She turned onto her side and tucked her hand under her cheek. Ellen’s ability to attract and keep the attention of boys, even if she was disinterested in them, had always baffled Mary. Ted had only ever had eyes for Ellen. Poor Ted … and poor Mrs Booth. She’d go and see her tomorrow; she must be in a right state.
Ellen hiccupped and moaned in her sleep. Mary carefully rolled onto her back staring into the darkness. Perhaps her sister hadn’t ruined things after all with Frank. He’d made it obvious today that he fancied her and that he thought it worked both ways. And it did; she did like him, she liked how he made her feel, as though she was really alive for the first time in her life. But there was also something about him she didn’t understand, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
She closed her eyes but the thought wouldn’t go away.
Chapter 10
‘I’m just not sure about him. I thought he was too full of himself that first time at the house but he was different last night.’ Mary folded the crisp white sheet under the mattress. ‘I know he’s had a rotten time, I heard him telling Dad about it, but …’ She shook the blanket and it billowed over the bed. Jean caught hold of the corners and between them they spread it out and folded it under the mattress. ‘I just don’t know what to make of him.’ Picking up a pillow she held it to her and looked across the bed at Jean. ‘I told him about Tom … about him being in prison and why.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He didn’t get a chance to say anything. Mam and Ellen got back from the Booths’ just then, so I’m not sure how he felt.’ She handed the pillow to Jean and took another off the cupboard at the side of the bed.
‘Perhaps he’ll tell you next time you see him,’ Jean said, tucking the pillow under her chin and easing the case over the end of it, her voice muffled.
‘If there is another time. He could be as bad as the rest of that lot.’ Mary looked out of the long windows towards the guardroom. The northerly wind was whipping the bare branches of the trees, so that, with each gust and splatter of rain, they rapped against the panes. ‘When they first found out about Tom being a CO, they had a field day with their snide comments.’ She wondered if Frank was on duty. She could just make out the figures of three soldiers lounging on chairs in the guardroom. Frank wasn’t one of them. ‘Everybody has an opinion about COs and it’s usually unrepeatable.’ As she watched she saw Frank stride towards the small brick building, head bent against the weather. One of the other soldiers left and Frank reappeared just inside the doorway, smoking. Mary watched him gazing towards the hospital, his eyes following the span of the wards above hers and then along the length of the building until he came to the window where she was standing. He saw her and nodded. Mary lifted her hand and moved away from the window.
Jean gave the pillow a good shake and dropped it on the bed before saying, ‘Give him a chance, Mary. Patrick says he’s a decent bloke.’
‘Patrick could say the moon was made of green cheese and you’d believe him. He’s only known him five minutes.’
Jean flushed. ‘That doesn’t mean he’s wrong. Personally I think Patrick is a good judge of character.’
‘I know.’ Mary smiled. ‘After all he likes my friend.’
‘And, as you know I’ve liked him for a long time.’ Jean was oblivious to Mary’s teasing. ‘But I thought I was too old for him.’
‘You’re all of what … three years older? Quite the old maid.’
‘OK, OK.’ Jean smiled. ‘But I meant what I said, give Frank a chance.’ She looked down at the patient, who had been waiting in a chair nearby. ‘Right, Egon, ready?’ The young man stuck his thumbs up, and they helped him on to the bed.
‘Danke.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Jean patted him on the shoulder. ‘Sleep, now.’
‘The age thing doesn’t bother Patrick though, does it?’ They moved to the next bed, Jean pushing the trolley that carried the two bowls of steaming water and disinfectant and the clean sheets.
‘Doesn’t seem to. He’s not mentioned it, anyway.’
‘Good. And you’re sure about him, how you feel I mean?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be? I know you two don’t always get on…’
An understatement if there was one, Mary thought. ‘We have our differences.’
‘But he and I get on like a house on fire.’
‘You mean blazing rows?’ Mary laughed again, but when Jean pulled her lips into a tight line she said, ‘Sorry, couldn’t resist.’
‘I’m happy, Mary. Be happy for us?’
Mary lifted her hands. ‘OK.’ But she frowned, thinking back to the short conversation she’d had with her brother shortly after he’d started courting Jean.
Patrick was in front of the kitchen mirror, leaning back with his knees bent so he could see his reflection and carefully arranging the natural waves of his dark hair.
‘Out with Jean again tonight?’ Mary was mending the umpteenth ladder in the same stocking and wishing that, just for once, she could be like Ellen and always find someone to buy new ones for her. She’d gone off gallivanting as well. It seemed Mary that she was the only one with no social life.
‘What’s it to you?’ Patrick was staring at her, his brown eyes narrowed.
‘Nothing.’ Mary moved her shoulders, breaking the thread with her teeth and putting the needle back in the case. She stopped. ‘Well, actually, if you must know, I wondered why the interest in her after all this time.’
Patrick stretched his lips back over his teeth and examined them in the mirror; they were white and even. Mary knew he thought them his best feature and often used his smile to his advantage. He rubbed his forefinger over them. ‘She makes me laugh.’
Well, that’s a first, she thought.
‘And she’s good to talk to.’
For that read good at listening. ‘Met her mother yet?’ Mary asked.
‘Her Ma?’ He straightened up and turned towards her, fastening the studs on his shirt collar. ‘Yeah, course I have. I knew who she was. I’d seen her around before. I’ve been to the house a few times.’
‘You’re honoured. She doesn’t normally let men in that house since Jean’s father left.’
‘Well, she’s no choice really, has she? What with the house belonging to Jean.’
‘Jean?’ Mary was startled. Her friend had never mentioned that.
He grinned. ‘Yeah, didn’t you know?’ He put his overcoat on. ‘Her father arranged for it to be put in her name when she was twenty-one.’
‘Her father left years ago.’
‘Yeah, but the house was still his. Jean said he’d done it through a solicitor.’ Patrick smirked. ‘Thought she’d have told you.’
Before Mary could say anything else he was gone.
Keep out of it, Mary told herself, mind your own business.
She and Jean worked efficiently. Chucking soiled bedding into the linen basket, wiping mattresses and working with newly starched sheets, they mirrored each other’s actions until, stopping at an empty bed, Jean glanced at the other two nurses on the other side of the ward and whispered, ‘Patrick told me about Frank the other day. About him being injured at Dunkirk. In confidence, of course, he doesn’t want it bandying around. Patrick says he doesn’t want anybody to know at the camp.’
Mary raised her eyebrows.
Jean saw her expression. ‘What?’
‘He told Patrick in confidence?’
‘Yes?’
‘And Patrick told you?’
‘Patrick tells me everything. We’ve agreed not to have secrets from each other.’
‘And now you’re telling me. I don’t think Frank would be too pleased, do you?’
‘I just thought it would help you to understand him better,’ Jean huffed, ‘I only wanted to help. Sorry I spoke, I’m sure.’
‘I just think if something’s been said in confidence, it shouldn’t be passed around.’ Mary dropped her cloth on to the mattress and rubbed at a stubborn sta
in, ignoring the glower Jean was sending at her.
The ward doors swung open, an orderly pushed his way in carrying a mop and bucket and began to shift the bedside cabinets of the first two beds before slopping hot water over the floor,
‘We’d better get a move on, we’re running late,’ Mary said. They finished the bed in silence.
When Jean spoke again, her voice was cool. ‘Anyway, like I said, Patrick thinks he’s a decent chap. He wasn’t too happy when I told him about that first night at the pictures, but I think he’ll be OK about you being friendly with him now.’
‘That’s big of him.’ Mary folded her arms and leaned against the basket.
‘I think you’re spoiling for a row today.’ Jean stood with her hands on her hips.
‘No … no, I’m not.’ Mary couldn’t be bothered. Her friend had been different since she’d been going out with Patrick; influenced right away by him. ‘Let’s just get on, shall we.’
‘Yeah, well, there’s only three more, anyway.’ Jean smoothed her apron and pushed the trolley to the next bed. A minute later she burst out, ‘I can’t believe how much Mother’s taken to Patrick. He’s the first person she’s allowed in the house for ages.’
‘He …’ Mary wondered if she should tell Jean what her brother had said.
Jean misunderstood her hesitation. ‘Yes, he’s been a lot to the house. When he turned up that first night I could have died. I thought she’d have a fit, but before I could say anything, there he was, sitting at the kitchen table unloading stuff off the black market; eggs, marmalade, biscuits.’
‘Oh, was he?’
The sarcasm was lost on Jean. ‘Well, after that he could do no wrong. You know her, anything for nothing. She says she can’t believe he’s brother to …’ Jean stopped.
Mary saw the confusion in her face. ‘The one who’s in prison? The conchie?’ She finished the sentence for her, a bitter smile twisting her lips.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jean mumbled. ‘She can be a right old cow, sometimes. Well, most of the time, really.’
Mary went over to the washbasin in the corner of the ward and picked up the small green bar of soap. She was angry at Jean’s mother, angry at Patrick. She couldn’t remember a time when his ability to play the black market had benefited his family. Now he was using his talent to get his feet under Jean’s table. She finished washing her hands and took a small towel off the rail under the basin. Well, who could blame him? Obviously he’d worked out a way of escaping from home. ‘Come on, we’d better hurry up. Matron will be here on her rounds before we can turn round.’
Drying her fingers she crossed the ward and looked out of the window again. The rain was heavier on the window and now the outline of the old mill was a blurred shadow. ‘We’re going to get wet, going home.’ She dropped the towel into the basket. ‘Right, let’s get this lot to the laundry room and finish our reports for Matron.’ She surveyed the room. Everything in its place. Patients back in bed, pinned down by immaculately white sheets. One or two of the men grinned at her and gave a thumbs-up sign. She smiled. Sometimes, most of the time to tell the truth, she forgot they were the enemy.
‘Who’s on with her today?’
‘Schormann.’ Mary pulled a face. ‘Worse luck.’ She gestured to the other nurses to help Jean to move the basket. The wheels squealed in protest as they pushed it through the swing doors of the ward.
‘Sister?’
Mary turned. The German doctor was standing by the first bed, a clipboard in his hands. Oh hell, how long had he been there? She felt her face grow hot. ‘Doctor Schormann?’
He moved from one foot to the other, fidgeting with the stethoscope around his neck. ‘May I have a word?’
‘Can I help you, Doctor?’
‘I am hoping.’ His voice was low. ‘We had an unfortunate first meeting. I was rude. I offended you.’ He ran a hand over his short hair. ‘Entschuldigung Sie, bitte. I am sorry.’
‘It really doesn’t matter, Doctor.’ Mary studied him, saw the humiliation in his eyes. They weren’t, as Jean had described them, like the eyes of a fish. They were a clear blue and framed by long blond lashes. She felt a flicker of sympathy for him.
‘It is important that we … how do you say … are in harmony, ja?’
‘I agree Doctor.’ At least it would make her life easier if they could work together with professional respect.
‘My name, it is Peter.’
‘I can’t.’ Mary lifted a hand to soften the words.
‘Of course.’ He clicked his heels together. His black shoes gleamed through the muddy rain marks. ‘I understand.’
‘I meant …’
His mortification was almost painful to watch. ‘I understand,’ he repeated, turning away from her.
Mary gazed thoughtfully at the ward doors gently swinging long after he’d left.
Chapter 11
Mary unpinned her cap and threaded it through the belt of her uniform, before fastening her cape.
‘I thought she was never going to let us go.’ Jean pulled the hood of her waterproof cloak over her head, trying unsuccessfully to tuck both her cap and her black curls inside it. ‘And I wanted to get away today. Patrick’s promised to take me dancing. There are two new bands on at the Palais in Bradlow.’ They stood outside the main entrance to the hospital watching the rain slant across the compound.
Jean waved to Patrick, who was sheltering under one of the trees on the opposite side of the road. Then she nudged Mary with her elbow. ‘Good grief, look who’s there.’ Standing by her brother Frank hunched his shoulders against the driving rain.
Mary followed her across the road. Without speaking Patrick opened his overcoat so that Jean could shelter against him. As she ran towards him and wrapped her arms around his chest, her head burrowed into his neck, Mary knew instinctively that things between them had gone further than she had realised. She stood, the discomfort palpable between her and Frank. They watched the couple as they walked away, stopping now and again to kiss, oblivious to the weather.
‘Well, they’re getting on all right.’ Frank pulled at his collar. ‘Would you mind me walking with you?’
‘No, that’s fine,’ Mary said, glad to move; the rain was already soaking through her stockings. ‘Though I’d rather take the shortcut if it’s all the same to you; under the bridge, along the canal and across Skirm. I don’t particularly want to follow those two all the way home.’ They began to walk. ‘I thought you were on duty?’
‘I’ve just finished.’ He held out his hand. ‘How’s it gone today?’
She hesitated and then took hold of it, the warmth of his skin somehow familiar.
‘All right. It was the new young doctor. I thought he was going to be as difficult as the last one but I’m not sure now.’
‘The last one?’
‘Doctor Müller, he was so full of himself. Really rude to the nurses. I’m hoping this doctor will be better to work with.’
‘Just remember it’s him that’s the prisoner,’ Frank said. ‘He’s the same as the rest of the arrogant sods.’
‘It’s different in the hospital, Frank,’ Mary said. When she’d watched the doctor leave the ward she’d been aware of how hard the apology must have been for him; she’d almost felt sorry for him. She wondered whether to tell Frank what Matron had said about Schormann and his Red Cross status but the thought was immediately quashed by his next words.
‘It’s no bloody different, Mary. He’s a POW and that’s the end of it and he has to do as he’s told. We …’ He stopped. ‘The Commandant will make sure of that.’
‘The Commandant has appointed him as Lagerführer, amongst the prisoners,’ Mary pointed out. ‘Surely that means he deserves some respect?’
‘Being Camp Leader for the buggers means nothing.’ They turned down towards the canal. ‘Hold on to the rail. These steps are lethal.’ Frank went first. The stones, covered in moss, were slimy.
Mary noticed how carefully he moved and as they t
urned under the bridge saw that his limp was more pronounced. Obviously the damp affected his knee. And his temper. She felt she should try to make him understand how the hospital worked; perhaps it would make him less harsh. ‘He’s a doctor, Frank. A lot of the camps in the country use German doctors when they can. We need them and it makes it easier for everybody.’
‘Who gives a damn about them, they’re prisoners. You don’t have to take any shit from them. Just report him if he gets too bloody chopsy.’
‘I can’t do that, there has to be mutual respect in the hospital. We’re working together to achieve the same thing; to make the men fit.’
Frank scowled. ‘Fit to kill one of our own again.’
Mary felt the exasperation rising in her. ‘You know they’re not going to do that; they’ll be prisoners until the war’s over.’
‘Providing they don’t escape.’
‘Well, that’s up to you isn’t it? That’s your job, to guard them.’ She spoke sharply; it was like listening to Patrick.
Frank’s face changed. He gave a short laugh and held up his hand. ‘Whoa. Talked myself into that one, didn’t I? Daft thing to say, anyway, they’ll not get out with the lot we’ve got at Granville; they’re a good crowd.’
‘I’ve heard rumours that some of the younger guards can be a bit rough on the prisoners.’ In fact, Mary knew the Commandant had had to discipline one section of the guard force for excessive violence.
‘That’s rubbish. If anything it’s the old guard, the lot from the last shindig and the civilian patrols that we have to put up with, that are the soft buggers. Places like Granville need proper discipline to keep the sods down.’ He squeezed her fingers. ‘Let’s not waste any more breath on the bastards.’
They walked on.
However appalled she was by Frank’s bitterness, Mary knew he was bound to be resentful. He’d been badly injured: so much so he’d been unable to carry on as an active soldier in the war. She wished she knew him well enough to talk about it with him. Best to leave it for now, she thought.
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