A Nightingale Christmas Wish

by Donna Douglas

  ‘It was good enough for you once,’ David reminded him.

  ‘So it was. Until I found out what I was missing.’ Jonathan reached for his wife’s hand and kissed it.

  ‘Not everyone is as fortunate as you,’ David muttered.

  ‘That’s because you’re not looking hard enough. As I said, I’m sure Esther would be able to introduce you—’

  ‘Leave him alone, Jonathan,’ she warned again. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t need your help to find a wife.’

  ‘Thank you, Esther.’ David shot her a grateful look.

  ‘Besides,’ she went on, ‘when the right woman comes along, he’ll be the one doing the chasing. And he won’t need any assistance from us,’ she added firmly.

  ‘Well said.’ David nodded. ‘Now, can we change the subject, please?’

  ‘If we must,’ Jonathan agreed. ‘As I was saying, about Sister Dawson . . .’

  ‘Not again! I’d rather go back to discussing my love life, if that’s the only other topic on offer.’

  ‘I just don’t know what you’ve got against the girl, that’s all,’ Jonathan persisted. ‘Sister Dawson is the most conscientious nurse I’ve ever met.’

  David stifled a sigh of irritation. ‘She makes endless mistakes.’

  ‘Only because you make her nervous.’

  David put down his knife and fork with a clatter. ‘I make her nervous?’

  ‘Surely you must have noticed? The poor girl is a nervous wreck around you.’

  ‘I hardly think that’s true.’

  ‘She told me so herself.’

  David stared at him, shocked into silence for a moment. ‘I had no idea . . .’ he murmured.

  ‘No, because you’re too busy barking at her to notice.’

  David glanced at Esther. Her kind, plain face was appalled.

  ‘David would never do such a thing,’ she defended him. ‘He’s far too nice.’

  ‘You haven’t seen him,’ Jonathan said. ‘For some reason, poor Helen Dawson has got right under his skin.’

  David stared down at his plate, troubled. He knew he’d been hard on Sister Dawson, but didn’t realise he’d made her so unhappy. It was a revelation to him.

  ‘Well, if she takes offence that easily, it just proves my point that she’s too young and inexperienced for the job,’ he defended. But even he had to admit his protests sounded very feeble. And he could see in his friends’ reproachful faces that they thought the same.

  He thought about it all the way home. Jonathan was right, Helen Dawson had got under his skin, and he didn’t know why. At first, he’d had genuine concerns about her suitability for the post. And he thought he’d been proved right by her endless mistakes. But the revelation that he made her nervous had come as a complete surprise to him. Up until that moment he hadn’t realised how much his behaviour had affected her.

  He should have known after that day when she’d confronted him in his consulting room. He could still remember her standing before him, quivering with rage and wounded pride. At the time, he’d felt completely justified in the way he’d treated her. But now he wasn’t so sure why he’d reacted so badly. It was almost as if he’d been looking for an excuse to let fly at her.

  He was shocked by his own callousness, and even more so because he had been completely unaware of it. He prided himself on rarely losing his temper and being able to get on with everyone.

  Everyone, it seemed, except Helen Dawson.

  Chapter Twelve

  THE ARRIVAL OF the Christmas tree was always a big occasion on the ward.

  The porters brought it in just before visiting time was due to start on Sunday afternoon, and Frannie and her nurses set about decorating it, to a chorus of cat calls and general amusement from the patients.

  ‘Need a hand, Sister?’ joked one of the patients as he lay strung up in traction from head to foot like a broken puppet. ‘Just say the word and I’ll hop up that ladder and help you.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Wilson,’ Frannie answered with a smile, ‘but I think we can manage.’

  ‘Ooh, Nurse, I can see your stocking tops from here!’ another voice shouted from the other side of the ward.

  Frannie shook her head in mock disapproval. ‘Really, Mr Pilcher, you should be ashamed of yourself,’ she scolded. ‘I’ve a good mind to tell your wife when she comes in.’

  ‘Sorry, Nurse,’ he mumbled, turning bright red. Frannie wasn’t surprised he looked so nervous. She’d met Mrs Pilcher and she wasn’t a woman to be trifled with.

  She was still perched on a ladder trying to fix a glass bauble to one of the upper branches when the visitors started to arrive. Wives, sweethearts and mothers poured in, eagerly clutching their visitors’ tickets, laden down with gifts for their loved ones. They gave Frannie a wave as they passed.

  ‘You want to be careful on that ladder, Sister,’ one of the women called out. ‘That’s how my old man ended up in here!’

  ‘Oh, I won’t fall. It’s quite safe, I assure you—’

  No sooner had she said it than the ladder started to wobble. Frannie put out a hand to steady herself, and the bauble fell from her fingers.

  A hand shot out and caught it inches before it hit the ground. Frannie found herself looking straight into John Campbell’s green eyes. Halfway up the ladder, she was on a level with his face.

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, handing it back to her.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He wasn’t wearing his uniform today. But he looked just as distinguished in his trench coat and trilby hat, a brown paper package tucked under one arm.

  Frannie watched him as he made his way down the ward towards his son’s bed at the far end. Below her, she was aware of the other nurses’ hushed whispers.

  ‘Gosh, he’s handsome, isn’t he? You can see where his son gets his looks from.’

  ‘Pity he hasn’t inherited his father’s manners!’

  ‘I think I prefer him in his uniform, though.’

  I don’t, Frannie thought.

  She watched from the ladder as John reached Adam’s bedside. She saw him lean forward as if to embrace his son, then he seemed to change his mind. He placed his package down carefully on the locker and sat on the chair farthest from the bed.

  Speak to him, Frannie silently begged Adam. But the young man turned his face away to stare into space. John sat for a few minutes, addressing the back of his son’s head. Then, defeated, he picked up his hat, slung his trench coat over his arm, and left.

  ‘Gosh, that visit didn’t last long, did it?’ One of the nurses below her voiced Frannie’s thoughts. ‘They can’t have much to say to each other, can they?’

  Frannie looked back to where Adam lay, staring at the ceiling. She suspected the opposite was true. They had a great deal to tell each other, they just didn’t know how to say it.

  They finished decorating the tree, and all stood back to admire their handiwork.

  ‘Now we just have to put the star on the top.’ Frannie turned to the nurses. ‘Who would like to do the honours?’

  ‘You do it, Sister,’ Bridget O’Hara said.

  But as Frannie started up the ladder, a voice blurted out, ‘Wait! You have to make a wish first.’

  Frannie looked over her shoulder. Effie O’Hara was blushing bright red while her sisters standing to either side of her stared her down furiously.

  ‘We always do it at home,’ she defended herself in a small voice. ‘You all make a wish on the Christmas tree star, and see whose wish comes true.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Frannie smiled. ‘Right, Nurses, let’s all make a wish, shall we?’

  ‘I wish my sister would learn to shut up!’ Bridget O’Hara muttered. But the other nurses all closed their eyes and wished. Katie O’Hara in particular had her eyes screwed tightly shut, and Frannie smiled, knowing the young staff nurse would be wishing her fiancé Tom would name the date.

  Frannie paused and closed her eyes, too. She wished as she always did that Herr Hitle
r would come to his senses and leave everyone in peace, and take away all thoughts of war.

  When visiting time was over and all the patients had been settled, Frannie went off duty. It was starting to snow again, the drifting flakes illuminated in the pale light from the ward windows.

  She was supposed to be helping the sisters’ choir rehearse their songs for the Christmas show, but as she crossed the courtyard Frannie noticed John Campbell sitting on a bench under the plane trees. He looked alone and forlorn, elbows resting on his knees, head cradled in his hands.

  Frannie hesitated for a moment, then went over to him.

  ‘John?’

  He looked up, distracted at first. Then he stood up. ‘Frannie.’

  ‘Have you been sitting here all this time? You must be frozen.’

  He looked down at his hands. Even in the fading light, Frannie could see his fingers were tinged blue with cold.

  ‘I hadn’t really noticed,’ he said.

  He looked so lost, Frannie’s heart went out to him. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she offered. ‘Come back up to the ward and I’ll get the maid to make us one.’

  Hope flared in his eyes. ‘Are you sure? I don’t want to take up your time, I’m sure you must have things to do.’

  Frannie smiled. ‘Nothing I can’t cancel.’ The choir could practise without her for once, she decided. She was in no mood to listen to their bickering anyway.

  ‘In that case – thank you. That would be very welcome.’

  Bridget O’Hara seemed most put out to see Frannie back on the ward so soon after she was supposed to have left. The junior nurses were also clearly fascinated to see her with the father of one of the patients. But Frannie ignored their curious looks as she directed John to her sitting room at the far end. All the sisters had private quarters attached to their wards, where they occasionally took refuge. Frannie hardly used hers, preferring to spend her time with her nurses and patients. But she was grateful that the ward maid always insisted on making up the fire just in case. The small room was wonderfully warm and cosy as she and John sat down in armchairs to either side of the fireplace.

  She watched him as he leaned forward, warming his hands in front of the flames. The flickering golden light softened his chiselled profile.

  She started the conversation. ‘It didn’t seem to go very well with Adam earlier?’

  He smiled thinly. ‘You noticed?’

  ‘You didn’t stay very long.’

  ‘I’d already outstayed my welcome, believe me.’

  The maid brought their tea, and set the tray down on the low table between them.

  ‘Why is he so hostile towards you?’ Frannie asked, when they were alone again.

  ‘I told you, I offend his beliefs.’

  ‘It must be more than that,’ she said. ‘The way he reacted to you earlier – it’s more than just a dislike of your uniform.’

  John was silent for a moment, weighing his words. ‘You’re right,’ he agreed heavily. ‘I haven’t always been the best father in the world.’

  Frannie drew his cup towards her and picked up the teapot. ‘In what way?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Then start at the beginning.’ She poured tea into the cups. It was a deep, coppery brew, just as she liked it.

  He hesitated again. ‘His mother and I didn’t have a very happy marriage,’ he said. ‘To be honest, we probably shouldn’t have married at all. But Eileen got pregnant, and—’ He paused. ‘She didn’t want to get married, either. She wanted to have the baby quietly and give it up. But I couldn’t stand the thought of my child growing up unwanted in an orphanage, like I did.’

  Seeing his desolation, it was all Frannie could do not to reach out to him. She passed him his cup, saying nothing.

  ‘And so we were married, and it all went wrong from the start.’ John spooned sugar into his tea. ‘I can’t blame Eileen. She didn’t ask for a soldier for a husband, but that was what she ended up with. And it made her very unhappy.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She left me for someone else.’ He stirred his tea slowly, the spoon clattering around in the cup. ‘She took Adam with her, and I didn’t see him for years. Eileen didn’t think it was a good idea,’ he said. ‘She reckoned he had a new father, and she wanted nothing to do with me.’

  ‘And you accepted that?’

  ‘I was stationed in India at the time, so there wasn’t a great deal I could do about it,’ he said. ‘Besides, I agreed with her. I thought Adam would be better off without me.’

  ‘But you were his father!’

  ‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘Looking back on it, I can’t imagine what possessed me to give him up. But as long as he was loved, that was all I really cared about.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘Eileen died, and Adam’s so-called loving new step-father couldn’t wait to get rid of him.’ John frowned. ‘The first I found out about it was when my commanding officer sent for me and informed me I had to collect my son.’ He shook his head. ‘Suddenly I had a very angry, grief-stricken twelve-year-old boy to look after. We were father and son, but we were strangers to each other.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t look after him myself. Looking back on it, I know I should have resigned my commission then and taken a desk job somewhere so I could be with him. But I didn’t. The army was the only life I’d known, and I didn’t know what else I’d do. So I sent Adam to boarding school.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He watched her closely. ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘Well, I can see why he would grow up resenting your uniform, can’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ John agreed heavily. ‘I can see it myself now. But at the time I wasn’t thinking clearly. I did my best.’ His green eyes met hers, pleading for understanding. ‘Or what I thought was best at the time,’ he amended. ‘But now I can see I made one big mistake after another, and I’ve been doing so ever since.’ He put down his cup. ‘At any rate, now I’ve lost my son. Adam’s made it very clear he doesn’t want to know me.’

  ‘You can’t give up hope,’ Frannie urged.

  ‘But you’ve seen how he is with me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.’

  ‘On the contrary, I think he needs you more than he’s willing to let on.’

  John’s brows drew together. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know he does. You have to keep trying. Be patient.’

  John let out a deep sigh. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I? I’m not going to abandon my son. Even if he does despise me.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

  His mouth curved. ‘Then you don’t know Adam. Over the years he’s gone out of his way to embrace everything I detest.’

  ‘You detest pacifism?’ Frannie said.

  ‘No one who has been through a war can detest peace,’ John said. ‘But I’ve been trained to do my duty. And I’m afraid Adam finds that idea rather laughable. He’d rather be with his high-minded friends, discussing poetry and politics.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with poetry and politics,’ Frannie said.

  ‘I suppose not. But I’m just a simple soldier.’ He considered her across the table. ‘You were always the clever one, as I recall. I thought you might become a teacher like your father?’

  ‘I thought about it,’ she said. ‘But after I’d served as a VAD in France, I thought I might as well continue training as a nurse.’

  He blinked. ‘You were with the Voluntary Aid Detachment?’

  She nodded. ‘I signed up when I was eighteen. I went out to be closer to Matthew. But by the time I was posted out to France, he was already missing.’

  John was silent for a long time. Frannie felt his mood shift and realised that even after all these years, Matthew’s death still affected him as much as it did her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I suppose you must find it difficult to talk about what happened
?’

  ‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘Yes, I do.’

  He didn’t meet her eye when he said it. There were so many questions in Frannie’s mind, things she longed to know, but she didn’t dare ask them.

  ‘And yet you joined up again,’ she said.

  ‘I told you, the army was the only place I’d ever felt I belonged,’ he said.

  ‘But I thought you liked working on the farm?’

  ‘Oh, I did. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to Matthew’s family for taking me in, and they treated me very well. But I was never going to be more than a farm worker to them. In the army, I learned that if I worked hard I could earn respect. I managed to work my way up through the ranks and when the war ended, I had the chance of a commission. Suddenly people were looking up to me as an officer, not down on me as a workhouse boy.’

  ‘I hope you don’t feel I ever looked down on you?’

  His eyes met hers. ‘No,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You were one of the few people who treated me as if I belonged. I was always grateful to you for that.’

  They finished their tea shortly afterwards, and John stood up to leave.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s good to be able to talk to someone about Adam.’

  ‘You can come and speak to me any time,’ Frannie assured him. ‘My door is always open.’

  ‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’

  She watched him striding down the passageway, his military bearing evident even in civilian clothes. Seeing his tall, straight stance, his head held high, no one could possibly guess he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  Frannie sighed. She’d wished on the Christmas tree star that the world would see sense and stop all the talk of war. Now she longed for another wish so she could bring John Campbell and his son together.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DORA DOYLE – OR Riley, as she was now – was a no-nonsense East End girl. She had been one of Helen’s best friends while they were training, but she’d left nursing when she married a hospital porter. Now she and Nick lived on the ground floor of a neat little terraced house off Old Ford Road.