‘Well, you’ll have to get used to it,’ Helen said. ‘It’s about time someone looked after you for a change, instead of the other way round.’
Dora frowned. ‘We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?’
‘Stop being so stubborn, Dora Riley!
Helen’s words pulled them both up short. They were almost exactly the last words Helen had thrown at her, before—
As if she could read her mind, Helen quietly said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter now—’
‘It does,’ Helen insisted. She lowered her head. ‘Clare admitted it was her who wrote that letter and pretended it was from you,’ she said. ‘I think she felt so awful after what happened to you . . .’ She trailed off.
‘So you believe me now, do you?’ Dora couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. But she regretted it the moment she saw the wretched expression on her friend’s face.
‘I’m sorry. I should have known you wouldn’t break a promise,’ Helen said.
‘I’m not the only one you should have trusted.’
Helen nodded. ‘I know.’
‘How is the Major?’
‘Utterly furious with you for risking your life to take that gun off Arthur Jenkins. And so am I,’ she said sternly. ‘He reckons you saved his life.’
‘And he saved mine,’ Dora smiled.
They were both silent for a moment.
‘Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht . . .’
‘When can I see my family?’ Dora asked.
‘Tomorrow,’ Helen said. ‘Get some rest tonight.’
Dora chewed her lip. How would her children manage without her? And her mum, and Nanna Winnie?
Once again, Helen seemed to read her mind. ‘They’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Worry about yourself for a change.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’m going off duty in a minute, but I’ll make sure to bring you that morphia before I go. Is there anything else you need?’
Dora frowned. ‘There is one thing,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’
‘You can tell me if I’m going mad or not. Only I swear I can hear someone singing a Christmas carol . . .’
Helen smiled, and opened the door. Outside, in the gloom of the passageway, Dora could make out the dim outlines of half a dozen men in grey prison uniforms.
‘Matron gave them special permission to leave the ward, but I think they would have probably come anyway,’ Helen said. ‘They wanted to do something special for you. They said it’s your favourite?’
Dora nodded. ‘It is.’
‘I tried to tell them Christmas carols weren’t appropriate at Easter, but they wouldn’t listen.’ Helen rolled her eyes.
‘Oh, I dunno.’ Dora settled happily back against the pillows. ‘I reckon Christmas carols are nice any time of the year.’
Chapter Forty-Five
They sat in the police station until nearly midnight. Kitty, her mother and her father, all sitting in a row, staring at the wall in front of them. The brickwork was painted a shiny grey-green colour, pasted over with various signs and notices, some of them old, yellowing and curling at the corners.
To their left, the duty sergeant stood behind his desk, dealing with the various people who came in. There was a woman who’d lost her cat, another who’d lost her purse. A policeman came in, manhandling a young boy who’d been caught picking a pocket on Roman Road. Later in the evening, the rowdy drunks were hauled in, swearing and falling over their feet and still trying to swing punches at each other.
But it was to the right, a door marked Private, that Kitty and her parents turned their attention. That was where they’d taken Arthur three hours earlier. And there had been no word of him since.
‘That poor girl,’ her mother said quietly. ‘She will be all right, won’t she?’
Kitty nodded. ‘She was conscious and being transferred to sick bay when I left.’
But that still didn’t take away the sickening picture Kitty had of her sprawled on the floor, cradled in Major Von Mundel’s arms, blood soaking through the starched white of her uniform. She knew how close Dora had come to death.
But she couldn’t tell her mother that. Florrie Jenkins was upset and worried enough.
‘I don’t understand it,’ her mother said. ‘Why would our Arthur do something like that? It doesn’t make sense. He’s such a good boy . . .’
If you think that, then you don’t know him. Kitty bit back the retort. Her brother had turned into a twisted bully.
And we all know where he gets it from. She glanced sideways at her father. Horace Jenkins sat with his hands resting on his knees, staring at the floor.
‘It’s been such a long time. I do wish someone would come and tell us what’s going on.’ Her mother glanced towards the door. ‘Perhaps you should have a word with that sergeant, Horace? He might know—’
‘They’ll tell us when they’re good and ready,’ her father said gruffly. ‘No point in troubling anyone.’
‘But I can’t bear to think of Arthur being locked up in a cell—’
‘It’s no more than he deserves,’ Kitty muttered.
Her mother turned to her, shocked. ‘That’s your brother you’re talking about!’
‘He’s no brother of mine. Not after what he did.’
‘It was a moment of madness, that’s all—’
‘You didn’t see him, Mum!’ Every time Kitty closed her eyes she could see Arthur standing there, levelling their father’s old service revolver at Major Von Mundel. ‘If Dora Riley hadn’t got in the way he would have killed him, I’m sure of it. And then he would have hanged for it.’
‘Don’t!’ Her mother burst into tears, fumbling for her handkerchief.
‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Her father turned on her. ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage, without causing more trouble?’
‘Me?’ Kitty stared at him. ‘I’m not the one behind bars.’
‘No, but you’re the one who drove him to it!’ Her father’s eyes glittered with anger. ‘If you hadn’t taken up with that bloody German, none of this would have happened!’
‘And if you hadn’t gone on and on about Ray, and how we needed to get revenge on the Germans for what happened, he would never have picked up that gun in the first place!’
‘Ahem.’ The desk sergeant cleared his throat and sent them a severe look. ‘Quiet, please, or I’ll send you home.’
Her father lowered his voice. ‘I didn’t expect him to do something like this, did I? I only wanted him to sign up, to do his bit like anyone else—’
‘He couldn’t, could he? They didn’t want him.’
‘What?’
‘They turned him down, Dad. Unfit for service.’
Her father frowned. ‘He didn’t tell me . . .’
‘No, because he was too ashamed. He knew how much you wanted him to go and fight, and he felt he’d let you down.’ Kitty saw her father’s face fall, but she didn’t care. He deserved to hear the truth, even if it hurt him. ‘You know how Arthur worships you. He wanted to make you proud. So he took that gun and went to shoot the only German he could find.’
Her father stared down at his feet, shaken. ‘He should have told me.’
‘How could he?’ Kitty faced him angrily. ‘You’d only compare him to Ray, make him feel like he was less of a man than his brother—’
The door to their right swung open, and they all shot to their feet as Arthur appeared, flanked by a police constable. He looked white-faced and much younger than his eighteen years. For a moment, even Kitty felt a pang of pity for him.
‘We’re releasing him on bail,’ the policeman said. ‘Pending further charges.’
‘What will happen to him?’ her father asked.
‘That’s up to the court to decide, ain’t it? But I don’t suppose the judge will take kindly to someone running round a hospital, waving a gun around.’ He cuffed the back of Arthur’s head. ‘Be on your way, lad, and tr
y to stay out of trouble.’
Arthur didn’t reply. He looked sick and wretched.
‘Come on,’ Horace Jenkins said. ‘Let’s get you home.’
They made their way home in silence through the darkened, empty streets. Her father and Arthur trudged ahead, neither of them looking at each other. Kitty and her mother trailed behind.
‘He could go to prison, couldn’t he?’ her mother said. Kitty didn’t reply. ‘Oh Kitty, what’s happened to this family? We used to be so happy. Now Ray’s dead, and Arthur might go to prison, and you’ve left home—’
‘I didn’t leave,’ Kitty reminded her. ‘Dad threw me out, remember?’
‘I know,’ her mother sighed. ‘I think he regrets it now. He misses you, Kit. We all do.’
‘It’s too late for that, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ Her mother looked at her anxiously. ‘Do you really think it’s too late to put this family back together?’
Kitty stared bleakly ahead of her at her father, walking beside his son.
Her mother fell silent the rest of the way home. Once they were indoors, Horace Jenkins frogmarched his son into the parlour and pushed him down on to a hard wooden chair.
‘What have you got to say for yourself?’ he demanded.
Arthur hung his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled.
‘I should think so, too. Do you know how much worry you’ve caused your mother? And what’s all this about you being turned down for the army?’ he asked.
Arthur shot Kitty a mutinous look. ‘You told him!’
‘He’d have to know sometime,’ she shrugged.
‘That’s right,’ Horace said. ‘But I’d much rather have heard about it from my own son.’
Arthur gnawed moodily on his thumbnail. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t good enough.’
‘Now then, I won’t have that talk,’ her father said briskly. ‘There are ways and means around these things, lad, as I would have told you if you’d come to me in the first place. If we could go down to the doctor’s first thing in the morning, I’m sure we could get him to sign you fit. He’s not like those army doctors; he knows you—’
‘No.’
Kitty turned round. Her mother stood in the doorway, wearing an expression of determination she had never seen before.
Horace frowned over his shoulder at the interruption. ‘Don’t disturb me, Mother, I’m talking to our son—’
‘And I’m talking to you!’ Florrie advanced into the room. ‘I’m not having it. If the army doesn’t want him, then that’s fine by me. I don’t want to see another of my sons going off to fight, and I don’t know why you’d want to, either.’
Horace stared at her, lost for words. ‘It’s his duty—’
‘Bloody duty!’
Kitty blinked. She had never heard her mother use such language. But then, she’d never heard her raise her voice, either. ‘That’s all we heard from you, Horace Jenkins. Kitty’s right, that’s how all this started, with you pushing him all the time, trying to get him to live up to your expectations.’
‘Now you listen to me—’
‘No, you listen to me for a change.’ Florrie Jenkins confronted her husband. They made a strange picture, her standing nose to his puffed out chest, but Horace was no match for her utter defiance. ‘We all know what this is really about, don’t we? But you’re not going to bring Ray back, Horace, no matter how many Germans die.’ She swallowed hard, and Kitty could see her fighting down her emotion. ‘And you’re not going to make yourself feel better by hating and being angry, either. All you’re doing is driving the family apart.’ She looked up at him imploringly. ‘I’ve already lost one child. I don’t want to lose my son and my daughter, too.’
Horace stared down at her, for once lost for words. Kitty thought she could see a glitter of tears in his eyes.
‘And as for you—’ Florrie turned on Arthur, who shrank back in his seat. ‘What do you think your brother would say about what you’ve done? Do you think he’d be proud of you? I’ll tell you, shall I? He’d be disgusted with you. He’d be disgusted with all of us for what we’ve become since he went.’ She jabbed her finger in her son’s chest. ‘So I don’t want to hear you spouting any more nonsense, is that understood? And that goes for the rest of you, too.’ She swung round to face them all. ‘And you—’ she pointed at Kitty. ‘I want you to move back home.’
Kitty automatically glanced at her father. ‘Is that all right, Dad?’
Horace opened his mouth to speak, but her mother interrupted. ‘Oh, don’t look at him. It’s my house, too. I can say what goes. Isn’t that right, Father?’
Horace Jenkins looked sullen. ‘No one seems to care what I think,’ he mumbled.
Kitty looked at her mother, and saw her wink. Florrie Jenkins had found her voice again, and not a moment too soon.
Chapter Forty-Six
May 1945
On a warm Tuesday in May, the day after Germany surrendered to the Allies, Dora was finally allowed to leave the hospital.
She had her suitcase open on the bed and was trying to pack it when Helen came in.
‘Here, let me help you,’ she said, but Dora waved her away.
‘It’s all right, I can manage—’ she started to say, then she caught Helen’s look. ‘I’m being stubborn again, aren’t I?’
Helen smiled ruefully. ‘Just a bit.’
‘Oh, all right then. You can help.’
As Helen folded up Dora’s nightdress, she said, ‘I expect you’ll be glad to be going home at last?’
‘I’ll say!’ She had missed her family more than she could ever have imagined. All she wanted was to go home and hug her twins, and have a nice cup of tea and a natter with her mum.
She looked around the sick bay, her home for just over a month. ‘I won’t be sad to see the back of this place.’
‘That’s charming!’ Helen did her best to look hurt. ‘And after the way we’ve looked after you all these weeks.’ She straightened up, her hands on her hips. ‘Well, we’ll be glad to see the back of you, too, Dora Riley. I’ve never nursed such a difficult patient. You never do as you’re told.’
Dora laughed. ‘What did you expect? Never mind, you can get your revenge when I’m back on the ward.’
Helen’s expression grew serious. ‘I’m not sure there will be a POWs’ ward for much longer.’
‘No, there probably won’t.’ Dora was thoughtful. ‘I suppose you’ll be glad about that?’ she said to Helen. ‘You never did like nursing them, did you?’
‘No,’ Helen agreed, then added, ‘but the funny thing is I’ve grown rather fond of them. I’ve realised I was wrong to hate them all, just because of what one person did. There’s good and bad in everyone, isn’t there?’
Her gaze dropped to Dora’s injured shoulder, and Dora understood what she was thinking. It wasn’t a German who had pulled that gun on her.
‘I’m glad you think like that,’ she said. Perhaps they were both healing in their own way, she thought.
Helen fastened Dora’s suitcase and hauled it off the bed. ‘Come on, then. Mustn’t keep you from your family any longer, must we?’
She headed to the door, but Dora hung back. ‘Do you mind? There’s someone I’d like to see before I go.’
Helen sent her a look of understanding. ‘Try to be quick, won’t you?’
Dora hadn’t been up to the POWs’ ward since the day of the shooting. Her stomach fluttered as she walked through the double doors. She had thought she was getting over it, but if she closed her eyes she could see herself back in the kitchen, staring transfixed down the barrel of Arthur Jenkins’ gun.
She saw Miss Sloan hurrying towards her, and pulled herself together.
‘Oh, Nurse Riley, how lovely to see you,’ she smiled, exposing prominent teeth. ‘How are you, my dear?’
‘Getting better, thank you. They’re sending me home today.’ Dora gazed around the ward. ‘I was looking for Major Von Mundel.’
Miss Sloan f
rowned. ‘Now let me see, he was here a minute ago—’
‘I am here.’
He strode down the length of the ward towards them. With his tall figure and upright bearing, he managed to make his grey prison garb look like the smartest officer’s dress uniform.
Dora felt a small shock at how much she had missed him.
‘Nurse Riley,’ he greeted her in his usual stiff, formal manner. ‘How are you? You are looking much better, I think.’
‘I feel better, thank you.’
‘I am sorry I have not been able to visit you. I wanted to, but I was not granted permission.’ A shadow of sadness passed over his face.
Dora changed the subject, asking about the other patients on the ward. They spent a few pleasant minutes discussing Gefreiter Schroeder’s bronchitis, and Unteroffizier Lange’s ongoing bowel problems, and Major Von Mundel told her about a couple of the more interesting cases that had been admitted since she had been away.
As he was speaking, Kitty Jenkins went past, pushing a trolley set with dressings. She sent Dora a sideways glance and hurried on, her head down.
‘She doesn’t seem very pleased to see me,’ Dora observed.
‘She is a little embarrassed, I think.’
‘It wasn’t her fault.’
‘I know, but it is still difficult for her, no?’
‘I suppose so.’ Dora watched Kitty from the other end of the ward. ‘I wonder how Arthur is getting on up in Durham?’
Major Von Mundel’s lip curled. ‘I neither know nor care,’ he said.
‘And yet you didn’t get him locked up while you had the chance?’ Dora had refused to press charges against Arthur, but she was surprised when she found out Major Von Mundel had done the same. The police had not prosecuted, but his family had thought it best to send him up north to stay with one of his father’s cousins. The last Dora had heard from her mother, Arthur had got a job as a miner.
Major Von Mundel shook his head. ‘What would be the point?’ he said. ‘The boy’s family has suffered enough, losing one son. I would not want to be responsible for them losing another.’ He looked at Dora. ‘It is a time for forgiveness, Sister Riley. If we can’t forget the past, how can we ever have a future?’
A Nightingale Christmas Carol Page 30