Millie was glad she’d made the effort to come when she saw Katie’s face light up in rapture at the sight of the brightly lit department-store windows.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ she breathed, her face pressed against the glass at Marshall & Snelgrove to admire the glittering decorations. ‘Back home we only have old Mr McGoogan’s shop, and that tight-fisted old goat wouldn’t even light an extra candle, let alone make his window as gorgeous as this. Have you ever seen a Christmas tree that big? It’s like it came straight out of a forest.’
‘Actually, the one we have at home is much bigger,’ Lucy announced loftily. ‘But I suppose when you have a house as large as ours, a small tree would just look ridiculous.’
And then she was off, bragging again. Millie and Katie exchanged long-suffering looks as Lucy described in detail the lavish Christmas her mother had planned. No expense was to be spared for the food, the decorations or the presents.
‘My mother knows how to entertain,’ she boasted. ‘On Christmas Eve my parents throw an enormous party and all kinds of important, wealthy and famous people come. You’d simply be amazed. I expect it’s the same for you at Billinghurst?’ She casually dropped the name of Millie’s family home into the conversation.
‘Not really.’ Millie glanced sideways at Katie, who was pretending to watch the model train that whizzed in and out of a toy display. She was painfully aware that the Irish girl was feeling fed up because she couldn’t go home at Christmas, and the last thing Millie wanted was to make her feel even more homesick. ‘My father and grandmother prefer a quiet Christmas, just the three of us.’
‘Oh, come on! You must have some other plans?’ Lucy nudged her conspiratorially. ‘You can’t tell me you sit at home playing chess all day. Aren’t there lots of house parties?’
How her father would laugh at the idea of her playing chess, Millie thought. She never seemed to find the concentration to finish a game. ‘My friend Sophia’s family is having a house party over the New Year,’ she conceded reluctantly.
Lucy’s eyes gleamed with excitement. ‘Is that Lady Sophia Rushton? Daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Claremont?’ Millie nodded. ‘Oh, how thrilling! I was only reading about her in Tatler the other day.’ Lucy sighed. ‘I’d love to meet her. Perhaps I could come down to Billinghurst sometime?’
‘Perhaps.’ Over my dead body! Millie thought. She could just imagine what her grandmother would make of Lucy. She was what the Dowager Countess would call ‘an arriviste’, which in her eyes was even worse than being a communist.
Millie took Katie’s arm and steered her towards the ornate brass-trimmed doors. ‘Let’s go inside, shall we? It’s freezing out here.’
Knowing Katie was short of money she’d expected to do nothing more than browse, but Lucy had other ideas. They trailed after her as she bought gloves and stockings, then proceeded to try on hats in the millinery department.
‘What do you think of this one?’ she asked, turning her head this way and that to admire a green feathered creation from every angle as the salesgirl fussed over her.
‘You look as if a parrot’s landed on your head,’ Katie muttered. Millie spluttered with laughter.
Lucy turned around sharply. ‘I’m sorry? Did you say something?’
‘I said it’s a shame Doyle couldn’t come with us. I bet she would have loved an outing,’ Katie said, meeting her eye boldly.
‘If you ask me, she didn’t want to come because she knew she couldn’t afford it.’ Lucy adjusted the hat a fraction and pouted at her reflection. ‘She’s so poor she probably couldn’t even afford the bus fare!’ She laughed unkindly.
‘She didn’t want to come because you were so beastly about Bradley,’ Millie said.
‘She deserved it.’ Lucy pulled off the hat and tossed it back dismissively at the salesgirl. ‘She’s an idiot.’
‘She’s not an idiot. She tries very hard, she’s just terribly nervous and shy. And you don’t make it any better, picking on her constantly.’
‘I can’t help it if she’s incompetent, can I?’
‘Stop it, you two,’ Katie broke in. ‘If we’re all going to fall out we might as well have stayed at home. We don’t get that much time off and I want to enjoy it, not bicker all the time.’
‘You’re right.’ Millie looked at Lucy.
‘Fine by me,’ Lucy shrugged, putting on her beret and smoothing down her chestnut hair. ‘Let’s hurry. I want to buy some more presents before the shop closes.’
It was dark by the time they got back to Bethnal Green, and the fog was a dense, cloying blanket, pierced only here and there by the sulphurous glow of the streetlamps. Millie, Lucy and Katie stood for a moment at the bus stop, trying to get their bearings.
‘Holy Mother of Jesus, I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Katie declared. ‘How are we going to find our way back to the hospital?’
‘We can manage,’ Millie said bracingly. ‘We’ll edge our way along the wall like this, you see?’ She groped until her fingers found the rough brickwork. ‘If we hold on to each other we should be all right.’
They made their way slowly down the street, clutching each other’s hands in case they became separated in the dense fog. Figures shuffled past them, emerging briefly like ghosts from the gloom then disappearing again, shoulders hunched against the cold. From the road to their right came the muffled clip-clop of heavy horses and the rattle of carts making their way cautiously homeward.
They reached the corner of the road and stopped. Opposite them they could make out two pools of dull light from the lanterns on top of the gateposts at the Nightingale.
‘See?’ Millie said. ‘I told you we’d find our way.’
She stepped off the kerb and almost immediately a car loomed out of the darkness. There was a squeal of brakes, a glare of headlights, and the next thing Millie knew she had landed in an undignified heap.
‘Sweet Jesus, I can’t look. Is she dead?’ Katie whimpered, covering her face.
‘Of course she isn’t!’ Lucy snapped back. ‘Do pull yourself together, O’Hara. I thought you were supposed to be a nurse?’
The car door slammed and the driver appeared out of the fog. He was tall, dark-haired and not much older than Millie.
He looked very shaken when he saw her sitting in the gutter. ‘Are you all right? Oh, God, what happened?’
‘I’m not sure. One minute I was crossing the road, the next you came out of nowhere and nearly ran me over.’ Millie cautiously inspected herself for damage. Her stockings were torn and her knees were skinned and muddy. But her pride was what hurt most of all.
She started to struggle to her feet but the young man grasped her shoulders with his bony hands, holding her down.
‘No, don’t get up. You might have hurt yourself. I’m a doctor,’ he said. ‘I should examine you, make sure you’re not injured.’
‘I’m a nurse, and I’m telling you, I’m quite all right.’ Millie shook off his hands and scrambled to her feet. ‘No thanks to you,’ she added, brushing mud off her coat. ‘What were you thinking, driving like a maniac?’
‘You stepped out in front of me!’
‘You might have been able to stop in time if you hadn’t been speeding!’
They glared at each other. In spite of her anger, Millie wanted to laugh at the young man’s comically furious expression, and the way his hair stuck up, as if he’d just tumbled out of bed.
‘You ought to be more careful,’ he said. ‘You’re not safe to be out on the street.’
‘And you’re not safe behind a wheel.’
‘Is that so? Well, let me tell you I happen to be—’
His words were drowned out by a sickening crunch of metal, so loud Millie almost jumped into his arms. The young man swung round and gave a cry of despair.
‘No!’ he moaned. ‘Oh, no! Bessie!’
Another car door slammed. ‘What’s going on?’ a man’s irate voice yelled. ‘What idiot has parked their car in the
middle of the road?’
The young man forgot about Millie and rushed off to inspect the damage to his rear bumper.
‘Serves him right for being such a dangerous driver,’ she said to Katie and Lucy as they watched the two men arguing in the middle of the street, all raised voices and pointing fingers.
‘He must be a doctor at this hospital.’ Katie glanced back at him over her shoulder. ‘I wonder who he is?’
‘Whoever he is, he owes me for a new pair of stockings,’ Millie replied.
Dora was waiting for them in the sitting room. She was perched on the edge of the settee, arms wrapped around herself, staring into the empty fireplace. She got to her feet when she saw Millie.
‘Jennifer Bradley’s going home,’ she blurted out.
Millie frowned at her. ‘But Christmas isn’t for another week?’
‘No, I mean she’s leaving. For good. Her parents are here. They’re waiting in the car while she packs. They wanted to come in but Sister Sutton wouldn’t let them. “Strictly no visitors allowed in the nurses’ home”,’ she parroted the Home Sister’s instructions in disgust.
‘Poor Bradley.’ Millie glanced up at the ceiling. ‘Maybe we could talk to her, try to change her mind?’
‘I’ve tried.’ Dora shook her head. ‘She’s got the idea she’s not good enough to be here.’ Her eyes shifted past Millie to fix coldly on Lucy, standing in the doorway.
Half an hour later Jennifer left. They watched her from the sitting-room window as she trailed miserably to the car, her head hanging low in shame. She didn’t even look back as her father loaded her trunk into the boot.
‘What a pity,’ Katie sighed. ‘She was a grand girl, once you got to know her.’
‘And she tried so hard,’ Millie put in.
‘I really don’t know why you’re all looking so long-faced,’ Lucy said. ‘She was never cut out to be a nurse here. Surely it’s far better she goes now than wastes her own time and everyone else’s.’
‘You’re all heart, aren’t you?’ Dora said in a low voice.
Millie glanced warily at her. She was standing at the window, green eyes blazing in her pale, set face. Her very stillness was menacing.
Lucy didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’m just telling the truth, that’s all,’ she said, flipping her plaits haughtily. ‘I can’t help it if some people just aren’t supposed to be here, can I?’
‘I suppose that includes me?’
Lucy shot her a superior look. ‘If the cap fits,’ she said.
‘Now, girls, what’s going on in here?’ Sister Sutton bustled in, Sparky wriggling in her arms. ‘I don’t know why you’re all standing around being idle. There’s always studying to be done and I’m sure none of you is so clever you couldn’t benefit from a few extra hours with your books.’
‘If some of us had books,’ Lucy murmured under her breath. Sister Sutton didn’t hear her, but Dora did. Millie saw the colour rise in her face, flooding up from her neck to her hairline.
‘Go to your rooms, you’re making the place look untidy,’ Sister Sutton dismissed them.
They filed past her. None of them dared to mention that it was their day off, to do with as they please. For once Millie was grateful to see the bullying Home Sister. From the way Dora and Lucy had been looking at each other, she was worried a fight was about to break out.
‘Take no notice of Lane, she’s just a cat,’ she warned Dora as they went back to their room.
‘I don’t care about her,’ Dora said defiantly. But Millie could tell from the dejected droop of her mouth that Lucy’s spiteful barb had hit home.
She knew Dora wouldn’t forget it, either. There was unfinished business between her and Lucy. And next time Sister Sutton might not be there to stop it.
Chapter Thirteen
IT WAS THE week before Christmas, and many of the patients on Holmes were getting ready to go home. It was the consultant’s policy to send as many men as possible back to their families, to give them and the medical staff a chance to enjoy a good Christmas.
There was a definite festive atmosphere in the air. The long, cavernous ward had been brightened up with streamers, paper chains and sprigs of holly. A couple of the nurses had optimistically stuck some mistletoe over the doors, too, but Sister Holmes had ordered it to be taken down in case it gave patients the wrong idea.
That afternoon, once visiting time was over, the porters would bring in the tree and the nurses would decorate it.
‘But I don’t want any mess in the ward,’ Sister Holmes warned them all severely. ‘The first sign of a dropped needle and that tree goes out, Christmas or no Christmas.’
Helen hummed to herself as she went about her tasks. She enjoyed Christmas at the Nightingale. Everyone was in such good spirits. Even the patients were happy, laughing and joking amongst themselves. Fortunately, they were all on the mend and there had been no dramatic admissions over the past week, apart from Mr O’Sullivan and his internal haemorrhoids. But a week after surgery, even he was feeling better.
Charlie Denton was improving, too. His wound had healed up nicely and his splints and supporting pillows had been taken away. Now all he needed was regular massage and movement to keep his leg muscles working before his temporary prosthetic was fitted. With any luck he would be back on his feet by the New Year.
Helen watched him as he helped Mr Stannard with his crossword.
‘I wonder if she’ll turn up today?’ Amy Hollins voiced the thought that had been going through Helen’s mind at that exact moment.
Charlie Denton’s fiancée Sally had been in to visit him once in the five weeks he’d been in hospital. Helen had taken an instant dislike to the brassy-looking blonde who’d spent ten minutes admiring herself in her compact mirror before announcing she had to go and catch her bus.
Every week Charlie looked for her, and every week there was another excuse for her not coming. One week her mum was poorly, the next she had to go and see her sister in Clacton. He tried to hide his disappointment as best he could, but Helen could see the light fading from his eyes when the doors opened and she wasn’t there.
Bitterness had got the better of him the previous week, when another visiting time was almost over and there was still no sign of his fiancée.
‘I know it’s tough for my Sal, having to see me like this,’ he’d said to Helen. ‘But all the same, you’d think she’d make the effort for my sake, wouldn’t you? I mean, look at Percy over there.’ He’d nodded towards Mr Oliver, who had been moved to the main ward now he was beginning to recover from his head injury. He sat propped up against the pillows, staring glassily into space, almost unaware of the pretty dark-haired girl who sat at his bedside, tenderly stroking his face. ‘His girl comes in to see him every visiting time, even though he doesn’t know she’s there half the time. And I reckon she’d come every day if she could. They say head injuries change people, don’t they? Make them moody, like? That poor girl doesn’t even know if he’s going to be the same bloke when he gets out of here. And yet she still comes, still loves him with all her heart. You only have to look at her to see that.’
He turned to Helen, blue eyes full of despair. ‘I’m not like that, am I? I haven’t changed. I’m still the same bloke Sal fell in love with. It’s only my leg that’s gone, not up here.’ He touched his finger to his temple.
Helen wished she could say something to comfort him and bring the smile back to his face. But she couldn’t. She could tend his wounds, keep him clean and comfortable, but she couldn’t mend his broken heart. Only Sally could do that.
As another visiting time loomed, Helen hoped his fiancée wouldn’t let him down. She was almost as thrilled as he was when Sally appeared shortly after the visiting bell rang. Helen saw Mr Denton’s face light up when he saw her strutting down the ward towards him in her smart red coat, her hat arranged at a rakish angle on her blonde head. She carried a wicker basket full of fruit – an offering from his mum, Helen guessed. Mr Denton’s father was a c
ostermonger in Columbia Street market, and every week his mum would turn up for visiting time with a basket overflowing with apples, pears, bananas and oranges, which Mr Denton would kindly distribute among the rest of the ward.
She watched Sally place the basket down beside the bed, lean over and kiss her fiancé on the cheek. It didn’t look like the warmest kiss Helen had ever seen, but since she had never been kissed herself she was no judge.
‘Tremayne?’ Sister Holmes jolted her back to reality. ‘While we’re quiet, I want you to go down to the basement and fetch the box of tree decorations. The porters will be bringing the tree up after visiting time.’
‘Shall I go with her, Sister?’ Amy Hollins offered. ‘It will be quicker with two of us.’
‘Good idea, Hollins.’
Helen was surprised at Amy volunteering for extra work. But she found out why as soon as they got down to the basement and Amy disappeared off to the stoke hole for a sneaky cigarette, leaving Helen to search for the box by herself.
The air in the basement was musty, and so cold Helen could see her breath curling in front of her. The feeble electric light barely pierced the gloom, casting long shadows over the bare brickwork.
Helen inched her way between shelves that were crammed with boxes and long-forgotten medical equipment. Old desks, chairs and trolleys covered in dustsheets made sinister shapes that rose out of the shadows at her, making her jump at every turn.
‘I see your Mr Denton’s fiancée has turned up,’ Amy remarked, her voice carrying from the far end of the basement where she perched cosily beside the stoke hole.
‘He’s not my Mr Denton.’
‘Really? You seem to take quite an interest in him. I thought you two were the best of friends.’
Helen bent double to squint at the rows of boxes on the lower shelves, trying to make out their labels in the darkness.
‘She’s probably ditching him,’ Amy said.
Helen stood up so quickly she backed into a drip stand, sending it clattering. ‘That’s an awful thing to say!’
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