‘I told you not to say anything, Mum!’ Rose came in from the scullery again, this time with the tray of tea things. ‘It’s not going to do anyone any good, passing on gossip like that.’ She set the tray down firmly on the table.
‘It’s not true, is it?’ Nanna peered at Dora.
‘No, Nanna, it’s not true.’
‘Told you!’ Nanna turned to Rose in triumph. ‘I said to you, didn’t I, our Dora’s got more sense than to get herself involved with a married man. Whatever Lettie Pike says.’
Dora caught her mother’s eye as she handed over a cup of tea. There was something about the way Rose Doyle looked at her daughter that made her think she wasn’t quite as convinced.
‘I might have known Lettie would be behind it,’ Dora muttered, spooning sugar into her cup. If Ruby’s mother started spreading her nasty rumours at the hospital, who knew where it might end?
An image of Amy Hollins came into Dora’s mind then. She’d heard all about her being ushered in shame from the nurses’ home after her affair with a married man came to light. Now no one even dared speak about her. It was as if she had never existed.
‘Let’s talk about something else, shall we?’ Rose said. ‘There’s enough unhappiness in the world without us making more. Tell us how you’re getting on at that hospital. How are those girls you share a room with?’
‘Oh, God, you haven’t heard about poor Tremayne, have you?’ Dora put down her cup. Nanna and her mother listened gravely as she told them about Charlie’s death.
‘That poor girl,’ Rose sighed. ‘Fancy losing your husband like that when you’re still a bride. I’m surprised she hasn’t gone home to her mother. She sounds as if she needs looking after, the little lamb.’
‘I don’t think her mother’s the type to look after anyone,’ Dora said grimly. ‘You know, she didn’t even come to the wedding or Charlie’s funeral? Left Helen to go through it all by herself.’
‘Well, that ain’t right,’ Rose declared. ‘A mother’s place is at her daughter’s side. Even if she doesn’t always agree with what she does.’
There it was again, that look over the rim of her teacup. Dora opened her mouth to ask why, but her mother shot a warning glance at Nanna Winnie.
‘Let’s clear these tea things away, shall we?’
They left Nanna Winnie still happily shelling winkles at the kitchen table, and Dora followed her mother into the curtained-off scullery. Rose tipped the dregs of the tea down the sink and ran the tap over the cups, then turned to face her.
‘Now,’ she said, her low voice muffled by the rush of running water, ‘I want the truth, Dora. Have you and Nick Riley been carrying on behind Ruby’s back?’
‘No!’ Blood rushed to her face.
‘Are you sure? You look me in the eye and tell me, girl.’
Dora stared into her mother’s steady dark brown gaze. ‘I haven’t, Mum, I swear.’
Rose held her gaze for a moment, then she nodded. ‘I can see that now. I’m sorry for doubting you, love. I should have known you were better than that.’ She turned off the tap. ‘I reckon I know what’s really been going on, anyway.’
‘What . . . do you mean?’ Dora asked.
Rose turned to look at her. ‘I ain’t blind, ducks. I’ve seen the way Nick Riley used to look at you, and the way you looked at him, too. You two were made for each other, if you ask me. Until that vicious little cat Ruby came along and ruined it all.’ She crashed the cups together in the sink in her agitation. ‘I wouldn’t have put it past her to get pregnant on purpose, just so he’d have to marry her.’
‘Or to lie about being pregnant in the first place,’ Dora said quietly.
Rose swung round to face her. ‘Tell me you’re having me on?’
Dora shook her head. ‘It’s the truth.’
‘But she lost the baby . . .’
‘She lied about that, too.’
‘The wicked—’ Rose trailed off, words failing her. ‘And does her mother know?’ Dora nodded.
Her mother turned away from Dora. ‘I can’t believe Ruby would stoop that low,’ she murmured. ‘When I think about all the poor women who lose babies every day . . . she’s making a mockery of them, that’s what she’s doing. A mockery.’
‘You won’t tell Nanna, will you?’ Dora whispered. ‘I don’t want it spread all over Bethnal Green.’
‘I don’t see why not!’ Two bright spots of colour blazed on Rose’s high cheekbones. ‘The Pikes are quick enough to spread gossip about you . . .’ She paused, collecting herself. ‘No, you’re right,’ she agreed. ‘It wouldn’t do any good to anyone. And it certainly won’t make you feel any better, will it?’
‘No,’ Dora sighed. ‘It won’t.’
She pulled the teatowel off its nail beside the sink and dried the cups. Her mother watched her consideringly.
‘I reckon you two will be together in the end,’ she said.
Dora smiled sadly. ‘How do you work that out?’
‘Because you belong together.’
‘It doesn’t always work out like that though, does it? You said yourself, Nick’s a married man.’
‘Marriages can end.’
‘Yes, but gossip doesn’t.’ Dora hung the teatowel back on the hook. ‘Can you imagine what Lettie Pike would say if Nick left Ruby and we started courting? My name would be mud.’
‘Take no notice of her.’ Rose shrugged. ‘No one else does. She’s picked on this family before, and we’ve always come out the other side. Sticks and stones, as they say.’
‘But I don’t just mean round here,’ Dora said. ‘They’ve got rid of a nurse from the Nightingale for carrying on with a married man. If Lettie started spreading rumours like that about me . . .’
‘If she starts spreading rumours about you, then we might start spreading a few of our own about her girl,’ Rose replied.
‘Mum!’ Dora laughed, shocked. ‘I thought you’ve always told us not to sink to her level?’
‘You’re right.’ Rose’s brown eyes twinkled. ‘But I can’t very well stop your nanna doing it, can I?’
‘What’s so funny?’ Nanna Winnie’s voice carried through from the other side of the curtain as they giggled together. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Nothing, Mum.’ Rose sobered quickly. ‘I meant what I said, though,’ she told Dora softly. ‘If Nick divorces Ruby and you and him get the chance to be together, then you should do it, and never mind what anyone else says. Like I said, there’s enough unhappiness in this world, so you might as well grab a bit of happiness while you can. You just look at your friend Tremayne if you don’t believe me.’
Her mother’s words stayed with Dora when she left the house ten minutes later, just in time to see Nick Riley letting himself out of next door’s back gate.
‘Nick?’ She saw him pause for a moment, his hand on the latch. Then, still keeping his head down, he slammed out of the gate.
‘Nick, wait!’ She followed him down the narrow, weed-covered alleyway that led back to the street. She had to run to catch up with his long strides. ‘Why are you walking away from me?’
Dora put out her hand to stop him but he shrugged her off.
‘Don’t touch me!’ he hissed. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you.’
She recoiled, bewildered. ‘What have I done?’
He stopped abruptly and turned to face her. His eyes blazed with anger. ‘You’re good at playing the innocent, aren’t you?’ he sneered. ‘Did you learn it off your mate Ruby?’
A stirring of unease began to uncurl inside her. ‘Nick—’
‘Just answer me one question. Did you know Ruby was lying about the baby?’
‘I—’ Dora opened her mouth to defend herself, but the words wouldn’t come.
Nick’s broad shoulders slumped. ‘I knew it,’ he said. He sounded more weary than angry. ‘I can see it in your face. And there was me, trying to tell myself it was just another one of Ruby’s lies.’ His mouth twisted. ‘You’re n
ot as good a liar as your friend,’ he mocked. ‘Your eyes give you away every time.’
‘I – I was going to tell you,’ she said. ‘That’s why I came round to see you. I couldn’t live with myself . . .’
‘So you say,’ he sneered. ‘But I didn’t see you rushing round to set me straight when you first found out.’
Dora stared down at the weeds pushing their way through the cracked paving slabs. ‘I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘I promised Ruby.’
‘And what about me?’ His voice was raw with emotion. ‘Or don’t I matter to you?’
She lifted her gaze to meet his. ‘You know you do.’
‘I don’t know anything any more.’
‘Nick, listen—’
‘You know, the funny thing is I could almost forgive Ruby for what she did. I know what she’s like, I shouldn’t expect anything better of her. But you . . .’ He shook his head. ‘You were the only one I ever trusted. The only one in this whole stinking, ugly world I felt I could depend on. And you let me down.’
‘No! Nick, that’s not fair. I wanted to tell you, so many times. You’re the last person on earth I’d ever want to betray. Nick, please! You’ve got to believe me.’
The bleak contempt in his eyes shocked her. ‘Believe you? I don’t think I’ll ever believe another word you say.’
He turned and walked away from her. Dora wanted to follow him but her feet were rooted to the spot.
Chapter Forty-Five
‘I WANT TO thank you, Nurse.’
It was Sunday afternoon and visiting time was over for the week. Staff Nurse O’Hara was very punctual about ushering patients out on the dot of three o’clock. She hovered at the doors to the ward, looking at her watch and sighing with frustration when Sister Blake waylaid them for a chat about their loved ones.
But this time it was Helen who was waylaid, by Marcus Forster’s mother.
‘My son has been telling me how well you’ve been looking after him,’ she said. There was no mistaking the family resemblance; she was as tall and skinny as her son, with an identical shock of tight light brown curls, although hers were concealed under a stylish hat.
‘Your son is a remarkable young man, Mrs Forster.’
‘Oh, I know. His father and I were always quite at a loss as to how we produced such a child prodigy!’ she smiled. ‘But I know Marcus can be rather – temperamental,’ she went on, ‘so I do appreciate your making so much of an effort. Not everyone is prepared to take the time to understand him.’
Helen looked away, embarrassed by the unexpected praise. Mrs Forster went on looking at her, that strange brown gaze as direct as her son’s.
‘I was a nurse myself, you see, so I know how difficult it can be when you have a patient as demanding as Marcus,’ she said. ‘My son tells me you’re in your third year?’ Helen nodded. ‘When are you taking your State Finals?’
‘In two weeks.’
‘I expect you’re all prepared for them?’
‘Yes.’ She often took comfort in sitting up all night with her textbooks, when sleep eluded her.
‘That must be very difficult for you, since the death of your husband. I’m sorry, do forgive me,’ Mrs Forster added hurriedly, seeing the dismay on Helen’s face. ‘That’s the problem with having a son like mine, I’m afraid. I’ve become as forthright as he is!’
‘No, no, it’s quite all right,’ Helen muttered. Her eyes darted here and there, looking for a way to escape. ‘But if you’ll excuse me, I have jobs to do . . .’
‘Oh dear, I’ve made you uncomfortable, haven’t I?’ Mrs Forster regarded her sympathetically. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. I was the same when my husband died, so I know what it’s like. You’re struggling through each day, trying to keep a lid on your emotions and pretend life is normal. The last thing you need is a stranger blundering in and making you feel worse. Isn’t that right?’
But I am normal, Helen wanted to shout. Look at me. I get up every morning and I wash and dress myself and report for duty and do everything that’s asked of me. What could be more normal than that?
Why did everyone keep insisting that there was something wrong with her, that she was grieving? She had bidden goodbye to her grief at Charlie’s graveside. Now she had to get on with life.
She flinched as Mrs Forster patted her arm. ‘Look, I know it’s probably of small comfort at the moment, but time is a great healer, my dear.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Forster, but I really don’t need to be healed,’ Helen replied sharply. ‘I can assure you there is nothing wrong with me. Now if you’ll excuse me –’
She backed away, and collided with Sister Blake who was coming in the other direction.
‘Oops, watch out, Nurse Dawson!’ Her smile vanished when she looked at Helen’s face. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, Sister.’ Helen fought to keep a tremor from her voice. ‘I’m sorry, I – I wasn’t looking where I was going.’
‘And where are you going, Nurse?’ Sister Blake enquired patiently.
Helen’s face coloured. ‘I’m not sure, Sister.’
‘In that case, why don’t you go and help Nurse Patrick with the dressings?’ she suggested kindly. ‘She hasn’t done them before, and I’m afraid she’s about to get herself in rather a muddle without someone to show her.’
Helen hurried off, relieved to have a purpose. Showing the pro how to remove and dispose of a used dressing, clean a wound and apply a new one took up all her concentration so she didn’t have the time to ponder Mrs Forster’s comments.
At five Sister Blake retired to her sitting room for a cup of tea. Several of the other nurses went into their kitchen to put the kettle on, leaving Helen alone on the ward. She went around each bed, checking pulleys and traction tension, tightening drawsheets, smoothing mackintoshes and turning down sheets to an exact fifteen inches.
‘Excuse me, Nurse. Are you busy?’ Mr Casey said, as she checked the blocks under the foot of his bed.
Helen fixed a bright smile on her face. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Casey?’
‘I wondered if you could do me a favour?’
‘If I can.’
‘Have a look in the paper, will you? The Speedway was on last night, and I want to know the result.’
‘The Speedway?’ Helen heard herself say faintly.
‘Yes, I like a bit of racing. Not that I get to see it much these days,’ Mr Casey said ruefully. ‘I don’t suppose you know much about the Speedway, do you, Nurse?’
‘Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. My husband –’ Helen took a deep breath and picked up the Sunday newspaper. ‘The results are at the back, aren’t they?’
‘That’s right. The sports pages. There might be a match report too.’
It’s only a newspaper, Helen told herself as she flicked through the pages. Just because she had avoiding reading one, or even touching one, since that day she’d asked Mr Hopkins for a copy of the Evening Standard, didn’t mean she could avoid them for ever.
‘Is there a report?’
‘Yes. Yes, there is.’
‘I’d be obliged if you could read it to me. Only my daft missus has gone and taken my specs home with her, and I’m lost without them. Nurse?’
His voice was muffled under the roar of blood in Helen’s ears.
Read it, she urged herself. Stop making a fool of yourself and read the wretched newspaper.
She cleared her throat and started to read. But her hands were suddenly shaking so much she couldn’t hold the newspaper still.
‘Nurse?’ She heard Mr Casey’s voice. He seemed to be shouting. ‘Nurse!’
‘It’s all right, Mr Casey, you don’t have to shout,’ she tried to say. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth and she stumbled over the words.
Then she saw a blur of blue uniforms converging on her and realised he wasn’t shouting at her. He was calling to the other nurses to help.
She saw Sister Blake’s face, distorted as if she was looking at her through the bottom of a
very thick glass.
‘I’m sorry, Sister, I don’t think I’m feeling quite well—’ were Helen’s last words, before the world started sliding slowly sideways and she slipped to the floor.
Helen had recovered by the time Kathleen Fox reached the sick bay, thanks to a generous whiff of sal volatile. She lay against the pillows, still half asleep.
Sister Blake sat at her bedside. She rose as Matron walked in, but Kathleen waved her back into her seat.
‘How is she?’
‘Better than she was. She became rather agitated when she came round, so Dr McKay gave her a mild sedative. Not that she really needed it – I don’t think she’s slept in weeks.’
‘Did he say what was wrong with her?’
‘She doesn’t have a fever, and her pulse is normal. Dr McKay thinks it might be nervous exhaustion. It’s not surprising, really. The poor girl has been struggling to cope for such a long time.’
Kathleen looked at Helen. Her skin was so translucent she could see the fine network of blue veins on the closed eyelids. ‘I should never have let it go on like this for so long. I should have sent her home straight away.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ Sister Blake said. ‘She wouldn’t let anyone help her. She wore herself out trying to prove to everyone that she could cope.’
‘She’s paying for it now, isn’t she?’ Kathleen sighed. ‘Look at her. How young she looks. You forget these nurses aren’t much more than girls.’
As if she knew she was being discussed, Helen’s eyes fluttered open.
‘Wh-Where am I?’ She looked around, dazed and dishevelled, then caught sight of Kathleen. ‘Matron!’
She struggled to sit up, but Kathleen moved to her bedside and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
‘It’s all right, Dawson, don’t try to get up,’ she said. ‘You’re in the sick bay. You collapsed on the ward.’
‘You gave us all quite a scare!’ Sister Blake put in.
A faint blush swept over Helen’s high cheekbones. ‘I’m so sorry, Sister . . . Matron. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Don’t you? I do.’ Kathleen sat down beside her so they were eye to eye. ‘You are physically and mentally exhausted. You need to rest.’
The Nightingale Nurses Page 32