16. It’s a shrine, darling
Chapter sixteen
It’s a shrine, darling
When Greta woke the following morning, Dylan wasn’t in bed.
She had been up many times in the night tending to her mum, waking Greta in the process, leaving her craving more sleep the second her eyes opened.
The disturbance hadn’t been through a lack of Dylan trying, Greta had watched her pulled from her light sleep and felt her restless movements.
She had been so considerate, making sure her mum was completely settled before coming back to bed and pulling Greta in.
Only to be disturbed again moments later, sighing quietly as she got out of bed for the umpteenth time.
This wasn’t exactly how Greta had envisioned her first night with a woman in five years.
Her first night with someone who wasn’t Muriel.
Voices drifted from downstairs, followed by the fast rhythm of footsteps as Dylan came bounding back up as if there were a fire.
‘Is everything okay?’ Greta asked as Dylan moved into the room.
Dylan’s eyes illuminated at the sight of her, a full smile claiming her entire face.
She had a pot of coffee in one hand, two cups hanging from the fingers of the other—which Greta found remarkable given the speed at which she’d cleared the staircase.
Her curls looked more dishevelled than usual, and small dark crescents sat under her green eyes.
Greta’s breath caught at just how violently beautiful she still looked.
‘Everything’s fine. I’m just a noisy stair-doer.’ Dylan smiled, putting the coffee on the bedside table, her gaze raking over Greta with a look of very open appreciation.
‘Have you slept? You look tired,’ Greta said, her eyebrows furrowed.
‘Rough night with Margs, to be honest. Did I disturb you much?’ Dylan winced, looking full of dread at the potential answer. ‘I tried not to. It’s not always like this.’
‘I slept well actually,’ Greta lied. ‘Is your mum okay?’
‘Coffee?’ Dylan offered breezily, clearly doing her best to avoid a conversation about her mum and where that might lead. ‘I can run back down for milk.’
‘Lovely, thanks. No, black is fine. Dylan, is your mum okay?’
‘Huh?’ Dylan continued to busy herself with the coffee, her fingers splayed as she pushed the cafetière plunger down with her palm. ‘Yeah, she’s fine. Her chest isn’t great at the minute, and her cough isn’t strong, so she struggles a bit. She just needs more help clearing, that’s all.’
Despite Dylan’s blasé tone Greta suspected that wasn’t all, and though she was obviously reluctant to talk, the need to was gnawing at her. Not just about her mother but the whole situation. All of it.
‘Can we talk?’ Greta said softly.
‘Before coffee? You’ll be luck—’
‘Dylan, please?’
Dylan chewed the inside of her lip, as if realising she couldn't keep Greta out, not if she hoped for Greta to open up in return.
A silent beat passed. Greta could practically see her searching for a way to navigate the conversation without touching the heaviest parts of her life but there was no more putting it off.
‘Do we have to get serious? Because that’s what will happen.’
‘But we need to, Dylan.’
‘What if.’ Dylan gave a cheeky smile. ‘What if…’ she echoed with a pout and squinted eye, buying herself some time as Greta watched her with a cocked brow.
‘What if nothing, Dylan. We have to talk.’
‘Pfft.’ Dylan pushed the sound past her lips. ‘I have a better idea,’ she offered as she sidled up to Greta. .
Greta canted her head and smiled with both exasperation and fondness as Dylan moved closer, leaned forward to cradle her face and placed the softest of kisses on her lips.
Greta dissolved into it, holding Dylan’s wrists as their foreheads pressed together.
Shuffling closer, Dylan leaned a possessive arm over Greta’s thighs to keep them face to face.
Greta ran a hand down the arm stretched over her.
‘As it’s a Saturday, why don’t I take you out?’ Dylan said softly.
‘Out?’ Greta did nothing to hide the fact that she found the suggestion mildly horrifying.
‘Yeah, you know. Out. As in, we go outside together and not stay inside together.’ Dylan laughed, but her laughter faded when she caught the look on Greta’s face.
Greta fleetingly looked down at her hands, unable to bear the forlorn look on Dylan’s face. ‘I don’t think— ’
‘Okay, it’s okay. We don’t have to.’ Dylan offered a quick smile, but a flash of disappointment gave her away.
‘Can you get away today?’ The words left Greta’s lips despite herself.
‘Yes! Yes, I can. Priya’s here all day. I could come to you— ’
Before Dylan could lay out a plan, Priya’s voice boomed up the staircase. ‘Dylly! Can you come down here for a minute, please?’
Dylan scanned Greta’s face, as if searching for any sign of annoyance at yet another interruption, but Greta gave nothing away. She wasn’t annoyed but the reality of their lives was chipping away at her ability to see any kind of future with Dylan.
‘Can I shower while you’re gone?’ Greta asked softly.
‘Of course you can. Towels are in the airing cupboard on the landing. The bathroom is a nineties dream, you’re gonna love it!
I hope you like tiles with seashells on and peach.
’ After a mock shudder of disgust, Dylan’s laughter gave way to a soft, earnest kiss.
‘I’m sorry it’s like this. It won’t always—’
Greta pressed a fingertip to Dylan’s lips. ‘Why are you apologising for your life? Don’t do that.’ Greta softly cupped Dylan’s cheeks and kissed her again. ‘Now go. I’ll be okay.’
‘You might need help in the shower. It’s quite old, you see…there's a knack to the taps.’ Dylan wiggled an eyebrow. ‘I should probably join—’
‘Do not finish that thought, Miss St John,’ Greta chuckled. ‘Now go.’
‘Okay well, take your phone into the bathroom so you can take some pictures of the design features. I suspect you’ll be coveting the shit out of it and copying it for your en-suite or something.’
Dylan left the room, winking over her shoulder before she did, leaving Greta laughing to herself.
***
Dylan’s attention was pulled from her mum as Greta appeared in the hallway, showered and dressed in her jeans and jumper, coat held at her front in both hands. Dylan and Priya were performing chest physio to help Margaret’s cough and alleviate her difficulty breathing.
Greta walked to the door, her eyes already scanning Margaret. ‘Good morning, Priya,’ she said softly.
Priya whipped her gaze around. ‘Good morning, Greta. It’s lovely to see you again.’
‘You, too.’ Greta took another step into the room. ‘Can I help in here?’ Her gaze shifted to a stunned looking Dylan.
‘Err, we’re okay, I think. I, err…’ Dylan hesitated, her eyes darting between Priya and Greta.
Priya’s eyebrows furrowed as she looked at Dylan, who appeared to be in the process of short-circuiting before their very eyes.
‘You perhaps have already, and forgive me if so, but I could listen to Margaret’s chest, if you—’
‘Yes!’ Priya interrupted before Dylan could dismiss her with her I’ve got this bravado.
It wasn't a bad fault, but sometimes, Dylan's reluctance to accept help had pushed her to a breaking point a few too many times. ‘Aye, Greta, that would be very helpful. Thank you. Margs has had back to back nebulisation this morning and some pretty rough physio from Miss Muscles here.’ She smiled at Dylan, who was standing perfectly still. ‘But we’re not getting much relief. Are we Margs?’ Priya placed a soft hand over Margaret’s shoulder and squeezed.
Dylan watched as Greta rolled up her sleeves, left to wash her hands in the kitchen, and asked Priya for a stethoscope when she returned. Greta moved toward Margaret.
‘Good morning, Margaret. I’m Greta, Dylan’s…
’ Greta hesitated, taking half a beat to find the right word.
‘Friend,’ she decided. Inexplicably, Dylan’s breath quickened as she watched the interaction unfold.
‘I can see you are struggling quite a bit with your cough. Would it be okay if I had a quick listen to your chest?’ Greta asked, her posture soft and still as she waited for any non-verbal signs from Margaret before she carried on, treating her as a capable adult rather than a child. Margaret smiled back as best she could.
Dylan began to melt at the warmth of Greta’s tone, the way her eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled and the gentle way she asked for Margaret’s consent at every point.
Greta softly apologised for her cool hands and the cold drum of the stethoscope, rubbing it lightly to warm it before placing it to Margaret’s chest. Never had two sides of Dylan’s life come together like this, her heart battered against her sternum as she looked on, speechless.
She watched Greta hang the stethoscope around her neck, freeing her hands to perform a percussive movement on Margaret’s chest with soft palms and elegant fingers.
The woman she was falling for, with the most precious woman in her life.
Dylan stared, eyes stinging, unable to take it all in.
Greta handed the stethoscope back to Priya with a grateful smile and a soft thank you.
‘Margaret, you have some reduced air entry on this right side. I think some imaging might be an idea. I’m sure we can sort an x-ray out.’ Greta squeezed Margaret’s hand to reassure her.
‘Thank you, Greta. I’ll get in touch with the medic on-call,’ Priya said, as Dylan watched on, still unable to find any words that would work in a sentence. ‘Why don’t you and Dyl finish your coffee, and I’ll sort— ’
‘That’s so kind, Priya, but I have to go.’
Dylan’s heart sank into her stomach as she tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.
‘Dyl,’ Priya said softly in an attempt to snap her back into the room. ‘Dylan!’ she followed up more sternly.