by Rosie Clarke
She was sure her kiss couldn’t have caused him pain, but it was as if he couldn’t bear her near him and she didn’t understand how he could forget her – surely there should still have been the same attraction, even if he couldn’t recall all the details? How could love just vanish like that? And then, before she left, he’d asked her not to visit him. Janet hadn’t told her mother that bit, because it had hurt too much.
‘Please, if you love me, as you say you do, just stay away. Let me get over this in peace. I can’t handle a wife and daughter I don’t remember…’
‘But Mike… what about me, don’t my feelings matter?’ Janet had asked as the despair swept through her. It was as if he were a stranger, as if the man she’d loved so much was lost – dead to her. ‘We are married, even if you don’t remember and I have every right to visit.’
‘Not if I refuse to see you. I’m asking you not to come until I can handle it – if you care about me please accept it…’
Janet had hurried away, tears trickling down her cheeks. As she was leaving the ward, the Sister in charge had caught her arm. Janet had tried to pull away, but the nurse had drawn her into a small office and made her sit down.
‘Mike isn’t the man you knew,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘You have to make allowances and forgive him if he says things that hurt. Once he’s come to terms with his injuries, he will need you, because it’s going to take several operations and a lot of treatment to get him well again – months of suffering – and he does need you, even if he doesn’t know it at this time.’
‘He doesn’t want me,’ Janet said, anger surfacing because she didn’t like the nurse’s attitude, as if this was her fault. ‘Mike can’t remember me. He doesn’t want to remember – he’s shut me out and asked me not to visit again until he’s ready.’
‘We did tell you it was too soon to visit,’ the nursing sister said gravely. ‘I know it’s hard, Janet – but a lot of women don’t have their husbands back at all. You should try to accept his illness. Don’t come down for a few weeks. We’ll contact you as soon as Mike shows some improvement. Once he stops rejecting what has happened to him, he will probably begin to remember – and then he’ll need you.’
Janet had wanted to shout at her and tell her to mind her own business. What right did she have to dictate what Janet should and shouldn’t do?
‘I can’t stop you coming down, but my advice would be to wait for a while,’ the nurse went on.
Janet had somehow managed to answer her politely and leave. All the way home she’d nursed her bitterness at the cruelty of war and the destruction of her happiness. Her mother’s advice was given more sympathetically, but was basically the same – be patient and wait for Mike to come back to her.
Supposing he didn’t?
Janet shook her head and read the letter from Ryan. He began with an apology. He had meant to stay away and not contact her. He knew that Mike was in hospital and needed her – but…
I can’t stop thinking about you, Jan. Remembering how brave you were when your home was bombed. I know I don’t have the right to ask, but I’d like to see you one day. Perhaps we could just go out for tea…
Janet screwed the letter into a ball, her knuckles white because she was so tense and tight. Ryan shouldn’t have written; he shouldn’t tempt her – because, despite it all, she was Mike’s wife and she couldn’t just be friends with Ryan as he asked. He didn’t want it either. She knew he wanted more, despite his telling her he was in love with his wife. If Janet agreed to see Ryan – even if it was just for tea sometimes – it would be the start of something that would lead to the destruction of her marriage and his. Janet wouldn’t do it. She was stronger and better than that, she thought, and raised her head. She would write to Ryan and tell him that Mike needed her now – even though he didn’t…
Chapter 6
‘The government want us to save paper, Mrs Ashley,’ Tommy Barton said when he poked his head over the split door in her kitchen. ‘I’m collectin’ orf everyone who can spare anything – newspapers, old letters, anythin’ will do…’
‘Have you got a trolley?’ Peggy came to the door and looked out. Tommy had put four wheels on a large wooden vegetable crate and a strong rope to pull it. ‘You can do a job for me and collect some paper at the same time.’
‘Anythin’ you want,’ Tommy said hopefully, his nose twitching at the smell coming from her oven.
‘I’ll just take these jam tarts out of the oven and then we’ll go up to the attic,’ Peggy said. ‘There are piles of old magazines up there. A lot of them were up there when we came. Laurie was going to clear the attic but he never got round to it. I’ll pay you sixpence an hour to clean it out for me – and you can take all the old magazines and newspapers, and I’ll give you somethin’ to eat when you’ve finished.’
‘You’re on,’ Tommy said and grinned at her, because it was just the kind of job he liked. He could really get to work on clearing out the attic, earn some money for his mother and collect much-needed paper. There was a competition in the lanes for who could collect the most. Sam had told him about it and the prize, and he’d decided to help his brother win it.
Peggy led the way. The Pig & Whistle was an older building, with an attic accessible by a narrow staircase; it was a leftover from the days when servants had slept in the attics and it made them easier to get into. She snapped on the light, illuminating the loft and showing all the trunks and packing cases stored there. The piles of old magazines were easy to pick out, because there were so many of them.
‘I hadn’t realised there was so much stuff up here,’ Peggy said, looking round. ‘A lot of it hasn’t seen the light of day for years. I’d like you to go through the boxes, Tommy, and tell me what’s in them. Some of it might be of use to other people and we’ll decide what to do with it later, but a lot of it could probably go to the tip.’ She smiled at him. ‘It looks as if you’ve got a job for the next few Saturdays and Sundays.’
‘I’ll have a half-term too and then it will be Easter,’ Tommy said and Peggy realised he was relishing the idea of getting to grips with her junk. ‘I’ll take them magazines out of yer way first, Mrs Ashley, and then start on the boxes.’
‘Just call me Peggy,’ she said and saw the appreciation in his eyes. ‘You’re a young man now, Tom – the man of your family…’
‘Yeah, reckon I am,’ he said. ‘Ma thinks I should stay on at school until I’m sixteen, but I want to work for meself one day. When the war is over, I’m goin’ into a trade or business where I can be my own boss, but I’ll join the Army as soon as I can.’
‘A jack of all trades,’ Peggy said. ‘I reckon you could do most things if you tried, Tom. You just need to learn a few things and then you’ll be away.’
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he grinned and started to gather the paper into bundles. He had a roll of string and a penknife in his pocket and was soon making bundles that he could easily carry. The way he set about it had purpose and Peggy was openly smiling as she went back down to the kitchen.
She’d wanted that attic clearing for years. It was just one of many jobs Laurie had promised to do when he had time. If Tommy was set on starting up for himself, Peggy might be his first customer with a list as long as her arm…
‘Who does this belong to?’ Janet said, coming into the kitchen with her basket full of shopping and eyeing the trolley doubtfully.
‘It’s Tom Barton’s,’ Peggy said. ‘He’s collectin’ paper and he’s clearin’ out the attic for us. I think that should keep him busy for a while…’
‘I saw his mother just now,’ Janet said. ‘She was having an argument with a woman from Gun Street. Something to do with her Sam and Mickey Jones from Gun Street being carted off down the police station for pinchin’ off a bombed-out house…’
‘Oh no,’ Peggy said. ‘I wish I’d told her myself what Sam was up to now, but she didn’t come for the washing-up job and I thought she would tell me to mind my own business…Besides, I’m s
ure Nellie had a word with her about it.’
‘Well, she was blamin’ Mickey Jones for leadin’ her son astray and his mother said Sam was the culprit; the two mothers were goin’ at it hammer and tongs just now.’ Janet picked Maggie up from her pushchair and set her down in the playpen.
‘I blame Bert Higgins from Three Farthings Yard,’ Peggy said and frowned. ‘He’s been encouraging the kids to take scrap there for chocolate – and kids see no danger in climbin’ on rubble. They don’t realise what could happen.’
‘Well, I expect the police will let Sam off with a warnin’, but his mother will give him a hidin’ and it serves him right. It’s looting, Mum. The police have told people they could be shot for stealin’. I know they’re only kids, but it’s still wrong.’
‘Well, if he were my son I’d make sure he had plenty of chores to do at home and that would stop him gettin’ into trouble,’ Peggy said and then looked up as the postie came to the back door and looked in. She smiled, because she saw it was Reg and he hadn’t been for a while. ‘You’re back then?’
‘Did yer miss me?’ Reg grinned at her and came into the kitchen. ‘I ’ad a boil on me unmentionables, Peggy. They took me in the infirmary for a couple of weeks and it was mighty painful, but I’m all right now.’
‘Good to see you back,’ Peggy said. ‘What have you got for us today?’
‘There’s a letter for Janet,’ he said. ‘Looks as if it’s from the ’ospital – let’s hope it’s good news – and there’s one from Maureen for you, Peggy. I’d know ’er ’and writing anywhere. How is she gettin’ on down there? Her father never stops moanin’ about her goin’ orf and leavin’ him, but I reckon she’ll make a good nurse.’
‘Yes, she will.’ Peggy smiled. ‘Would you like one of these rock buns, Reg? They’re fresh out of the oven…’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’ He grinned at her as he took one. ‘This will keep me goin’, love. See yer tomorrer…’
‘Doesn’t that annoy you, the way he always tells you who the letters are from?’ Janet asked, tucking her letter into her pocket as the postman disappeared into the yard.
‘Sometimes,’ Peggy admitted, ‘but I’ve known him for years and he’s a part of our lives.’ She turned as Tommy came down with several bundles of magazines. ‘That should fill your trolley…’
‘Yeah, I’ll be back for the rest soon. Bye for now…’
‘Take one of these to keep you goin’…’ Peggy gave him a rock cake and he smiled, slipping it into his jacket pocket.
Peggy looked at her letter from Maureen. She tore open the envelope and began to read. After a moment or two she gasped, ‘Oh no…’
‘Something wrong, Peggy?’ Nellie asked as she entered the kitchen. ‘Not bad news?’
‘Well yes,’ Peggy said. ‘Maureen has written to me and it seems as if there was a terrible raid on the hospital a couple of nights after she got there. One of the girls she shares accommodation with was killed tryin’ to save the life of a patient…’
‘That’s terrible,’ Nellie said. ‘I read about somethin’ like that the other day. They can’t always move the patients and this nurse stayed to protect hers but both she and the man were killed by them murderin’ devils…’
‘Maureen says she and the other girl she shares with have been cryin’ their eyes out…’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Nellie said and sniffed into her large handkerchief. ‘It gets yer ’ere…’ she tapped her chest. ‘And I don’t even know the poor girl…’
‘Maureen says she didn’t know her well, but she liked her – and it’s an awful thing to happen.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Nellie sighed, ‘but it’s ’appenin’ all over, love. We none of us know these days…’
*
‘What’s fer dinner then, Violet love?’ Henry Jackson asked when he walked into the room above the shop and sat down. ‘I’ve been rushed orf me feet and I’m dyin’ fer a cuppa…’
‘I haven’t had time to cook,’ Violet said, coming out of what had been Maureen’s bedroom with a pale pink corset in her hand. ‘My customer is booked for a fitting this afternoon and this isn’t quite ready.’
‘Damn!’ Henry muttered. ‘I was hopin’ you would go into the shop fer an hour or two, Violet. I’ve got to get to the wholesaler today and my mother refuses to come in. She says she’s too old – and I should’ve thought what I was doin’ before I pushed Maureen out of her home.’
‘Your mother doesn’t like me much,’ Violet said and pursed her red lips. ‘Well, my fitting should be done by four. If you can wait until then, I’ll have an hour in the shop for you – but I shan’t cook tonight. We’ll either have fish and chips or you can take me down the café for a nice plate of steak and kidney pie.’
‘Violet…’ Henry protested. ‘I’ve been on my feet all mornin’ and I’m ’ungry.
‘Make yourself a corned beef sandwich,’ Violet said over her shoulder. ‘I bought some pickle down the market. I’ve no time for cookin’ and we live over a shop. It’s time you learned to get yourself somethin’ to eat, Henry…’
He glared at her back as she returned to Maureen’s old bedroom. He wished his daughter was still here. She’d always had a decent meal waiting for him, and she made her own pickles. Henry sighed as he got up to put the kettle on. He was beginning to realise that he’d picked a woman well able to stand up to him in Violet. She was every bit as determined to have her own way as he’d always been.
For a moment his thoughts dwelled on his daughter. Perhaps if he phoned her at the hospital and said his chest was bad… but no, she’d gone and he didn’t think she was coming back.
Chapter 7
‘You just back?’ Sally said as she slipped her nursing cloak around her shoulders. ‘I’m on duty this evening.’
‘Are you all right?’ Maureen asked because Sally looked dreadful. They’d both been devastated by the news of Pam’s death, but proud too when they were told later that Pam had tried to protect a bed-ridden patient with her body, but in vain because the falling debris had killed them both. Although she’d hardly known the girl, Maureen felt as if it was a member of her family that had died. Both she and Sally had been shocked and disbelieving, even though they knew that similar incidents were happening all over the country. Brave nurses refused to leave the side of patients who were too ill to move, and if their ward took a direct hit they were injured or died amongst the falling debris, but of course they weren’t the only ones. People were dying in air raids and the resulting chaos all over the country.
‘As right as I shall be.’ Sally shivered. ‘I can’t get it out of my head.’
‘I know. I feel the same…’
‘She didn’t deserve it… those bastards bombing a hospital…’ Sally caught back her sob. ‘We’re helping people – we’ve even got some Germans in here. They needed patching up and we took them in – and then those bastards bomb us…’
Maureen sighed and gave her a hug. Sally had known Pam longer than she had and was hurting a lot. ‘I hate this war,’ she said. ‘I helped wash one of the German patients the other day and he’s just a boy, Sally, cryin’ for his mum because he’s lost his legs and he’s in pain – just like our boys. He didn’t want to kill people, he told me so… It’s that bloomin’ Hitler and those men in high places who think it’s a good idea to have a war.’
Sally nodded. ‘I’d better go or I’ll be late. Is it cold out?’
‘Freezing,’ Maureen said. ‘At least the heating is working on the wards. It’s a darned sight colder in here.’ She hesitated, then, ‘We can’t do anything, Sally.’
‘I know. I’m all right,’ Sally said and went out.
Maureen slipped off the heavy rubber-soled shoes she wore for work and sighed as she lay back on her bed. The mattress was hard but at that moment she felt as if she were floating on clouds. She was so damned tired! She’d been working since a quarter to seven the previous evening and it was now five-thirty in the afternoon; almost twe
nty-four hours with barely a break for meals and a drink. Maureen had thought she was on her feet long hours at the shop, but that had been a picnic compared to her working days now.
Normally, she worked about fourteen-hour shifts but yesterday had been like Bedlam on the wards. Over a period of several nights the hospital had come under fire from enemy planes; they flew over and strafed the building with their guns, and the bombers had done some damage to a part of the older building, which had collapsed. During that time all the nurses had been on double duty and they were all exhausted.
*
‘I’m going for a drink tonight – comin’?’ Sally asked that Saturday night. It was the first time they’d both had the same evening off for ages. ‘Come on, Maureen. You never go anywhere…’
Maureen hesitated and then agreed.
She went out occasionally with the girls from work, though she said no to all the offers of dates with young servicemen. That night, though, she’d wanted a few stiff drinks and it was a good thing she’d gone, because she had to help Sally back to their hut. Sally had had one too many and kept falling over. When they managed to reach the camp, she passed out just after they went through the gates, and one of the young guards on duty laughed and hoisted her over his shoulder.
He winked at Maureen. ‘Too much celebrating?’ he said.
‘Hardly, our friend died in the raid the other night. She needed a few drinks to help her get over it…’
‘My big mouth,’ the guard cursed and then apologised. ‘Sorry, love. I didn’t realise.’ He’d carried Sally into the hut and then hesitated before leaving. ‘Look, I wasn’t being nasty just now – and I am sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ she said. He looked to be a nice young man and she gave him a fleeting smile. ‘You couldn’t know. Thanks for helpin’ us.’
‘You’re welcome. I hope your friend doesn’t feel too bad in the morning.’