Page 55 of Obedience

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.

‘Hmmm?’ Dylan hummed absently. ‘Oh. Err, yeah. What?’ Priya glared at Dylan with wide eyes and flicked her head towards Greta. ‘Shit, yes, thank you. Thank you, Greta. Shall I see you out?’ For some reason, Dylan’s voice had become overly polite, as though Greta were a GP on a house-call.

Greta smiled softly. ‘It’s okay. I know where the door is. I just need my shoes.’

Priya placed her hand on Greta’s arm as she passed her, squeezing it gently, closing the gap between them so that she could whisper.

‘She’s not been herself for a while. Not since you. Just be patient with her. Okay, hen?’ Greta covered Priya’s hand with her own, smiled and nodded before heading to the kitchen to wash her hands. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ Priya whisper-shouted at Dylan, who was seemingly still elsewhere despite being very much in the room. ‘Oi! Dunderhead!’

‘Huh?!’ Dylan finally said. ‘I am myself, what are you—’

‘Oh so you are here?! Go to her,’ Priya instructed.

‘But—’

‘Now!’

Dylan walked into the kitchen as Greta was drying her hands. Sensing her, Greta turned, leaning back against the sink as she drew in a long breath.

‘Did I overstep?’ Greta asked quietly, worrying the edge of the tea towel between her fingers.

‘No! Fuck, no. I just… I err. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?’

‘You’re exhausted, Dylan. Stay here today and sort your mum. Text me later.’

Dylan just nodded slowly. The stark reality of her life thrummed in her arteries, a synchronised network of pulsating warnings that it would all be too much for Greta. She could feel the words between them that needed to be said—the words she didn’t want to say—forming in her throat and moving toward her tongue. There really was no world that existed in which they could be together.

‘I could still…we could try later?’ Dylan began to protest.

‘Stay here.’ Greta’s words were an instruction. Dylan nodded again and blew out a long breath, too tired to do anything else.