Nightingales on Call

by Donna Douglas

  But just her luck, she had to assist Nurse Lane. And even worse luck, their first patient was the boy with the fractured femur.

  ‘I don’t like him,’ Effie confided as she followed Lucy down the ward with the trolley.

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether you like the patient or not, as long as you’re pleasant and courteous at all times,’ Lucy replied shortly.

  Effie scowled at her back. I’d like to see you being pleasant and courteous to anyone, she thought.

  Lucy seemed to be taking her job as stand-in Staff Nurse very seriously. Instead of getting on with the task as quickly as possible, she insisted on quizzing Effie on fractures.

  ‘What are the unfavourable symptoms to look out for in these cases?’ she asked.

  Effie stood still, hands knotted behind her back, and racked her brain for an answer. ‘Er . . . blue fingers or toes?’ she ventured.

  ‘And?’

  Effie glanced sidelong at the boy. He was watching them, arms crossed, enjoying the show. ‘Cold and numbness?’

  ‘Anything else?’ Lucy tutted impatiently. ‘You’ve forgotten swelling, persistent pain and a temperature.’

  ‘Sorry, Nurse.’

  ‘You don’t have to apologise to me, O’Hara. It’s you who’ll fail your State Final if you don’t know this.’

  Give me a chance, I’ve only just got PTS out of the way! Effie thought. She had three years until she had to worry about her State Final and anything could happen before then. She might even marry Hugo and give up nursing altogether.

  Lucy was called away by Sister Parry halfway through the dressings round, and left Effie to finish attending to the boy, Cyril. She could feel him watching her as she struggled, all fingers and thumbs, to fit the new dressing.

  ‘Not very good at this nursing lark, are you?’ he observed.

  Effie opened her mouth to make a stinging reply, then remembered Lucy’s warning. Be courteous and pleasant at all times.

  So she gritted her teeth and tried to do just that.

  ‘How did you hurt your leg?’ she asked. ‘Were you playing football?’

  ‘Hardly!’ Cyril snorted. ‘If you must know, I was running away.’

  ‘Who from?’

  ‘Someone who wanted to catch me, of course! Except that bloody van got in the way.’

  But Effie wasn’t listening. Somewhere in her brain, a penny dropped. ‘It’s you!’ she exclaimed. ‘I remember you now. You were the one who stole my bag.’

  He blushed to the roots of his hair. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you did! You offered to carry my bag for me, then ran off and left me stranded. I thought I recognised you, but I couldn’t work it out until just now.’

  He looked shifty. ‘Sorry, Nurse, I reckon you must have the wrong lad. As if I’d do something like that. That’s wrong, that is. That’s thieving.’

  ‘You are a thief! And I’ve a good mind to call the police and have you arrested.’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Wouldn’t I? Just watch me.’

  ‘Oh, keep your hair on. You got your bag back, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes I did, but—’ she broke off. ‘Hang on a minute. How did you know I got my bag back?’

  He grinned. ‘You mean you ain’t worked that out yet?’

  Lucy’s mother was right. Kentish Town wasn’t the most salubrious address in the world. Lucy hadn’t been expecting a mansion, but as she trailed around the flat Cousin Antonia had offered, from one cramped room to another, she could feel her spirits sinking. The whole place would have fitted easily into the servants’ quarters at Eaton Place.

  Her mother was even less impressed. She walked around, listing the faults.

  ‘It’s so small,’ Clarissa said. ‘And dark. I wonder when the windows were last cleaned?’

  She rubbed at a grubby pane with the finger of her glove and peered through the patch.

  ‘Oh, well, I can see why they haven’t bothered,’ she said. ‘The view, if you can call it that, is absolutely shocking. Nothing but dismal grey rooftops as far as the eye can see, with a couple of factory chimneys in the distance to break the monotony.’

  ‘At least Cousin Antonia is letting us have it for next to nothing,’ Lucy said.

  ‘I’m not surprised. No one in their right mind would think of paying money to live in a hovel like this.’ Clarissa sniffed the air, her nose wrinkling. ‘Can you smell damp?’

  Lucy searched her mind desperately for something encouraging to say. ‘Well, we won’t have to get rid of any of our furniture. It should all fit in here nicely.’

  Her mother smiled thinly. ‘The amount of furniture we have left would fit in a doll’s house.’

  Lucy gritted her teeth. She’d had to organise the removal from Eaton Place because her mother had done nothing about it, except complain about the inconvenience.

  And she’d had to beg for time off to be there. Sister Parry had been very annoyed about it, and Lucy was sure it would mean a bad ward report, which in turn could affect her chance of getting a permanent place at the Nightingale.

  She rubbed her eyes, which were gritty from lack of sleep. If she wasn’t lying awake worrying about her exams, she was worrying about her mother, or her father, or what everyone was saying about them.

  Lucy took a deep breath to steady herself. She had to make this work. It was their only option.

  She tried flattery. ‘You know what marvellous taste you have, Mother. I expect you’ll soon have this place looking wonderful.’

  Lady Clarissa scowled. ‘Even I can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.’

  ‘Yes, but surely once we’ve put some pictures up, and had the curtains altered to fit, and given the walls a lick of paint . . .’

  ‘A lick of paint?’ Her mother’s mouth curled in contempt. ‘It will take more than a coat of paint or a roll of wallpaper to make this place attractive. The only thing that could improve it is to flatten it all and start again!’

  ‘Yes, well, we can’t do that, can we?’ Lucy’s last shred of patience finally snapped. ‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

  ‘And whose fault is it that we’re beggars?’ her mother flared back. ‘Don’t take this out on me, Lucy. You’re treating me as if I’m being difficult, when it’s your father’s fecklessness that’s got us in this mess.’

  Lucy saw her mother’s martyred expression, and something inside her exploded.

  ‘Do you ever stop to think why he was so feckless, as you put it?’

  Clarissa’s chin lifted. ‘Because he was selfish, I suppose.’

  ‘No, Mother, you’re the selfish one. Do you ever think about the pressure Father must have been under, trying to keep us in the luxury we expected? He must have been worried sick about this business deal, but he had no one to turn to. How do you think he must have felt, knowing it was all collapsing around him? Aren’t you ashamed that he couldn’t confide in his own wife?’

  Her mother turned pale. ‘How dare you speak to me like that?’

  ‘Why? What are you going to do? Drink yourself into a stupor, as usual? We can’t afford a bottle of gin, in case you hadn’t noticed. Or are you going to flounce off to your room for a few hours? It’s about time someone told you the truth, Mother. Perhaps if Father had felt able to do that, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.’

  Her mother turned her back and stood staring out of the window. Lucy could see her thin shoulders trembling as she went to stand behind her.

  ‘The truth is, you’ve been far too cosseted for far too long. You were never interested in Father’s business. All you were ever interested in was how much money he was making, and how fast you could spend it.’

  ‘And you weren’t, of course?’

  ‘Yes, I was. And, believe me, I’m bitterly ashamed of it now,’ Lucy admitted quietly. ‘We’ve both been spoiled, and let Father carry all the burden. I had no idea how hard it was for him. No wonder he ran away.’

  ‘He let us down,’
her mother insisted stubbornly. ‘He promised to take care of me . . .’

  ‘No, we let him down,’ Lucy cut her off. ‘And it’s about time you started taking care of yourself. Look at you. You’re a grown woman, and you have no idea how to make yourself a sandwich or even a cup of tea. You should be ashamed!’

  ‘Get out.’ Her mother’s voice was a low growl.

  ‘Oh, I’m going,’ Lucy said. ‘I’m sick of listening to you complaining all the time, and I’m sick of trying to protect you. You’re by yourself now, Mother. It’s about time you started standing on your own two feet!’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  IT WAS STRANGE to see Alf Doyle sitting at the kitchen table in Griffin Street again. Strange – and unnerving.

  The atmosphere was strained. Nanna Winnie sat in hatchet-faced silence, the only sound the squeak of her chair as she rocked furiously back and forth.

  But Bea and Little Alfie were all smiles. After a moment’s shy hesitation, Little Alfie was soon firmly ensconced on his father’s knee while Bea draped herself around his chair, never leaving his side.

  ‘Look at him,’ Nanna muttered to Dora. ‘He acts like he’s never been away.’

  Dora glanced at her sister Josie. She sat on the opposite side of the fireplace, staring into the empty grate. She was smiling, but the way she picked at her fingernails betrayed her tension.

  It was much harder to tell what was going on in their mother’s mind. Rose treated their guest with detached civility, fetching tea and making polite conversation as she would with any stranger visiting her home. But Dora noticed that she didn’t sit down or keep still once. She constantly found an excuse to be up and moving about the room, restlessly going from the scullery to the kitchen and back again. She seemed to be busy, but Dora guessed she didn’t want to sit down and look her husband in the eye.

  Alf seemed oblivious to the atmosphere he’d caused as he played with Little Alfie’s toy cars, running them backwards and forwards on the table.

  ‘I can’t get over how much he’s grown,’ he said.

  Rose smiled fondly at her son. ‘He’s a proper little bruiser.’

  ‘Like his dad, eh?’

  ‘Except he’s got a brain in his head,’ Nanna muttered.

  ‘Dad’s been telling us about his travels,’ Bea piped up. ‘He’s been all over the world, ain’t that right, Dad?’

  ‘So he says.’ Nanna addressed the empty grate.

  ‘Well, I dunno about the world.’ Alf shrugged. ‘But I’ve been to France.’

  ‘Can you speak French?’ Little Alfie asked.

  Alf twirled an imaginary moustache. ‘Mais oui,’ he said in an exaggerated French accent that made Little Alfie and Bea fall about laughing.

  ‘Say some more!’ Little Alfie shouted, bouncing up and down on his knee.

  ‘I reckon he’s said enough.’ Nanna Winnie looked over at their visitor. ‘Ain’t you got somewhere else to go?’ she asked.

  ‘Mum!’ Rose turned on her. ‘Alf’s come for his tea, remember?’

  ‘Oh, I remember, all right. Though Gawd knows why you invited him, after what he did to this family. Have you forgotten what he did to you, Rose? How he humiliated you?’

  ‘Stop it, Mum.’

  ‘No, she’s right,’ Alf sighed. ‘I was a fool, Rosie.’

  ‘A fool! You were more than a fool, Alf Doyle. I can’t forget what you did, even if my daughter can.’ Nanna’s hands trembled in her lap, and Dora could tell it was all she could do to stop herself taking a swing at him. ‘You carried on with that young girl behind my Rose’s back. A girl young enough to be your daughter, I might add!’ Dora flinched at her grandmother’s words. ‘You got her pregnant and then ran off and abandoned us all. The poor girl nearly died getting rid of your kid. And my daughter ended up taking her in!’

  Alf looked at Dora’s mother. ‘I never knew that, Rose. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Too late to be sorry now!’ Nanna’s toothless mouth trembled. ‘She cared for that girl for months, until she could get back on her feet. Even though it made us a laughing stock, Rose didn’t turn her back on her. And where were you when all this was going on? Gallivanting round France, I suppose, learning all your fancy French words.’

  ‘Nanna, don’t!’ Bea snapped. ‘Leave Dad alone.’

  ‘I’ll leave him alone, all right! Just like he left your mother on her own, with all you kids to bring up and hardly a penny coming in. You can sit there making faces, Beatrice Doyle, but do you remember when we nearly froze to death ’cos we didn’t have enough coal for the fire? Do you remember when we had the Means Test man knocking on the door, taking away all our furniture? I didn’t see your precious father showing his face then, did you?’

  Alf put his son off his lap and stumbled to his feet. ‘I should go—’

  ‘No, Alf. You stay where you are.’ Rose Doyle’s voice was firm and calm. ‘You’ve come for your tea, and that’s what you’ll get. And you can be quiet, Mum.’ She raised her hand to silence Nanna Winnie. ‘Alf is still my husband, and he’s a guest in this house. So I’ll thank you to say no more about it.’

  She turned on her heel and walked into the scullery, letting the curtain drop behind her. They all looked at each other in shocked silence. Alf stared at his boots, looking awkward.

  ‘That’s told you, Nanna,’ Bea muttered.

  Dora got up and followed her mother into the kitchen. Rose stood at the sink, her head in her hands.

  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Dora asked.

  Her mother looked up at her, her expression despairing. ‘Oh, Dora, I dunno what to do for the best,’ she confessed. ‘It’s been such a shock, seeing Alf here. And there’s your nanna having a go at him on one hand, and the kids so pleased to see him on the other . . . I dunno whether I’m coming or going, I really don’t.’

  ‘I know, Mum.’ Dora put a comforting arm around her mother’s shoulders. ‘But Nanna’s right, you know. He doesn’t deserve to be here, not after the way he treated you.’

  ‘But did you see the kids’ faces? I haven’t seen them so happy in a long time. Bea’s been such a mare lately, this might be just what she needs. And as for Little Alfie—’

  And what about Josie? Dora wanted to ask. Surely her mother had seen the shocked, vacant look on her middle daughter’s face when Alf had walked in? Josie hadn’t spoken a word since.

  But then, hadn’t Rose gone for years without noticing the pain either of her elder daughters was in? Dora subdued the unworthy thought. It wasn’t her mother’s fault. No one would ever suspect something so dreadful was going on under their own roof, in their own family.

  ‘What about you?’ Dora asked. ‘Are you pleased to see him?’

  Her mother sighed. ‘I don’t know, love,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if I could ever forgive him, after what he did. I’m not sure if I could trust him either. But I suppose everyone makes mistakes, don’t they? Everyone deserves a second chance.’ She put her hand up to her face. Seeing Alf again seemed to have put years on her. ‘And he has changed, I’m sure of that. You can see he’s been through some hard times.’

  Her mother actually felt sorry for him, Dora realised. Alf had been very clever, winning her over with a sob story or two. He knew as well as anyone that Rose Doyle couldn’t resist looking after any waif or stray who came her way.

  ‘Anyway, it’s not about what I want, is it?’ Rose went on briskly, pulling herself together. ‘It’s about what’s best for everyone else. The kids need a father, when all’s said and done.’

  ‘I don’t know if him coming back is best for . . .’ Dora started to say, but they were interrupted by Alf sticking his face around the curtain.

  ‘Can I give you a hand, love?’ he offered. ‘I could mash the potatoes for you, or fry the sausages?’

  Rose smiled thinly. ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you offer to lend a hand in the kitchen!’

  ‘I told you, I’m a changed man!’

  ‘And you’re a
lso a guest in this house. So you go and sit down.’

  ‘Typical Rosie. You always did spoil me.’

  Dora saw the look they gave each other, and felt sick. He was going to win her mother over, she was sure of it. Much as Rose disliked Alf at the moment, she had loved him once. And Dora knew her mother missed having a man in the house to fuss over. Little by little, Alf Doyle was going to reclaim his place in the house again, she was certain.

  The thought made her feel so ill she could barely eat. She noticed Josie was the same, pushing the food around on her plate with no enthusiasm.

  Dora left as soon as she could after tea. ‘I’ll walk with you to the end of the alley,’ Josie offered straight away, jumping up to fetch her coat.

  ‘I was going next door to see Danny . . .’ Dora started to say, then she noticed the desperate look on her sister’s face. ‘Why don’t I see if he fancies a quick stroll in the park with us?’ she suggested.

  Danny was delighted at the chance to get out of the house. His face lit up as Dora helped him into his coat, watched by his mother. June Riley puffed on a cigarette as usual, watching her son through narrowed eyes.

  ‘I’m glad you came round. Little bugger was starting to get on my nerves, always under my feet,’ she said.

  Dora said nothing. She understood why Nick had so little time for his mother. June Riley had never paid either of her boys much attention.

  ‘Nick promised he’d look after us, and now he’s cleared off too,’ June went on, her voice an insistent whine. ‘God only knows why he had to give up his job and go off with a travelling fair, of all things. I suppose it’s the last we’ve seen of him,’ she said. ‘You know what they say – like father, like son.’

  Nick’s nothing like his poor excuse for a father and you know it, Dora wanted to snap. And he will be coming back. He loves me.

  But she had to admit to herself, she was worried. Nick still hadn’t written to her. And even thought she kept telling herself that Nick was not the type to put pen to paper, she was beginning to fear that he’d forgotten her.