Cissy lowered her gaze. ‘Don’t be like that,’ she said quietly.
How do you expect me to be? Jennifer wanted to shout at her. In the space of a few minutes everything had been ruined for her. That shattered window had scarred her inside and out, taking away her looks, her confidence, her whole life.
And to cap it all, her best friend could hardly bear to look at her.
‘Anyway, what else has been going on?’ she changed the subject briskly. ‘Any gossip?’
Cissy thought for a moment. ‘They’re holding a dance at the hospital, just after Christmas,’ she said. ‘Matron’s organised it to try and cheer us all up after the awful year we’ve had.’ She flicked Jennifer a quick look. ‘You should come.’
‘How can I?’ Jennifer replied bitterly.
‘I don’t see why not. You worked at the Nightingale right the way through the Blitz. You should be there. Everyone else is going, all the doctors and nurses. Go on, it’ll be a laugh!’
‘I don’t feel like it.’
‘But you love dancing!’
‘Not any more.’
Cissy looked as if she might argue, but decided against it.
They were saved from more awkwardness as Jennifer’s mother popped in with the tea. Cissy drank hers quickly, then announced she had to go.
‘Off somewhere special, are you?’
Cissy looked at the floor. ‘I promised Eve I’d help her find something to wear for the Christmas dance,’ she replied quietly.
‘Eve, eh?’ Jennifer felt another flash of jealousy. ‘That sounds like fun.’
‘Why don’t you come and help, too?’ Cissy offered. ‘You know you’re much better at picking clothes than I am.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘I’ll come round and see you again tomorrow, shall I?’ Cissy said.
Jennifer shrugged. ‘If you’re not too busy with Eve,’ she couldn’t stop herself sniping.
Cissy’s face crumpled with sadness. ‘Don’t, Jen,’ she begged.
Jennifer turned away. ‘Just go,’ she muttered.
Her mother came back in when Cissy had left. ‘She didn’t stay long,’ she commented.
‘She had other plans.’
‘So I heard.’ Her mother picked up the tea tray. ‘You should have gone with them.’
‘And listen to those two gossiping together all the time?’ Jennifer shook her head. ‘Besides, she only invited me because she felt sorry for me.’
‘How can you say that? Cissy’s your best friend.’
‘Not any more.’ Jennifer turned her face to stare out of the window at the wintry December street outside. The sky was a dirty yellowish-grey and snow had started to drift out of the sky. ‘I’m better off on my own,’ she said.
‘Is that why you don’t want to go to that dance?’
Jennifer glared at her. ‘You were listening all the time?’
‘I couldn’t help overhearing, could I? Anyway, why don’t you want to go? It would have done you good.’
‘To have all those people staring at me . . . pitying me? I doubt it.’
‘No one would do that.’
‘Look at me, Mum! I’m a freak.’
‘Only in your own mind.’ Elsie Caldwell set down the tray and stared at her for a long time. ‘You might have a few scars but you’re still a pretty girl. If you looked in the mirror, you’d see that.’
Jennifer shuddered. ‘I don’t want to.’ Seeing herself for the first time in hospital had shocked her so much, she didn’t want to do it again.
‘But the scars aren’t nearly so bad now . . .’
‘They’re still there. I can feel them.’
Her mother planted her hands on her hips. ‘So what are you going to do? Hide yourself away for ever?’
Jennifer was silent. The truth was, hiding herself was exactly what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to have to face anyone. She couldn’t bear the idea of everyone looking at her, pitying her. She hadn’t even wanted to come home to London. She preferred to be buried down in the country, among strangers, people who didn’t know her and who didn’t matter.
‘Cissy’s right,’ Elsie Caldwell said. ‘You should ask for your job back at the hospital, maybe start training properly like her.’
‘No!’
‘But you used to enjoy it.’
‘They wouldn’t want someone like me working on the ward.’
Her mother sighed, the fight going out of her. ‘Have it your own way,’ she said. ‘But you’re going to that dance, Jennifer Caldwell.’
‘I am not!’
‘Oh, yes, you are. I know you’re worried, but you’re not going to get over anything by hiding yourself away. You’re going, even if I have to drag you out of this house myself!’
‘What do you think of this one?’ Eve frowned critically at her reflection in the mirror. ‘I know it’s not much at the moment, but if I took up the hem a few inches, and shortened the sleeves, and put in a couple of darts here . . .’ She turned to look at Cissy, who was staring blankly into space. ‘Cissy?’
‘Hmm?’ Cissy looked at her, smiling vaguely.
‘The dress?’ Eve reminded her. ‘What do you think of it?’
‘It looks . . . very nice.’
Eve gazed back at her reflection. The rose-pink taffeta dress was far from nice. It was big and fussy and old-fashioned, which was probably why it had lain unclaimed and unloved at the bottom of Mrs Stanton’s jumble pile for so long. But with her trained tailor’s eye, Eve knew she could transform it into something special.
All she needed was Cissy’s approval. She might have the skill, but she had no confidence when it came to deciding what suited her. She desperately needed Cissy’s flair to make her believe she could pull it off.
But Cissy was miles away, and had been ever since she’d arrived at the vicarage.
Eve put down the dress. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Cissy sighed. But she bit her lip when she said it, a sure sign she was anxious.
‘You can tell me.’ Eve paused, then said, ‘It’s Jennifer, isn’t it?’
She knew Jennifer had come home from hospital earlier that day, and she also knew Cissy had been to visit her. Eve had been wondering all afternoon whether Cissy would even remember she was supposed to be helping her to choose a dress. She was convinced that once the pair were reunited Cissy would forget all about her.
But Cissy had turned up just when she’d said she would, with a face as long as a fiddle. Something had gone wrong, Eve knew.
Sure enough, at the mention of Jennifer’s name, Cissy’s blue eyes filled with tears.
‘Oh, Eve, it was awful!’ she cried. ‘She’s changed so much. I don’t mean her scars or anything. It’s like she’s a different person in here.’ She put her hand to her heart. ‘I couldn’t even talk to her, and you know how Jen and I always liked to talk. But she was so cold – almost like she’s lost interest in life. She didn’t even want to come to the Christmas dance. Reckons she doesn’t like dancing any more.’ She rummaged in her sleeve and pulled out her handkerchief to dab her eyes. ‘I never thought I’d see the day Jen Caldwell turned down a night out dancing!’
‘Perhaps she needs time?’ Eve suggested. ‘She’s just come home from hospital, after all. Everything’s bound to feel a bit strange until she finds her feet.’
‘Do you think so?’ Cissy sniffed. ‘I suppose you could be right. It was such a shock, seeing her like that. It was almost like she didn’t want to know me any more.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be all right once she’s got used to being home,’ Eve said.
‘I hope so.’ Cissy smiled gratefully at her. ‘Thanks for talking some sense into me, Evie. You’re a good friend, you know that?’
A good friend. Never in her life could Eve have imagined having a friend like Cissy Baxter.
But at the same time, a small unworthy part of her hoped that Cissy wouldn’t renew her friendship with Jennifer. Because then there mig
ht no longer be any room for Eve in her life.
Chapter Forty-Four
AS SOON AS Jennifer walked into the dance, she realised she had made a terrible mistake.
It was all too much for her. The bright lights, the loud music, the laughter – after so many weeks hiding away, it was like a horrible dream. The kind of dream where she found herself lost in an unfamiliar place with no clothes on, and everyone was staring at her.
They were staring at her now. Jennifer could feel several pairs of eyes boring into her back as she slunk around the edge of the dance floor to join the row of wallflowers.
She burned with shame. Once upon a time she would have felt nothing but pity for them, sitting there so hopefully, clutching their glasses of punch and waiting for someone to ask them to dance. But now she was the one to be pitied. Even though she kept her gaze fixed on the dance floor, pretending to be absorbed in watching the dancers spinning around in front of her, she could hear the other girls whispering together, glancing her way, then whispering again.
Jennifer put her hand up to her face, an automatic gesture of self-protection. She wished she’d swallowed her pride and asked Cissy to come with her. At least she would have had a friend, someone to talk to. But Jennifer had only made up her mind to come at the last minute, because her mother nagged her into it.
‘You’ll enjoy it,’ she’d kept saying. ‘Go on, you need an excuse to get yourself dressed up.’
So now here she was, in an old dress, wishing she had never listened to her mother. No amount of make-up could cover her scars, and her hair hadn’t grown enough to curl into anything like a nice style.
She heard one of the girls giggling, and something inside Jennifer snapped. She turned on them. ‘Had a good look? Perhaps you’d like to take a picture, so you can show all your friends?’
The girl turned red. ‘We weren’t talking about you.’
‘No, of course you weren’t!’ Jennifer sneered back. ‘You think I can’t hear you, whispering and laughing behind your hands? You’re not exactly an oil painting yourself, you know!’
She looked away in disgust, in time to see Cissy coming into the hall, arm in arm with a pretty girl in a pink dress. Cissy saw her, waved and came over, dragging her friend behind her.
‘Jen! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? We would have waited for you.’
‘I – I didn’t make my mind up until the last minute.’ It was only when the girl in the pink dress drew nearer that Jennifer realised with a shock that it was Eve Ainsley.
But it wasn’t the Eve she remembered. Make-up transformed her ordinary features, widening her grey eyes and giving a glossy pink softness to her mouth, while her light brown curls perfectly framed her face.
And that dress – well, it could have come straight off the catwalk of Elsa Schiaparelli herself, nipping in at her tiny waist then flaring out over her hips, giving the illusion of curves to her skinny shape.
But it wasn’t just the clothes and make-up that were different. Eve seemed to glow, as if lit from within. Jennifer couldn’t stop gawping at her.
Cissy smiled, guessing her thoughts. ‘What do you think?’ she said proudly. ‘She looks all right, doesn’t she?’
Jennifer caught Eve’s shy smile, and felt a painful stab of jealousy. She instantly put her hand up to her own face, feeling the roughness of her scarred skin under her fingers.
‘You look nice, too,’ Eve complimented Jennifer. ‘That dress really suits you.’
She was trying to be kind, Jennifer realised. But the last thing she needed was to be patronised by the likes of Eve Ainsley. Just because she’d had her hair done and was wearing a dress that fitted her for a change, that was no reason for her to get all high and mighty. Underneath those bouncy curls, she was still the same insipid little creature she had always been.
Not that Cissy could see that. She looked completely besotted with her creation.
‘We’re just going to get some punch,’ she said, taking Eve’s arm again. ‘Why don’t you come with us?’
Before Jennifer could reply, Dr Jameson and her old medical student friend Tom Treacher came over to them.
‘Good evening, ladies,’ Simon Jameson greeted them smoothly. ‘My friend and I were wondering if you might dance with us?’
His gaze skimmed over Jennifer, and she was already smiling before she realised he was holding his hand out to Eve and not her.
Jennifer glanced at Tom, but he was looking away as if he didn’t know her. She quickly tried to hide her embarrassment, but Cissy’s sharp eyes must have caught it, because she said, ‘Sorry, we can’t.’
Jennifer interrupted her. ‘You can go and dance, if you like,’ she said. ‘Don’t mind me. I’ll go and get some of that punch.’
Cissy chewed her lip, reluctance written all over her face. ‘You will wait for me, won’t you?’ she said.
‘Of course.’ Jennifer shrugged.
‘Promise?’ Cissy was still watching her friend over her shoulder as Tom Treacher led her on to the dance floor. ‘Promise you’ll wait there till I come back?’
‘I promise,’ Jennifer mouthed back. She kept the smile pinned to her face until they had disappeared among the dancers. Then she hurried away.
Her mother would be furious with her, but Jennifer didn’t care. She had had all the humiliation she could bear for one evening.
Fortunately her mother was out visiting a friend when Jennifer arrived home, but her father was in the kitchen, listening to the nine o’clock news on the wireless. She tried to tiptoe down the hall, but as she reached the foot of the stairs he called out, ‘Is that you, Jen?’
Her heart sank. ‘Yes, Dad.’
She heard the creak of his old armchair as he stood up and came into the hall to greet her. ‘You’re home early, love. Didn’t you enjoy the dance?’
‘Not really.’ She shrugged. ‘To be honest, I’m a bit tired.’
‘That doesn’t sound like you. What happened to the girl who used to come home at dawn on the back of a milk float?’
Jennifer glanced at him in shock. ‘How did you know that?’
‘There’s a lot of things I know, love.’ Alec Caldwell’s eyes twinkled. ‘Like I know it ain’t tiredness that’s brought you home early. Am I right?’
Jennifer caught her father’s kindly gaze and suddenly all the fight flooded out of her. ‘Oh, Dad!’
The next thing she was in his arms and he was comforting her, just like he used to do when she was a little girl and had fallen over and hurt her knee.
‘Come on,’ he said, his arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s have a cuppa and you can tell me all about it.’
As they sat together in the kitchen, Jennifer told him about the dance, and about how everyone had looked at her. Her father listened sympathetically.
‘Are you sure you ain’t just seeing and hearing what you want to?’ he asked.
‘I don’t want people staring at me, or talking behind my back.’
‘No, but it’s what you expect, so that’s what you think is happening.’ Alec Caldwell regarded her over the rim of his teacup. ‘Either way, the question is what are you going to do about it?’
‘I dunno what you mean.’
‘I mean, are you going to hide away, or are you going to go out there with your head held high?’
‘I know what I’d like to do,’ Jennifer murmured into her cup. ‘I just want to lock myself in my room and stay there.’
‘That doesn’t sound like my Jen.’
‘Yes, well, I’m not your Jen any more, am I?’ she snapped back. ‘The explosion – what happened – it changed me, Dad. You only have to look at me to see that.’
‘I look at you every day,’ her father reminded her. ‘And all I see is my beautiful little girl.’
Jennifer turned her gaze towards the dying fire. Of course, he would say that, wouldn’t he? He was her father, and she would always be beautiful to him.
‘Other people see something different,’
she muttered. ‘They see a monster.’
Her father sighed. ‘That ain’t true, girl, and you know it.’
‘I don’t care anyway. I’m never going to face anyone again.’
‘Oh, yes? And how are you going to manage that, then? You can’t lock yourself away, no matter how much you might feel like it.’
‘Want to bet?’
Her father shook his head. ‘Look, I can’t take away what happened to you, no matter how much I wish I could.’ His face filled with sadness. ‘But I won’t allow you to ruin your life over it.’
‘My life’s already ruined.’
‘No, it ain’t. Not if you don’t let it be.’
‘So what am I supposed to do?’ Jennifer asked.
‘You’ve got to get out there and face the world.’
‘I tried that, remember?’
‘I don’t mean going out tonight,’ her father dismissed. ‘I mean getting yourself back in the land of the living. Going back to work would be a start—’
‘Oh, no.’ Jennifer was shaking her head before he’d reached the end of his sentence. ‘You’ve been talking to Mum, ain’t you? I bet she’s put you up to this. But I ain’t going back to the Nightingale, Dad. I can’t do that.’
‘You’ve got to do something, love.’
‘Then I’ll find a job somewhere else. In a factory, or an office or something. There’s plenty of other war work I could do. Just don’t ask me to go back to that hospital, please!’
But for once her father stood firm. ‘Until you’re twenty-one, you’ll do as you’re told, my girl,’ he said. ‘And I’m telling you, the best thing you can do now is put that uniform on and get back to that hospital!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Eve said for what seemed like the hundredth time.
Dr Jameson smiled down at her. ‘Stop apologising,’ he said. But Eve could see the pained look that flashed across his face every time she trod on his feet. He was such a good dancer, he must despair of her, tripping over her own feet and stamping on his toes. He was probably wishing he’d asked Jennifer to dance instead of her, she thought.
She tried to remember to do what Cissy had told her, and smile up into his eyes while they were dancing, but embarrassment stopped her from lifting her gaze past his bow tie. She only hoped he couldn’t feel how clammy her hands were.
Nightingales at War Page 29