A Nightingale Christmas Wish

by Donna Douglas

  Helen could feel him watching her in the darkness. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Quite all right, thank you.’ She couldn’t look at him.

  ‘Good . . . good. Then I’ll be off.’

  He was already on his way, walking briskly back across the yard towards the Casualty hall.

  Chapter Sixteen

  EFFIE ALWAYS LOOKED forward to Christmas on the ward. Lots of the nurses moaned about being away from their families on Christmas Day, but much as she missed her mother and father back in Ireland, Effie loved the festive atmosphere at the hospital.

  And it was especially festive in Male Orthopaedics. The high-ceilinged ward was festooned with decorations, swags of paper chains hanging down from the light fittings. The towering Christmas tree stood beside Sister’s desk, weighed down with so much tinsel and so many baubles it was difficult to see the green branches beneath.

  The patients on Blake weren’t as poorly as those in Medical and Surgical, so they were able to join in with the fun. There was much laughter as Sister Blake handed out small gifts to each of them.

  ‘A handkerchief?’ Mr Carson, an amputee, mocked as he unwrapped his package. ‘You might have got me a bottle of brandy, Sister.’

  ‘Could have been worse, mate. She could have got you socks!’ the man in the next bed shot back, and they both roared with laughter.

  After the beds and backs had been done and the patients were all washed and comfortable, the nurses crowded into Sister’s tiny office for coffee. She presented them each with a gift. Effie got a small bottle of scent, Californian Poppy, which she dabbed on to her wrists when no one was looking.

  They also presented Sister Blake with the gift they’d clubbed together to buy. Effie steeled herself as she watched her unfasten the wrapping paper, knowing her sister Bridget had chosen it for her.

  Sure enough, it was a suitably improving book.

  ‘Reflections on the New Testament. Oh, how thoughtful.’ Effie could see Sister Blake putting on her best smile as she read the cover. She knew how the poor woman felt. She’d worn the very same expression herself many times when she received her sister’s gifts.

  ‘Told you she’d prefer a cigarette case,’ Katie muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

  Later, Christmas dinner was served. The turkey was brought to the ward amid much ceremony by Mr Hopkins, then Mr Hobbs the Orthopaedic Consultant came up to do the honours and carve the bird, much to the amusement of the patients.

  ‘Blimey, I know how that poor bird feels,’ Mr Maudsley groaned as he watched Mr Hobbs struggling inexpertly with a wing. ‘He did the same thing to my hip!’

  After dinner, the nurses hurried to clear everything away and get the ward straight again before visiting time.

  It meant a great deal to the families to be able to spend at least part of Christmas Day with their loved ones. Effie could see the children’s faces shining with excitement as they crowded outside with their mothers and grandparents, waiting for the doors to open.

  As usual, she found herself watching Adam Campbell. He was propped up, his eyes fixed avidly on the doors. Effie knew who he was waiting for. She wondered if the mysterious Adeline would finally answer his plea and come today. Surely she couldn’t abandon him on Christmas Day?

  But it seemed she could. As the doors opened and the visitors streamed in, Effie watched Adam’s hopeful expression slowly fade. Her own hopes began to fade with them.

  ‘She’s not coming,’ she said to Katie.

  ‘Hmm? Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Adeline. Mr Campbell’s mystery girlfriend.’

  ‘Oh, her.’ Katie shrugged. ‘I expect she’s ditched him and found someone else by now.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘It happens all the time,’ her sister said airily. ‘Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose. Go and put the kettle on, will you? Sister wants us to serve tea to the visitors.’

  Sister Blake also produced a tin of shortbread biscuits her mother had sent her, much to Bridget’s dismay.

  ‘Biscuits, Sister?’ Effie’s sister frowned, as if she had never heard the word. ‘We don’t usually offer the visitors biscuits.’

  ‘Yes, well, it’s Christmas, isn’t it? Don’t look so worried, O’Hara,’ Sister Blake grinned. ‘One tin of biscuits isn’t going to turn the ward into Sodom and Gomorrah!’

  Effie was glad of the excuse to go over to Adam Campbell. She parked her trolley at the end of his bed. ‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked.

  She half expected him to snap her head off as usual, but all she got was a listless, ‘No, thank you, Nurse.’

  ‘Are you sure? I can make coffee for you, if you prefer? And there are biscuits, look.’ She proffered the tin.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  Effie looked at her watch. ‘You never know, she might still come.’

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘How do you know? It’s only a quarter-past two.’

  ‘She won’t come,’ Adam repeated, more firmly this time.

  Effie stared helplessly at him. She wished she had the power to make him feel better, but all the splints and poultices in the world couldn’t mend a broken heart.

  ‘You did post the letter, didn’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘I put it in the postbox myself,’ Effie said. He’d asked her that question so many times, she was tired of hearing it.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Adam gave her a sad little smile.

  Just then the doors opened and they both looked up sharply. But it was only Adam’s father. He came down the ward, smiling hopefully, a brightly wrapped parcel tucked under one arm.

  ‘At least you have a visitor,’ Effie said brightly.

  It was a relief to be able to leave Adam with his father. But his depression seemed to hang over her as she pushed her tea trolley around the rest of the ward.

  ‘Why are you so long-faced?’ Katie accused when she found Effie washing up in the kitchen later.

  ‘I feel sorry for Mr Campbell, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, don’t,’ Katie said. ‘It’s none of your business. And you’d better not even think about making it your business, Euphemia.’ She pointed a warning finger at her sister. ‘Do you hear me? Don’t get involved.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Effie muttered, plunging her hands into the hot soapy water so Katie wouldn’t see her crossed fingers.

  ‘You do understand, don’t you?’ William said.

  He was giving Helen his big puppy-dog eyes look again, but even he knew that didn’t make up for the fact that he’d left her in the lurch.

  ‘Understand? Oh, I understand, all right,’ she snapped. ‘I understand I gave up Christmas at home so I could be here to help you, and now you’re telling me you don’t need me after all.’

  ‘I know, Hels.’ William tried his best to look wretched. ‘And I’m truly sorry. But I couldn’t say no, could I? The situation is far too – delicate.’

  The ‘situation’ was that William and his erstwhile girlfriend had kissed and made up the night before, and now she was insisting on taking back her part in their Christmas show duet. Mainly, Helen suspected, to prove a point to her love rival in Male Medical.

  ‘I don’t want to let Sue down,’ he said piously.

  ‘But you don’t mind letting me down, is that it?’

  William looked thoughtful. ‘I’ll have a word with Sister Blake for you, if you like?’ he offered. ‘I’m sure she could find another part for you somewhere in the show . . .’

  ‘I don’t want a part in the show! I didn’t want to be in it in the first place, if you recall. That’s the point, William. I could have been at home in Richmond, and instead I’m stuck here at a loose end for the rest of Christmas Day. What am I supposed to do now?’

  ‘You could always come and watch the show?’ he suggested.

  Helen glared at him. ‘That’s the last thing I want to do at the moment, thank you very much.’

  She rubbed her eyes, which were
still stinging from lack of sleep. William regarded her sympathetically.

  ‘Are you all right, Hels? I heard you had a bad time on Casualty last night?’

  ‘It wasn’t the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever spent.’ Her whole body felt as if it was stuffed with cotton wool.

  ‘Poor Helen. I’m so sorry.’ William put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Why don’t you go to bed?’

  ‘I tried that. I couldn’t sleep.’ Every time she closed her eyes, her head filled with horrible visions of charred flesh and blackened, blistering skin. She constantly jerked awake, with screams of agony echoing inside her head.

  ‘You should take something to help you. I could prescribe you something, if you like?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll manage.’ Helen managed to smile at him. Her brother had a good heart. He just lost it too easily.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hels,’ he said again. ‘I will make it up to you, I promise.’

  ‘Just don’t ask me to do you any more favours,’ she growled at him. ‘Because next time I’m definitely saying no!’

  Helen watched her brother sauntering off across the courtyard, hands in his pockets, not a care in the world. It wasn’t his fault, she thought. He didn’t realise how difficult Christmas was for her, without Charlie.

  The past two Christmases she’d managed to keep herself busy. The first year she’d been on duty, the second she’d spent with her family. Christmas with Constance Tremayne wasn’t the most festive experience in the world, but at least it helped distract Helen, and stopped her thoughts from straying.

  But now she was all on her own, and she wasn’t sure how she would cope if the loneliness crept up on her.

  She thought about going into Casualty and making herself useful. She was sure one of the nurses would be grateful to be relieved of their duty for a few hours. But that would mean facing Dr McKay, and Helen was worried she might have made rather a fool of herself with him the previous night.

  It wasn’t all her fault, she thought. It had been a long, hard night, she was worn out and distraught. And when Dr McKay had comforted her, she’d let her guard down and allowed her emotions to get the better of her. She was still too mortified by her behaviour to want to face him for a while.

  And then, suddenly it occurred to her where she should be. Somewhere she knew she would be welcome.

  Her nerve started to fail her as she stood on Nellie Dawson’s doorstep, her hand poised on the doorknocker.

  Nellie had told her to come round any time, but now she was here Helen wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. She could hear laughter, piano music and the sounds of a lively party going on inside. What if she wasn’t welcome after all?

  She had turned to go when the door suddenly opened and Nellie stood there. ‘Helen, love! I just looked out of the window and saw you. Why didn’t you knock?’

  ‘I – I wasn’t sure if I should,’ she murmured, embarrassed. ‘You’re entertaining, and I didn’t want to be in the way . . .’

  ‘It’s only family, love. Besides, you’re family too.’ Nellie took charge, ushering her in. ‘Come inside and have a drink.’

  She pulled Helen into the narrow hallway and shut the door. The passageway was filled with welcoming warmth. ‘You poor little mite, you’re frozen to death.’ Her mother-in-law rubbed Helen’s icy fingers between her big hands. ‘Go through and get warm by the fire. Everyone’s in there.’

  Terror seized her. ‘I’m not staying . . .’ Helen started to say. But Nellie was already herding her into the front parlour.

  As soon as she stepped inside Helen was immediately engulfed in a fug of heat, noise and people. A thick pall of cigarette smoke hung in the air, mingling with the smell of beer and cheap scent. Over in the corner, a man was pounding out a tune on the piano. And everywhere she looked, there were faces. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, elderly folk and children: squeezed into armchairs and sofas, standing in corners, crouched on the floor. Helen could never have imagined such a small room could hold so many people. And they all seemed to be talking at once.

  But the chatter stopped when she walked in, and all eyes turned to look at her.

  Helen felt her mother-in-law’s arm slide around her shoulders protectively. ‘You all remember Helen, don’t you? Our Charlie’s wife.’

  There was a general murmur of greeting. Helen caught a couple of people giving each other sideways looks. Charlie’s father, a big man with red-gold hair like his son’s, stepped forward.

  ‘Helen love, it’s a treat to see you. Sit yourself down, girl. What will you have to drink?’ he offered.

  Helen was about to protest that she couldn’t stay, but Nellie had already shooed two children off the moquette settee to make space for her. ‘Just a lemonade, please,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll have something stronger than that, surely? It is Christmas, after all. How about a nice drop of sherry?’

  ‘Really, lemonade is fine.’

  ‘Suit yourself. You make yourself comfy there. A rose between two thorns!’ He grinned at the two large ladies sitting like bookends either end of the settee.

  ‘Cheeky!’ One of them, a tinsel-bright redhead with crimson lipstick, handed him her empty glass. ‘Just for that, you can fetch me a top up.’

  ‘I bet you don’t want a lemonade?’

  She cackled. ‘A milk stout, if you wouldn’t mind.’

  Charlie’s father took her glass and shuffled off. Helen smiled nervously at the women she was sitting between. The one to her left was an equally bright redhead, except she was wearing cerise lipstick. The women fixed her with interested stares.

  ‘We met you at our Charlie’s funeral, although I daresay you won’t remember,’ one of them said.

  ‘She’s Auntie Mabel. And I’m Auntie Midge,’ the other woman said.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Helen replied. Both women sighed with pleasure.

  ‘Aw, listen to her. Ain’t she got a lovely speaking voice?’ Auntie Midge said.

  ‘Lovely manners, too,’ Auntie Mabel agreed.

  ‘You’re a nurse, ain’t you?’

  Helen nodded. ‘That’s right. At the Florence Nightingale hospital.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Auntie Mabel said.

  ‘We know it well,’ Auntie Midge chimed in. ‘My husband had his appendix out there.’

  They fell silent after that but Helen could feel their eyes on her, watching her with that look she’d come to know so well over the past two years, a look that hovered between affection and pity.

  Charlie’s father returned with the drinks. As he handed her the lemonade, Helen began to wish she’d chosen something stronger after all.

  Then the pianist struck up another rousing tune, and soon everyone was singing again. Helen tried to join in, swaying in time to the music with Midge and Mabel, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  This was a mistake, she realised, staring into the depths of her glass. She’d thought being with others might be the answer to her low spirits, but if anything she felt even more lonely in a crowded room full of people enjoying themselves.

  What’s wrong with me? she wondered. Charlie had been dead for two years now. Everyone kept telling her to move on, and she desperately wanted to. And yet . . .

  She put down her glass and struggled to her feet, disentangling herself from Auntie Midge and Auntie Mabel.

  ‘You ain’t going, are you?’ Mabel looked up at her, her crimson lipstick smudged at the corners.

  ‘I – I just need some fresh air,’ Helen said.

  ‘You hear that, Midge?’ she heard Mabel say as she pushed her way towards the door. ‘She said she wanted some fresh air. I expect she wants to use the lav.’

  ‘Lovely manners,’ Midge said approvingly.

  Nellie was at the front door, gossiping with a neighbour who’d dropped round. Helen turned and headed down the narrow passageway towards the kitchen, planning to slip out of the back door and through the gate. Everyone else at the party was so tipsy, she was sure no one wo
uld miss her.

  Still craning her neck to make sure Nellie wasn’t watching, she reached out to open the back door. But suddenly it swung open from the outside, nearly knocking her off her feet.

  ‘Sorry, love, I didn’t see you there,’ said a cheery, deep voice.

  ‘That’s all right, I was just—’ Helen looked up, and the words died in her throat.

  There, standing on the back step, was Charlie.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘HELLO THERE,’ HE said. ‘Going somewhere?’

  As soon as he stepped into the light from the kitchen, she realised it wasn’t her husband. The man framed in the back doorway, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, had the same reddish-gold hair and blue eyes as Charlie, but everything else about him was different. He was taller, broader in the chest and shoulders, and there was a lazy insolence in his smile that her Charlie had never had.

  Before Helen could speak to him, Nellie appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  ‘Helen love, where are you—’ Then she saw the stranger and a broad smile lit up her face. ‘Well, I never! When did you get home? We weren’t expecting you for another week at least.’

  ‘I left my ship in Liverpool last night and got a lift on a wagon as far as Essex,’ the man said. ‘I couldn’t miss spending Christmas with my favourite auntie, could I?’ He held his arms out to her. ‘You got a kiss for me, then?’

  He grabbed her and planted a noisy kiss on the top of her head. A girlish blush rose in Nellie’s plump cheeks.

  ‘Oh, you!’ She fought him off playfully. ‘I ain’t got time for your nonsense.’

  ‘I bet you say that to all the boys.’

  ‘Cheeky little sod! You never change, do you?’

  ‘Not if I can help it.’ He glanced at Helen. ‘Who’s this, then, Auntie Nell?’

  ‘Oh, I forgot, you two ain’t met, have you? Helen, this is my nephew Christopher. Chris, this is Helen.’

  His expression changed. ‘Charlie’s Helen?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Nellie said. ‘She’s come to spend Christmas with us.’ She sighed with satisfaction. ‘Now all my family’s together. Ain’t that nice?’