Chapter Text
The sun was starting to dip low over the terracotta roofed tiles on the criss crossing maze of terraced houses that stretched far off into the distance when Patsy Mount finally pulled into her habitual parking space between her neighbours white van and the man across the roads blue Fiat with the broken wing mirror.
Tired, feet aching and her rumbling stomach reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since five that morning; Patsy felt more than justified in the grateful sigh she gave out as she pulled up the hand break and switched off the exhaust. It was the last shift of her long week, five long 12 hour days in a row and in a fit of desperation she’d traded her lunch break with Trixie, pushing it to the end of the day so that she could leave an hour early.
It was a lucky thing to grab on a busy maternity ward but it did tend to leave one worn out.
Still, five babies to her name in the last two days alone wasn’t anything to be sniffed at. Besides, the tiredness was barely felt now that her long awaited short week had officially begun and she was staring into the prospect of three lazy days off. Three days of staying up as late as she liked and sleeping in late too; well, for tomorrows child free morning at the very least. She could almost sing.
The man who owned the white van from four doors down was busy moving ladders when she got out of her car and they nodded cheerfully to one another as he smoked a dog eared cigarette, the paper cylinder clenched tightly between his thick lips while he navigated the awkward no man’s land between van wall and wheel arch.
“Business doing good Fred?” Patsy called over her shoulder, slamming the car door behind her. Her hands clumsy and tired as she fumbled in her pocket for house keys.
“Pah,’ Fred dropped his ladders with a grunt and let them slam onto the wooden boards as he slapped at his fag irritably. ‘Business ain’t the trouble. I could do with a day to rest my pins but you know what my Vi’s like. Signing me up to just about every charity case she can find. I suppose if I put a broom up my particulars I could be persuaded to sweep the floor en all.”
“Watch it Fred,’ Patsy gave a knowing glance at Fred’s front window. The curtains were twitching, ‘she might actually hear you one of these days and then you’ll starve.”
“She don’t hear nothing that one. Reckon I’ve met moss with more capacity to listen than her.” Fred griped, albeit somewhat more quietly, pulling on his cigarette with leathery cheeks. The fire had gone out but his well practiced jaw was quickly stoking it back into some kind of life as Patsys questing fingers finally circled the sharp edge of her key.
“You’re an advert for a happy marriage you know that Fred.” Patsy said breezily, weighing the keys in her hand as she looked for a way to end the conversation politely. Always a challenge when her amicable neighbour fancied an extended chat.
Fred was leaning heavily on his van door, the smoke pooling around his head like a tiny cloud, apparently content to give up his task for the moment.
“Don’t I know it.’ Fred grumbled good naturedly as he smacked his lips loudly before his eyes took on a speculative glint. ‘Saw your girly all dressed up ready to go off to see her daddy yesterday. I thought that had all stopped now?” Fred was watching Patsy with keen interest and Patsy shrugged. Fred was almost as big a gossip as his wife and Delia got tetchy when the street knew her business.
“Ahh don’t ask me. That’s between her mam and dad isn’t it? I don’t get involved.” Patsy hedged.
“Well,’ Fred sniffed meaningfully, his scarred red nose pulsing as he swiped at it. Clearly dissatisfied with the lack of response. ‘He’s a bad one that’s all I’ll say. My Vi says she saw the nipper crying in her tree house last time he let her down. He should see what he’s got, they could have been a right and proper family if he got his act together. Not that I’ll say I regret it,’ Freds frown broke as he winked surreptitiously, ‘Everything works out for the best, eh?”
Fred’s usually warm demeanour had cooled habitually as he spoke about Max and, although Patsy privately agreed with him wholeheartedly on Max’s faults, she didn’t let her face change or give away an opinion.
It was common knowledge that Fred adored Pig. Poor guy was putty in the girls hand, had been since the day she came home in her little car seat and he’d been sent over by Violet with a newly knitted pink blanket for her and an out of date box of milk formula for Patsy and Delia.
The older couple tended to treat Pig like their own grandchild. The unspoken explanation being that while Fred and Vi’s marriage had been a long and happy on, all things considered, even if they did bicker on autopilot, they’d never managed to have any children of their own. Violet had confessed to Patsy, one Christmas Eve when Delia had invited the pair over for a celebratory bottle of whiskey, that they’d tried for a very long time and she’d had a few miscarriages but nothing had ever come from their efforts. That was probably why they both doted on Pig so much now. Patsy couldn’t complain.
Built in baby sitters were not to be sneezed at.
Anyway, she liked the old couple even if Vi’s Christmas cards tended along the flowery at times.
“From your mouth to Gods ear Fred.’ Patsy said lightly, backing away, ‘anyway I’m off. You know what it’s like on shifts, my beds calling me and with Pig at her dads I finally get a lie in.”
Fred laughed. They’d all heard about Pigs morning habit. Up with the lark didn’t quite cut it. Pig would probably be up just as the lark was falling asleep if they let her leading to Patsy more than once threatening to weld the girl into her bed.
“You get your head down love and tell Delia I want my drill back. She must have put that coat rack up by now.”
“I shouldn’t think so, it took her six months to put up Pigs desk but I’ll remind her.” Patsy promised over her shoulder as she made a final wave, leaving Fred to continue his eternal battle with his ladders while she gratefully unlocked her front door.
The post bunched up against the door when Patsy got inside. Tutting at the never ending stream of adverts for pizzas, fish and chips and kebabs. Patsy bent down to gather them up in one hand, uncaringly kicking off her shoes. The junk mail was quickly abandoned without a second glance into the recycling bag hanging on the living room door for just such eventualities. Alongside the junk though there were three letters.
One looked like a bank statement and was addressed to Delia, one was this years council tax statement and one was a postcard for Pig showing a beach side cafe in Pembrokeshire. The card promised an upcoming visit sometime in the next month with all the austere authority of Eileen Busbys printed scripts.
Patsy shook her head in exasperation as she tucked the postcard on the fridge for safe keeping, wandered into her kitchen and flicked on the kettle.
Surely a phone call to Delia would have been more polite wouldn’t it? A bold statement informing them of a visit all through Pig was, in Patsys book, nothing short of plain rude. But it wasn’t exactly anything new, certainly not something she could change. Plain facts were that Eileen Busby would never accept that Delia had chosen to stay in London when she’d had Pig rather than running back home to the easy bosom of the Busby clan.
She’d hardly been subtle either. When Pig had been born Eileen had practically camped out in the living room for the first two months, making progressively less and less veiled suggestions that her child and grandchild would fare far better closer to home. By the time Pig was approaching her third month Patsy had put her foot down and Eileen had been gently but firmly pushed out of the door.
It was an old wound, a festering thing that couldn’t be easily repaired and, though none of them ever voiced it; it was very clear to Patsy at least that Eileen laid the blame very firmly at her feet. The English devil woman who stole her Delia away.
Nowadays Eileen only came to stay three times a year and without fail every time it was two weeks of stress and unrelenting house cleaning. Patsy, who liked the house tidy, didn’t exactly mind this change to normal scheduling considering that Delias usual idea of housework stopped at throwing the hoover around sporadically, however, she did very much mind the pressure Eileen always exerted on her daughter.
The unspoken resentment was so loud sometimes that it left a nasty feeling in the house for weeks after Eileen had gone. Delia tended to talk less, her mood glum.
Still. Pig would be excited. Eileen’s surly attitude rarely ever straying as far as Pigs experience.
Tea made, Patsy idled at the small table near the window, flicking through her phone and wondering hesitantly if she should splurge on a takeaway for them tonight.
Less washing up and they could turn in early which would be nice... Very nice actually. Her stomach tightened at the prospect, her mind unspooling out as she considered the hearty merits of stretching out on a cool bed.
Delia had her afternoon shift booked as usual when Pig was at her dads but she’d be home in an hour or so and Pig wasn’t due home until tomorrow after school.
They had a free evening at last. It had been far too long.
It came as a bit of a surprise therefore when the front door banged open a mere half an hour later and Pig strolled through the kitchen door. Casually destroying all of Patsys half made plans in a single sweep.
Pig was six, nearly seven if you asked her about it and happened to actually be named Enfys, although everyone pretty much called her Pig much to Eileen’s ultimate displeasure and Patsys private glee. Patsy had started the name early, on the first day that Delia had brought her home from the hospital in fact. At only a few hours old Patsy had taken over, tactfully letting Delia take a well earned nap before monsoon Eileen beamed down on them. The baby had been a hungry one, the little squirming mass of pink blankets and swollen face squabbling at Patsy for milk at the top of her tiny lungs. Patsy had been smitten at once and proudly called the baby; ‘her little piglet’. The nickname had stuck unfortunately, in that awkward way that family nicknames sometimes do.
Pig was short for her age, a clear Busby characteristic that Patsy found ever so slightly amusing. She’d never be a netball player that was for sure.
She had her mothers hair and colouring; all dark browns and bright blues, not so much a carbon copy but rather a very good replica with tiny obvious differences. Her nose was longer, her chin just slightly more rounded and she’d inherited her fathers large feet and hands. Max didn’t feature too heavily otherwise thankfully; his genes only showing up mainly in the odd expression, a smirk or a guilty flash of conscience.
The girl wasn’t smirking now though. Pigs face was red and blotchy actually, Busby blue eyes strictly glued to the floor. Her bottom lip wobbled dangerously like it had done when she was a toddler and they’d gone through the agony of potty training.
Frowning, Patsy glanced at the clock on the wall her heart sinking. Half seven? Well, that was a new record. Max hadn’t even made 24 hours this time.
Annoyingly she didn’t even need to ask what had happened. Max was nothing if not consistent and Pigs face said it all.
Disappointed and hurt with a sprinkling of confusion as to why this always happened. Not yet old enough to know that this wasn’t her fault. The needless guilt and pain was one of the worst things about parenting with Max.
Not looking up Pig dragged out her chair from the table without even saying hello, folded her arms on the table top and promptly jammed her face from view. Patsy watched the girl sniff for a few seconds and then cleared her throat loudly. Pointedly intruding.
Pig didn’t move.
Patsy leaned back, frowning and then reached out to nudge Pigs shoulder with her index finger. Still, Pig didn’t respond.
Well, this was a bad case then.
Patsy sighed. “Okay, is this a one or two?” She asked the hunched figure.
A pause and then a small hand slithered out of the mass of limbs and raised three shaky fingers into the air.
Patsy raised her eyebrows at that. A three? God, she’d like to slap Max sometimes. The man was more nuisance than an actual father. None of them needed him.
Without another word Patsy got up, flicked the kettle on again, reached into the cupboard and pulled out the packet of emergency marshmallows from the top shelf that neither Delia or Pig could reach. She retrieved Pigs special mug.
Reverently, she put three large marshmallows into the mug leaving very little room for anything else and poured hot chocolate power and hot water into the cup after it. Mission accomplished, however simple the gesture might be, she looked back to at the unspeaking figure still bent at the table and hesitated. Sighing Patsy reached for the fridge door and the emergency bottle of squirty cream too.
This was technically overkill but Pig would definitely appreciate the extra mile.
Two minutes later and Patsy deposited the gooey, creamy mess onto the table just in front of Pigs head and counted to ten silently in her head. She reached a full five before Pigs hand finally reached out and gripped the handle of her mug.
Relief washing through her that she hadn’t reached a ten this time Patsy leaned on her elbows to watch. A ten might have meant this was not something a hot chocolate couldn’t solve. So far, that had never happened.
“You’re going to have to actually lift your head up for that one sweetheart.’ Patsy advised quietly, wincing only slightly at the already hardening blobs of marshmallow sloshing over the edge of the cup. ‘Your mam will kill me if you get marshmallows in your hair again.” No one wanted a repeat of the chewing gum incident of 2015.
Grumbling only slightly, but to Patsys continuing relief, Pig did as she was told. Patsy watched the girl take a few fairy sips and then gave in, her hands itching to try and smooth away the hurt she knelt down so that the two of them were at eye level. Pigs blue eyes were still rather red around the edges and Patsys heart growled at the stupidity of the girls father.
“Come on,’ Patsy offered, opening her arms up for a hug, ‘get over here, you know you want to.”
Thankfully Pig did want to.
Patsy braced herself as Pig flung herself into Patsys open arms and stood up, letting Pigs legs flutter down around her hip as she rocked her.
“He doesn’t mean it,’ she soothed uselessly into Pigs hair, ‘what did he have to do this time?”
Because Max always had a reason for dropping Pig. From day one he’d had his excuses sorted. Must of got them from a book. The dummies guide for irresponsible parenting. Chapter three: how to make your kid feel crap at all times. Right after abandonment and not paying child support.
“He said his girlfriend had a job interview,’ Pig sniffled into Patsys shoulder, probably rubbing cream and marshmallow into Patsys uniform with every word. ‘He said he didn’t want to but he had a responsibility.”
Patsys jaw clenched, biting back the thousand and one replies she could make to that statement. No matter how much she’d like to lose her temper she was always careful not to say anything bad against Max to Pig, Delia didn’t either, both wordlessly deciding to let Pig make her own decision when it came to her dad.
“He said we were going to go to the British Museum to see the penguins tomorrow. He promised.” Pigs shoulders slumped even more at that. Max never kept his promises but she’d been excited, talking about it for weeks.
Patsy sighed and sat in Pigs vacated seat, shuffling the girl onto her lap without letting her go. Forcing a smile she wiped her thumb under Pigs eyes.
“I thought you didn’t like penguins since you found out they weren’t actually wearing tuxedos?” Patsy mentally winced at the memory of a three hour meltdown, the tears Pig had shed when making this revelation. David Attenborough was currently not being played on the television for this reason alone.
Patsy highly doubted they’d be able to tell Pig the gazelle was just having a nap in the lions mouth forever. If the penguin saga had taught her anything it was that they’d probably need shares in Kleenex when Pig worked out the circle of life.
Pigs bottom lip wobbled, a distinctly sad female Busby trait that Patsy was powerless to ignore.
“Dad said they really are tuxedos, he knows a man who makes them and that the telly man was wrong. I... I wanted to see the penguins Pats.”
To Patsys credit she managed almost ten seconds before giving into the need to make Pig smile. “Okay, then we’ll go. I’ll take you next weekend if you like? We can see if your mams working and if she isn’t we can all go? How about that? And you can tell your dad all about it next time you stay at his.” Patsy couldn’t quite stop the trace of bitterness in her voice in that last bit but Pig didn’t seem to notice.
She was smiling again which was all Patsy really cared about. “Can we really?” She asked, all sadness momentarily vanished.
“As long as your mam says its fine then I don’t mind. Where is she anyway?”
It was the wrong thing to ask, Pig instantly deflated in Patsys lap, chewing her lip pensively.
“She’s talking to dad on the phone I think. She told me to come in here and ask you about tea? Can we have omelettes?”
Patsy nodded distractedly, not actually sure that she had any eggs to make an omelette with and left Pig slurping at her drink, momentarily appeased, to go and find Delia.
Delia, unsurprisingly, was in the middle of a right royal blazing, but above all whispered, row in the living room when Patsy found her.
“-You can’t keep doing this! You’re her dad Max, you can’t let her down every time she comes to you! You’ve cancelled the last three weekends you were supposed to have her and every time I’m the one left to clean up the aftermath. Don’t you understand that she has feelings? Don’t you get that?”
Patsy waved her hand in lew of greeting and slumped against the wall, her arms folded rigidly as she waited for Delia to end the call. There was a vein pulsing in Delias forehead and she looked like she wanted to cry. Patsy distracted herself from her own irritation by imagining just how nice it might be; throttling Max.
“One more chance.’ Delia intoned coldly into the phone, ‘that’s all I’m giving you. If you don’t show up the weekend after next then I’m cutting contact.”
Patsy inwardly shook her head at that, already knowing that Delia didn’t really mean it. The single mother thing left her guilty, Eileen Busbys constant refrain that children needed two parents didn’t help either. Nor did the irritating fact that Eileen favoured Max considerably. Max always got another chance one way or another.
One of these days though Patsy was going to be the one on the other end of the line with Max. She certainly had a lot that she’d like to say the prick. Starting off with the first second she’d met him all the way up to the present.
“Well don’t come then. I’ll tell her you’ve gone away. Not that you were ever there in the first place. For Christ sake Max, when are you ever going to her it together? Patsys more of a father to our daughter than you’ve ever been and she’s my roommate.”
Max barked something down the line at that, too quickly for Patsy to pick up. Must have been offensive though; Delia’s eyes flashed with ill repressed fury. “Well it’s not like you ever did.” She hissed as she ended the call and threw her phone on the sofa. It bounced from the force and predictably hit the floor with a crunch of glass. Delia swore.
“So I take it super dad didn’t feel like doing a whole weekend?” Patsy surmised calmly, trying not to let her own selfish frustrations expose her less than perfect nature.
Delia swore again, picking up her phone and pocketing it as she sat on the sofa heavily.
“He’s a prick.” Delia grunted through gritted teeth.
“We already knew this.”
“He always does this.”
“To be fair he did go to her book fair last year.”
“Only because he was sleeping with the headmistresses secretary,’ Delia glared up at Patsy, offended, ‘are you really defending him right now?”
“Of course I’m not,’ Patsy snorted, sitting beside Delia and wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders, ‘but we both know how you feel. Pig needs to see her dad at least until she decides she doesn’t want to.”
“I know.” Delia grumbled resignedly, putting her head in her hands and looking uncannily like her daughter as she did it, ‘he called me at ten this morning to tell me he couldn’t have her after three. Something came up,’ she raised her hands in air quotations, her voice shifting into a passing impression of Max’s cockney accent. ‘I was on shift and they wouldn’t let me go until four. He’s been calling me every five minutes since three, twenty missed voicemails when I got out and then I had to make my way through all the traffic. Didn’t get there until nearly five and he’d left her with his sodding mum because he had a date with some girl from the office.’ Delia rubbed her face, ‘every time. Every single time. I had to have tea with his mum while Pig just about cried her eyes out. It was as much as I could do not to cry myself. He’s hurting her and she’s getting old enough to understand what it all means. I don’t want her to think there’s something wrong with her.”
Patsy couldn’t let that slide without comment. She pulled Delia more securely into her chest, rubbing her shoulder hard. “The only one whose in the wrong is him.’ Patsy said firmly. ‘Pigs got us Delia, she’s got your mum and Fred and Vi. Half the girls on my ward treat her like another niece. She’s a lovely little girl Delia and we’ll make sure she knows that she’s loved. Don’t let him upset you like this, he’s not worth it.”
Delia relaxed only a little as she cuddled her way into Patsys neck, probably rubbing her face in Pigs chocolate stains while she was there. Her breath hot on Patsys throat making the fine hairs stand on end.
“I just hate the way he picks her up and drops her again. It’s not fair.” Delia whispered quietly, sniffing.
Irresistibly Patsy was instantly reminded of Maggie. Maggie had always told her that the circus wasn’t meant to be a fair. Patsy could see her grinning as she slipped her boots off, hiding the fresh stains on her work coat.
Wisely in the present Patsy didn’t attempt to copy Maggie’s easy delivery. Delia wouldn’t be in the mood for pessimism anymore than she was in the mood for humour.
Patsy was spared finding a suitable platitude in the end just then by Pig who came into the room with a mouth sticky with chocolate. The girl smiled when she saw them linked up together and clambered onto the sofa to wrestle her way into a three way hug.
Chocolate smeers not withstanding Patsy let Delia go rather quickly, stretching her arms up as her friend murmured into her daughters hair. The vision of the two of them that close, the unbreakbale bond and the easy familiarity made Patsys heart thrum. They were quite the pair. Patsys girls.
“Mam, Patsy says we can have omelettes.” Pig informed Delia brightly.
Delia glanced at Patsys, eyebrow raised. “Did you buy eggs?”
“Err, no... I wasn’t really in the mood to cook. Was thinking more of a takeaway dinner to be honest.” Patsys rather rueful smile deepened as she considered her wasted plans.
“Then we’re not having omelettes unless you’ve started laying and not told me.” Delia replies breezily although she didn’t look much less disappointed.
Patsy grinned, unabashed. “Pizza?”
Pizza was always a winner. Delia rubbed her face and yawned as Pig rushed to find the menu in the kitchen drawer. She looked tired, Max always stressed her out and she hadn’t been sleeping well lately. Patsy wasn’t sure what was keeping Delia up at night currently but hadn’t pushed. Delia would tell her eventually if something was bothering her.
Still, couldn’t hurt to help where she could.
Only hesitating for a moment, the phantom throb of her own tired feet protesting, Patsy patted Delias leg. “Why don’t you go and have a bath? Put your feet up for a bit. I’ll sort Pig out, get dinner sorted and you can take half an hour out to clear your head before the food gets here; looks like you could do with it.” She suggested lightly, trying not to notice how warm Delia was.
Delia yawned again at that and gave Patsy a grateful look, grabbing Patsys hand before she could pull it away she squeezed their fingers together. “I won’t fight you... but are you sure? You’ve been at work too Pats?”
Patsy rolled her eyes; Delias constant need to ask if Patsy minded doing basic child care really needed to stop. They’d been doing this since Pig was born. “Because putting a film on and ordering a pizza is such a hardship. Go on, I’ll bring you up a Horlicks.”
Shaking her head Delia opened her mouth to say something, their eyes meeting for one second too long. She hadn’t let go of Patsys hand yet. On the soft sensitive expanse of her palm Patsy could read every hesitating stroke of Delias pulse.
Tired as they both were Patsy couldn’t not appreciate the soft lift of Delias lips. A smiling mouth, the bottom lip always protruding out further than to the top. This close up Patsy found that she couldn’t look away from them.
Then Delia looked down, letting the moment slip away abruptly as she retrieved her hand.
It shouldn’t feel like so much of a rejection to Patsy but it did.
“You’re a good friend Pats, don’t know what we’d do without you.” Delia said to the door, her voice slightly raspy.
Patsy bit her lip but tried to make a joke, the air between them uncomfortably thick. “My birthdays coming up, buy me something pretty?”
Delia laughed although it sounded forced and left the room to climb the stairs quickly. Patsy listened to the familiar creaks, her toes wiggling against the floor for something to feel and closed her eyes. Mastering herself.
Jesus. Why not just hire a fucking blimp?
By the time the bath water could be heard running Pig had returned bringing the menu with her. Patsy ordered distractedly as the girl faffed about digging through the small library of DVDs under the television.
Patsy didn’t know why she bothered; Pig only chose one film at the moment so there was never much choice going on. Obsessed wasn’t even the word.
Unsurprisingly, the faint tune of how do you solve a problem like Maria was soon wafting out of the living room like a threat. Patsy ended the call with Paul the pizza mans promise of a delivery within forty five minutes to an hour and went to sit with Pig on the sofa for the first twenty minutes, humming along to the songs while Pig spread out her fleecy blanket and made herself comfortable using Patsys stomach as an arm rest. Patsy winced at the intrusion of knees and elbows but didn’t complain. Pig was getting older now and one day soon she’d be too old for cuddles.
Just the thought left her feeling slightly bereft and unwilling to let it happen Patsy wrapped her arms more tightly around Pig.
By the time the baron was barking orders at Maria Pig was properly zoned in and Patsy was barely acknowledged as she finally left to make Delias drink and get plates out from the cupboard.
On the kitchen counter top was three Kilner jars. Horlicks for Delia. Hot chocolate for Pig. Coffee for Patsy. Patsy smiled, turning the jars labels face forward and lined them up neatly beside the kettle as she made Delias drink and dried the spoon.
Their bathroom was cramped and ageing. Patsy had never properly finished peeling off the old peach wallpaper when she’d first bought the place with Maggie and the plaster board underneath still peaked out at her as she opened the door. She really should get back to it at some point.
After Maggie died though she’d rather lost interest in home improvements.
Delia was in the bath, the frog shaped waterproof radio bought for Pig but used by them mainly was singing pop songs through a static fuzz. The mirror above the sink was covered in mist, as was most of the room, Patsy could barely see herself. The air felt damp and hot.
“You’re going to have a heart attack one of these days.’ Patsy complained habitually, always on edge at these moments as an image of Maggie flashed before her. In the present she neatly ensured that her eyes were averted as she passed Delia her mug, ‘I bet that waters boiling.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a hot bath Pats.” Delia argued back, she was smiling though.
Patsy could hear it in her voice even if the only thing she would let herself look at was the worrying cracks in the ceiling. Needed to do something about them too. These terraced houses were nice but they were a bugger for subsidence.
“Tell that to Whitney.” Patsy told her ceiling darkly, Maggie’s face looming again.
There was the sound of water, drops falling from skin and then a hand was squeezing Patsys thigh.
Patsy grinned up at the ceiling, unable to prevent it as Delias fingers fount the ticklish spot under her knee.
“You worry too much.” Delia hummed happily, her hands tugging at Patsys for attention.
Giving in, Patsy looked down into Delias face trying very hard to keep her expression platonic. She was beautiful when she was smiling Patsy had always thought and the bath seemed to have done the trick; she didn’t look quite as miserable now which was what Patsy had wanted.
Delia’s hand was boiling though, the water predictably hot after all. “You don’t always have to be such a gentleman you know,’ Delia advises dryly, ‘we do live together. It’s not like the world will end if you see me in the bath Pats.”
Delias words were light enough but it made Patsys face freeze. She’d leave a damp patch on Patsys trousers from all the water if they stayed like this.
Patsy told herself sternly to not look any lower than Delias neck. Shame she was a pushover when it came to self control. Slowly, face burning Patsys eyes travelled down. And further down.
Delia raised her eyebrows. A silent challenge that forced Patsy to take in a slow, deep breath.
“Thanks. For the Horlicks.” Delia said lightly, a trace of smugness evident as she removed her hand reluctantly to grip the mug she’d balanced on the side of the bath and tilt it in a toast.
Patsy could only nod mutely, her brain gone as she tried to swallow. It was only when Delia licked her lips that she decided she needed to get out of here.
Or explode which was another option.
“I should... Pigs watching the sound of music again.” She didn’t know what to say. She felt too hot from the steam and tongue tied from who knew what else. This sort of thing was becoming too frequent between them these days. Surely people didn’t do this with friends?
There were rules in place and they shouldn’t be doing this.
Delia opened her mouth to answer, her face flickering into seriousness as though she wanted to say something too.
But she never did.
Neither of them ever did.
From downstairs the doorbell chimed and at the noise Patsy got to her feet hurriedly, wiping her hand across her trousers to try and dry the dampness somehow.
“I’ll... I’ll get the food then?”
Patsy didn’t wait for an answer, already racing out of the room and barrelling around Pig who had wandered into the hall to get the door.
Saved by the bell wasn’t even the word for it really.