Summary: Mrs Busby's thoughts at that tea where Patsy and Delia ask for Delia's birth certificate.

Disclaimer: Call The Midwife belongs to the BBC and others - I am simply borrowing their beautiful characters.

Author's note: I have a bit of writer's block I'm afraid. I think it's because Matter of Trust is nearing completion and I don't want to let it go! So I thought I'd write something completely different and see if that helps. This is a a real rapid mind dump of thoughts so it doesn't have any finesse and is certainly rough around the edges. I thought I'd share it anyway. It hasn't been proof read either so all mistakes are definitely my own!

Mrs Busby sat and surreptitiously scrutinised her two table companions, trying to hide the assessment by making somewhat anticipated comments about the standards of the tea room. Her daughter, Delia, seemed nervous and had difficulty catching her eye. Her friend Patsy had no such difficulty and sat, ram-rod straight and oozing confidence.

It would be easy to blame Patsy for the current situation. Oh, Mrs Busby was no fool. She knew exactly what was going on. And she coped with it by consciously blaming the older woman. With her upper-class confidence and cut-glass accent, it was obvious to determine that it was she that had somehow bewitched her daughter. It was Patsy that had pursued her and somehow infected her daughter with deviant values.

But Mrs Busby was an honest woman, even if she was a snob and fussy. Taking the easy option made it somehow more bearable, but it was not the truth. Mrs Busby had known that her daughter was different as she was growing up. Her beautiful, brunette third child was insatiably curious and determined to follow her own path and rules. Mrs Busby had seen how she had played with the boys but grown up treating them all to no more special treatment than either of her brothers. She had also witnessed how Delia, in her late teens, had looked at other girls in ways she should have been looking at boys. She knew her daughter was different even back then in Wales, but had fervently hoped that it was just a phase and she would move on.

Mrs Busby tried her hardest not to allow Delia to go to London to train. She knew that the big city would allow her an element of anonymity along with the potential of bumping into another woman who might have the same proclivities. But Delia's father, merrily oblivious to his daughter's different outlook, took her side and tipped the scales.

When she waved goodbye to Delia at the bus station, she had no idea how her daughter would return to her. While Delia's letters home were full of detail regarding training and nursing, there was very little by way of company of any sort. Mr Busby put this down to his daughter remaining diligent in her studies. Mrs Busby was not so sure. Her fears were brought to the fore some years later after the terrifying dash to the London, where her daughter lay broken. A female friend was present, almost obsessively so, and was as devastated as Mrs Busby over Delia's condition. But it was so difficult to read Patsy. She was professional and guarded, and also very no-nonsense about the whole situation. If they were more than friends, surely the woman might have said something, or been more careless with her talk and emotions?

It had been heartbreaking to witness Delia's injury and her slow recovery. It took months for her to do anything more than remember her family or pick up a pen. And when the memories did start coming back, many of them were about her time in London, and Mrs Busby had no way of being able to verify if they were true. But she did start to recover, and Mrs Busby started to hope that she would have her daughter back home, this time for good.

So when Delia mentioned that she wanted to write to Patsy, her mother was frightened. She was frightened that Delia would want to return to that filthy, dangerous city. Particularly when she could not be properly looked after, and she got so tired. Mrs Busby ended up doing something she regretted deeply but felt she had no choice. She told Delia that she would post her letters, but ended up burning them instead. She couldn't bring herself to read them, in case she had her worst fears realised, but if she stopped the communication before it started, perhaps her daughter would give up on any ideas of returning to London, and perhaps reduce the reasons to return there.

Fate did not smile upon Mrs Busby however, and on a visit to London for one of Delia's final check-ups, she had insisted on having tea with the nuns at Nonnatus House. Of course, Patsy had been there. She had already seen her once, and had thought that by putting her foot down and insisting that Delia return to Wales, that would be the end of it. When sister Julienne offered a place for Delia to stay, Mrs Busby knew that, once again, her daughter was lost to her.

And now her daughter was talking about taking up midwifery. So yes, it was obvious what was going on. But it was also so very sad that her own daughter could barely look at her, for fear of what? Disapproval? Being disowned? Or simple disappointment?

While Mrs Busby would certainly never be able to understand her daughter's inclination, and it was unlikely she would never be able to openly embrace their relationship, Mrs Busby loved her daughter dearly, no matter what. Mrs Busby also knew that it would have been her daughter that had pursued Patsy. She knew how charming Delia could be. She had witnessed more times than she could count a dogged determination to get what she wanted. Patsy may be poised and sophisticated, but she was also reserved and respectful. Mrs Busby didn't actually believe she would reveal her own nature so easily. It would have been Delia that unlocked the possibility. It would have been Delia who encouraged her to risk everything. It would have been Delia who would have slowly, determinedly, charmed and wooed the older woman until she was smitten. Mrs Busby knew her daughter.

So Mrs Busby made a decision as she listened to Patsy talking while watching her daughter nervously play with her tea-cake. She needed to indicate somehow that she knew. "Thick as thieves, you two," she commented sharply, knowing the point had hit home as Delia looked up suddenly, her eyes widening.

"So why do you need your birth certificate? So you can sign up for this midwifery course?" Mrs Busby could hear her own voice sound derisive but this was so very hard to do.

"Delia's not going home to Wales this April," Patsy declared assuredly. "She's coming to Paris, with me."

Mrs Busby could see them both looking at her expectantly. It was daring of Patsy to state what they were doing, even if it could be construed as an innocent trip. But Delia looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Was she really so unapproachable? Was it really so difficult for her daughter to do this?

Mrs Busby considered for a few seconds. The truth was that it was probably much more frightening to talk to her mother than risk her career. If Mrs Busby reacted poorly, Delia would lose her entire family, and that was something Mrs Busby knew would crush the young woman. She looked Patsy in the eye. "I'm not an unsophisticated woman," she snapped. "I've been to Jersey. And the Isle of Man."

Diverting her attention toward her tea cake as she tried to slow her heart, Mrs Busby knew that she had done enough to hint that she knew. She saw Delia's shoulders relax slightly, even as she continued to look surprised. She knew that she had to put a limit on her daughter's expectations and actions however. "I can take it if you break my heart. I'm your mam. But don't do anything that will make your dad cry."

She watched as Delia swallowed her emotions down and nod hurriedly, before sharing what could only be described as a loving smile with Patsy.

Mrs Busby might not approve. She might not understand, but she would stand by her daughter and she would love her anyway.

~Finis~