by Lizzie Page
‘Right-o.’
I took another plum from the paper bag. We had said we might save some for the others but on second thoughts, I had decided, if Matron and Bonnie were that desperate for plums, quite honestly they should have come to town themselves. Kitty carried on telling me plot points in Wuthering Heights that I had missed. What would Louis do next? I wondered. Everything came back to Louis. Was he thinking of me right now? I kept going over that night: his expression, his dark eyes, his hands. We couldn’t go back ‘to normal’ after that, could we?
I tried to pay more attention to Kitty.
‘I think I could do more,’ she was saying as she stretched her legs out in front of her. She had a hole in her stocking. The birds chirruped around us.
‘How do you mean?’
‘In the hospital, I feel I could contribute more… if they’d let me.’
This made me uncomfortable because if Kitty could do more, then maybe we all could, and right now I was not inclined to do anything except get through the day and daydream about Louis.
‘What exactly?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said flatly. ‘Pass me another plum.’
* * *
A medium was visiting some of the hospitals along the Somme and she came to ours one quiet Monday evening in April. Katherine and Lucille’s tent was decked out with extra drapes and lanterns. The medium insisted on it for ‘atmosphere’, apparently. The other shift had come away marvelling at her insights. Katherine, especially, was elated: love was going to win out after all! Even serious Millicent was all smiles. ‘She said I’m going to go into politics after the war,’ she announced proudly.
I told Bonnie I had no interest in seeing a charlatan.
‘Don’t be such a killjoy,’ she said as though it was the worst thing a girl could be. ‘Don’t you want to find out if true love is coming your way?’
Naturally, I thought of Louis.
‘No,’ I said haughtily, but Bonnie had already put my name down.
‘You don’t believe in this tosh?’ I asked Kitty, as I waited for her and Bonnie to change.
‘Not for a moment.’ She nudged me. ‘But it should be fun.’
* * *
Although I was probably the least keen, I was the first to arrive. As the medium gazed deep into my eyes, she told me her name was Madame Lorenzo. I didn’t know what her accent was, but it certainly wasn’t French. Her head was wrapped in a curious turban of green and massive gold loops hung down from her earlobes. We had to pay a contribution.
‘Entirely voluntary,’ she said, shaking her tin under my nose.
‘Here’s Bonnie,’ I said. I was relieved that she had arrived, less so when she bowed deeply, as though Madame Lorenzo was royalty. ‘And this is Kitty,’ I went on. Kitty extended her hand earnestly, then looked over at me and winked.
We sat on cushions around a low table. Someone had brought in a few pillows too and rugs and blankets from Gordon’s tent. Doctor Rafferty apparently thought anything that helped nursing morale was welcome. Gordon was on leave, and I couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t be so approving if he knew what we were up to.
Madame Lorenzo talked about how serious this was, and how we all had to believe or it wouldn’t work, which reminded me of Tinker Bell in Peter Pan. I wanted to point this out to Kitty, but she was too far away. I was stuck next to a fervently nodding Matron, who seemed to be swallowing this hook, line and sinker.
We watched while Madame Lorenzo waited for the spirits to reach her. I thought about making a joke about my husband’s love for bottled spirits but there was no one to whisper it to. It was another one for the diary.
‘I have something… Is there a Tom?’
I smirked. Everyone knew a Tom, didn’t they?
We all looked at each other. Don’t let me laugh out loud.
‘My brother was Thomas,’ Matron whispered.
‘He’s passed?’
‘Yes,’ Matron said beseechingly. ‘When he was a boy.’
‘He’s sending you a message.’
‘And is there a Bonnie here?’ Madame Lorenzo asked next.
‘How does she know my name?’ Bonnie responded wonderingly.
‘I told her…’ I started, but Bonnie only had ears for Madame Lorenzo.
‘Do you know a Laurie?’
‘No,’ said Bonnie apologetically, but she did know a Lenny, she went on – could that be him?
‘Yes!’ Madame Lorenzo’s hands were vibrating, her many rings glittered. ‘That was it.’
Bonnie looked at us all incredulously, her mouth wide open. ‘Lenny lived on my street.’
‘He’s passed.’
Bonnie looked pale. Dazzled. ‘He couldn’t fight, he lives at home with his ma.’
The medium sighed. ‘Was it Leonard maybe?’
‘I know a Leonard,’ admitted Kitty. ‘He’s my brother’s best friend.’
‘He’s passed.’
Kitty looked at me. Matron shifted onto her haunches. She leaned right in to Kitty and gripped her hand.
‘He loved you,’ Madame Lorenzo pronounced. She took off her glasses and wiped them on her shawl. Without them, she looked much younger. I suddenly thought how incredible it must be to travel around France, soothing young nurses about the fate of their dead fiancés. She must believe in it, even if I didn’t.
‘Me?’
‘He never told you?’ This was no obstacle to Madame Lorenzo. ‘It happens…’
‘He was engaged to my cousin—’
‘He loved you,’ she said firmly. ‘Do you have a teapot? In the kitchen?’
‘I do…’
‘Amazing,’ I muttered, rolling my eyes. Matron shot me a disapproving look.
‘He left a message in the teapot.’
‘I’ll make sure I look next time I’m home and –’ I couldn’t tell if Kitty was struggling to laugh or cry – ‘fancy a brew…’
We all sat in silence for a while, then Madame Lorenzo must have caught another spirit, for she suddenly yelped: ‘George! Is it you? Does anyone know a George?’
Everyone turned to me. Surely they recognised this for the nonsense it was, didn’t they?
Matron spoke up, her voice ripe with emotion. ‘Has he… passed?’
‘Chance would be a fine thing!’ I laughed. Matron’s intake of breath was loud and shaming.
‘What’s going on?’ It was Gordon. Framed by the tent door, he looked furious. ‘Matron?!’
‘I can explain, Doctor…’ Matron gathered her skirts. I wanted to snigger behind my hand.
But Gordon was very angry. His eyes glinted in the dark. ‘I don’t want to talk,’ he barked. He was in quite the flap. ‘Out, out, out… You should be ashamed of yourselves, all of you.’
* * *
‘You shouldn’t have said that,’ Matron said darkly as we scuttled away like naughty schoolgirls.
‘Said what?’ Although I knew what she meant, I wanted her to spell out my awfulness.
‘You shouldn’t have wished the father of your children dead.’
‘It was a joke,’ I explained weakly. I knew I shouldn’t have. Not in this company, anyway. Matron hated irreverence. She would have been a great friend to my mother.
‘He’s your husband,’ said Matron.
‘My ex-husband, actually.’
‘You should be with your girls, you’ve no place here.’
I kept my mouth shut; I couldn’t win an argument with her.
‘Things are going to get much worse,’ she hissed. ‘You’ll regret it then, won’t you?’
* * *
Later, I went to Gordon’s tent to apologise. I knew he had thought better of us, of me especially. I found him sitting on the floor, face in his hands, amid all the shawls and cushions. I sank down next to him.
‘Gordon? Doctor Collins? It was just a bit of fun, I’m sorry.’
But Gordon wasn’t distressed about Madame Lorenzo. It was Karim. He had dragged in three wounded soldiers from no man�
��s land and taken three bullets to the stomach for his efforts. He was on the hospital train to England. They were sending injured Indian troops to the Royal Pavilion in Brighton. Gordon must have seen the mystification in my face because he added in an ironic tone, ‘In their infinite wisdom, the powers-that-be think the Indians will feel most at home there.’
Awkwardly, I put my arm around Gordon, waiting for him to tell me it was inappropriate, think of our positions, but instead, he turned towards me and sobbed into my apron.
* * *
Madame Lorenzo was still waiting for her lift when I went into the canteen an hour later. Shame the spirits didn’t warn her of the delay, I thought. I backed away because I didn’t want to talk to her; I thought of the money she must have raised from us nurses at Field Hospital 19 alone. Other women were shovelling coal, building munitions, growing vegetables and running trains, and what was she doing? Taking our hard-earned wages and giving false hope to the vulnerable – and weren’t we all vulnerable now?
She saw me though: ‘Nurse Turner?’
‘Yes?’
‘The man you like… with the eyes…’
I caught my breath. Louis. She must have been talking about him. Against my better judgement, I urged her on: ‘What about him?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said vaguely to nothing in particular. ‘I hear you loud and clear.’
She nodded slowly. I could see she was enjoying the power, but I couldn’t stop myself from being sucked into the game.
‘What do you know about him?’ I tried again.
‘He’s a complex character,’ she said. I tried to get past her, but she stared right into me. I didn’t want her to know that she’d got to me, so I gazed straight back. Her eyes were surprisingly youthful in her wrinkled face.
‘You have children?’
‘Ye-es…’
I felt this horrible rage boil inside me, rage that my privacy, their privacy, had been invaded.
‘Daughters of war, is it?’
I stood stock-still.
‘You risk losing them.’
Charlatan, I thought. She must have overheard me talking with Matron. An ugly anger rippled through me. I’ll rip off that turban, I’ll pull off those earrings. How dare she?
‘You need to be strong, Nurse Turner.’
‘I am strong,’ I said. I heard the scrunch of a car pulling up and she scuttled off, pulling her shawl around her. I thought of Macbeth and the three witches with their doom-laden prophecies. They had planted the horrors. I wasn’t going to be like Macbeth, I wouldn’t be swayed by it.
I risk losing my daughters?
She was completely mad.
26
Joy had a new passion the Easter of 1916. On the train back from Leamington, she wanted to talk of nothing but art and the new art teacher at school. I wondered if she had a crush – she was twelve after all, nearly a young woman – but she looked astonished when I suggested it. ‘Mo-other! Professor Deacon is old!’ Shyly, and after much prompting from Leona, she showed me some of her drawings. I was so proud. My girl had done these! They were as good as any I’d seen for sale at Montmartre and I told her so. She blushed.
‘You’re not just saying that?’
‘I’m not, sweetheart.’
* * *
I had five days’ leave and by Jove, I needed it. The hospital was expanding. Two more teams brought in and one more tent. A railroad had sprung up only one mile away. George had written that he was away checking piers in Morecambe (I took it that ‘pier’ was a euphemism for ‘women’). Our Christmas row seemed to have been forgotten, for now at least.
The girls and I were walking down the long corridor at the National Gallery when I saw a sign for a special exhibition in a side room. Dear God! I couldn’t believe my eyes.
‘This way,’ I said, trying to shepherd my girls away, but Joy, as ever, was not to be shepherded.
‘Oh, Mother, can’t we go in? Please, Mummy, please! Professor Deacon says Milhouse’s paintings encapsulate this moment in our time.’
They encapsulate this moment in our time?
It was an entire room devoted to Percy’s paintings. And it was Morning Light in St Ives, the one with the red line, that had done it. He had gone from niche London artist to International Superstar. Joy was so swept up with each picture, I think she would have jumped right into them if she could have. Leona was more like me. She read the writing, then gave a cursory glance at the painting. There was an elderly security guard snoring in the corner, but when we came in, he straightened up, re-affixed his hat. Joy pulled me over.
‘I love this one…’
‘Do you?’ I had seen Percy squeeze the oils for this. I had seen him scratch his head in confusion. I had seen the paint run down onto the newspapers on the floor.
‘It means that although the war affects all our lives, we go on.’
I had never thought about it that way.
Leona had sat herself in the corner with her marbles, but Joy grew more delighted with each painting, which correspondently seemed to mean she grew more delighted with me.
‘I can’t believe we’re here!’ She twirled, looking at me. ‘Daddy would never take us somewhere like this.’
‘Daddy has never taken us anywhere!’ piped up Leona.
‘Shall we get some tea?’ I said. ‘And how about a round of I Spy?’
Afterwards, I took the girls to Elizabeth’s house to visit and this time she was all welcoming smiles. She and her cats were charming hosts. All the windows were wide open as usual, but fortunately, it wasn’t too cold. Politely, I enquired about Miss Dobinson and, without her usual smirk, Elizabeth responded, ‘Harriet has been promoted, it seems she is a most excellent conductress.’ I was set to ask more, but Elizabeth’s expression told me that more was not welcome. Instead, she launched into some hilarious anecdotes. Some of these tales were a little risqué: her mother’s opinion on men’s new-style bathing trunks, the places sand gets – I thought she might have toned it down a bit in front of the girls – but how glorious it was to hear Joy and Leona giggle again.
* * *
The next morning, while the girls were at the tennis club, I went to meet Elizabeth at the bathing lake. I was looking forward to getting her on my own. She did her usual ferocious workout as I bobbed around. The water was even bluer than I remembered and one length felt much longer. The sun shone down on us, I was enjoying myself. There were far fewer women than there used to be but they were as welcoming as ever.
When Elizabeth had done, we sat down by the edge, drying off. It didn’t take her long to catch her breath but her lips were ever so slightly purple.
‘So, how are you really, May?’
She was enquiring about something else, but I wasn’t sure what. I realised that although I had said I would, I hadn’t written her about Louis. I told myself that was reasonable – there was nothing firm yet to say. Although I was entirely smitten with Louis who now occupied most of my waking thoughts, I wasn’t entirely sure where I stood with him. However, that wasn’t the main reason I had kept her in the dark. My main reason was that I had a strong instinct that Elizabeth wouldn’t be very receptive to this news. She certainly disliked Percy for nothing much at all. And I was beginning to realise, Elizabeth almost certainly had secrets she kept from me.
‘How do you mean?’
‘I mean, are you happy now?’
Elizabeth rolled onto her front and pulled the petals off a daisy.
‘I am much happier,’ I admitted shamefully because I knew this truth was horrid. ‘War suits me—’ I went to say something else, keen to change the subject, but she interrupted.
‘And George?’
‘The divorce is going through,’ I said, although I had no idea how far along in the process we were or indeed how long it usually took. ‘And how are you feeling about the Big Swim?’
‘I can’t wait.’ She seemed cheered again. Then she asked shyly, ‘You really think you’ll be back for it?’
‘Is Kaiser Wilhelm an idiot?’
‘I’m not sure…’
We laughed again.
I had heard goose fat was the perfect thing for a long-distance swimmer (she would rub it all over her skin to insulate her from the cold) and I had managed to acquire some as a present. After I explained what the odd-looking tin contained, Elizabeth was absolutely delighted. She wrapped her arms around me, cold droplets transferring onto my skin, making me shiver.
‘You darling! You really believe I can do it, don’t you?’
‘Yes!’ I said, incredulous that she had to ask.
The whistle blew. Our time was up.
27
I had just managed to push Major Louis Spears to the back of my mind when he came back, more attractive than ever. As before, he had brought an excuse with him. This time it was not his wrist, but a friend of a friend he was needing to check up on.
I looked at the patient list on the blackboard. ‘Are you sure he’s here?’
‘Not really.’ He was looking at me closely, almost pleadingly. I felt hot just standing near him.
‘It’s Matron you’ll need. She has the general register.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said vaguely. ‘Might I have a word outside, May?’
It was sunny. We could have walked over to the rock. Kitty had christened it Little Big Rock and it was where we nurses liked to go to contemplate things after a particularly hard shift, or simply to eat our lunch without the clatter of the canteen, but Louis shook his head. He said he didn’t have long.
He had his hands on his hips and was staring at me. I looked down at his great boots and found myself wondering what size his feet were. A 10 or 11 maybe? And I thought my feet were big! Did he have to go to specialist shoemakers for boots that large?
‘When can I see you again?’ Louis asked fiercely.
I waited. And it’s good that I did because the more I waited, the more he gave.
‘May,’ he said, ‘I have to see you, I can think of nothing but you.’