Wartime for the District Nurses

by Annie Groves

  ‘See, he likes it.’ Billy watched him fondly. How could Ray have failed to love his son? He was the sunniest little boy, hardly ever complaining, despite the grim conditions he’d often had to endure. Billy sat back in his chair. ‘So, Kath, how you been?’

  Kathleen sat carefully down opposite him. ‘Oh, you know. All right.’ She smiled but cautiously.

  ‘Been seeing much of Mattie?’ he asked. ‘She must be quite a way along now.’

  Kathleen brightened up. ‘She is, the baby’s due around the end of September. I been round there helping out, what with her being so big and Joe away and …’ She stopped.

  Billy sighed and voiced the inevitable. ‘And no Harry any more.’

  Kathleen bit her lip. ‘No Harry. No.’

  A silence stretched between them. Billy was unsure how to broach the topic he knew he had to bring up, all the more so because he could sense Kathleen’s tension. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel under threat. Then Kathleen gave him the perfect opening.

  ‘Sorry I was a bit jumpy when you came, Billy,’ she said, rubbing her hand across her forehead. ‘It wasn’t cos I didn’t want to see you, you know that. It’s just … it’s the silliest thing. I was down the market and I thought a man was acting strange, sort of lurking in the background. Hanging around the stalls he was …’

  ‘He didn’t do nothing to hurt you, did he, Kath?’ Billy burst out, his blood boiling at the very idea.

  Kathleen shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that. He didn’t even say anything. He sort of came out from behind a stall and went back into the shadows a couple of times. Not normal but that was all.’

  Billy frowned. ‘You sure that was all?’ He knew Kathleen would always seek to downplay anything bad that happened to her, rather than worry anybody. She’d put up with Ray’s mistreatment for ages before it became too obvious to hide. He couldn’t bear it if she was hiding something now.

  ‘Really, Billy, that was all it was. I’m probably making something out of nothing, so don’t mind me.’ She tried to smile to take the edge off her words.

  Billy nodded slowly. ‘All right. Fair enough. But Kath, if you see or hear something more, anything at all, you let me know, all right?’ Suddenly his voice was full of intensity. ‘It don’t matter if it’s day or night, you get word to me. If I’m on shift then Stan or Flo will know where I am. I’m not having any—’ He bit back the word he wanted to use as he realised Brian was taking an interest in what he was saying. ‘Any strange man interfering with your safety. You been through enough.’ Without thinking, he rubbed his injured leg.

  Kath at once grew alarmed. ‘Your leg still hurting you, Billy? After all this time?’

  Billy swiftly folded his arms. ‘No, just habit. It don’t bother me at all now. Think nothing of it.’ He finished his tea. ‘Look, I better be going. I don’t want to hold up the boy’s supper, or yours either for that matter, and I got to be on duty later on.’ He rose to go and Kathleen rose with him.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. ‘Sorry again for being all jumpy.’ She smiled but kept the table between them, before turning and opening the door. ‘See you again, Billy.’

  He took a step towards her then, recognising her reticence, went no further. ‘Yes, hope so, Kath. And you remember what I said. Day or night, you let me know if you need me.’ He could hardly keep the pain out of his voice as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He was desperate to draw her close, to enfold her safely – but he could tell that was not what she wanted at all.

  She nodded. ‘I won’t forget,’ she said softly.

  Kathleen shut the door and leant against it, shutting her eyes for a brief moment. She had seen the longing in Billy’s eyes but could do nothing about it. She was torn between the urge to accept all he was so clearly ready to offer and the suffocating guilt that it was too soon after Ray’s death. It was so much worse because she wasn’t sorry Ray had died. She should be grieving, as were so many others – for husbands, lovers, sons and brothers. Edith and the Banhams were mourning Harry with every waking breath, and yet she was secretly glad she was free of her violent husband.

  Nobody must know how she felt. It had to remain her secret. Brian must never suspect the sort of man his father had truly been. The shame of it all flooded through her again, that she should have been reduced to that mangled heap on the floor, that she had misread the man’s character so completely. It would kill her if anyone found out what she felt deep down.

  So all she could do was keep Billy at a distance, because the love she saw in his eyes threatened to undo her and break her resolve. She couldn’t let it happen. Better he thought she had stopped caring than he knew the truth – even if it cost her what she longed for most.

  Peggy glanced around the interior of the pub. It wasn’t quite what she had expected. Somehow she had imagined that Laurence would have a taste for the good things in life, after he had appeared to have money to spend so liberally on drinks for a group of people he hardly knew. This place could not be described as luxurious. It was even a bit rundown, if she was honest, but she made up her mind not to be disappointed. He had probably chosen it because of its convenient location, halfway between the station where his train would pull in and where she lived.

  It wasn’t as if she was out to snare a rich husband either. Nothing could have been further from her mind, although she knew some of the women she worked with were targeting airmen as they were most likely to have plenty of cash. This was solely to escape from everything that now weighed her down. She took in the sight of the other customers. There were plenty of young men in uniform, but mostly army rather than RAF. There were equal numbers of young women and older men, some who had perhaps come straight from work, as she herself had. She’d taken the precaution of telling Mrs Cannon that she might stay at Clarrie’s so the older woman would not wait up for her. Not that she intended to stay out, but she didn’t fancy a grilling about where she’d been and with whom.

  There was no sign of Laurence yet. Peggy was not sure if he was staying in London or coming up from his airfield that day, and she’d heard that the trains were now often delayed and so it was nothing to worry about. She knew the sensible thing to do would be to find a table and sit there to wait for him, but she was in a reckless mood. She elbowed her way to the bar, its deep wood surface marked with scores of rings from where glasses had stood. The bar staff at the Duke’s Arms would never have stood for that, but this place evidently had different standards.

  There was a middle-aged man serving at one end, his thinning hair combed unconvincingly across his pink scalp. Peggy looked away before he could meet her eye. She didn’t fancy getting stuck in conversation with him. Then, from around the other side of the bar, a youngish woman appeared, older than Peggy but with a far friendlier demeanour than the barman. ‘Evening,’ she said brightly, her big brass necklace flashing in the beams of the overhead lights. ‘What can I get you?’

  Again Peggy thought of the sensible choices, lemonade or ginger beer. ‘Port and lemon please,’ she said decisively.

  ‘Port and lemon coming up.’ The barmaid reached for a glass, held it up to the light and hurriedly wiped it with a tea towel. ‘Your first time in here, is it?’

  Peggy nodded. ‘I’m meeting a friend.’

  The barmaid raised an eyebrow. ‘A male friend, might that be?’

  ‘He’s in the air force,’ Peggy told her eagerly. ‘He’s a pilot.’

  The woman pulled a face. ‘Is he now? We get some of them in here all right. Well, don’t go getting too fond of him if you take my meaning.’

  Peggy was confused. ‘Not sure I do. What do you mean?’ Now the woman was standing more closely Peggy could tell that she was older than she’d first appeared, with worry lines across her forehead and the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes.

  The woman sighed. ‘Because they’re getting shot down like nobody’s business,’ she said brusquely. ‘Day after day, all those fight
s with Hitler’s planes. You can call it the Battle of Britain if you like, but all I see is customers who suddenly don’t show their faces again.’

  Peggy bristled. ‘That’s not what they say on the news,’ she began, even though she often didn’t listen properly. It hadn’t saved Pete, after all.

  ‘I’m only giving you a friendly tip,’ said the barmaid. ‘You can be friends with whoever you like, no skin off my nose. But those boys have a habit of not coming back, so have a care.’

  ‘Enough of that, Marge, you’ll frighten her off,’ growled the man. ‘Don’t go saying such things in public.’

  Marge tossed her head and the necklace flashed. ‘Still true though,’ she said. ‘You mark my words.’ She slammed the full glass on the counter, gave the barman a filthy look and disappeared around the corner of the bar to the snug.

  Peggy took her drink and gave the money to the barman, who glared at her as if it was all her fault. She took a quick sip and turned, scanning the room for a table. There was one in the corner. Making her way across the saloon, she decided that the woman was jealous, probably because she was stuck with the miserable barman and couldn’t flirt with the pilots any more. Well, that wasn’t Peggy’s problem. Marge must have gone straight to the wireless as the sounds of the Andrews Sisters rose over the hubbub of chatter from the punters.

  Taking her seat, Peggy toyed with her glass, knowing she had better not finish this drink too quickly. She ignored all the interested glances from the young lads in army uniform, or those from the men old enough to be her father. Dirty so-and-sos, she thought.

  Finally, when she was over halfway through the port and lemon, there was a flash of movement and he was there beside her. Laurence, even more handsome than she remembered.

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ he said, in that relaxed accent that made her knees go weak. ‘Have you been waiting long? Here, let me get you another.’

  Peggy beamed up at him and stood. ‘I don’t mind if I do,’ she said.

  ‘Got a moment?’ Edith stuck her head around Alice’s bedroom door. Her friend was sitting by the window to catch the last of the daylight, the sunset fading from bright gold to deep red over the rooftops. Her hair, swept up into a loose bun to keep it out of the way, picked up the golden highlights. In her hand was a letter. ‘Sorry, are you busy?’

  ‘No, no, come in.’ Alice folded the sheets of paper and tucked them back in their envelope. ‘It’s from Joe. I was only rereading it.’

  Edith gave a small smile. Joe, Harry’s older brother, wrote frequently to Alice, and there had been plenty of their friends who took this to mean more than it actually did. Edith knew for a fact that most of their correspondence consisted of comments about books they had recently read and there was no romance to speak of. Alice was not looking for anything of that sort; she had had her heart broken once already and had no intention of repeating the devastating experience. Yet she and Joe had formed a close bond and Edith was glad for her friend, who otherwise would throw everything into her work.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked now, sitting on the neatly made bed, leaning back and stretching her feet. She groaned a little – they ached as she had cycled or walked for hours on end earlier that day, or that was what it felt like.

  ‘Lots going on, by the sounds of it.’ Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘Of course he doesn’t say where he is, but he does mention he’s just finished a novel by Eric Linklater. So my bet is he’s at Scapa Flow.’

  Edith frowned. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because that writer is from Orkney,’ Alice explained, a little embarrassed to be caught out knowing such details. ‘That’s where our big naval base is, so it would make sense if he was there. That’s my guess anyway. He sends his love.’

  Edith nodded. ‘Send mine back.’ She was very fond of Joe, who was as reliable as Harry had been impetuous. From a distance they had looked very similar, but she had never had any doubt which brother she preferred. ‘I’ve had a letter too.’

  ‘Oh?’ Alice put down her envelope. ‘Not Peggy again?’

  ‘No. Well, yes actually, she left a note to suggest meeting this Friday but not in a crowd like before. That’s not why I wanted to talk to you, though.’ Her face twisted and Alice leant forward in concern. ‘It’s from one of my brothers.’

  ‘Your brothers?’ Alice sat up in amazement. Edith’s contacts with her family were few and far between, and in all the time she had known her, there had never been word from any of her brothers.

  Edith nodded. ‘Yes. It’s from Mick – the one who’s only a couple of years younger than me. He’s had to join up, of course, and he’s back on leave for a few days. He says we should meet. I think he’s worried that our younger brother Frankie will try to join up too, even though he’s not old enough.’

  Alice grimaced. ‘The way this war is going, Edie, he might well get his chance anyway. Sorry, that’s not fair. Will you go? To see him, I mean?’

  Edith’s dark eyes grew bright. ‘I don’t know. It’s a bit rich, coming to me now, when there hasn’t been a dickybird from any of them for ages. My mother did send a Christmas card, but she forgot to put a stamp on it and it reached here after New Year. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s out to cadge some money off me or something like that.’

  Alice spread her hands. ‘But you won’t know unless you go.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Edith got up and walked to the window. ‘That’s the dilemma. If he really needs to see me then I should let bygones be bygones and go. If he’s just after a handout I’ll be back to square one.’ She gazed sadly out at the ridge tiles and chimneys knowing that, far away over the houses, what remained of her family still lived on the other side of the Thames. She could not in all honesty say that she missed them very much. Yet, since meeting Harry’s family, she had become aware of what she was lacking – a big, caring group of people who welcomed friends into their fold. It had broken through the hard shell she had placed around the idea of family. Perhaps her brother really had changed.

  ‘Then you won’t have lost anything by going, will you?’ reasoned Alice. ‘You might regret not giving him a chance.’

  Edith sighed. ‘I suppose so. Part of me doesn’t want anything to do with him. We never got on as kids, and after Teresa died he hated me; well, he hated all of us, but me especially. It was as if I was meant to have kept her alive. But how could I have? I was only twelve.’

  Alice got up from her seat and stood by her friend. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Edie. She would have died whatever you did. It was nobody’s fault, just bad luck that your big sister got diphtheria.’

  Edith kept her gaze steadily on the rooftops, not trusting herself to look into Alice’s face. She never spoke of Teresa as a rule, the one person in her family who had loved her without question and whom she had adored. Just one year older than her, Teresa had been her best friend for all her childhood, but then she had taken sick and died in no time at all. The shock had never quite left her. She knew deep down it was why she had fought so hard to become a nurse; she might not have been able to save Teresa but she would do her best to save all those other children with that dreaded disease.

  ‘I know,’ she said eventually. ‘Well, we know better than anyone, don’t we? We saw cases of it while we were training. Not much of it in Hackney, touch wood.’ She tapped the window frame. ‘So it makes sense for me to meet Mick. If he’s changed, then so much the better. If he hasn’t then I’m no worse off.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Alice agreed. ‘Expect the worst but hope for the best. You never know. Do you want me to come with you?’

  ‘No,’ said Edith decisively. ‘Thanks, but this is something I will do alone.’ She knew that her brother would quite unreasonably think that Alice was snooty, as she didn’t have a London accent. Edith was quietly protective of her friend, who had not grown up on the same tough streets.

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  Edith nodded firmly. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’ll see him. As
you say, he might be different now.’ The old proverb about leopards not changing their spots sprang into her mind but she dismissed it. Perhaps joining up had made him see that there were other sorts of people in the world. War was proving to be a great leveller. Time would tell if that was how it had affected Mick Gillespie. ‘You go back to Joe’s letter and his funny old writers. I’ll try to sort out my nuisance of a little brother.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Peggy opened her eyes and squinted because the light of the ugly bedside table hurt her eyes. Where was she? Her throat was dry and she ached all over. There was an odd noise too, a rhythmic sort of rumbling. Then she remembered.

  Some of the details were hazy but she knew Laurence had bought her many more port and lemons. At first it had been fun and she had enjoyed their conversation, relishing his wit and good looks and the way everyone was staring at him in his smart pilot’s uniform. Then she’d begun to get rather wobbly but he’d still continued to buy her drinks. It turned out he was staying in a room above the pub, which had surprised her, but when he’d suggested she go upstairs for a lie-down as she seemed a bit tired, it had made a kind of sense at the time. That had been a big mistake.

  He’d been on her in a flash, pushing her up against the door, kissing her roughly and not at all in the way she liked, pulling off her clothes as he undid his trousers. She’d tried to protest but she was too drunk, and her body wouldn’t move as she wanted it to. She tried to call out but he stopped her mouth with his own. It was useless and in the end she’d gone along with it, just to get it over with. It hadn’t lasted long. In a moment he got her on the cheap carpet, forced himself on her then rolled off. ‘Payment for all the port and lemons,’ he’d said, and suddenly his accent didn’t seem as attractive any more. ‘Don’t pretend you haven’t done this before. You aren’t exactly an innocent, are you.’ It wasn’t a question.

  Peggy tried to recall if she’d told him she was a widow, but decided it didn’t matter. Pete’s memory was too precious to her to share with this man who had turned out to be the very opposite of a gentleman. He’d taken advantage of her, but then she’d allowed him to get the drinks all evening. She’d offered herself up like a willing sacrifice. No wonder he’d thought she wouldn’t mind, or rather hadn’t bothered to check if she did or not.