‘Is it? Two young people are dead now because of it.’
‘And a lot more might be dead if we’d closed our doors,’ James Cooper said. ‘This hospital has saved hundreds of lives in the past month. Lives that might well have been lost if we hadn’t been open to receive the wounded. And besides, you weren’t the one who dropped that bomb, were you?’ He leaned forward, his eyes holding hers. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Kathleen. You weren’t the only one who decided to keep this hospital open. We all wanted to stay, including Nurse Kowalski and Mr Meredith. Don’t take that burden of guilt on your shoulders, for God’s sake, or it’ll drive you mad.’
Kathleen stared into his steady blue gaze and immediately understood why he was such a good doctor. His deep, soft voice had the power to calm and comfort the most frayed nerves. She sat for a moment, grateful for his quiet strength.
‘Thank you,’ she said finally. She stood up, smoothing down her uniform. ‘I’m sorry, you must think me very foolish.’
‘We are all allowed to be a little foolish, under the circumstances.’
Are we? A mental picture came into her mind from the previous night, of David McKay in evening dress, running towards the wreckage while everyone else was running away, crying out Helen’s name. And then, when she’d appeared, stumbling out of the ruins of the building, the way they’d fallen into each other’s arms, clinging together, so frantic and desperate they no longer cared who saw them.
Kathleen badly wanted to fall into someone’s arms now, to cry for Nurse Kowalski and Jack Meredith and all those other poor souls who had sought refuge in Casualty that night and paid with their lives. She wanted someone to stroke her hair, and hold her, and tell her everything would be all right . . .
‘Everything will be all right,’ James Cooper said.
She stared at him, wondering for a moment if somehow he’d seen into her mind. Or perhaps he was just wishing the same thing, she thought.
Chapter Thirty-One
JOHNNY WAS WAITING for Jennifer in his usual place on the corner, lounging under a lamp-post, smoking a cigarette. But this time he wasn’t alone.
He was deep in conversation with a woman, a hard-looking blonde a few years older than Jennifer. She felt a strange, panicky stirring in the pit of her stomach as she watched them, their heads close together, laughing.
Jennifer hurried towards them. As she drew closer, Johnny glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He leaned forward, whispered something to the woman and put something in her hand. She hurried off before Jennifer could reach them.
Johnny turned to her, tossing away the end of his cigarette. ‘Hello darling,’ he greeted her. ‘You’re looking beautiful today.’
Usually she would have enjoyed the thrill of his admiring gaze travelling down from her head to her toes and back again, but not today.
‘Who was that?’ she demanded.
‘Who?’
‘That girl you were talking to.’
‘Oh, her.’ He shrugged. ‘A friend.’
‘What did she want?’
‘Just passing the time of day, that’s all.’
There was an impatient edge to his voice, and Jennifer knew she should let it go, but she couldn’t. ‘You gave her something,’ she accused. ‘What was it?’
‘Blimey, you’re asking a lot of questions today, ain’t you?’ He was smiling, but his eyes were chilly.
‘Tell me.’
He shifted from one foot to the other, hands thrust into his pockets. ‘If you must know, I was doing her a favour. She asked me to get something for her, and I was just handing it over. It was a bit of business, that’s all.’
‘What kind of business?’
‘My business.’ There was no mistaking the edge to his voice now. Even Jennifer knew better than to push it. She had learned quickly that Johnny’s mood could change like the wind, especially when it came to discussing his business affairs. Not that Jennifer was really interested, anyway. As long as he had the money to take her out, that was all she cared about.
But as they walked towards his car, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, ‘Is she a good friend of yours?’
Johnny smiled lazily. ‘What’s up? You’re not jealous, are you?’
‘Of course not!’ But as soon as she heard the words, Jennifer realised that was exactly what she was feeling.
The shock almost stopped her in her tracks. She had never, ever been jealous in her life. She had never known that horrible, uncertain feeling uncurling in the pit of her stomach, every nerve ending suddenly on alert, sensing threat.
She knew she had made plenty of other people jealous in her time. She rather enjoyed seeing the fear on other girls’ faces when she flirted with their boyfriends in front of them. And it gave her a thrill when young men fought with each other like dogs over a bone because of her.
But she had never cared for anyone enough to experience true jealousy, until now. It was a horrible, vulnerable sensation, she realised, entrusting your heart to another person. Especially when that other person was as slippery as Johnny Fayers.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘I can’t stand jealous girls.’
Jennifer was wise enough to take the hint. ‘Lucky I ain’t then, eh?’ she replied. ‘Besides,’ she added, with a touch of contempt, ‘why should I be jealous of someone like her? That blonde hair came straight out of a bottle, I’ll bet.’
Johnny laughed. ‘Too right!’ he agreed. ‘She isn’t a patch on you, love.’ To Jennifer’s relief he put his arm around her and everything was all right again. ‘Come on, let’s go and have some fun.’
He took her up to Lyons Corner House in the Strand for afternoon tea. Usually, Jennifer would have felt very grand as she sat in the window seat, nibbling on dainty sandwiches and wishing someone she knew would walk past and see her. But this time she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders.
‘Come on, out with it.’ Johnny smiled across the table at her.
‘I dunno what you mean.’
‘You’ve had a face as long as a fiddle ever since we got here.’ He leaned back in his seat. ‘What’s up? Potted meat sandwiches not to your taste?’
‘No – no, they’re lovely.’ Jennifer took another half-hearted bite to prove it.
‘What is it then?’ Johnny sighed irritably. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about that girl? I told you, she’s just a friend.’
‘It’s not her.’ Jen bit her lip. ‘It’s my dad,’ she said finally.
Johnny frowned. ‘What about him?’
‘He wants to meet you.’
There, she’d said it. ‘He’s been on and on about it,’ her words tumbled out in a rush. ‘My mum told him about you, and he wants to make sure you’re a respectable young man!’
She mimicked his voice, desperately trying to make light of it. Don’t hate me, she pleaded silently, watching Johnny’s face across the table.
She had hoped her mum might forget that Jennifer had a boyfriend. But as usual, Elsie Caldwell never forgot anything. And she’d stayed true to her promise to tell Jennifer’s father, too. All hell had broken loose, and the only way Jennifer could calm him down was to promise to introduce her new boyfriend.
Johnny lit up a cigarette, his movements agonisingly slow. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said.
‘Please? It won’t be too bad, I promise. Just come for tea, that’s all. It’ll be worth it for my mum’s cooking!’ She laughed, trying to lift the sudden tension that had descended over the table. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t ask you, but my dad’s very protective of me.’
‘He ain’t going to think much of me then, is he?’
‘You don’t know that. Please, Johnny?’
He shook his head. ‘I dunno, Jen.’
‘He’ll like you, I promise.’
‘And what if he doesn’t?’
‘He will. I’ll make him like you,’ Jennifer said firmly.
‘Got him twisted round your little
finger, have you?’ Johnny exhaled a thin stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I bet you’re good at doing that.’
Perhaps she was, once. But Johnny was the only one she couldn’t control, which was why he fascinated her so much. Fascinated – and terrified.
She licked her lips nervously. ‘So will you come?’ she asked.
He paused for a long time. Too long. ‘Sorry, Jen, I can’t,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s all a bit serious, ain’t it? Meeting your mum and dad sort of makes everything official. Next thing, he’ll be asking me what my intentions are, and before I know it I’ll be down on one knee with a ring in my hand!’
He roared with laughter. Jennifer stared at him blankly. Why was it so funny? she wondered. It was what she’d planned, after all. They’d been courting for three months, longer than she’d ever been out with any other man. Besides, Cissy and Paul were beginning to talk about settling down together, and Jennifer was determined to beat her friend to the altar. She’d even daydreamed about the kind of wedding dress she would have.
She screwed up her fists tightly and fought the urge to punch him. If any other man had laughed at her, she might have done just that.
‘Isn’t it serious, then?’ she heard herself ask in a small voice.
‘Not serious enough for me to face your dad!’ Johnny roared with laughter again, then stopped when he saw her stony face. ‘What’s the matter? You didn’t think I was going to pop the question, did you?’
‘Don’t be daft.’
Johnny must have read the disappointment on her face because he reached across the table for her hand. ‘Sorry, Jen, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said. ‘I thought you understood we were only having a bit of fun?’
A bit of fun?
There was nothing fun about her feelings for Johnny Fayers. Jennifer knew she should get up and walk away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was afraid he might not follow her, and that would be it for them.
‘If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go home now.’
‘But you haven’t finished your tea.’
‘I’ve lost my appetite.’
Johnny narrowed his eyes. ‘I hope you’re not sulking?’ he said.
‘Of course not.’ She folded her napkin and laid it down on the table. ‘I’d just like to go home, that’s all.’
She wanted him to apologise. But all he did was lift his hand to summon the nippy. ‘If that’s what you want,’ he snapped.
They drove home in silence, with Jennifer feeling utterly wretched. She’d ruined everything. Johnny wouldn’t want to see her again, she was sure of it. He would drop her, and take up with that hard-faced blonde instead.
She had never been dropped by anyone before.
He parked a couple of streets away from her house as usual, and Jennifer struggled to get out of the car before he could say anything to her. She had just managed to get the door open when he suddenly said, ‘Wait. Before you go . . .’
This is it, she thought, steeling herself. She had made up her mind she wouldn’t cry, but she could already feel tears pricking the back of her eyes.
‘What?’
‘I’ve got something for you.’ He reached into the inside top pocket of his jacket and pulled out a long red leather box.
Jennifer fixed her gaze on it. ‘What is it?’
‘Open it and find out.’
Inside the box was the most beautiful rose-gold bracelet, fine links with a dainty little diamond clasp.
Jennifer’s anger disappeared. ‘It – it’s beautiful.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘I love it.’ She draped it across her wrist. The pinkish gold glowed against her skin.
‘Here, let me.’ He fastened the bracelet for her, his strong fingers brushing hers. ‘You see?’ he said, holding on to her hand. ‘Now would I give you a present like that if I wasn’t serious about you?’
She smiled reluctantly. ‘I suppose not.’
‘You’re a lovely girl, and if I ever settle down it will be with someone like you. But I’m just not ready at the moment. You understand that, don’t you?’
She nodded, sniffing back her tears. ‘Yes, Johnny.’
‘Now let’s not have any more sulking, shall we?’ He dropped a kiss on top of her head.
Jennifer skipped home, utterly elated, stopping every couple of minutes to admire the bracelet. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever given her, and she couldn’t wait to show it off.
Wait until Cissy saw it! Paul had never bought her such an extravagant gift, not even for her birthday.
This was proof, Jennifer decided. Proof that Johnny truly cared about her. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to get engaged, but he was still serious about her in his own way.
Her mother poked her head out of the kitchen when Jennifer let herself in. ‘You’re early,’ she said.
‘Hmm.’ Jennifer picked up the post from the hall table and flicked through it. ‘Anything for me?’ she asked.
‘No, why? Are you expecting something?’
Jennifer had written to Philip Chandler nearly two weeks ago, apologising for what had happened the last time she’d seen him. She’d felt sure he would write straight back, but so far she’d heard nothing.
It took her by surprise that he hadn’t replied. Surely he couldn’t stay angry with her? It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t even meant what she’d said.
She missed him. The ward seemed a lonely place without their daily chats for her to look forward to.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not expecting anything.’
Perhaps Philip had found another nurse to flirt with? No sooner had the thought occurred to her than Jennifer felt jealousy uncurling in the pit of her stomach, for the second time that day.
Chapter Thirty-Two
DURING THE FIRST two weeks of October, London suffered an almost constant barrage from the Luftwaffe. Day and night, German bombers screamed overhead, raining down incendiaries and explosives and spreading terror throughout the city.
And the Nightingale suffered more than its fair share.
One night a high-explosive bomb destroyed half the administration block. Kathleen had to move to a temporary office in one of the basement equipment stores, setting up her desk among stacks of old X-ray tubes and boxes. No sooner had she got herself settled than the following night a basket of incendiaries hit the dispensary, sending it and the staff dining room up in flames.
Then, while they were still struggling to recover, two days later another bomb hit a chimney, sending it crashing down through three floors of what had once been the main ward block. It broke Kathleen’s heart to stand in the remains of Holmes ward, looking down to the ground far below, where Sister’s desk lay crushed under a heap of fallen masonry. Just a few months ago, she had been so proud when they’d managed to get the ward redecorated and finished in time to treat the casualties from Dunkirk. Now all their hard work was reduced to rubble, along with everything else.
The one blessing was that no one had been seriously hurt in the blast. By the time the bomb struck, all the wards had been moved down to the basement, along with the operating theatres, the temporary Casualty department and the nurses’ accommodation. Old parts of the cellar Kathleen had never even known existed were now pressed into service as makeshift wards, sleeping quarters and dining rooms. Closer to the stoke hole, the Red Cross had taken up almost permanent residence, dispensing tea and sandwiches as the dining room was no more.
The Nightingale’s staff lived underground like moles, working, eating and sleeping in the dimly lit warren of corridors and only emerging into the outside world to survey the damage around them. By the middle of October, everyone had dragged their beds down to the basement, where they were packed together as tightly as in a public shelter, with only curtains to separate them. Every night, Kathleen had to pick her way over the sleeping bodies of doctors, students and ward sisters to find herself a spare mattres
s. It wasn’t uncommon to see a medical student propped up against a wall, his head lolling on the shoulder of a sleeping consultant.
The nurses and VADs behaved as if they were at Girl Guides camp, laughing and singing songs and setting each other’s hair. Meanwhile, the medical students discussed the bombs dropping around them as if they were commentating on a cricket match.
‘There goes another basket of incendiaries, lighting up the way . . . Now wait a minute, here comes his mate . . . there! I bet that’s got the docks again. I’m surprised there’s anything left.’
But when Kathleen toured the wards during the night, she was surprised to find the patients all sleeping like babies, in spite of the deafening noise of the ack-acks in Victoria Park.
‘They’re exhausted, poor things,’ one of the night nurses commented. ‘I expect they feel a lot safer here than they do in their own homes.’
Kathleen couldn’t imagine why they had so much faith in the hospital, when the building was falling down around their ears.
At least the debris in the courtyard was gone now, thanks to the hard work of Mr Philips and his men. But Kathleen still averted her gaze every time she had to pass the spot where the Casualty department had come down. She couldn’t walk past the broken ruins of the building without thinking of poor Nurse Kowalski and Jack Meredith.
As far as Kathleen was concerned, she would have razed the whole lot to the ground. But the Trustees had other ideas.
‘We must consider reopening Casualty,’ Mrs Tremayne announced at their last meeting. ‘I have spoken to Dr McKay, and he says the present arrangement in the old laundry is simply not practical for the volume of casualties they have to deal with.’
‘Is that possible?’ Another trustee, Gerald Munroe, turned to Mr Philips.
‘Well . . .’ The Clerk of Works sucked his teeth. ‘I’ve had a word with the Borough Engineer, and he reckons most of the treatment rooms and consulting rooms are still intact. It’s only really the Casualty Hall itself that has been destroyed.’
‘Could it be rebuilt?’
‘Not without considerable time and cost.’
‘Perhaps we could make do without a waiting area for the time being? I know it isn’t ideal, but at least it would mean the treatment rooms could be used . . .’
Nightingales at War Page 21