by Maureen Lee
‘That’d be nice.’ Dad seemed much better lately and had even walked as far as Marsh Lane shops the other day when he’d heard Ernie Robinson had cigarettes in stock. Kitty felt sure he wouldn’t mind if she deserted him one Saturday.
‘I wouldn’t mind coming with you,’ Harriet put in. ‘I prefer the theatre to the cinema, but I’d make an exception for Gone With the Wind.’
‘It’s all right for some people, isn’t it?’ Clara Watkins drew heavily on her cigarette and flicked the ash on the floor. ‘I wish I could flit off to the pictures whenever I felt like it, but then some of us have got responsibilities, such as a husband to look after.’ Clara could never resist pointing out that she was the only one who was married. ‘Anyroad, my George considers pictures are a waste of time and money. Some of the nurses virtually live there when they’re off duty; either that or they’re out bloody dancing.’
‘It’s what’s called enjoying yourself, Watkins,’ Harriet said mildly. ‘Films are a brief escape from reality, and reality can be pretty bleak these days.’ She winked at Kitty. ‘That’s a pretty ring, I’ve never seen you wear it before. Don’t tell me you got married overnight?’
Kitty looked down at the engraved band on the third finger of her left hand. She’d cleaned it the night before with silver polish until it sparkled. There hadn’t been the opportunity to tell Harriet and Lucy about the ring that morning and she had no intention of doing so just yet, not with Watkins present.
‘I got it off a friend,’ she said, wondering why Clara Watkins was eyeing the ring suspiciously as she rolled herself yet another cigarette.
‘Well,’ Harriet sighed, looking at her watch. ‘The great man has done his rounds by now and we’d better get back to work. The patients will have been holding themselves in all this time, so there’ll be a rush on bedpans.’
‘I’ll be along in a minute,’ Clara Watkins said. ‘As soon as I’ve finished this ciggie.’
At three o’clock each afternoon, the patients were served with a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter. Harriet and Kitty were just about to leave with the trolley, when Nurse Bellamy came into the kitchen.
‘Quigley,’ she said quietly, ‘as soon as you’ve finished, I’d like to see you in my office.’
‘All right, Staff.’
‘Have you done something wrong?’ Harriet demanded.
‘Not as far as I know,’ said Kitty. ‘Why?’
‘I didn’t like her tone of voice. She usually converses in a bellow. When she sounds normal I begin to worry.’
‘Oh, Harriet, don’t! Now you’ve got me worried.’
While they went round with the trolley, Kitty felt on edge. As soon as they returned to the kitchen, Harriet said, ‘Go and see what Bellamy wants. I’ll collect the dirty dishes.’
Nurse Bellamy was sitting behind the desk in her little dungeon in the basement when Kitty arrived.
‘Shut the door,’ she snapped.
Kitty obeyed and stood in the middle of the room, feeling uncomfortable and wondering what on earth to do with her hands.
‘Where did you get the ring?’
The question took her so much by surprise, that Kitty jumped. ‘Off a friend,’ she stammered in reply.
‘I’d like a more specific answer if you don’t mind. Which friend?’
‘Martin McCabe. He gave it to me yesterday afternoon.’
Nurse Bellamy pursed her lips and her little chin tightened into a ball. She said nothing for several seconds and, picking up a pencil from the desk, began to twist it between her fingers as if she were weighing up what her next words should be.
‘Have you any idea what a serious offence you have committed?’ she asked eventually.
‘Offence?’ gasped Kitty, startled.
‘You have taken an item of jewellery from a seriously ill – no, from a terminally ill patient, and you don’t regard that as an offence?’ The woman’s voice was stark with contempt.
Kitty felt her blood run cold. ‘I never took it! In fact, I didn’t want it. It’s his mam’s wedding ring and it made me feel uncomfortable putting it on, but Martin insisted. In fact …’ She paused, embarrassed at the thought of conveying to this unsympathetic person the words Martin had spoken to her in confidence. ‘I promised to be his girl. He’s terrified no-one will miss him when he dies.’
‘Twaddle!’
‘It’s not twaddle.’ Always slow to anger, even more so over the last ten years when she’d required never-ending patience with her dad, nevertheless Kitty felt a stir of resentment curl in her breast. The more she thought, the more the resentment grew, until she could contain it no longer. ‘How dare you call it twaddle?’ she exploded. ‘Martin McCabe is dying and he wants me to be his girl. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Because you’re not his girl, you’re his nurse.’ Nurse Bellamy seemed remarkably unimpressed by Kitty’s show of rage. ‘I also understand you’ve been visiting this young man out of working hours?’
‘So what?’ Kitty jutted out her chin aggressively.
‘It’s entirely against hospital rules, that’s what.’ The older woman pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I’ve no time to waste arguing with you, Quigley. We’ll pay you until the end of the week, but I don’t want to see you on these premises again. Please arrange for your uniform to be returned.’
‘You mean you’re sacking me?’
‘I am.’ Nurse Bellamy thrust out her hand. ‘Oh, and I’d like the ring, please.’
Kitty put her hands behind her back. ‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘It is my business,’ Kitty cried, ‘because if you’re going to give it back to Martin, that would be cruel beyond words.’
A flicker of a frown appeared on Nurse Bellamy’s face. ‘I shall discuss the matter with Sister Naughton in due course,’ she said crisply. Sister Naughton was second only to Matron in authority. ‘Just give me the ring.’
‘No! Not till I know what you’re going to do with it. Another thing,’ Kitty continued as the full horror of what had happened began to sink into her brain. ‘What will Martin think if I just disappear? He’ll be heartbroken.’
‘If he is, Quigley, then it will be entirely your fault. You had absolutely no right to build up a relationship with a patient which causes him to be heartbroken if you’re no longer here. Say if you had to leave for some other reason – if you’d been knocked down by a car, for instance? It’s unprofessional to say the least, and foolish in the extreme.’
Kitty’s anger dissipated completely. Nurse Bellamy was right. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said abjectly. She put the ring on the desk.
‘Thank you, Quigley. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with some work.’
Harriet and Lucy were in the rest room and in the process of putting on their coats to go home when Kitty returned. Immediately she saw them, she burst into tears. ‘I’ve been sacked,’ she sobbed. She explained why, finishing, ‘I know I shouldn’t have taken the ring. It didn’t seem right at the time, but I didn’t like to refuse.’
‘I did warn you, Kitty, that nursing is for kindhearts, not softhearts,’ Harriet said gently. She sat on the chair beside Kitty and stroked her hand.
‘I know you did. Oh, I wish I’d taken notice, it’s just that I felt so sorry for Martin.’
‘That’s understandable. We all feel sorry for him, but in a way, love, you’re preying on his emotions by allowing yourself to get carried away, taking his ring and letting him think of you as his girl. They’re terribly vulnerable, our poor young men. We’re the only women in their lives during this frightening period and they fall in love with us so easily. Even I once had a proposal of marriage from a sailor half my age. Geordie – Martin – could have given his ring to any one of us.’
‘I’ve been an idiot,’ Kitty wept. ‘I wish Bellamy would give me another chance.’
Harriet put her finger to her lips. ‘Just a minute. I’ll see what
I can do.’
She left the room. Lucy took her place on the chair beside Kitty. ‘I bet it was Clara Watkins who told Bellamy about the ring,’ she said. ‘She’s forever rooting through the patients’ lockers on the look-out for tobacco. She probably recognised it when she saw it on your finger.’
Kitty remembered the way Clara Watkins had stared earlier on. ‘I’ll never forgive her if it was,’ she said.
Harriet was gone for ages. After half an hour, Lucy said she had to go home to get the tea ready. ‘Me dad’s quite likely to blow his top if his meal’s not on the table. Since he started work, he seems to think the whole world circles round just him.’ Lucy’s dad had been deployed to help repair houses damaged in the Blitz.
It was almost five o’clock by the time Harriet returned. ‘Nurse Bellamy would like to see you in her office, Kitty,’ she said.
‘She’s not going to tear me off another strip, is she?’
‘Just go and hear what she has to say.’
‘After considerable thought, I’ve decided to give you one more chance, Quigley,’ Nurse Bellamy said glacially. ‘Not for your sake, mind you, but for the sake of the hospital. Putting aside the foolishness concerning the ring, you have the makings of a good nurse. But one chance you’re getting, that’s all.’
‘Thank you. Oh, thank you.’ Kitty was about to burst into tears again when she remembered Harriet. Nursing held no place for softhearts.
‘As to the patient concerned,’ Nurse Bellamy continued, ‘thinking about it further, I realise it would indeed be cruel to sever the relationship you have so unwisely formed. You may continue seeing him for a short period once you have finished your duties, but you must never become involved with a patient again, Quigley. Never again.’
‘I won’t, I promise.’
‘Good. Regarding the ring, it seems to have been given and taken in good faith. Keep it. Seaman McCabe has no relatives. It will only be returned to the Admiralty when he dies.’ She glanced at Kitty. ‘And he will die very shortly, Quigley. I hope you are prepared for that eventuality?’
‘Yes,’ Kitty said simply. ‘I’m quite prepared.’
It wasn’t until a still shaking Kitty was in bed that night that she began to wonder about Harriet Mansell. It seemed very odd that she, a mere auxiliary, had been able to persuade Nurse Bellamy to think again. She felt too relieved to wonder about the matter too deeply. All that mattered was she still had her beloved job.
At the end of Jessica’s first week as the proprietor of a garage, she was beginning to feel glad that Rita Mott had insisted the arrangement be for only a month initially, because she hadn’t even taken the five pounds required for the rent.
On the first day, she cleaned the office thoroughly and settled Penny with her toys on an old blanket she’d brought with her. Then she placed the metal OPEN sign in the forecourt and waited for Dennis Mott’s old customers to return to the fold.
Plenty of motorists stopped for fuel, but as the petrol ration ranged from four gallons a month for a tiny Austin Seven, up to a maximum of ten gallons for larger cars, the amounts she sold were small. Several auto-bike riders bought only half a coupon’s worth for their tiny engines. As the fuel had already been bought by Rita Mott, they’d have to come to some sort of arrangement as to how the money would be shared out.
Mid-morning, a man drove his Ford Eight onto the forecourt and drew up outside the workshop leaving the engine running. Jessica wiped her clean hands on a rag and tried to look busy as she approached him, smiling brilliantly. She was well aware of the effect her smile could have on most men.
‘Can I help you?’ she enquired.
‘There’s a funny knocking noise coming from the engine,’ the man complained. ‘It’s been going on for a week or more.’
‘There could be all sorts of reasons for that. At worst, your big end’s gone. On the other hand, it could be something simple like a frayed fan belt. I’ll take a look, shall I?’
The man’s jaw dropped several inches. ‘You’ll take a look? You must be joking. Isn’t there a proper mechanic about?’
‘I am a proper mechanic.’ The smile having had no apparent effect, Jessica decided to look grave instead. ‘I’ll take a peek under the bonnet and see if there’s anything obviously wrong.’
‘No thanks, lady,’ the man snorted contemptuously. ‘There’s no way a woman’s going to peek under my bonnet, thanks all the same.’ With that, he got back into the car and drove off.
‘Horrible man!’ Jessica cursed. She went over to the office. ‘Wasn’t he a horrible man, sweetheart?’
Penny’s face was screwed in an expression of earnest concentration as she placed one wooden block on top of another. Jessica held her breath when she reached four, but Penny decided she’d done enough and swept the whole edifice away with a squeal.
‘Dada!’ she cried.
Her first word!
Jessica knelt on the blanket and gave her daughter a tearful hug. ‘You clever girl! But why dada? Why not mama?’
Just then, Rita Mott came wandering into the workshop wearing a vivid flowered dressing gown, a cigarette poking out of her unpainted mouth and a tumbler of what looked like whisky in her hand. Without her garish make-up, she looked considerably younger. Her hair was looped in big sausage-like curls. Having taken out her curlers, she’d not yet combed it.
Jessica went out to meet her.
‘How are you getting on?’ Rita asked.
‘Not so bad. I’ve sold a lot of petrol.’
‘It was lovely having a lie-in and not having to do it meself. It’s a bind, having to make yourself respectable so early in the morning.’ She eyed Jessica, in her navy-blue slacks and oldest jumper, up and down. ‘You look smart, I must say. I was thinking of buying a pair of slacks meself, they’re all the rage since the war, but I’m not sure I’d suit them, being small. They suit you a treat. You’ve got the figure for them.’
‘Thanks.’ Jessica had bought the slacks on Saturday, feeling rather daring when she tried them on. She’d never worn trousers in her life before, and they felt rather peculiar.
‘There’s a pair of clean overalls in the locker in the office for when you have dirty work to do. My Den’s not exactly Mr Universe, so they should fit you.’
Penny, bored with the blocks, came crawling out of the office in search of her mother. Rita Mott watched astounded as she used Jessica’s leg to pull herself to her feet.
‘You’ve got a kid!’ she said in a shocked voice. ‘Christ Almighty, a kid could get into all sorts of trouble here. It’s dangerous. What if she falls down the pit?’
‘She won’t. I’ve tied a length of rope to her reins and the other end’s attached to the desk in the office. See! She can’t reach the pit.’
‘Even so!’ Rita didn’t look very convinced. ‘I would have thought a kid’d be bored witless, stuck in this filthy hole all day.’
‘She might if she was older.’ Jessica did her best to keep the impatience out of her voice, feeling this wasn’t any of Rita Mott’s business. ‘If I was home, all she’d do is play with her toys. When she needs a nap, I’ll put her in the pushchair. I thought she might play in the garden later on.’
‘I suppose you know best, being her mother.’ Rita was staring at Penny as if she was a creature from another planet. ‘I don’t know nothing about kids. Me and Den never had any, and I’m not sure if I’d’ve been all that keen if we had. What’s her name?’
‘Penny,’ said Jessica, adding, ‘She’s nearly fourteen months old,’ to save Rita from asking.
‘Hallo, Penny,’ Rita said awkwardly.
Penny had inherited her mother’s smile and gave Rita the full benefit as she tottered towards her, grabbed her legs and looked up at her appealingly.
Rita asked nervously, ‘What does she want?’
‘She wants you to pick her up, but you don’t have to. She’s a terrible weight.’
A horn honked and Jessica hastily left the workshop and served a cust
omer with petrol. The man was unusually garrulous and wanted to know where Rita was and how was Den getting on in the army.
Jessica explained about Rita, but expressed total ignorance about her husband’s progress in the military. ‘If you and any of your acquaintances need work doing, the garage is open for business again,’ she told him.
‘So she managed to get a mechanic, after all?’ he remarked.
In view of her previous experience, Jessica felt it wise not to say the mechanic was herself. ‘A very good mechanic,’ she said.
‘I’ll bear that in mind, though I don’t have any acquaintances who own a car. This isn’t mine, it belongs to me boss who just sent me out in search of petrol. You don’t get many car owners in Bootle.’
This was something that had already begun to dawn on Jessica when she noticed the singular lack of traffic in the road – and most of that was commercial. She went back into the workshop, where Rita and Penny were sitting on the blanket playing with bricks.
‘Where did Den get his work from?’ she asked.
Rita thought hard. ‘I never took much interest in the business meself, but I know he had a contract with the GPO in Balliol Road. He used to maintain all their vans. Oh, and he used to do work for Mersey Cable Works, as well.’
‘I suppose I could get in touch and inform them the garage has re-opened.’
‘You’ll have a job. Both the GPO and Mersey Cable Works were bombed. I’ve no idea if they’ve opened up again. Come on, Penny, put another block on, then you’ll have five.’
‘Oh, no!’ Jessica groaned.
‘By the way, a letter came for Den this morning. I don’t suppose the Ministry have caught on he’s been called up.’ Rita produced a creased letter out of the pocket of her dressing gown.
‘Oh, no!’ Jessica groaned again as she read the contents. From this month, November, spare parts for vehicles could only be obtained by the production of a certificate from the Ministry of War Transport. Tyres could be replaced if an official inspector confirmed the existing ones had worn out. It meant that even if she could persuade motorists to allow her to mend their cars, obtaining the spare parts could prove rather difficult to say the least.