‘I’m very happy for you,’ Agnes said.
‘Well, as a wise woman once said to me, you owe it to the dead to make the most of your life. In’t that right, nurse?’ Norman Willis winked at her.
Agnes felt herself blushing. ‘I’d hardly call myself wise,’ she said.
‘Oh, you are, nurse. You’ve certainly talked some sense into me, stopped me lying about feeling sorry for myself. Where there’s life, there’s hope, eh?’
Hope. The word struck a chord with her, touching at the sadness she carried deep inside. People could get through anything, endure anything, if they had some hope in their heart that one day things would be better. But Agnes’ sister had cruelly taken all her hope away, and left her with nothing.
But she wouldn’t accept that, she thought. She wouldn’t lie down meekly. Like poor Mr Willis, she had to get up, dust herself off and fight back.
And she would start by going to see her family.
If you want to mend it, you’ll have to do it yourself.
Once the idea had taken root it blossomed in Agnes’ mind. She couldn’t stop thinking about it as she examined Mr Willis in the bedroom later. She would catch a train down to London and visit them. She was sure Miss Gale would allow her the time off, especially as Christmas was coming, and Agnes hadn’t taken a holiday since she arrived in Steeple Street.
And her mother wouldn’t turn her away, she was sure of it.
‘Everything all right, nurse?’ She looked round, distracted, to see Mr Willis buttoning up his shirt. She had been so preoccupied, she scarcely remembered taking his TPR.
‘Yes. Yes, everything’s fine.’ She smiled brightly at him, her mind still in a whirl.
As she was packing her bag, he said, ‘I wonder if I might trouble you about something else?’
‘What’s that, Mr Willis?’
‘It’s John, our eldest. He’s been right poorly this past couple of days.’
‘What are his symptoms?’
‘He’s not been himself. He doesn’t want to run about and play. He’s got a sore throat, too. It’s probably just a chill, but I wondered if you could have a look at him?’
‘Of course.’
He led Agnes back to the kitchen where Nettie Willis was drying pots at the sink. She stood aside to let Agnes wash her hands.
‘I’ve told t’nurse about our John,’ Mr Willis said.
Nettie glared at him. ‘What about him?’
Agnes joined in. ‘I hear he’s not feeling well. I wondered if I could have a look at him?’
Nettie stared at the stone-flagged floor. ‘Nay, there’s no need,’ she mumbled.
‘But your husband said—’
‘John’s just got a bit of a cold, that’s all. I’ve some medicine from the chemist. That should do him.’
‘All the same, I might as well check on him, since I’m here.’
‘I don’t want you to!’ Nettie looked up at her, eyes flaring with anger.
‘Nettie!’
Mrs Willis ignored her husband’s look of reproach. ‘No, Norman, I’ll not have it,’ she said. ‘It’s bad enough we have to have her in the house to see to you. I’m not having her looking down her nose at my bairns too!’
‘But I don’t—’
‘Don’t give me that! I’ve seen you, looking round at my house like it’s a pigsty. Just because we can’t all live in a palace like you do!’
‘Nettie, please. There’s no need to talk like that.’
‘No, it’s all right, Mr Willis.’ Agnes held up her hand to silence him. She could feel hot colour burning in her face. ‘If Mrs Willis doesn’t want me here, then I won’t stay.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I am rather late anyway.’
‘Aye, that’s right. Make sure you don’t outstay your welcome, won’t you?’ Mrs Willis’ voice rang in Agnes’ ears as she hurried away.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘It’ll be Christmas soon, nurse!’
Bess glanced over her shoulder at Henry Slater. He was sitting up in bed, looking very cheery in spite of his failing health.
‘I can’t say I’ve been much for it since my Doris passed on, but this’ll be the first Christmas in years I’ll be spending wi’ family. It makes a difference, doesn’t it?’ Henry beamed. ‘But I daresay you already know that. I s’pose you’ll be spending Christmas with your lass?’
Bess made a non-committal reply as she handed him his dose of digitalis. She and Polly hadn’t spoken since their argument the night before last. They had bickered many times before, but this time there was real venom behind the words they’d spat at each other. This time the rift felt too wide to breach.
‘Polly’s such a nice lass, a real credit to you, nurse.’ She drifted out of her reverie to hear Henry talking. ‘It’s a pity she doesn’t come here so often, but I s’pose I’ll still see her now and then, since she and Finn are courting …’
Bess stiffened at his remark. Luckily Henry didn’t seem to notice as he handed her the medicine cup.
‘I reckon Polly’s good for him,’ he went on. ‘Finn was a right miserable beggar before he met her, if you’ll pardon my language. But she’s brought him out of himself. I reckon he’s been good for her, too.’
That’s a matter of opinion, Bess thought.
It was because of Finn Slater that Polly was about to make yet another big mistake in her life. She was on the edge of a precipice, about to step off, and his hand was at her back, pushing her.
But perhaps Bess was wrong about that. Because when she looked more closely, the only hand she saw at her daughter’s back was her own.
She should never have given her that ultimatum, she realised. But Polly had seemed hell-bent on a course of self-destruction and all Bess had wanted to do was to shock her out of it, make her realise exactly what she’d be giving up again. Except it hadn’t worked out that way. Polly had called her bluff, and now there was nothing Bess could do to stop the train of events she had set in motion.
She desperately wanted to back down, to tell Polly she was sorry, that she had never meant to push her into a corner. She’d tried to say it, several times, but each time her stupid pride got in the way. She was too stubborn to admit she was wrong. Even if it meant losing her daughter again.
But her concern over Polly’s future faded into the back of her mind as she examined Henry and discovered a worrying oedema in his legs. The skin was stretched tight around his ankles where the flesh had swollen. It barely made a dent when she pressed it gently with the tip of her finger.
‘Everything all right, nurse?’ Henry was watching her closely.
‘Your legs seem a bit swollen. How long have they been like this?’
‘Oh, not long. Since yesterday, I think.’ He stared down at his bare ankles, his face creased in concentration. ‘Yes, I think it were sometime last night I first noticed it. Why? There’s nowt wrong, is there?’
‘It’s probably nothing. But I’ll keep an eye on it when I come back this evening. Now, do you think you could manage to use the bottle for me? I’d like to take a sample.’
Ten minutes later, Bess was coming into the kitchen just as the back door swung open and Finn staggered in under the weight of an enormous Christmas tree.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, the tree still slung like a caber across his broad shoulders. ‘Oh! I thought you’d gone,’ he mumbled. He’d started making a point of not being around when Bess visited.
‘That’s a nice tree,’ she commented.
He looked embarrassed. ‘I got it for the old man. He says he’s not had one for a few years.’
Bess started to smile at his nice gesture, then reminded herself that this was the young man who wanted to ruin her daughter’s life.
‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,’ she said shortly.
She went to wash her hands, as behind her Finn struggled to sit the tree in a bucket of earth. Bess stood at the sink and watched him in the mirror as he worked intently. The top of the tree bru
shed the low-beamed ceiling.
She had to say something, she realised. And this was probably her only chance. If she couldn’t get through to Polly, then perhaps she could appeal to Finn’s better side. If he had one.
‘Have you seen my daughter lately?’ Bess asked.
He froze behind her, as defensive as a trapped animal. Finally, he said, ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘You do realise she’s planning to give up her nursing career for you?’
He didn’t speak, but Bess knew she had his attention.
‘I gave Polly a choice,’ she said. ‘Either leave her training and be with you, or leave you and carry on with her qualifications. And she chose you.’ She tried and failed to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
Finn was silent for a long time. Then, just as Bess had given up on his ever speaking, he said, ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ Bess shrugged. ‘I suppose she’s got this silly notion that the two of you are going to live happily ever after.’
‘No,’ Finn cut her off. ‘I mean, why did you force her to make that choice?’ He straightened up, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror. ‘Why couldn’t you let her have both?’
Bess was silent. He might not have much to say for himself, but when he did speak, Finn’s words were as direct and deadly as a missile.
She couldn’t think of a clever answer, so all she had to rely on was honesty. She looked down at her fingers, rubbing them with hard green soap.
‘Because I don’t think you’re good enough for my daughter,’ she said bluntly. ‘Polly doesn’t need someone like you in her life.’
‘Someone like me?’
‘You know what I mean.’ Bess looked at him in the mirror and saw the colour rise in his face. He was staring at her, his eyes as hard as flint. Bess met his gaze fearlessly, knowing her daughter’s future happiness depended on it.
‘She’s had a bad time, and now she’s got a second chance to make something of her life. I don’t want her to throw that away. I don’t want her to lose everything she’s worked so hard for. And nor would you, if you really cared about her …’
He’d stopped listening, she realised. He had turned away and was hard at work setting the Christmas tree in the bucket, back bent, head down, patting the soil around the trunk. He worked with great care, she noticed.
Bess wondered if her message had even sunk in. Or if it had, whether he would take any notice of it. There was no reason why he should. She had the impression that Finn Slater lived by his own rules.
Exactly the kind of man her Polly should avoid.
Bess rinsed her hands and dried them, then packed up her bag. Finn didn’t turn round, or even acknowledge her presence.
‘Right, I’ll be off,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in later to give Mr Slater his medication.’
Finn grunted in response, his back still bent over the tree, not looking at her.
As Bess reached the door, she turned and looked at him. She was sure he wouldn’t hear her, but she had to try anyway.
‘If you really love Polly, you won’t want to be the one who ruins her future,’ she said.
It was only as the door closed that she heard his gruff reply.
‘Neither will you.’
‘Come on, Chrissie love!’
Lil turned to look back at her daughter, her face full of exasperation. Christine was helping her mother deliver bundles of fresh laundry to her customers. But she had stopped pushing the barrow to massage her aching back again.
‘Blimey, I reckon I could have finished this lot quicker on my own!’ Lil sighed as Christine sat down on a low wall. ‘What’s the matter with you, lass? You’re not sickening for owt, are you?’
‘I – I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’ She massaged the small of her back. It had been playing up for a while, but now she also had a dragging feeling in her belly that spread all the way into her legs. ‘I just need to rest for a bit.’
Lil planted her hands on her hips. ‘I don’t know! And there was me thinking I’d get the job done quicker with your young legs to help me!’
‘I’ll be all right in a minute,’ Christine promised.
‘We’ve nearly finished anyway. I can do the rest of these myself.’
Lil picked up the bundle Christine had dumped at her feet. ‘You get yoursen home.’
‘There’s no need—’
‘Nay, lass, I’ve only got to drop this lot off down the hill. You go home and get t’kettle on.’
‘All right, Ma.’ Christine smiled gratefully up at her.
She watched her mother trudging off into the darkness, bundled up in layers of coats against the cold, washing bundles swinging from each gloved hand. She worked so hard, and rarely asked for anything in return. Christine desperately wanted to be able to help her, but her wretched body had let her down.
It was a freezing night and the pavements sparkled with frost in the lamplight. Christine pulled her coat tightly around her. Like her mother, she had bundled herself up in various layers to keep out the chill. But even through her woollen gloves, her hands throbbed with cold.
‘Looks like it might snow,’ a voice said behind her. She looked round and noticed the slight figure standing close by. Annie’s Pilcher’s small, pinched face peered out from between layers of woollen shawl wrapped around her head. The lamplight drained her skin of colour, giving her a pale, ghostly appearance.
‘Want a sweet?’ She proffered a brown paper cone.
‘Thank you.’ Christine started to take one but then hesitated, her hand halfway to the bag. Her mother would go mad if she saw.
‘Go on, have a barley sugar. I won’t tell!’ Annie Pilcher’s smile was mischievous, lighting up her face. Christine couldn’t help smiling back as she reached for a sweet.
Annie perched beside her on the wall, sucking loudly on her barley sugar. ‘You’re Lil Fairbrass’ lass, in’t you?’ she said at last.
‘That’s right.’ Christine nodded, instantly wary. The whole of Quarry Hill knew there was bad blood between the two women after Lil had set about her.
Annie laughed. ‘Don’t look so afeared, lass, I don’t hold no grudges. Not against you, at any rate.’ She looked sideways at her. ‘How is your mum?’
‘She’s all right,’ Christine said.
‘What does she reckon to you being pregnant?’
The question caught Christine off guard. Blood sang in her ears and even though she opened and closed her mouth, no sound came out.
‘She doesn’t know,’ Annie said. ‘I thought not.’
Christine found her voice at last. ‘I – I dunno what you’re talking about.’
‘Come off it, lass. You might be able to fool your mother, but not me. I’ve seen it all too many times.’ Annie leaned back and gave Christine as assessing look. ‘I daresay you can get away with it because you’re so tiny. How many months gone are you? Four? Five? Maybe more,’ she muttered, almost to herself. Christine didn’t like the way Annie looked at her, as if she were a prize goose being weighed up for the pot. She put one hand over her belly in an automatic gesture. ‘You won’t be able to hide it for ever,’ Annie said. ‘Sooner or later that little bairn’s going to pop out into the world. And won’t that be a lovely surprise for your mum, eh? I’d like to see her try and look down her nose at the rest of us then!’
She gave a harsh, nasty laugh, revealing sharp little teeth. Christine shrank back from her, mortified. She started to get down from the wall but Annie put out a hand to stop her.
‘Nay, lass, don’t run off. I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn. I let my mouth run away with me sometimes, that’s my trouble.’ Her voice was soothing again. ‘I expect you’re scared enough without me going on, in’t you? How old are you?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘Is that all? And I daresay the father’s nowhere to be found?’ Annie shook her head. ‘It’s a terrible shame, that’s what it is. Men like that have their fun and expect us women to pick up the pieces.’ She paused
. ‘But I could help you, you know.’
Christine suddenly heard Rene Wells’ voice in her head.
She does favours for women.
‘How?’ She was curious in spite of herself.
Annie tapped her narrow nose. ‘That’d be telling,’ she said. ‘Don’t want to give all my secrets away, do I? Let’s just say, I can sort it all out for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, love? I can see it in your face. I could turn the clock back so that none of this ever happened. And your mum won’t know a thing about it.’
Christine stared at her. This scrawny little women in her drab shawl might offer the answer to all her prayers.
But then another image came into her mind. ‘You left Maisie Warren to die,’ she said.
Annie’s face changed. ‘You don’t want to believe everything you’re told,’ she snapped. ‘Maisie Warren was nowt to do with me.’
‘My mum says different.’
‘From where I’m standing, I reckon your mum should keep her nose out of other people’s business and start paying more attention to her own! Anyway,’ Annie said, ‘if you don’t want me to sort you out then you only have to say. I’ve plenty of lasses who do want my help, I assure you.’
She got down from the wall and readjusted the layers of shawls around her head and shoulders. ‘It’s no skin off my nose one way or t’other,’ Annie said carelessly. ‘But if you do want my help, you know where to find me.’
She started off down the street, trailing shawls behind her. ‘Just make sure you don’t leave it too late, won’t you?’ she called back over her shoulder, her voice thin on the cold night air. ‘From what I can tell, you in’t got long left!’
Chapter Thirty-Six
It was a tradition that all the nurses attended Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. Each year they visited a different church in the district, and as luck would have it this year it was the turn of St Martin’s.
‘I’m glad they didn’t decide to visit the parish church in our district.’ Phil shivered as they filed out of the church after the service. Agnes wasn’t with them; at the last minute she had decided to catch a train down to London to visit her family. ‘I wouldn’t fancy cycling ten miles in the dark on a night like this!’
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 27