Miss Nightingale's Nurses

by Kate Eastham

X

  (the mark of his wife Marie)

  Ada reeled back. Seeing her mother’s name and then the name of her father was a shock. With everything that had happened over the last few weeks she had forgotten about her past life and besides, no one had told her much, even about her mother, the woman who had died in this room, in this bed, bringing her into the world.

  Why had she not asked her grandfather more questions when she had the chance? She should have asked. But then she remembered the few times that she had questioned him about Maggie, how it had set him off crying and she had felt bad. She couldn’t bear to see him upset and so she had stopped asking. She had kept quiet and if she had any questions she’d asked Frank. But he’d been too small to remember their mother; he was useless.

  Mary had told her that Mrs Regan always said what a grand woman Maggie Houston was but there was no detail, so Ada had no picture of her in her head. Seeing the letter in her hand now brought a flood of regret. She sagged with it and sat down heavily on the bed, lying back across the mattress with the letter resting lightly on her chest. As she stared up at the ceiling she felt helpless and even more alone and the tears began to flow down the sides of her face and drip on to the patchwork quilt. How must Maggie have felt when she got this letter? There was no date on it – when did she get it? All these questions flying around in her head and no one in the world who could answer them. Except, of course, the person who had sent the note, this Marie, this other woman. But there was no address on the letter; it would be impossible to find her. Did she even want to find her and her child, someone who could be her half-brother or -sister? And this Francis, this father of hers whom she hadn’t even known by name, was he still alive? Even if he was, why should she seek him out? He had never shown any interest in her or Frank; he had never been near!

  Ada continued to lie on the bed until the tears stopped flowing and then she sat up. Seeing the letter in her hand she used all her strength to scrunch it up into a ball and then throw it hard against the window. It bounced back and rolled under the bed and that’s where she left it.

  Feeling her belly growl with hunger she scrabbled around for the money that had slipped from her hand on to the bed. Then she ripped the patchwork quilt off, sending the tin box clattering on to the floor. She didn’t even hear the noise or bother that she had left it discarded as she pulled at the quilt, dragging it behind her down the stairs.

  That same quilt, the one that had been hand-stitched by her mother, was the first item that she took to the pawn shop. The first of many. She was ruthless in the way that she pulled pots and pans and cutlery out of the cupboards and the covers and ornaments off the surfaces of the house, angrily ripping apart the life that she had there, the life that she could no longer share. Each time she came back from a trip to the pawn shop she felt emptier inside but also lighter and it was with some satisfaction that she put the pawn tickets into a teacup. The only things that she couldn’t touch were Grandfather’s pocket-watch, her mother-of-pearl brooch, the red shawl that had been her mother’s, the silk-lined curtain and the stuff in Frank’s room. The rest was fair game as far as Ada was concerned, even down to the crucifix over the bed head and then the bed head itself.

  As she worked her way through the house, she left drawers pulled out and debris lying on the floor. She stripped the old place down until in the end she had three full teacups of pawn tickets and not much else.

  So what now? She couldn’t think of where to go next. And that’s when the people started coming back into the house, tutting a bit, saying they were sorry, saying they were worried about her. She still wasn’t really listening, not until Mrs Regan spoke to Mary and Mary came to see her.

  Mary tapped on the door as she always used to, like she had done on the day of the accident. It felt like that was years ago now. Ada heard the familiar tap and shouted, ‘Come in.’

  Mary found her best friend sitting at the table with teacups full of pawn tickets, an empty grate and hardly anything left in the house that made it look like a home.

  Ada looked up and Mary was hard-pressed to recognize her old friend.

  ‘What the blazes have you been doing in here, Ada Houston?’ said Mary, her eyes darting round the kitchen and taking in the dirt and the disorder.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Ada with a note of defiance rising in her voice. ‘Somebody had to sort this lot out and unless you’ve forgotten what’s happened here I’m the only one left.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said Mary, picking up a tea cloth discarded on the floor and going over to one of the drawers and shoving it to. ‘Indeed I can.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ spat Ada, pushing back her chair and squaring up to Mary.

  ‘This place is a tip, an absolute tip.’

  ‘How dare you,’ said Ada, glaring at her friend. ‘How dare you, Mary Regan.’

  Mary stood and looked at her friend for a moment. Her hair was wild and unbound, her clothes were grubby and she had the light of a maniac in her eyes.

  ‘I know it’s been hard for you,’ she said in a much gentler voice. ‘I know it’s been hard but I’m here to help you now. Just have a look round this place, Ada, what would your poor grandfather think?’

  ‘What would he think?’ shouted Ada. ‘What would he think? He’s dead!’

  Mary crossed herself and muttered, ‘God rest his soul,’ then she looked at Ada standing in the wreck of her own kitchen with her fists balled and knew that she had to take things in hand.

  ‘Yes, he’s dead,’ said Mary, raising her own voice, ‘but that doesn’t mean you can let things go to wrack and ruin.’

  ‘What do you know?’ shouted Ada back at her. ‘What do you know? He’s gone and left me here all alone, without Frank, with nothing!’

  Mary took a step back, unsure whether Ada was going to fly at her like a cat with its claws out, just as she’d done when they were little.

  ‘Yes he has,’ she said from a safer distance, ‘but he didn’t mean to die, Ada, he didn’t mean to die. The last thing he would have wanted to do was leave you here on your own. You know that, Ada, don’t you? You know how he felt about you.’

  Mary waited, standing completely still in front of Ada, and then gave an inward sigh of relief as she saw her friend unclench her fists and look around the kitchen as if she was seeing it for the first time. Then Ada’s head sank and she started to cry, big sobs coming out of her small body.

  Mary was straight there, putting her arms around her, holding her tight, almost squeezing the breath out of her. She let her cry and then she loosened her embrace and stood back a little, taking a look at her friend close up.

  ‘You know what my mam always calls you, Ada? Little Ada with the big heart. And it’s true. Sometimes things that happen are too much for people like you, but you know what, me and you are from the same stock. You remember the story of our people coming off the boats from Ireland, starving hungry with nothing but the clothes on their backs? We have the same blood, Ada, the same blood, and we can get through anything. We Regans and Houstons, we’ve always had it tough and that’s how I know you will come through this, Ada, you will come through.’

  Ada drew back, still unsure, but starting to really listen to what her friend had to say.

  Mary laid a hand on her arm. ‘All right then, Ada. All right. Let’s get this place tidied up.’

  Ada nodded.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ said Mary, moving instinctively to give her friend another hug, then looking down at her. ‘But you might want to give your face a bit of a wash first,’ she said, seeing the smudges of grime on Ada’s tear-stained face. ‘And maybe do something with that mop of hair: you could have a bird nesting in that lot and you wouldn’t even know about it.’

  Ada looked up and smiled for the first time since her grandfather had died; she actually smiled. Her face felt tight with the strangeness of using muscles that had become set with grief and she began to realize where she was and what had happened.

  ‘I
don’t know where I’ve been,’ said Ada, staring down at the floor.

  ‘Well, don’t worry about that. It takes us different ways, but we come out of it, we come back. So chin up … I’ll put some of this water in the kettle and go and see if I can scrape up some coal to light the fire. You get a cloth round your face and wash off that muck and for God’s sake do summat about your hair,’ said Mary, brushing some of the dark brown curls away from her friend’s face. ‘That’s better. I can see you now.’

  Once Ada was cleaned up and ready for work it didn’t take long for the girls to go through the small house and set things straight. By that time Mary had the fire lit and the kettle on and the water was boiling. Telling Ada to sit down at the table, she went to the cupboard to find the cups then cracked up laughing when she found it empty.

  ‘What?’ said Ada.

  ‘It’s a good job you used the teacups for your pawn tickets cos there’s nowt in the cupboard to make a brew with,’ said Mary.

  Ada started laughing and then emptied two of the cups out on to the table, piling the pawn tickets up.

  ‘I don’t even know what I’ve been eating or drinking these last few weeks,’ she said.

  ‘Well, it’s time to start now,’ said Mary. ‘Mam sent us some scone to have with a brew, so let’s get you started on a thick slice of Mrs Regan’s driest offering.’

  Ada giggled, remembering Mrs Regan’s baking.

  ‘It’s like flint grit, this stuff,’ said Mary, ‘but it’ll fill your belly.’

  Ada felt good to be sitting back at the kitchen table with Mary. She still felt the dark shadow of the last time they had sat there but just for now it was pushed back into the corners of the room. At first she found herself sitting tensely, listening to Mary but very aware of the sound of the docks, a sound that she’d been trying to blot out for weeks. She knew what she was listening for, she knew what she was dreading and every time there was some sort of crashing noise from that direction she felt her stomach clench. But Mary carried on with her chatter about the baby and the new house that she had with her husband over the other side of the city away from the docks. He was a tailor and Mary had been helping him out, said they were starting to get busy, they might need to take on another pair of hands to help out.

  ‘You could come and live with us, Ada,’ she heard her friend saying. ‘You could come and help out until you get something else sorted.’

  ‘What?’ said Ada. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘I said you could come and help us out. We’re getting busy and there’d be enough work for you as well. We couldn’t pay you owt but we could give you board and lodgings till you got yourself sorted.’

  ‘Oh no, I can’t move from here, Mary. I can’t move; I need to be here for when Frank comes back.’

  ‘But what if he doesn’t come back, Ada, what if he never comes back? There’s been no word from the docks, nothing’s been found … And besides, if he did come back he’d go straight to Mam’s and she’d know where you were. And you need to be in work.’

  ‘Well, I was thinking of asking down at the docks, see if there was anything going there.’

  ‘You’re not doing that, Ada,’ said Mary straight out. ‘The work is rough and it will ruin you. And the men who work there are rough as well, so if the work doesn’t ruin you then the men certainly will. Your grandfather would never have wanted that for you.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Ada, staring at her teacup.

  ‘And the other thing is the rent. I know your grandfather always paid up in advance but Mam thinks that will be coming to an end soon. The landlord will be at the door, Ada, and you know what that means.’

  Ada sighed. ‘I hadn’t even thought about that,’ she said. ‘Of course … I need to get work fast so I can pay the rent and get sorted.’

  ‘Ada, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but I might as well come straight out with it. They won’t let you stay here, a single lass on her own. They won’t do it; they’ll chuck you out on the street if need be. And they’ll want the next lot of rent straight away. There’ll be no time to look for work; you’ll be out on your ear.’

  Ada looked at her friend. She couldn’t speak.

  ‘Mam thinks you’ll have to the end of this week and they might give you a few days’ grace seeing as you’ve been here for all these years and Padraic was a good man and well respected round here. But you will have to go.’

  Ada felt as if the solid wood of the kitchen table that she was leaning on was starting to tilt and slide from under her. She put her head in her hands to try and keep it steady. This place was the only home she’d ever known. She’d been born here, Frank had been born here, her grandfather had died here and her mother had gone before. She wanted to fight to keep it but she was too exhausted, drained of everything, and she knew that Mary was right: she had seen with her own eyes many a family turned out on the street when they couldn’t pay the rent.

  She sat with her head bowed as the realization washed over her. Then she heard her grandfather’s voice in her head again, telling her it would be all right, that she needed to make her own life now, her own stories. Telling her again that she was clever and strong, that she could do it.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she mumbled to herself, but then her grandfather said, ‘You can, you can. You have to.’

  ‘What was that?’ said Mary.

  ‘I can do it,’ said Ada, straight out. ‘I have to do it.’

  Mary smiled. ‘Right then, what we need to do now is clear out all of the furniture and your stuff. If it’s still here when the landlord comes they’ll take the lot.’

  ‘How can we …?’

  ‘The Regans have it in hand, Ada, don’t worry. You just get yourself packed up; we’ll do the rest.’

  ‘All right,’ said Ada, standing up from the table.

  ‘We’ve got some time,’ said Mary. ‘They won’t be here just yet. We don’t have much furniture at ours so we can take what you have up there if you want and we’ll keep hold of it until you get yourself settled.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Ada.

  Over the next couple of days Ada worked hard in the house. She lit the fire every day, cooked herself a bit of food, and she cleaned through, wanting to leave the place looking decent. That’s what Grandfather would have wanted: leave it decent for the next folk to come in. She hadn’t packed Frank’s stuff yet, leaving it till last, just in case he did come back before she moved. In the end she had to go into his room and put his clothes and his few belongings into a box. Mary had told her she could take everything up to their house, and she would squeeze it in somewhere.

  On the day she was moving, the Regan lads came with a handcart and easily lifted her few sticks of furniture and boxes of belongings on to it. They all worked down the docks and had plenty of muscle. Ada exchanged glances with Martin, the one who had helped her with Grandfather on the night of the accident. She gave him a small smile and he immediately looked away, a red flush coming to his cheeks. ‘I think Martin’s a bit sweet on you,’ whispered Mary, giving her a gentle poke in the ribs. ‘And he’s my favourite brother, but don’t tell the rest.’

  As they went to get the bed from the room upstairs Ada felt a lump in her throat and tears well up but she pushed them back down again. There was work to do. As the bed was lifted the lads started laughing: Ada had forgotten to move the chamber pot and there it sat, on full display. Thank goodness she had remembered to empty it that morning.

  Once the lads had clattered away down the stairs in their work boots, Ada spotted a rolled-up ball of paper lying in the dust where the bed had stood. She knew what it was straight away and picked it up. Straightening it out and looking at the faded letters once more she felt the hairs prickle at the back of her neck. She thought about her poor mother, with child a second time and deserted by a man who was already married. She vowed there and then that she would never find herself in that situation. She folded the letter this time and shoved it
in her pocket.

  ‘You ready?’ said a voice behind her and she turned to find Martin.

  ‘Yes, yes, I think so,’ said Ada, feeling her face flush a little. ‘Just give me a moment.’

  As Martin clattered down the wooden stairs Ada stood in the tiny room for a few more moments. She wanted to remember it, make sure it was ingrained on her mind so that she would never forget. But now that the furniture had gone, already it had begun to feel like a different place, a place set for new people and their different lives. Glancing around, she spotted Grandfather’s comb on the mantelpiece. How could she have missed that? She grabbed it quickly, not wanting to leave any remnant of their lives in the house for someone else to find. Then she walked down the stairs, one step at a time, not too fast, not too slow, making each one count as she went down them for the last time. And as she reached the bottom she carried on walking, brushing past the ghost of her grandfather as he stood crying at the foot of the stairs on the day that she was born.

  As she walked up the street following the handcart she felt a pain in her heart; the house seemed to call out to her and try to draw her back. But she knew that she had to keep on walking up that street and the more distance she put between herself and the walls of that place the less it would be able to draw her and the better she would feel. She could see neighbours looking out and the children who were playing stopped in their tracks for a few seconds to stare at them. Everybody round here knew what had happened; everybody had seen this kind of thing many a time before. First the coffin would go up the street, then days or weeks later the handcart with a few sticks of furniture and a few bags of clothes would trundle over the same cobbles with a pale-faced family dragging behind.

  Ada was determined not to be a straggler and not to lose her dignity. So she walked with seeming purpose and tried to hold her head high, keeping up with the handcart and the gaggle of Regans who had come to her rescue. She had no idea what to expect at Mary’s house, but she had nowhere else to go so she would have to try and make the best of it. She didn’t even know if she would come back to the street at all. But then if Frank came back – when Frank came back – maybe they could move back in there, the two of them making a new home together.