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Patsy has only heard about Chummy's early days at Nonnatus House through the grapevine. She understands the pain of settling in to a new place, the routines of a building full of busy women chafing until one truly settles in. She's not a direct replacement, as she was for Jenny, but it's strange to hear about someone so much when you've never met them.

Chummy, if stories are to be believed, is around eight feet tall, has the finest backstitch this side of Battersea, and is the kindest soul to ever step through Nonnatus' doors.

Patsy wonders if she'll leave a legacy half as impressive.

She feels a little guilty for thinking thank heavens the moment Chummy opens her mouth. The upper-class endearments are both familiar (oh, how being called 'old thing' makes her miss her father!) and a source of great relief. Patsy is, for the first time since arriving at Nonnatus, certain she is not the poshest person in the room. Between them, they might even get away with a "what-ho" without Sister Evangelina rolling her eyes too obviously.

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Cynthia keeps her door ajar, even during the night. Patsy knows Cynthia has younger siblings and wonders if it's something from childhood; as if she might be needed at a moment's notice.

Patsy wonders if Cynthia sometimes feels left out with the rooming arrangements. With Jenny and now with Patsy, she patiently waits for an invitation to join whatever festivities are taking place at Trixie's Bar. Trixie is, of course, always delighted to see her, but Patsy wonders if Cynthia feels like she's missing out on the late-night whispering about everything and nothing that can only take place with the lights out, on the verge of sleep.

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Sometimes, during Cubs, Patsy has to stop herself staring across the room at Delia. She glances around regularly during activities, just to make sure nobody is climbing the curtains, and she'll spot Delia at the other side of the hall.

She'll be helping one of the boys with his bowline knot, brow furrowed in concentration. Or making jokes to raise a smile as she bandages up a skinned knee. Or, eyes glinting with mischief, telling tales of her adventurous childhood that put the boasts of the older boys to shame.

Patsy's gaze lingers as she quietly, gently, falls in love with her all over again.

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"You do know I was never much good at sibilance? And I can't roll my Rs?"

"Just give it a go, say anything you like."

"But I can speak perfect French and Latin. I'm good at languages, Delia."

"Come on, Patsy."

"You must promise you won't laugh."

"I promise."

Patsy studies the phrases she has written out in front of her. "Noswaith dda"

Delia's face breaks into a grin. "That was great!"

"Thank you."

"I like it when you speak Welsh."

"I like it when you speak Welsh, but I can barely understand a thing."

Delia steps closer. "I meant I really like it."

"Oh."

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"Welcome home!"

Patsy doesn't think she'll ever fully get used to hearing that. Delia pokes her head around the door to give her a kiss, and Patsy's stomach grumbles as she follows her into the kitchen. Something smells delicious.

"What are you making?"

"A lentil and mushroom risotto," Delia says proudly, stirring the pan.

"That sounds exotic."

"Doesn't it? I hope it's good, I've had a spot of trouble with the handwriting."

Patsy peeks over her shoulder. "Whose handwriting?"

Delia looks nonchalant. "Nurse Crane's."

"You've been getting recipes from Nurse Crane?"

"Swapping recipes, actually. She was interested in Welsh rarebit, and we ended up trading." Patsy opens her mouth to say something, but Delia cuts her off, "All right, I think it's about done. Go and get changed, I'll serve up."

Patsy can't quite believe what she's hearing, but she's got her orders. She heads off to get changed without saying a word.

After all, there's risotto in it for her.

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1. They head over with the intention of buying ice creams, but as soon as Delia sees that the booth sells candy floss, her face lights up. Patsy insists on paying.

2. "It's just an ice cream, Pats!" Delia shouts, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her away, as more gulls begin dive-bombing, "we've got to run!"

3. It takes a lot of persuading to get Patsy to join her at the face-cutout standee, but it's worth it. They are both laughing so much that if anyone were to take their photograph, it would likely be ruined. Delia pulls a serious face, impersonating the weight-lifter she is pretending to be, but she catches Patsy's eye and collapses into giggles once more.

4. The haypenny machines are rigged, Delia decides, but she spies a game of skittles across the way and thinks she may have better luck there. She pays the man a thrupenny bit for three balls, lines them up the way she used to at skittles night at The Dyffryn Arms (when her father would let her tag along), and sends the pins flying. The man is impressed, and offers her a choice of prize. She selects a small teddy-bear and gives it to a blushing Patsy.

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Patsy takes a drag of her cigarette as she watches from her bed. Trixie is fussing with her tweezers, her nose almost touching the mirror.

"Trixie?" Patsy asks. Calm exhale.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering… might I borrow your hair rollers tomorrow?"

Trixie looks delighted at the prospect. "Of course you may! I'll show you how to get them absolutely right; it took me forever, learning from articles in Vogue. What's the occasion?"

"Nothing, really. I was just curious."

"Oh, you'll look marvellous," Trixie says, lighting a cigarette of her own and leaning in to appraise Patsy's face, "your enviable cheekbones, the length of your neck – you'll have men falling for you in the street."

"I'm not actually-"

"You know, I've been waiting for you to ask." Trixie pulls several boxes from under her bed and Patsy recoils at the noise of clinking metal. Trixie holds up a selection of tools that put Patsy in mind of childhood trips to the dentist.

Delia had better appreciate this.

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Patsy deliberately times her visit so it doesn't overlap with the nuns' prayer schedule but, as she lights a candle, she can see Sister Mary Cynthia enter the chapel out of the corner of her eye. She quietly walks over to where Patsy is standing in front of the small votive rack in the corner and lights a candle of her own. They stand in silence for a minute.

"Today is the anniversary of my sister dying." Patsy says quietly, hands clasped in front of her.

"Today would be my brother's nineteenth birthday." Sister Mary Cynthia smiles softly at the coincidence. "I don't like the thought of him up there, with only our grandparents for company."

"My sister would take wonderful care of him," Patsy says, "she was so kind. My father used to joke that she should have been called Patience."

"My brother would love that. He had the most beautiful smile, Patsy. I worry that he misses being part of a big, busy family."

"I think my mother rather would have liked a son. She used to dote on us terribly."

Sister Mary Cynthia gently takes her hand and they watch the pair of flames burn brightly. Patsy has never been very good at praying, but feels peace settle inside her as she thinks about their departed families, waiting for them in the next room.

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Over the years, Patsy has returned to the flat on several occasions to unexpected scenes (Delia halfway though repainting the walls, Delia sweeping up an entire smashed tea set, Delia eating cakes at the table with Sister Monica Joan), but being greeted by an excitable whippet-cross is a new one.

"I've called her Akela," Delia looks sheepish, as Patsy lifts her bag out of harm's way. "Just so she has a name."

Patsy has several questions. "Isn't Akela a boy, though?"

"You're Akela at Cubs."

"Fair point."

"I've telephoned Battersea Dog's Home and the police, and they'll be in touch if they hear anything."

"So until then, your plan is what?"

"Oh Patsy, I couldn't leave her in the street! She was being abused by those boys down Bazley Street! What if they come back?"

Patsy is taken aback by how Delia's expression resembles a pleading puppy more than the actual pleading puppy next to her.

"Fine. She can stay until the Dog's Home can take her."

A Thursday morning about a year later, Patsy drifts awake to the sound of rain drumming on the skylight. Delia is still asleep in her arms, and Akela is curled up at the foot of the bed. They'll need to walk her at some point today, but it's their shared day off and there's no rush.

Akela yawns, and Patsy holds Delia close and gently falls back to sleep.

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Trixie, Patsy probably should have guessed from the moment they met, is one of those women who sometimes refers to her female friends as 'girlfriend'.

"Plans for this evening?" Patsy asks, as Trixie twirls in the mirror, her skirt flowing just so.

"I'm just meeting up with a new girlfriend." Trixie says.

Patsy's eyebrows nearly reach her hairline, and Trixie laughs at her expression.

"You needn't be like that; I'm not replacing you."

"What are you two up to later?" Trixie asks as Patsy and Delia help assorted Cubs find their parents in the aftermath of the Remembrance Day Parade.

"Coffee at The Silver Buckle was the plan," Patsy says, struggling to hold about five different banners that have been thrust upon her, "but I rather fear we may require something stronger."

"You're welcome to join us," offers Delia.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose on girlfriend time."

Patsy's arms are too full of banners, standards, wreaths of poppies and her trusty bucket of sawdust to be able to grab Delia and stop her from-

"Patsy's told you?" Delia says, shocked.

Oh no.

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April is unseasonably warm and everyone at Nonnatus bursts outside after the long, enduring winter. Trixie reads magazines in a dusted-off deckchair, Sister Julienne tends her nasturtiums, and Fred helps Sister Winifred set up an easel beside the allotment.

Patsy and Delia lay down a blanket and Patsy attempts to read her novel while Delia makes daisy-chain crowns for them both. Hours pass, the sun peaks in the sky, and Patsy realises too late that Delia has fallen asleep in her lap. She is mortified, but nobody else seems to have noticed, so she continues with Strangers on a Train and hopes nobody thinks anything of it.

Delia is jolted awake not long after by Barbara dropping a deckchair with an almighty clatter. Delia looks apologetic, and Patsy smiles and readjusts her daisy crown.

As the afternoon fades into evening, the Nonnatus collective heads back inside, each more freckled than before. Patsy is folding the blanket back up when Sister Winifred comes over.

"I'd like you to have this," she says, handing Patsy a rolled-up piece of paper.

Unfurling the paper, Patsy reveals a beautiful watercolour of herself and Delia lounged out on the blanket. She can see herself, face caught half in shadow, stroking Delia's hair, shiny in the sun. The gentle curve of Delia's neck as she leans in to the touch. She looks back to Sister Winifred.

"It was a lovely moment." is all she says, pouring away her paint water and bringing the easel indoors.

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"Might I borrow a light?" Patsy asks, holding up her cigarette. Her lighter does choose the most inopportune times to fail.

Doctor Turner passes over the lighter rather than light it for her, which Patsy appreciates. She takes a drag and hands it back. "Thank you. I don't usually indulge during a shift, but it's been rather a trying morning."

"Hasn't it? If Mrs Mitchell doesn't resubmit her urine sample, I don't know what we'll do."

"Mrs Mitchell the diabetic?" Patsy says, "oh, I'll be having words with her."

Doctor Turner chuckles, "I should have known to put Nurse Mount on the case."

Over the months, Patsy and Doctor Turner have formed a rather agreeable working relationship. She suspects her involvement in the case with Mr Glennon – heading all the way out to Liverpool to retrieve the necessary medication – has earned her his respect. Patsy feels a kinship with him from what snippets she has caught about his work during the war; the war affected everybody, but she thinks that, among the residents of Poplar, it is only Doctor Turner who could recognise the horror and filth she sees in her nightmares.

"Shelagh has been trying to get me to cut down on these," he says, taking another puff.

"Delia's the same." Patsy says without thinking.

Doctor Turner regards her for a moment, but says nothing. He drops the butt to the floor and stubs it out. "They're probably right, but I rather think we've earned our vices here and there, don't you?"

Patsy stubs out her cigarette and follows Doctor Turner back into the clinic. "I think you're right."

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Patsy erases her name on the chalkboard rota and fills in the details of her newest delivery.

"Did Mrs Ross have her baby?" Sister Evangelina asks as Mrs Turner copies the details into the log book and then, discreetly, the rolodex.

"Yes, a very healthy seven pounds."

"Boy or girl?"

"A little boy; Albert."

"Albert."

"Yes."

"Albert Ross."

"Yes, I'd noticed that. Apparently after his grandfather."

"So did his grandfather spend his entire life unaware that he was named after a sea bird, or is this their way of preparing him for the cruel realities of life?"

"I thought it most prudent to say nothing, so I didn't ask."

"When will they learn?" Sister Evangelina says, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"Come now. He's not the first and he won't be the last. He's healthy; everything else is immaterial," says Mrs Turner, ever the diplomat.

"What was that one you had last year?" Sister Evangelina asks, as Patsy makes some tea. This could take a while.

Mrs Turner somehow manages to keep a straight face. "Are you referring to little Tessa, the costermonger's daughter?"

"Teresa Green!" Sister Evangelina shouts.

Patsy and Mrs Turner barely smother their laughter as Sister Evangelina fumes into her teacup.

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The situation is becoming untenable. Delia comes home each night and just cries; usually cuddled up to Patsy on the sofa, sobs wracking her body.

"There were three today, Patsy," she manages. Patsy holds her, strokes her hair (Patsy cannot help but notice the number of grey hairs are growing day by day). Delia has done this for her countless times over the years; she is nothing but grateful that she can repay the favour, but…

"Delia, I'm not sure you can keep on like this," she says carefully, as the tears begin to subside, "you're not eating properly, you're exhausted all the time-"

"I can't leave them, Patsy. So many of them don't even have a family any more; they need someone who cares!"

Midwifery was meant to be a change away from the oppressive practices of general nursing, with its entitled doctors and impersonal methods. After twenty-three years, Patsy has never been more grateful that her speciality is, the vast majority of the time, nothing but joy.

On the other hand, Delia's most recent work at The Royal London means she watches young man after young man die from a disease known in the newspapers as "the gay plague".

"If I left, they probably couldn't replace me," Delia says, her head resting on Patsy's chest, her eyes puffy, "they don't understand what's causing it, nobody wants to be near them-"

"I know, darling," Patsy says gently. Her years at Nonnatus taught her a lot about spiritual callings. "You look after them, and I'll look after you."

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Delia and Patsy eventually manage to find a matinee showing of Breakfast at Tiffany's that fits in with their nebulous shift patterns. Patsy read the book several summers ago, and after hearing Trixie going on about how marvellous it was, Delia had decided they absolutely must see what the fuss was about.

(Delia's not-so-subtle crush on Audrey Hepburn was by the by.)

Arriving with plenty of time, the pair settle in a corner of the small cinema, Delia clutching a box of chocolate-covered peanuts. Other people eventually filter in, but as the curtain rises and the film begins, Patsy becomes aware that nobody is sat near them at all.

Delia clearly notices too, because as the opening bars of Moon River play, Delia takes Patsy's hand, threading their fingers together. Patsy forgets to breathe for a moment. Delia gently strokes her hand with her thumb and Patsy slowly calms herself.

After a herculean effort on Patsy's part to focus on the film they've paid to see, even when Delia starts leaning her head on Patsy's shoulder, they stay holding hands until the ending credits roll.

"You are a menace, Delia Busby," Patsy whispers affectionately as the house lights come back on and they have to break apart; Delia looks extremely pleased with herself. Patsy moves to leave, but then Delia grabs her hand once more and pulls her back down into her seat.

"What are you-"

"Look!"

Delia points to the other side of the room, where Patsy can make out the small figure of Sister Winifred, her wimple unmistakable, sneaking out of the door. Delia can barely contain her giggles. The pair stay in their seats, hands still interlocked, until the coast is clear and they can sneak out themselves.

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"I'm so glad Delia's moved in with us," Barbara says as they retrieve their bicycles, fixing their bags in place for the ride over to the clinic. Delia left for The London about half an hour ago, but Barbara is the type of person who, when talking about someone who isn't there, can only be positive.

"I daresay your roommate situation has improved." Trixie says.

"I had my own room when I was at home, so moving in with Phyllis was quite a shock," Barbara admits, "but Delia and I can play music, and talk all night!"

"How marvellous," Patsy says, half-delighted that Delia and Barbara are getting along so well, half immensely jealous.

"She brought back a bag of rhubarb and custards the other day; she remembered they were my favourites."

"She certainly knows the way to a girl's heart," says Trixie. Patsy carefully says nothing.

"We stayed up until nearly two o'clock last night; she was telling me about Wales, and I told her all about growing up in Liverpool,"

"It sounds like you're getting along like the proverbial house on fire."

"Oh, definitely! We bonded over our mutual love of Enid Blyton, and next week we're going to-"

"It sounds like someone might have a crush," Trixie teases.

Patsy can't take it any longer. "So Barbara, how are things with you and Tom?"

Clinic is a little awkward.

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Trixie is more distraught than Patsy has ever seen her. She's pacing around their room, almost wearing a tread into the carpet, frantically chain smoking. Patsy's frankly amazed she hasn't reached for the bottle, and every time Patsy moves Trixie's eyes widen a little, wordlessly begging not to leave her by herself.

"Trixie," Patsy says gently, sitting at the bottom of Trixie's bed, "it's ghastly. It's terrible, it's-"

"I know what it is!" Trixie snaps. "It happened to me!"

Patsy is taken aback, and Trixie takes a few breaths, venom fading from her voice. "It wasn't the same; I shouldn't even compare them. But when I came home - crying, scared, blaming myself - Cynthia was there. She- she held me and told me it wasn't my fault."

Trixie's voice cracks, and Patsy reaches over and takes Trixie in her arms. Trixie returns the hug like a child clinging to its mother, an instinctive response to a world that doesn't make sense.

"I don't know what to do, Patsy," Trixie says, facade crumbling away, "she doesn't want to be touched, even! And I'm making this all about me-"

"It's all right," Patsy says gently. She knows the connection between Trixie and Sister Mary Cynthia is special; different, but as wonderful and profound as hers and Delia's, "you're allowed to feel like this."

Trixie allows herself to cry on Patsy's shoulder for a minute or two, then slides her mask carefully back into place, pulling back and delicately dabbing her eyes as if nothing has happened.

Trixie fusses with her makeup at the dresser, and Patsy watches her carefully, ready to take Trixie's lead.

"Right." Trixie says, turning away from the mirror, voice bright. "Let's go and make sure Sister Mary Cynthia's all right, shall we?"

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Black is not Delia's colour.

Yellows, purples; bright colours that match her sunny personality. The pastels of her nurse's uniform. Seeing Delia head-to-toe in black adds to the surrealism that has cloaked Nonnatus ever since Sister Mary Cynthia knocked on the door to her and Trixie's room to tearfully break news none of them expected.

There has been no rest for the wicked – running around Poplar collecting bottles of Distaval has left little time for reflection, but since this morning, everything has rather stood still.

Delia has been keeping a respectful distance, quietly mourning a woman she never got the chance to really know. Even so, Delia is far less acquainted with death than Patsy, and her empathic nature means she shares the pain alongside her newfound sisters. On the day of the funeral, she watches Patsy across the parlour, waiting by the door for Patsy to be ready (she's never ready), as she touches Sister Evangelina's cold hand one last time, thanking her for everything.

As the procession begins, slowly trundling past an impenetrable wall of people, the entirety of Poplar out to show their respect, Patsy reverently takes Delia's arm in support.

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Dear All,

Greetings from Paris! We have been blessed with splendid weather and have spent every day thus far exploring.

The Eiffel Tower is every bit as impressive as Paris Blues led us to expect, and the galleries and museums are second to none. We met a couple who speak Breton at the Jeu de Paume the other day, and Delia was delighted at how much their language has in common with Welsh. We've been availing ourselves of various patisseries; Sister Monica Joan and Barbara would be in heaven! (we might have bought some cakes and sweets to bring back – you shall have to wait and see)

I daresay we're not appreciating the world's fashion capital as much as Trixie would, but you'll be pleased to know that pantyhose seem to be all the rage here, and women wearing slacks is delightfully commonplace.

We visited Notre Dame cathedral yesterday (see the front of the postcard), which was positively awe-inspiring; we lit a candle for Sister Evangelina. Perhaps she wouldn't approve of its grandiosity, but we wanted her to know she's in our thoughts.

We're missing you all terribly, but we'll be back in Poplar before you know it.

Lots of love,

Patsy and Delia xx

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Patsy has stopped drinking alcohol in their room altogether. She has moved her bottles to Delia's room, where she and Delia will often have a scotch or mixer before moving on to other activities – but it doesn't feel right to keep drinking in front of Trixie (and anyway, Barbara's Tizer isn't entirely unpleasant). Smoking remains (for now) an acceptable vice, and she and Trixie are quietly listening to Adam Faith and sharing an ashtray after returning from a particularly long delivery.

"You were right." Trixie says out of nowhere.

"About what?"

"Men."

Patsy still has no idea what Trixie is talking about, but sits up a little straighter on her bed.

"I had a chat with Phyllis the other day. We don't need them. You've known for ages and you're right."

Patsy forgets about her cigarette and drops a little ash onto her bed, unable to comprehend what Trixie is saying.

"I wanted to say sorry for all the occasions I've given you a hard time for not having a boyfriend. We don't need them to be happy."

Patsy still doesn't fully understand, but raises her glass of Tizer anyway. "I'll drink to that."