And protected. She nodded resolutely, reaching for the book laying on the bed and settling back against the headboard, satisfied with the decision she had reached.
Pausing as she rifled through the chapter on imperfect verbs, Phyllis became increasingly aware of something unsettling. She removed her glasses and listened, frowning at the unbroken silence behind her head.
‘Come on girls,’ she whispered pleadingly, ‘you need to be smarter than that.’
She let out a heavy sigh and returned to her book, more certain than ever of what she must do.
~~~~~~~
Eager to make the most of the sudden and unexpected sunny weather London was currently experiencing, Delia hurriedly changed out of her uniform and tore out of her room, narrowly avoiding hurtling in to a furtive looking Sister Monica Joan on the stairs.
‘Afternoon Sister,’ she called as she hurried past, chuckling at the cake tin the elderly Nun was trying unsuccessfully to conceal behind her back.
She trotted down the back steps onto the courtyard and plopped herself down onto the bench. Sighing contentedly, The brunette stretched out her legs and closed her eyes. It was so wonderful to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, particularly after such a bitterly cold winter, and miserable start to spring. She was tempted to keep her eyes shut and steal forty winks, but instead picked up the copies of Photoplay from her lap. She had spent the little free time she had had in recent weeks, when she wasn’t catching up with sleep, with Patsy, so there was still last month’s edition to read as well as April’s. Glancing around to check she was alone, she allowed her eyes to roam appreciatively over April’s cover. Although not a patch on Patsy’s, Elizabeth Taylor’s breasts looked magnificent in the blue, zip fronted catsuit she was wearing, and she spent a happy minute or two becoming blissfully lost in their full, round curves and inviting cleavage. She cleared her throat and quickly placed the magazine to one side, deciding with a smirk she had better leave that one for later. March’s cover was singularly less interesting. She opened it on her lap and started reading.
Hearing soft footsteps approach the bench, Delia lifted her eyes from an article on Billy Fury, up into the tired blue eyes of Nurse Crane.
‘Good afternoon Miss Busby.’ she chimed, ‘do you mind if I…?’ She waved a hand at the empty space beside Delia.
‘Of course not, be my guest,’ Delia smiled.
She sat down with a weary sigh. After a few moments of silence, the older midwife spoke, gesturing at a corner of the courtyard where several freshly planted pots were scattered.
‘I see that Sister Monica Joan has been up to her old tricks again.’
Delia grinned as she followed the midwife's gaze. ‘Fred doesn’t know when to give up does he? It would be far easier if he just left them there to thrive in their natural habitat, as the Sister would say.’
Another moment of silence passed between them. Nurse Crane began distractedly running her hands up and down her thighs.
‘Lovely day.’
‘I hope it lasts,’ Delia nodded, beginning to feel a little uncomfortable at the strained pleasantries. She would leave it a minute, just to be polite, and then go back inside. There was clearly something on Phyllis’ mind and she didn’t want to intrude on the peaceful seclusion she had probably been seeking herself.
‘Isn’t he the chap who goes on about being halfway to paradise?’ Nurse Crane glanced down at the magazine still open on Delia’s lap. 'Barbara is quite struck on him I believe.’
‘Yes,’ Delia replied, not sure whether or not Barbara really did like Billy Fury, although he was from Liverpool so she supposed so. ‘He’s alright, but Pats says he sounds like he is singing down a well.’ Delia’s face fell as she noticed that the soft smile Phyllis was giving her didn’t quite reach as far as her eyes.
The older midwife lowered her gaze momentarily, as her face gave up all pretence of amiable cheer. ‘Yes, well.’ She started, hesitating. ‘About Patsy. Nurse Mount,’ she corrected. ‘You and Nurse Mount.’
Delia’s heart constricted. You and Nurse Mount? She couldn’t be implying… could she? No. It could mean anything. But it was the way she said it. It sounded deliberate. She had definitely placed emphasis on the ‘you’. The brunette’s thoughts raced as she tried to keep her face from betraying her panic. When she eventually found her voice, she was surprised at how calm the words had sounded.
‘Me and Nurse Mount?’
‘Yes lass, you and Nurse Mount,’ she reiterated, staring unflinchingly into the younger midwife's questioning blue eyes.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Delia lied, as she realised Phyllis was not about to expand on her comment and was instead waiting for a reaction.
‘Come on kid,’ she whispered, ‘I think you do.’
Delia felt her stomach clench. She closed her eyes for a moment, and swallowed down the acidic burn of bile that was settling at the back of her throat. She wasn’t imagining it. She knows. But how does she know. How does she think… Her eyes snapped open with new found hope.
‘I don’t…’
‘I saw you both,’ Nurse Crane interrupted. She nodded to the bench. ‘Here, yesterday.’
Oh Christ! oh Christ! oh Christ! She saw us! But what did she see? Delia’s mind frantically scrambled to recall their actions from the day before. Had they kissed? No. But God she had wanted to. The way the sun had shone in Patsy’s hair, the scent of her perfume, the soft touch of her hand. They held hands. Shit, they held hands. Not for long but evidently long enough to be seen. Say something. There could quite easily be an innocent explanation as to why they had hold of one another’s hand. And why Patsy had her hand on my knee. Oh Christ. Think Busby, think.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ was all Delia could think to repeat, as she stared pleadingly into the midwife's impassive face. She silently berated herself for being so bloody foolish. She had gone over in her mind, time and time again, what she would say if this situation ever arose, but when it came down to it, her mind showed absolutely no sign of cooperating.
The creases on the older midwife’s forehead deepened as she frowned in frustration. ‘Come on lass, I’m no fool, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me like one.’
‘I… we…’ Delia began, feeling the soft prick of tears. She lowered her head. So this is it, she thought vaguely as a pouting Billy Fury posing with his guitar stared up at her from the magazine still on her lap, and all thoughts trailed away entirely. At some point, she wasn’t sure when, she became distantly aware of a warm hand rubbing her arm, dragging her mind reluctantly back into focus.
‘It’s alright love. I’m not here to pass judgement,’ Nurse Crane reassured softly. 'Just to encourage you both to be more circumspect.'
Delia took a moment to digest what she had just heard before lifting her head numbly. ‘Does anyone else…?’
‘I don’t believe so, no,’ Phyllis answered quickly, pre-empting what the younger midwife was about to ask. ‘Truth be told,’ she continued as she looked away, her eyes lazily coming to rest on Sister Monica Joan’s colourful blue plant pot of rescued Alkanet in the corner, ‘I may have paid more attention than most. I saw Nurse Mount’s face. When telephoning the hospital after your…’ Trailing off, she hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘The poor lass looked broken. I suppose I just kept a closer eye on the pair of you after that.’ She turned back to face Delia, her tone hardening. ‘But that does not escape the fact that you have been totally irresponsible. What if it had been someone else that had seen you? Reverend Herewood, or Sister Winifred, or heaven forbid Sister Ursula? I’m sure I need not remind you what is at stake Nurse Busby.’
Delia looked down and slowly bit her lip, not quite sure how to respond. Of course she knew what was at stake, what they would stand to lose. Phyllis was right, they had been careless. A ripple of nausea pulsed through her as her thoughts turned to Patsy. She had always known how difficult it must have been, having to cope with the accident alone, but having her pain confirmed by someone else was heartbreaking to hear.
‘Are you going to tell anyone?’ Delia lifted her glistening eyes to look searchingly at the older midwife.
‘No, I’m not. What folk get up to behind closed doors is their own affair, as far as I’m concerned, but it needs to be just that. Behind closed doors. Do you understand what I am saying Nurse Busby?’
Delia nodded mutely.
‘And talking of behind closed doors,’ Nurse Crane continued, raising an eyebrow, ‘you’d do well to remember that silence isn’t necessarily the best form of discretion.’ She winked.
Mortified, Delia’s eyes widened as a red hot flush crept traitorously onto her cheeks at the realisation of what Phyllis had said. Oh God, she thought, she actually winked.
A smile briefly tugged at the older midwife's mouth before she placed a reassuring hand on Delia’s wrist and persisted earnestly. ‘Now you think on what I’ve said. Let this serve as a warning to you both.’
Delia nodded weakly.
‘Right then,’ she announced with an air of finality, standing and inhaling a deep breath. ‘I must get on. I need to perform some unexpected maintenance on the Rolodex. Some begger, pardon my language, has been using quite another filing system to that of my own.'
Delia watched blankly as the midwife gave her a curt nod before turning and disappearing up the steps into the convent. What had just happened? she asked herself, stunned by the brief exchange. Her mind attempted to summarise the main points from their conversation. Nurse Crane knew about them but wasn’t going to report them to Sister Ursula. Right, she thought numbly, still not entirely convinced that she hadn’t succumbed to sun stroke and dreamt the whole thing.
Lost in thought, she absently folded the magazine she had been nervously clutching, and placed it aside. What would she tell Patsy? Should she tell Patsy? They had indeed grown careless, especially recently, she admitted. After the freedom of a near empty Nonnatus House for four weeks, it had proven to be quite a challenge to fall back into having to filter every single look and gesture. They had grown accustomed in that time, to unguardedly sharing each other's company…. and beds. Surely, she reasoned, they could be more discrete without Pats needing to know? Delia’s hands plucked anxiously at her dress as she contemplated Patsy’s reaction. With a shaky sigh, she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she had taken that nap after all.