by Molly Green
‘We can’t go the direct route because so many streets are blocked,’ the cab driver half turned his head towards the back of the cab. ‘We’ll have to do a detour.’
Her heart sank. If he had to go much out of the way, then the fare would go up and she’d be further away from the hospital. She leaned forward, heart beating too fast, squinting at the meter, which was turning with frightening rapidity. She didn’t recognise where they were and the meter was up to one and six already. She swallowed hard. The meter turned to one and nine. Only a few hundred yards or so and it would reach two shillings. The ticking of the meter began to get on her nerves. Her purse was still open and she reached in again, but no, there was only the one half-crown. She could feel its edges. Two and thruppence … two and six … that was her half-crown gone.
‘Please would you stop right here.’
The driver looked round. ‘We’re not there yet, love. Only just coming up to Westminster Bridge.’
‘No, put me off right now. Please, now!’
She could feel the panic in her voice. Just as she thought she would scream, the taxi slowed down and stopped.
‘All right, love. If you insist.’
She opened the door and he rolled down the window.
‘Thank you. How much do I owe you?’
‘Are you a nurse at the hospital?’ He jerked his head towards St Thomas’.
She nodded. She’d lost the power of speech.
‘I wouldn’t dream of charging you, love. Not with the sort of work you have to do every day.’ He roared off.
Her jaw dropped. She could have gone all the way to the hospital without the worry of not having enough money. What a kind, kind man. If only he knew. She drew in a deep breath. She supposed the walk would do her good after being in that horrible stuffy restaurant and then in the back of the taxi. Maybe it would clear her whirling head and give her the chance to work through what had happened.
The blackout made everything distorted. She nearly slipped down a curb she hadn’t expected. A cyclist shot by, making her jump. She stuck her hands in her pockets and started to walk, willing herself not to think – to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Although it was dark, the moon beamed down over the Thames like a searchlight, making the water shimmer. Bomber’s Moon, they called it. But she mustn’t dither. It wasn’t safe to be out so late. There were only a few figures on the bridge, some of them coming towards her, most of them with their heads down, just wanting to get home—
The wail of a siren. Dear God. Where should she run? Panic-stricken, she was only halfway over Westminster Bridge. She screwed up her eyes. Keep calm, Maxine. She must reach the other side of the river. Run. But her legs refused to work. People were running past her. The thunder of an enemy plane. She looked up at the sky. More than one …
‘Don’t just stand there!’ someone bellowed. ‘Get to the shelter!’
She heard a whine and then an explosion. It seemed to be coming from the direction of St Thomas’. She smelled fire. Please don’t let the hospital be hit again. She couldn’t bear it. Her heart pounding in her throat, she began to run. No one was on the bridge now. She was alone. No idea where the nearest shelter was. She couldn’t die. Another bang – she couldn’t tell from which way. Dear God, she was going to be caught. She mustn’t die. Run further. Get to that lamppost on the far end – the lion – almost there.
The moon threw its light over the outline of the hospital. She couldn’t make out any flames. Panting now, her heart thumping against her ribs, her throat raw, she’d got to the end. She was off the bridge. There was her lion. Sobbing with terror at the sound of another explosion, she ran with her hand on her stomach. She ran until she could run no more.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning she was late for duty for the first time. She’d lain awake all night sobbing quietly so as not to disturb the others, angry with herself that she’d been such a fool. She should have known a handsome man like Edwin Blake – a well-known surgeon – wouldn’t be single. But the possibility had simply not crossed her mind.
Married. All the times they’d made love he was married. How could he pretend? Even poor old Bill Chorley who doubted even his own name had seen through Edwin and had warned her, but she’d taken no notice. She felt a flicker of sympathy for Edwin’s wife. Well, the wife could have him as far as she was concerned. He was a weak and dishonest man who should be thoroughly ashamed of himself. But she blamed herself far more. She’d been grief-stricken and starved of Johnny’s love and along came Mr Edwin Blake. She’d been flattered by his attention. And then she’d begun to care for him. Or was it, after all, just infatuation?
Edwin didn’t make an appearance all day, although she was sure he was on duty. She dreaded yet longed to see him.
That evening she couldn’t face the small room the nurses usually gathered in as they were changing shifts. They’d see immediately what a state she was in. Sister had already admonished her for not concentrating and neglecting to bring Mr Chorley a bedpan. She’d go straight to her room and pray none of the others were there. She badly wanted to be alone.
An envelope had been slipped under the door. She bent to pick it up and saw it was addressed to her. Edwin. She tore it open and pulled out the single sheet.
My dear Maxine,
We must talk. I’ve worked out something. Please meet me in our usual café as soon as you read this. I’m banking on it not being too late when you go off duty. Time now is 8.15 p.m.
E
Couldn’t he even sign his name? Maxine’s mouth was a grim line as she ripped the letter into four and threw the pieces into the fireplace, then lit a match and watched the flames curl round and immediately devour them. But was she allowing her pride to make a momentous decision never to see him again? Never to let him set eyes on her baby? Maybe he’d had second thoughts. He said he’d worked out something. She glanced at her watch. Just coming up to nine o’clock. She owed it to her unborn child to at least listen to what he had to say.
He was there sitting at a table in a corner of the café with a glass of beer in front of him, though it looked as though he’d only had a few mouthfuls. When he saw her, he sprang to his feet and tried to kiss her cheek, but she turned away and sat opposite him, her hands twisting together in her lap.
‘What will you have to drink?’
‘Just an orangeade, please.’ The thought of alcohol turned her stomach.
Edwin shifted in his seat. He kept glancing at her, then looking away, as though he’d rather be anywhere but here in the café with her. She wasn’t about to help him.
‘Max, give me your hand. I can’t talk when you look so angry. I only wish we could discuss this in private, but it’s not possible.’
She immediately pulled her hands out of his view. ‘I’m not angry, I’m upset, which is very different.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Tell me something, Edwin – if I’d asked you at the beginning if you were married, would you have told me the truth?’
‘I don’t know.’ He tilted his head upwards and fingered his throat.
‘It’s a bit fundamental to a relationship, don’t you think, for each party to know where they stand?’ Maxine glared at him. He had the grace to lower his eyes.
‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I have no excuse. I have a wonderful wife.’
‘Does she know you’re a philanderer?’
‘She doesn’t ask those sorts of questions.’ His voice had a distinct edge, as though warning her not to go further.
‘Then she’s as much a fool as I am,’ Maxine said, ignoring his tone, her face flushing with suppressed anger.
‘Maxine, I don’t want us to quarrel. I admit I’ve been a selfish bugger, but I do want the best for you … and the baby,’ he added.
‘Well, that’s something.’ Maxine nodded her thanks to the waiter who set down her orangeade and disappeared.
‘I have good contacts in the medical world,’ Edwin went on. ‘One of the advantages of bein
g a surgeon – I know who’s a good doctor and who isn’t. I want you to have the very best attention, so I’ve made an appointment for you to see an excellent doctor in Harley Street. You’ll be seeing Dr Langley this Friday at ten o’clock. I’ll arrange for a taxi to pick you up.’
‘I don’t need to go to Harley Street,’ Maxine said. ‘For one thing it’s expensive, and entirely unnecessary. I can go to one of the doctors at St Thomas’ for any check-ups.’
‘That would be very unwise,’ Edwin said, and Maxine noticed a flicker of unease in his eyes. He pressed her hand. ‘I don’t think you understand what I’m getting at. Dr Langley will take care of your situation and I will obviously pay the bill. He’s a top man for this sort of thing.’
Maxine stared at him in horror. He wanted her to have the unthinkable. Then he could go back to his wife and sons knowing that he’d done the ‘decent thing’ and could put the whole sorry business behind him. She snatched her hand away.
‘I didn’t get caught up on Westminster Bridge and almost killed by a German bomber last night for you to say you want to kill our baby.’
It was Edwin’s turn to gasp. ‘Oh, my God, Max, I heard it. I hoped you’d already got back to the hospital safely. You poor darling. Thank God you’re all right.’
‘I’m in one piece, if that’s what you mean,’ she snapped.
Edwin was silent. He picked up his glass and took a deep swallow. ‘Look, Max, I’m as upset as you—’
‘Really?’ Maxine kept her gaze on him.
‘Just hear me out.’ He wiped his mouth with his napkin. ‘You’re young and very lovely. You’re about to take your finals. If you toss that opportunity away, you’ll be a fool, sacrificing all your hard work for a life of drudgery. You have everything ahead of you and the chance to meet a man who’ll be only too eager to get married. But not quite so eager if there’s a child around. You can’t bring up a child on your own, and from what I know of your parents’ situation they can’t help you while you go to work. The baby is not a true being in the first eight weeks – take my word for it. You’ll be in safe hands with Dr Langley and it will all be over quickly and you can put it out of your mind.’
‘Out of my mind,’ Maxine repeated, springing to her feet. ‘It’s you who’s out of your mind. Keep your blood money. I haven’t changed my mind from yesterday. And as far as the baby’s life is concerned, he or she is very much a “true being”, as you so quaintly put it. But that’s something you’ll never understand.’
She mustered every shred of courage and dignity as she left the café.
No matter how bad things were, she would never ever get rid of her baby. In the midst of all the death and destruction around her, the baby felt like a precious gift of life.
Maxine made up her mind to avoid him, but a week flew by and there was no sign of Edwin. Perhaps he was on holiday. Gone to see his family, she supposed. Maybe he would tell his wife about some silly little nurse who’d had a crush on him. She imagined the wife laughing that a girl in such a lowly position should even imagine herself to be in love with such an important surgeon.
Finally, Maxine plucked up courage when Sister Lawson was handing out the medicines. ‘Sister, what’s happened to Mr Blake? He hasn’t been on the ward lately.’
Sister Lawson threw her a knowing look. ‘Why do you ask, Nurse? Is it a personal reason?’
‘N-no.’ Maxine was thrown off guard, wishing she’d never asked.
‘Well, for your information he’s been transferred to Sunnydown School, the new medical school just opened in Guildford.’ She shook her head. ‘It might be just as well, as far as you’re concerned.’
Heat flew to Maxine’s cheeks and she knew she’d gone bright red. She bent down, pretending to tighten her shoelace, and blinked back the tears. He hadn’t had the decency to say goodbye.
She stretched upright and pulled her shoulders back. Somehow she’d cope – without any help from Edwin Blake.
‘I’ll go and give Mr Carter his pill, Sister.’
‘You do that,’ Sister Lawson said, not unkindly. ‘Work’s the best thing.’
Maxine’s misery turned to fury. Fury with Edwin and fury with herself. Through her own stupidity she had put herself in a terrible situation. In a few months she’d start to show. She’d have to give her notice in before that happened as she wouldn’t be able to bear the humiliation of one of the staff guessing and reporting her. No, it was better to tell Sister that her father was worse and she was needed at home. She hated the thought of telling a lie, particularly where her parents were concerned, but she couldn’t think of a better excuse.
Her heart sank when she thought of her parents. When she had to tell them. They’d be heartbroken. They’d wanted her to have a baby when it was with her husband, but to think that their daughter had had an affair with a married man, who turned his back on her, and she was left with an illegitimate baby would be too much for them. And she would be leaving St Thomas’ without her coveted Nightingale Badge – her mother’s dream ever since Maxine explained it was a special award in place of a Nursing Certificate, and only given by St Thomas’ in recognition of Florence Nightingale’s outstanding contribution to nursing which had taken place at that very hospital.
The only way not to hurt them would be to keep the baby a secret. Her stomach clenched at the thought. How could she deceive her parents? But how could she risk her father’s bad heart. If he had a heart attack with the shock, she’d never forgive herself … neither would her mother. She could picture her mother now, her expression tight, exclaiming what shame Maxine had brought to the family. As if it wasn’t enough with Mickey in prison. How she’d let them down after all their scrimping and saving for her to learn a decent profession.
A wave of nausea swept through her and she couldn’t guess if it was the baby or the thought of her parents’ distress. But if she really was going to keep the baby a secret she needed help. She’d have to go back to Liverpool, the place she knew best.
That evening Maxine prepared for the night shift, welcoming it in a way. It was usually peaceful and she could attend her duties with the least amount of interruptions and chatter. She might get a chance to think this through in the middle of the night.
But the patients were restless, demanding and calling the two nurses for one thing or another. Three people from the same family were admitted with wounds from an explosion. It was becoming more common to have these multiple admissions of mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, she thought, as she hurried to settle them. She wondered how long she could stand the constant smell of vomit and sweat and disinfectant. The baby seemed to have heightened her smell to such a level that some days she didn’t think she could carry on any longer.
Maybe it was better to give in her notice sooner rather than struggle on, feeling worse by the day. If she could just last until Christmas – she’d need every penny.
‘Please, Sister, may I see you in private?’
Maxine had managed to overcome her nausea and Christmas was only nine days away.
Sister Lawson scanned Maxine’s face with her usual thoroughness.
‘What are you in the middle of?’
‘I’ve just finished cleaning Mr Draper’s leg wound.’
‘Then come to my office right away.’
Maxine followed the solid figure of Sister to her office, shutting the door behind her.
‘Nothing wrong, I hope, Nurse.’ Her sharp eyes alighted on Maxine.
Did she imagine it, or did Sister’s eyes drop to her stomach? Maxine shifted on one leg, then moved her weight to the other.
‘Do sit down. Now, what is it?’
Maxine drew a deep breath. ‘There is something wrong, Sister. I’ve heard from my mother. My father’s been unwell for some time – it’s his heart – and Mum says could I please come home and help her to care for him. So I’m afraid I’ll have to give in my notice.’
‘I’m sorry to hear about your father,’ Sister said, steepling h
er hands and cupping her chin. ‘Can they not get someone locally – from the Royal Infirmary – to help out?’
‘By the sound of her letter, Mum needs me right away.’ Maxine’s cheeks flooded with colour.
‘Well, of course you must return home,’ Sister Lawson said. She looked across her desk at Maxine. ‘And you’re sure there’s nothing else – no other reason for suddenly leaving?’
‘N-no, nothing.’ Maxine felt the sweat trickle down the back of her neck. Sister was too observant by far.
‘And you won’t give up your nursing when anything happens to your father?’
Oh, how she hated this. One lie and it led to a complete conversation that was dressed in lies.
‘I won’t give it up,’ she said. ‘It’s in my blood now.’
‘What about your finals?’
Maxine swallowed. ‘I still intend to take them.’
‘You’ll have to come back here to do so.’
‘Yes, I realise.’
‘Then, if you’re absolutely sure,’ Sister said, ‘would you like to be released by the end of this week?’
‘I would.’ Maxine scrambled to her feet, grateful the interview was at an end. ‘Thank you for being so understanding, Sister. I won’t forget it.’
‘You may go, Nurse Taylor. You have a lot to do before Saturday. And whatever you do, don’t forget your promise to me. You have the makings of an excellent nurse.’ She rose from behind her desk and held out her hand. ‘Good luck, Taylor.’
They all said they’d miss her, but Maxine was aware she hadn’t forged strong enough relationships for anyone to keep in touch with her. Her only close relationship had been with Anna. And Anna was gone. Then Edwin. But he was gone too. Maxine held back the bitter tears. She was alone. Abandoned. As though she never existed. But she was going to have a baby. The baby existed. Even if she couldn’t let anyone else know.