A Sister's War

by Molly Green

  ‘When the hospital rang and told me what happened, my first thought was that I should never have let you go to those canals in the first place,’ Simone said as she brought in a tray of tea. ‘If your father is looking down on me, he will blame me.’

  ‘That’s nonsense, Maman. I love the work. It’s hard but it’s so satisfying. And the rest of the girls are nice. They’re from all walks of life but that’s what makes them so interesting.’ She wouldn’t mention Angela, nor would she say at this point that she fully intended to go back as soon as her hand healed. Maman wasn’t in the right sort of mood, and Ronnie was too tired to argue.

  Simone poured the tea and handed her a cup. Ronnie couldn’t remember the last time her mother had made her a cup or fussed over her. She began to think her mother really had been worried.

  ‘The very nice doctor said you need rest and that’s what your maman is here for.’ Simone gave Ronnie a sharp look after she’d finished describing the explosion. ‘What is wrong with your eyes, chérie? They are as red as tomatoes.’

  ‘It’s irritation from all the dust and smoke that filled the cabin from the explosion. It’ll go in a few days, but I have to put drops in them.’

  ‘Do they hurt?’

  ‘They sting. But I can see, if that’s what you mean.’ Ronnie gave a short laugh.

  ‘And your hand?’

  ‘It’s really sore now the numbing injections have worn off. But Mr Ferris said any pain is good because it means the nerves are coming back.’

  ‘You could have lost your hand … or the use of it.’

  ‘No, Maman. Mr Ferris is one of the top surgeons for this sort of thing, but the district nurse will be coming every day to clean the wound and check for any signs of infection.’

  ‘I am relieved to hear that,’ Simone said. ‘And now, chérie, I am sending you straight to bed. It is all made clean for you.’

  Ronnie began to protest, but Simone held up her hand.

  ‘You will not argue with your maman,’ she said. ‘These are my instructions from your Mr Ferris, and I will follow them.’

  Ronnie slept for several hours and when she finally awoke at six o’clock she heard her mother’s tread up the staircase.

  ‘I have made you a soft-boiled egg and soldiers like I did when you were a little girl,’ Simone said. ‘I peeled it so I think you will manage well with one hand.’

  ‘Thank you, Maman.’ Ronnie took the tray which her mother had laid out with her best china together with a pink rose in a tiny glass vase. Feeling moved by these small touches from a mother who found it difficult sometimes to show affection to her daughters, Ronnie impulsively added, ‘I know we have our arguments, Maman, but I do love you.’

  A dot of colour appeared on both Simone’s cheeks. She bent down and kissed Ronnie. ‘I know that, chérie. Even though you find it difficult to show it to me.’

  Ronnie burst out laughing. As usual, her mother got it completely wrong even though she’d used exactly the same words Ronnie had been thinking.

  Simone shook her head as she left her youngest with her supper.

  Ronnie finished her egg and carefully laid the tray aside. Keeping her hand resting on the two pillows and cushion as she’d been told to do, she lay on her back, her mind going over the horror of the explosion. Poor little Lucky hadn’t been so lucky after all. Ronnie’s eyes filled with tears to think she’d let Margaret down after promising to take care of the little black cat. And she’d let Sally and Jess down by leaving them to clear up the mess Hitler’s terrifying rocket had caused, the only good thing being that neither of them had been hurt. They’d both promised to visit her at the first opportunity though surely she’d be back before then. But what about Michael? That wound in her heart was a thousand times worse than the one on her hand and no amount of numbing injections would have made the pain go away. And there was nothing she could do.

  You could write to him care of the police station, her inner voice argued. They’d pass it on to him.

  Yes, but my right hand, the one I write with, is out of order.

  You could try with your other hand. Plenty of other people use their left hand.

  But I’m not used to it.

  That’s no excuse. Try, at least.

  With a sigh, Ronnie pulled the eiderdown back and went to the small table she’d set by the window. She opened the drawer and took out a pad of notepaper she’d bought at the beginning of the war. Hardly any sheets had been used, and she recalled how Raine and Suzy both used to tell her off for not being a regular letter writer. Trouble was, she hated writing letters and wasn’t at all satisfied with her spelling.

  Michael won’t give you black marks for a letter that isn’t perfect. Just write from the heart – like Dad would tell you.

  She took her fountain pen in her left hand and dipped it in the ink bottle to refill it.

  Dear Michael,

  Her untrained left hand shook as much with the emotion of writing his name as it did in trying to form the letters. She looked at the letters she’d tried to form. The two words looked as though an infant had written them, they were so clumsy and disjointed. Her fingers felt peculiar as they held the pen at an awkward angle. Chewing her lip with concentration, and with painstaking slowness, she started the next line.

  I only recieved – no, that wasn’t right. It was ‘i before e except after c’. She crossed out the offending word and rewrote it. ‘Only received,’ she said aloud as she carried on writing, your letter of 12th February a few days ago. Somehow it had been mislaid in the motorboat. Jess found it and brought it to me. I’d just read it when the doodlebug came down. A piece of glass somehow went through my right hand. Luckily for me Sally is a nurse and made a bandage. I was in hospital nearly a week and came home this morning.

  I’m sorry I was so angry and told you I never wanted to see you again. It’s not true now, and it wasn’t then. And you don’t need to explain anything that happened in the interview room. You were on duty and had to do your job. I realise that now. Please forgive me.

  Your letter had fallen to the floor but it fell apart in the mess so I’m sending this c/o The Grand Union Canal Police. It’s all I can think of. I hope you receive it. If you don’t you’ll never know I tried.

  Her left hand ached with the strain, but there was nothing more to say.

  How to end it. Nothing seemed right that she’d been taught in school. ‘Yours truly’, ‘Yours sincerely’ or just ‘Yours’, as Michael had written, didn’t strike the right chord. When she and Lois wrote to one another they always signed ‘Love’ and whosever name it was.

  She renewed her ink and wrote:

  Love,

  Ronnie

  That sounded much too forward. She crossed out the comma after ‘Love’ and inserted ‘from your friend’. There. That looked better.

  At least she’d finally written it. Quickly, she scanned the badly formed letters hoping he’d be able to make sense of them. It wasn’t a brilliant letter but it told him what she wanted him to know. It would have to do. And the walk tomorrow to the village post office with Rusty would do her the world of good. She glanced at her bedside clock with amazement. It had taken all her effort and three-quarters of an hour to fill one and a half sheets of notepaper.

  Chapter Forty

  The following morning Ronnie made up her mind to get up as soon as the district nurse had been. Maman expected her to stay in bed but she had no intention of doing any such thing. She needed some fresh air after her hospital stay and the journey yesterday on a crowded train. Besides, she had an important letter to post. She looked at her watch. Half-past eight. Goodness, she’d slept late. She could already hear Maman clattering the dishes in the kitchen. Incredible! She was obviously taking her nursing duties seriously. Ronnie couldn’t help a wry smile. As far back as she could remember, Maman rarely appeared before ten most mornings, having taken ages to complete her toilette, as she always called it. Ronnie had to admit, she was enjoying this softer side of
her mother.

  The doorbell rang. Rusty pricked up his ears.

  ‘No, it’s not the postman, Rusty. He comes much earlier. It’ll be the district nurse. So don’t start barking at her. Not everyone loves you, even though I know that’s difficult for you to imagine.’

  She heard her mother go to the door. There was a murmuring of voices.

  ‘Do come in,’ Maman’s voice sailed upstairs. ‘Véronique was asleep when I looked in an hour ago. I was about to bring her a cup of tea.’ There was a pause. ‘Oh, how kind. I will not be a moment.’

  I must look a sight, Ronnie thought, as she sat up, endeavouring to pull a pillow behind her back. It really was a nuisance having only one working hand. It made her feel as though she was an invalid. Well, as soon as the nurse had gone, she’d get up and have a bath. Her hair was badly in need of a wash but Maman would help her with that. The thought cheered her.

  There was a light tap at the bedroom door. Rusty barked.

  ‘Stop that, Rusty, or I’ll put you out.’ She looked towards the door.

  ‘Come in,’ she called.

  The door opened.

  ‘Hello, Ronnie,’ Michael said casually, as though they’d seen one another yesterday instead of nearly four months ago. ‘Your mother sent this up for you.’ He put a cup of tea on her bedside table.

  She was speechless. Unaware, she put her hand to her chest to still her beating heart. Was she dreaming?

  Rusty came over, wagging his tail, to give Michael a good sniff.

  ‘Hello, boy,’ he said, bending and fondling the dog’s ears. ‘I think you must be Rusty. Your mistress has told me about you.’

  Rusty gave another ‘woof’ as though to say he approved of this new friend, then looked up at Ronnie, his liquid brown eyes imploring, and barked.

  ‘He wants his breakfast,’ she said, thankful she’d finally found her tongue and it was something neutral to say. ‘Go on downstairs, Rusty. Maman knows what to give you.’

  As though he understood, Rusty trotted from the room.

  Michael stared at her and frowned.

  Ronnie’s good hand flew to her face, desperate for him not to see her looking so unkempt. Her eyes were still stinging and she knew they must look like a vampire’s, she hadn’t brushed her hair and she hadn’t cleaned her teeth. How had he found her? Why hadn’t Maman brought the tea herself and warned her he was here? Oh, this was dreadful.

  ‘Ronnie,’ Michael said, gently taking her hand away, ‘you don’t have to cover your lovely face for me. I was looking at your eyes. I thought at first you’d been crying but it looks to me like an eye irritation.’

  ‘It was,’ she said, ‘from the muck caused by the explosion. But they’re not as red as they were.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He kept hold of her hand. ‘I know you’ve been through a terrible time and you’ve only just come out of hospital. I don’t expect you to look like you’ve just stepped from the pages of Vogue … especially as you didn’t know I was going to be such an early visitor.’ His eyes twinkled.

  ‘As though I ever did look like a model from Vogue or any other magazine,’ she said with a weak smile, her mind in turmoil.

  ‘You did at the dance.’

  ‘Except when you saw my Wellington boots.’

  ‘I just thought you were setting a new fashion trend.’ He winked. ‘Can I pull that chair up?’ He gestured towards it.

  She nodded. How could she begin to say what was in her heart? She’d have to take her lead from him. And he was simply being friendly, not acting at all as if he loved her. Jess was wrong. But even if he thought of her as a friend, that was something. Once her hand was healed she’d prove she could be more. Inwardly, she gave a wry smile. Go through a transformation and look glamorous? It might work for Raine or Suzy, but not for her. Try to be clever? Witty? Again, they weren’t her usual attributes. She was more known for being blunt, standing up for what she believed, whatever the cost, and helping any person or animal in trouble. She didn’t think any of those attributes would make a man change from friendship to love. Well, she could at least tidy herself. That would be a start.

  She was conscious of her hand enclosed in his.

  ‘Such a small hand,’ he said, studying it. ‘But strong.’

  He leaned over and she smelt the masculine scent of him, sending an unfamiliar rush of longing through her body. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, making her forehead tingle from his touch.

  ‘Tell me exactly what happened to your injured hand.’

  She managed to pull herself together, trying to forget how near he was, as she told him, not sparing any of the gory details.

  ‘Poor Ronnie,’ he said quietly. ‘But thank heavens it wasn’t a direct hit on the boats. You and Jessica and the other girl—’

  ‘Sally.’

  ‘Yes, Sally – well, none of you would have stood a chance.’

  ‘Lucky didn’t.’ A tear trickled down Ronnie’s cheek. ‘Jess said she was curled up on the deck. I didn’t even see her when Sally took me to the ambulance, my eyes were stinging so much and I was in a daze.’

  ‘That would be shock.’

  ‘I suppose so. But I can’t forgive myself for letting Margaret down, even though I know it wasn’t my fault about the bomb. But I can’t help thinking she lost her life over saving Lucky. I wish we’d never given her such a stupid name, but it seemed right at the time.’

  She started to cry. Michael handed her a handkerchief.

  ‘Try not to get upset,’ he said. ‘It’s war. Lucky wouldn’t have felt a thing. She’d have been asleep and usually that sort of a shock just stops an animal’s heart instantly.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Ronnie couldn’t keep the challenging note from her voice.

  ‘Because I grew up with dogs and cats. I love animals. When I was a boy I read several books about how to look after them. One of them was a medical book about how harmful it was for animals to hear sudden very loud noises. It mentioned in the last war when the Germans dropped bombs that animals could have an instant fatal heart attack because their hearing is far more sensitive than ours. So that’s how I know.’ He smiled for the first time.

  She wanted to hug him. Instead, she gave him a beaming smile.

  ‘All right, you’ve convinced me you speak with the voice of authority.’

  ‘I’m not a policeman for nothing,’ he said, grinning. Then his smile faded. ‘But I didn’t come here to tell you about my boyhood.’ He picked up her hand again and stroked it with his fingers. ‘Ronnie, I wrote to you but you never wrote back. So I decided then I had to honour your last words that you never wanted to see me again.’

  ‘Oh, but I—’ Ronnie bit down hard on her lower lip to stop it trembling. She looked at him directly, momentarily forgetting her wild appearance. ‘So what made you change your mind?’

  ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had to see you again. I managed to find out where Persephone and Penelope were moored but when I got there neither Jessica nor Sally had your address but they told me about the V1 exploding on the warehouses opposite – well, I could see the destruction – and that you’d been taken to hospital. I was frantic and phoned them but you’d already been sent home, and of course they wouldn’t divulge where that was. But then I thought of Paul Butler – you know, the constable who first came here with Sergeant Sandford …’ She nodded. ‘He gave me your address. So here I am. And I need to know if you meant what you said about never wanting to see me again.’

  Her stomach gave a somersault.

  ‘On that table there’s something for you.’

  He raised his eyebrows. She nodded and he strode over and picked up the sheet of notepaper. Briefly glancing at it he came back to his chair.

  ‘This is yesterday’s date.’

  ‘I know.’ Ronnie bit her lip. ‘I wrote it last night.’

  She watched him as he began to read, holding her breath. Had she set the right tone? Should she have used the
word ‘love’ at the end? He might be embarrassed by it and she couldn’t bear the idea. Oh, if only she’d just said: From your friend Ronnie. Or nothing – just Ronnie. Certainly none of the ‘love’ stuff. Inwardly she cringed as Michael silently turned over the sheet of notepaper.

  He finished reading, folded the letter carefully and tucked it in his inside pocket, then gazed at her. ‘I might be repeating myself but I wanted to tell you in person, not in a letter.’ He cleared his throat. ‘When the inspector told us he was planning to bring Dora in for more questioning as she was still under suspicion, and he wanted her to confirm she was Will Drake’s mother, and where her loyalties lay, he asked me to be there to take notes. I was happy to do it. Then he said he was bringing you in, too. I asked why as there was no chance you were involved in anything underhand. When he asked how I could be so sure, I said I knew you in a personal way. That was my big mistake. He immediately said I would be biased and he would instruct someone else to be in the interview room instead of me. I had to use all my powers of persuasion to let me be there. I knew how shocked you’d be to be called in but I thought you might be slightly more reassured when you saw me.’

  ‘I was … at first. But then you gave me no sign to let me know you were on my side and I felt you had let me down, knowing we were supposed to be friends.’

  ‘That was what was so awful. I couldn’t let you know. Like I said in the letter, he was watching me like a hawk. At the first hint he would have dismissed me from the room. I had to stay at all costs.’ He gazed at her. ‘You’ll never know how terrible I felt seeing the look on your face and having to put on such an act when all I wanted to do was to put my arms round you and tell you not to worry.’

  ‘I thought you were worried you wouldn’t be promoted if you told him you disagreed.’

  ‘At that moment I didn’t care a hoot about my career and promotional prospects. It was only you I was thinking of. Do you believe me?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked away from the hurt in his eyes. How could she have judged him so harshly. ‘I already believed you. That’s why I wrote that you didn’t need to explain.’