Work Text:
You look up at the mirror and wonder how you got here. What the bloody hell was Val thinking? Nobody needed to see that. You run the tap and splash the water over your face, willing your brain to cleanse itself of the image of Val’s arse on the stage, spotlights on and highlighting her alabaster skin after she pulled down her trousers.
And Delia? What the bloody hell was she thinking cheering her on? It was mortifying. Absolutely mortifying to hear her whoop and cheer your friend. Never mind the fact she wanted to join her.
The door bangs open and you turn around. You want to cry. After that, now this. Barbara is white as a sheet and the contents of her stomach are making an appearance on the floor. The bloody floor! You step back and wrinkle your nose as the smell begins to assault your senses.
“Patsy, why are there three of you?” she says after a moment or two, looking up at you, wide eyed.
“Come on. Toilets this way,” you say, stepping around her vomit and guiding Barbara to the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up and home."
*
You need to find Tom. Or Trixie. Or anyone to take Barbara home. You're sick of this party already. Merry bloody Christmas indeed.
You walk out into the dimly lit room. Whoever decided being unable to see was atmospheric and good for drunk people was insane.
You hear a familiar voice - one you'd recognise anywhere with that Welsh lilt - and feel yourself drawn towards it. Yes, you'll check on Delia and then go find someone to take Barbara home.
The closer you get, the more distressed Delia sounds and you frown, pushing past people to get to her. Nothing prepares you for the sight that greets you.
“Patsy? Patsy, look at me. How can you be with me?” she says, crying into her hands.
For Gods sake.
“Deels, what on earth are you talking about?” you say, walking over to her and crossing you arms as you look down at her. She sits, arse in the table hole where an ice bucket was sitting.
“Look at me? I’m so fat. I broke the glass table!”
“No you did not.”
“Yes, I did. Look at me, Pats. I’m so fat I put a hole in the table!”
“Delia.”
“I need to go on a diet. I need to lose weight. I broke a glass table with my big, fat bum," she says, slapping her thigh. Her dress is riding up and you hope no one else is looking at her like this even though you struggle to take your eyes off her soft skin.
“Delia.”
“I’m a hippo. Just call me heffalump,” she says, crying even harder, breath catching and face reddening.
“Delia,” you shout. She looks at you, watery eyed. “Deels, you’re not fat. There’s a hole in the table for the ice bucket.
“What?”
“You’re not fat. There’s a hole, there," you say, pointing. "Your arse is in the ice bucket.”
“Oh,” she says, eyes drying. “I wondered why my bum was wet. And cold.”
You walk over and stroke Delia’s arm. “Darling, I think we should be heading home soon. I just need to find Tom to get Barbara home and then we can leave.”
You go in search of him. Or anyone. You just want to go home and relax. Maybe have a bath. This was supposed to be a fun night for Christmas and so far, any fun you were having has been reduced to this. Reduced to looking after everyone. You wish you had it in you to get black out drunk but you never have been able to do that. You need the control and so far, you haven’t had it even though you're pretty much sober. The effects of those two whiskies long gone.
The sound of horns draws your attention. The lights dim except for two spotlights on the stage.
Trixie steps onto the stage, her dress rising with each step as she kicks a leg in tandem with the music. She has a mic and sings along. You vaguely think she sounds good before mortification kicks in yet again. What did you do to deserve this embarrassment?
“The minute you walked in the joint,” she sings, pulling down the collar of her shirt in time with the horns. “I could see you were a man of distinction, a real big spender.” She begins unbuttoning her shirt. You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Good looking. So refined. Say, wouldn’t you like to know what’s going on in my mind,” she says, opening her shirt and shimmying her shoulders. The crowd cheers and both men and women stand, clapping their hands and shouting for more.
You sigh. She begins unbuttoning her trousers. You need to stop this.
You jump on the stage and the crowd boos.
“You need to get down.”
“Why? I just wanted to sing and the crowd is enjoying it. Sweetie, stop being a killjoy and let me carry on.”
“No. We work with these people. They do not need to see this much of you.”
“Patsy.”
“Beatrix,” you say, staring her down for a few moments. She sighs and shoves the mic into your chest. The crowd boos even louder as she stops off stage and you roll your eyes, sighing.
You did not sign up for this.
You sulk off stage and head towards the table where Delia and Trixie are.
“Pats, here, have this” Delia says, shoving a glass towards you that spills over your hand. “It’s a finger of whisky,” she says, winking. “Gotta warm you and those fingers up for later,” she says, winking again.
Trixie snorts as Barbara stumbles towards the table you’re all standing at.
“Oh, Babs, that ribbon in your hair is divine,” Trixie says, walking over and stroking it.
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Tom says, trying to push Trixie out of the way.
“Where did you get it?” Trixie asks as Barbara leans into the touch.
“Oh, I got it from-”
“Hey, Barbara, how are you feeling?” a blonde woman dressed in plaid and jeans says, stumbling over and putting her arm round Barbara’s shoulder.
“A bit better thank you.”
“See, I told you you would, sweetheart. Everything is a bit better after a glass of water and a chat.”
“Thanks, Susan. You were right.”
"Usually am, Darlin'," she says, kissing Barbara's cheek. Barbara blushes. You roll your eyes as both Tom and Trixie straighten up and glare at the newcomer. "Who're your friends?"
"Oi, don't you go getting any ideas," Val says, stomping over and pointing at the newcomer. "Babs is off limits, Max."
"Woah. Slow down there, Val," Max says, holding her hands up and backing away. "Me and Babara here just got talking as she was spewing her guts up. I gave her a water and had a chat for a while. She's a good'un. Helped me decide what to do about Jane."
"Oh, you guys arguing again?"
"When aren't we. Hey, who was that pretty little thing I saw you arguing with earlier?"
Val narrows her eyes. "No one for you to worry about. Besides, she's gone home and I better follow before I get in even more trouble. All I did was moon everyone. You'd think I killed someone the way 'Cille acted."
You. Did. Not. Sign. Up. For. This.
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
"Deels, I think it's time to go home."
"What? But the party's still going."
"Doesn't matter. We're going home and one of you," you say, looking and Trixie and Tom. "One of you is taking Babs home. Right? And you, get your pale arse home to Cille. Got it?"
"God, you're no fun," Val says and you narrow your eyes. "Fine, fine. I suppose it's about time I went home anyway."
"Good. Now come on, off with you all. We've work tomorrow."
There is a chorus of groans and Delia flops against you. You steady yourself as she grabs onto you as though she's become a koala and you're the tree.
*
You're home. Finally, you're home. And so is everyone else if the ding of your phone is anything to go by.
Your head is pounding. Moderating the shouting match between Trixie and Tom was as exhausting as making sure Val got in a taxi home with all her clothes in place.
You go to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. You hear Delia staggering through the flat. You hope she doesn't break anything. God, she's going to feel awful in the morning.
You sigh.
"Pats, help! I can't get my trousers off and the room's spinning."
You sigh again and follow her voice. She's laying on the floor next to your shared bed, staring at the ceiling as she cries. One side of her knickers is by her knees.
"Delia," you breathe out and those blue eyes lock with yours. Even when she's being a ridiculous fool, you can't stand to see her cry. "Darling, what's wrong?" you say, walking over and laying next to her. She burrows into you.
"I can't get my trousers off and my bum is cold. And the room is spinning."
You kiss her forehead.
"Deels, you're not wearing any trousers. How about I help you to shower and we go to bed."
"Hmm, sounds good," she says, licking your neck. "Will you be showering with me?"
"In a manner of speaking, I will be. Now come on, let's get you ready for bed."
Somehow you manage to get the both of you into the bathroom. Delia looks at you as you turn the shower on and roll up your sleeves.
"Come on, clothes off. The water's nice and hot. It'll warm your bum up," you say with a smile and Delia frowns. "Would you like me to help you?"
"No," she says with a shake of her head. "No, you're supposed to be showering with me."
"Not tonight, Darling. You need a shower, more water and some sleep."
"No. I need you," she says, stumbling a little as she tries to seductively take off her clothes. You almost sigh out loud. This sexy fool will be the death of you. You swallow and shake off the flutter in your stomach. Even like this she's gorgeous and so attractive to you.
"You can have me," you say. "You can have me tomorrow, after work and sober but right now, you need to shower and get some sleep."
She crosses her arms, glaring at you as her lower lip trembles.
"Fine," she says, voice breaking on the word. "Fine, I get it. You don't want me. I'm fat and I broke a table."
"For God's sake, Delia. You did not break the table."
"It's fine. You go to bed. I'll shower and sleep on the couch. And I'll go live with my parents or stay with Babs for a few days until I get myself sorted."
"Delia."
"I'll be fine. I'll-I'll be miserable but I'll learn to live without you. And you can be happy with-with-"
"Delia Mari Busby-Mount," you say, voice booming as everything seems to go silent except for the pounding of your heart. Delia looks at you. "You're ridiculous, sometimes. You're a weepy, sensitive, dramatic woman when you're drunk. You sing offkey and very loud in the shower most mornings. You put too much milk in my tea but I still drink it. And dammit I love you. All of you at all times. Even now. So stop being so ridiculous. I'm not leaving you. You're getting in the shower and then I'll give you a glass of water to drink and you'll go to sleep. Right?"
She nods her head and stands looking at you.
"Would you like me to help you?" She nods.
*
Finally your head hits the pillow and you replay the night in your head as Delia curls up to you. What you wouldn't give to rid your mind of the sight of Val's arse! Or Trixie's breast falling out of her low cut top as she screamed with Tom over who would take Barbara home.
You're never doing this again. No matter how much Delia begs you to go, you're working the next time there's a Christmas party. And the time after that. And the time after that.
They can have fun without you.
Your eyes feel heavy. Your body relaxes and you're warm and comfortable with your love beside you. Just before sleep finds you, you startle awake, eyes wide as one thought ricochets through your head
Dammit. If you don't go, who knows what will happen!