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‘Pats, cariad,’ Delia whispered, rushing to match her fiancée’s stride as they walked (supposedly together) through the dusky streets of Edinburgh early on a late January evening, ‘could you slow down a bit, please?’
The redhead blushed right to her roots, embarrassed at both the endearment and her eagerness, and adjusted her pace accordingly. ‘Sorry, love,’ she breathed back, enjoying the sight of the smaller woman’s smile at her answer, as well as the fuzzy clouds in front of their faces where warm air met cold. ‘It’s just Mr and Mrs Blacklock were important to Papa, and they’ve been incredibly kind since I wrote to tell them about the move up here, so I don’t want to be late tonight.’
‘It’s all right, annwyl,’ the brunette replied, being brave enough now they were in step again to squeeze her sweetheart’s gloved hand. ‘I understand. Remind me of the connection whilst we walk the rest of the way?’
Patsy fluttered her fingers against her petite partner’s palm, grateful for the combination of physical grounding and emotional guidance. ‘Well, I only know the snippets Papa shared when I was with him, and the few bits Mrs Blacklock mentioned in her letters over the last few months. But they came up in conversation a lot when I was little. I gather he and Mr Blacklock – Telfer – were students together at Balliol, and then both married shortly afterwards, each being expected to further their respective family businesses. So Papa went out East with Mama, and Telfer came back up to Scotland to be with his new wife, Mary.’
Delia’s eyes grew round. ‘They haven’t seen each other since uni, then?’
The older woman chuckled quietly at this question, hoping to hide the bemusement she sometimes still felt at her younger sweetheart’s slightly sheltered comprehension of the wider world beyond first Pembrokeshire and then Poplar, not least because it was often an overhang of her accident rather than lack of experience.
After all, they had only recently returned from a cross-continental tour, so she had seen enough.
‘Oh no, they had, and quite frequently I think,’ Patsy offered gently after a moment’s pause. ‘Papa’s overseas work trips took him to London, mostly, but there are also offices Glasgow because of the Clyde. So whenever he was in the country he’d try and make the effort to meet. The distance between the two cities was nothing in comparison to the journey from Singapore to Scotland.’
‘No, I guess not,’ the Welshwoman responded simply, observing the extra clip in her English cariad’s consonants and feeling somewhat bemused herself at the almost blasé manner in which she spoke of such travel. It seemed extensive and extravagant in her eyes and, whilst she knew Patsy usually felt this way too, there were times when the gaps between their childhoods appeared cavernous.
And, in many respects, these had only grown since they got back from their own jaunt around the globe.
But, the brunette reminded herself, that was why they had jumped at the job opportunities advertised by the Royal Infirmary and the Hospital for Sick Children. They wanted to start again in a culture equally unknown to both of them, and unattached to any emotion, either past or present. Except, of course, for the occasional haven like that offered by the Blacklocks’ house. A benign buoy by which to moor their boats for a brief break in their navigation of otherwise uncharted waters. The older couple were not at all aware of the true nature of their relationship, of course, but that might change once they became better acquainted – and, for tonight at least, Delia found she could just be delighted by the fact that her favourite person felt safe enough not merely to socialise but celebrate. Even if it was for Burns Night instead of her birthday. Technically it was a birthday, just not Patsy’s, so she supposed she could let it slide. This once, anyway. Especially as today was also St Dwynwen’s Day: the Welsh equivalent of St Valentine’s. Her lover deserved to be let off.
Pulling her mind back to their current conversation, she was relieved to discover the object of her musings was still talking, and she had not actually missed much. ‘Mama might even have come with him on one of the visits, if I remember rightly. I’ll have to ask Mary.’
Delia grinned at Patsy’s subtle but important shift from surname to first name address – it showed her usually punctilious fiancée was relatively relaxed, which could not but be a good sign the remainder of the evening. ‘You will,’ she agreed softly, ‘and you won’t have to wait much longer to do so, either, because I think we’re here.’
Her lover focussed properly on their surroundings again and returned the smile as she took in the nearest door number. ‘I do believe you’re right, Busby,’ she concurred whilst stepping to rap the knocker smartly, then turning back briefly before actually announcing their arrival. ‘Oh and Deels, Mary has Bell’s Palsy, just so you’re aware.’
‘Really?’ her sweetheart squeaked, quickly pulling the taller woman a little closer and trying to tamp down her joy at this unexpected development, worried it might come across as rude.
‘Mmhm. I’m sure you’ll both have plenty of stories to share about the trials of Speech Therapy.’
It took Delia a great deal of willpower not to kiss Patsy then and there, but she settled for yet another hand squeeze, accompanied by what she hoped was a much more measured response. ‘It means so much that you understand.’
‘I’m the same,’ came her steadfast redhead’s almost reflexive reply, as she reached for the knocker again.
They were answered, long before they heard the door being unlocked, by the raucous barking of a dog – swiftly followed by the gentle and generous greeting of their hostess. ‘Patsy, Delia,’ she said, her tone as warm as the hallway of her house, both a welcome contrast to the chill outside. ‘How wonderful to have you here. Do come through to the kitchen; we’ll be eating in the dining room but it’s warmer in there for now. Telfer’s just sorting the drinks. Oh, and do excuse Florrie’s fuss – as I said on the phone, she’s only recently had puppies and is still a wee bit territorial about them.’
The two nurses grinned surreptitiously at each other, thrilled by every aspect of this introduction: the way Mary was already mothering them (a role they were secretly relieved she had assumed), her attempts to alter her accent (which would hopefully stop the second she heard Delia speak), and the prospect of the puppies they presumed would be curled up in the cosiness of the kitchen. Thankfully, the older woman was striding briskly towards the suggested room, and so too preoccupied to notice their amusement. They entered it, just behind her, to a further chorus of barks and squeaks, along with the good natured laughter of their host, Telfer. ‘Aye, Florrie,’ he boomed, ‘let the lassies ken you’re in charge.’
Mary narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance at her husband’s antics. ‘Behave, Telf,’ she began, trying to maintain her “visitor voice” before breaking into a giggle. ‘Dinnae gie her praise for that.’
He merely waggled his eyebrows at their guests, who were doing their level best to stop their own giggles, but relented slightly. ‘Scotch and spaniels, then, ladies?’ he offered, slipping into the speech pattern Patsy imagined he must have perfected during his student days, and finding she was both happy and sad at the thought of him talking to her father like this, although she felt they ought to be better acquainted before she broached such subjects.
So she simply smiled, saying, ‘Yes, please, on both counts,’ and was delighted when Delia did the same.
They had felt guilty about leaving Garbo with a neighbour, but he wasn’t quite ready to be released on any other animals beyond the bounds of a walk – much less a new and apparently anxious mother.
Telfer grinned and passed them two tumblers. ‘You’ll find this is a far less busy Burns Night than most others,’ he started again as they took their first sips, squatting on the floor to stroke the small fluffy bundles of fur (and of course the bigger one!). ‘We still say grace, and sing, and recite – but you’ll be spared the bagpipes as it’s just the four of us.’
His eyes sparkled, but Patsy could not help the perturbed look which flitted over her face. ‘We haven’t kept you from a larger community celebration, I hope?’
‘No, no,’ Mary put in kindly, ‘in fact you’ve saved us from an evening alone with each other – now the children are grown, and all flown the nest, with Alasdair as far away as Australia.’
‘Oh really?’ Delia put in, deciding to direct the discussion away from awkwardness about family separation, ‘Whereabouts? We had a brief stop in Sydney almost this time last year.’
Mary was overjoyed at the connection, and the discovery of her combined accent and subtle slur. ‘Yes, he’s there,’ she answered, before asking a curious question. ‘This is rude of me, but do you have speech issues, dear?’
‘It isn’t at all,’ the young Welshwoman rushed to reassure her. ‘I had a bicycle accident three years ago and I still struggle with some of the neurological effects. Shall we chat about it and I’ll help you finish off prep for dinner? That way Patsy and Telfer may talk of his memories of her father, too, if they’d like.’
Everyone was agreeable, so they split off for a while before supper, and then reconvened to recite the Selkirk Grace and Address to the Haggis. Patsy was mortified for a moment, when an extra toast to her parents was added, but then decided it was a very thoughtful gesture which showed she was not alone in her sadness. This changed perspective may or may not have been assisted by the recounting of her father’s recitation of the later speech, the Address to the Lassies, on an early double date with her mother, Telfer and Mary, at which the then young women had rebuffed them both with a suitably scornful version of the Reply to the Laddies.
It fit with the glimpses of this young man she had gleaned on her last visit with him, and made her glad and grateful to be able to continue the connection through the surrogate parents Mr and Mrs Blacklock seemed to be setting themselves up to be. So, when they at last linked hands to sing Auld Lang Syne, she added the alto harmony with a happy, if full, heart.
The grief might never go, but it would grow easier to carry if she let others share the load.
Perhaps that ought to be the motto for her thirty-first birthday, which (contrary to Delia’s belief) she was going to celebrate this year.