The District Nurse

by Annie Groves

Kathleen stopped in her tracks. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded. ‘My Ray’s in the Merchant Navy now, doing his bit. He couldn’t get home for the holidays – they can’t let them all have leave, you know,’ she added with a sense of self-righteousness. Never mind that Ray hadn’t sent so much as a card to her and Brian. He probably hadn’t been in port at all. She thrust to the back of her mind his behaviour the last time he’d been home, and clung to the thought that he’d mended his ways and was at sea, serving his country as all right-thinking young men were.

  ‘Oh, my mistake, then,’ said Pearl loftily. ‘Only I could have sworn someone said he was home around New Year’s, hanging out down the pubs by the docks. You know, the really rough ones. The Dog and Whistle, for a start. Don’t suppose he thought it would be somewhere you’d want to go. Maybe fancied a night out with his mates – was that it?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Kathleen, now very hot and bothered. ‘He’ll be on board the merchant ship halfway to Canada by now, I shouldn’t wonder. Of course he can’t tell me exactly where he’s been or where he’s going – that wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘Very patriotic, I’m sure,’ sneered Pearl. ‘But my Bertie was sure it was him.’

  ‘Bertie?’ Kathleen repeated.

  ‘Oh, didn’t I say? They let him out. Sent him back to his dear old mum after all.’ Pearl’s eyes lit up with spite. ‘He’s hardly likely to forget what Ray looks like, is he, now? He’s not going to confuse a night out down the docks with any others, seeing as he hasn’t been able to go down the pub for ages, on account of him being behind bars for nothing at all.’

  Kathleen had had enough. ‘I must be going,’ she said firmly.

  Pearl stepped back but not before she’d let out a loud cackle. ‘Yes, you do that. Run off, like you always do. No wonder Ray didn’t want to go back to your place. Bet he won’t find a warm welcome there, will he? Perhaps he’s found a warmer one elsewhere.’ She cackled again as Kathleen, ears burning with shame, pushed the big pram away from the stalls and down to the High Street. Hateful old woman, stirring up trouble as usual. She wouldn’t pay her a blind bit of notice. It was all a parcel of lies.

  ‘Darling, we were so glad you could come home at last,’ said Mrs Lake, Alice’s mother, as she passed the small plate of little cakes across the table to her daughter. ‘Here, have one of these. I made them specially.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, you shouldn’t have,’ said Alice, protesting weakly but aware of how rare these treats would be in future. Already there were rumours that sugar would be plentiful only if you had very deep pockets or knew the right people.

  ‘Yes, she was up until late making sure they turned out right,’ said her father, his eyes full of concern for his only daughter. ‘No, you help yourself and don’t worry about us, we won’t go hungry. You’re the one who has to keep up her energy.’

  ‘I hope they don’t work you too hard,’ said her mother, patting anxiously at the turtleneck of her lilac sweater. A small, neat pearl necklace hung just below it.

  Alice shook her head and smiled at them reassuringly. She knew in her heart that the workload, demanding though it was, wasn’t the only reason she had avoided coming home for so long. She had dreaded coming back to the city where her heart had been so broken, and knew her parents, while wanting only the best for her, would feel obliged to bring up the subject of Mark. At least now she didn’t run the risk of bumping into him. Knowing that loved ones all over the country were being separated by the rigours of war, she had decided she must brave the long train journey north to Liverpool, the place of her birth, which in truth she would always think of in some way as home. Stepping onto the platform at Lime Street had brought a wave of nostalgia, the familiar tang of the Mersey always present underneath all the other traces of a bustling city, the cry of the sea birds distantly wheeling above.

  Now she was back in Sefton Park, in her parents’ house, in which she had lived for most of her girlhood. She could hardly remember moving in, she’d been so young. All the big decisions of her life had been made here or, more precisely, in the little blue-papered room upstairs which overlooked the carefully tended back garden. To stay on at school when she turned fourteen, unlike some of her classmates who couldn’t wait to get out into the wider world. To take her Higher Cert. To study to become a nurse – and the eventful choice of the teaching hospital where Mark was working. To leave Liverpool after their break-up, to move to London. A lifetime of key moments in one bedroom.

  The house was comfortable rather than luxurious, although Alice couldn’t ever remember going without. Her parents hadn’t been young when they’d married and had had to wait for a few years before she came along, which meant that they were fairly well set up by the time she was old enough to notice such things. Her father was a civil servant – was one still, although in the many long months since she’d last seen him, he’d grown a little greyer at the temples, a little stiffer in his movements. His eyes were still kind, though, and they crinkled at the corners in testament to his good humour.

  Glancing around she could see that the furniture was a little more worn, the paintwork just that bit more tired. The old walnut sideboard which had belonged to her grandmother had a few more scratches on it which the polish didn’t quite hide. Her parents would be getting old soon and she was taken aback by the realisation. When she’d left, only about a year ago, she’d still felt like a dependent daughter, even though she was a fully qualified nurse by then. Six months of further training followed by the challenging work of a district nurse had changed all that. Now she could see the beginnings of their need to be looked after themselves. Maybe not for a long while – but their positions had begun to be reversed, without her noticing until now.

  ‘How do you find your accommodation?’ asked her mother, still with some anxiety. ‘What about the other nurses? Have you made friends?’

  Alice nodded as she nibbled on the light sponge bun. ‘This is delicious, Mum. Nobody down there can cook like this.’ Even as she said it, she felt a pang of disloyalty, remembering Flo’s fruit cake. But Flo’s food was hearty, made to satisfy the appetites of her big family, especially her tall sons and husband. They would have demolished the delicate buns in one fell swoop. ‘Like I said in my letters, I’m still billeted with Edith, the one who I trained with when I first moved down. And there are plenty of others as well.’ She described the inhabitants of Victory Walk, from fearsome and energetic Fiona to modest Gladys, lately beginning to emerge from her shell. Now she was hundreds of miles away, Alice realised how much affection she held for them, even the noisy ones who’d just moved in to the rooms below. They made her smile – they reminded her of Edith when they’d first met.

  Mrs Lake relaxed a little. ‘It certainly sounds as if you’ve found your feet,’ she said. ‘Of course we can’t help but worry. London is bound to be a target if the war gets worse.’

  Alice eyed her mother sadly. ‘It’s when, not if, Mum. But I’ll be as safe there as I would be up here. You know the Mersey docks will be high on their list.’

  Her father nodded gravely. ‘She’s right, my dear. Still no flies on you, eh, Alice? Yes, with so much of the country’s supplies coming in across the Atlantic, our docks will be lucky to escape an attack at some point. That’s if the merchant ships have managed to dodge the U-boats out at sea.’

  Mrs Lake paled a little. She had always avoided talk of politics and international affairs and had fervently hoped her daughter would grow out of her interest in such matters. She could see that hadn’t happened yet.

  ‘Yes, reports of what’s been going on in Scotland and Heligoland are just the beginning, I’d say,’ said Alice, keen to hear her father’s view. She had relied on him when growing up for a level-headed outlook on the world, and was relieved to find they were still of similar mind.

  ‘More cake?’ said her mother, passing the plate again. ‘Do try the butterfly bun, darling. You used to love them. You were pretty good at making
them, actually. Do you ever get a chance now?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Alice, licking a smear of buttercream icing from her finger and feeling like a little girl again.

  Mrs Lake leant forward to press home her advantage and divert the course of the conversation while her daughter’s mouth was full. ‘And have you met any nice doctors down in London?’ she asked. ‘It must be full of suitable young men, a city that size.’

  Alice sighed and shook her head. ‘Really, Mum, you know I’m not interested.’

  ‘So you say,’ said her mother, who had never quite believed this.

  ‘Well, do you remember Dr McGillicuddy? He was passing through and was a locum in our district, just for a very short while in the autumn,’ she said, more to placate her mother than anything.

  ‘Oh yes, how could I not remember him? Such a good-looking lad.’ Her mother sat up, animated again. ‘Wasted as a doctor – no, don’t look at me like that. I know medicine is a noble profession but really, somebody that handsome, he could be on the stage or whatever he wanted.’

  Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘He is doing what he wants, Mum. He wanted to be a doctor and now he is one. He’s gone to join the army, the British Expeditionary Force in France.’

  ‘Has he now?’ said her father. ‘Very brave man, in that case.’ He looked directly at his daughter. ‘And what of Mark, then? They were best friends too, weren’t they?’

  Alice glanced down at her plate and then raised her gaze again. ‘Yes, they were. Mark’s gone with the BEF as well. They’re both army doctors. So I expect they’ll be in the thick of it in no time at all.’

  Mrs Lake nodded and then plunged ahead. ‘Well, that’s very decent of them, and no doubt it’s Liverpool’s loss. But you know what I think, darling. He was a nice young man but a little bit on the intense side.’

  ‘Mum!’ Alice couldn’t stop herself from exclaiming aloud.

  ‘No, hear me out. I know how sad you were about him, and I’m not blaming anyone. But you mark my words. There are other fish in the sea, and I know you didn’t want me to say that before you left, but I’m saying it now. You can do better, my love, and you will.’

  Alice fought to contain the rush of emotion that washed over her. How could her mother be so insensitive? She had dreaded this very conversation. Mark had been everything to her. He hadn’t been some foolish crush. Their love had been real and she had been unable to believe it was truly over. Her mother had seen all this at first hand – how could she say such things?

  Her mother reached out and gently touched her hand. ‘You can’t bottle it up forever, darling,’ she said quietly. ‘You think we don’t see what you’re going through, but we do. We’re delighted that you’ve thrown yourself into your work, and admire you tremendously for it. Just don’t lose sight of that young girl you used to be who knew how to have fun. She’s still in there somewhere.’

  Alice stared at the white tablecloth, willing herself not to well up. She wouldn’t cry. She’d built a hard shell around her heart and it had served her well this last year, enabling her to get on with her work, her career, and generally to get up in the mornings and carry on. She couldn’t let it crack. She might never make it back on the train if she did.

  Hesitantly she rose. ‘I’ll just go and powder my nose,’ she said, using her mother’s timeworn phrase, and all but running from the room.

  Upstairs she shut the door to the small bathroom and perched on the edge of the bath, unable to stop the tears from flowing. Her shoulders shook with long-held-in emotion as the sorrow she’d tried to push away for so long burst forth, and her eyes smarted as she rubbed them red. Her whole body trembled with the pain of it. It was like it had all happened only yesterday, and she remembered how she had done just this, barred herself in her parents’ bathroom, where nobody would see her. She didn’t want to share the agony with anyone. It was her grief, and it was private.

  Slowly the worst of the tears passed and she sank exhausted onto the padded top of the little wooden box where her mother kept the spare towels. She could smell the familiar scent of her mother’s favourite lily-of-the-valley talcum powder. Wearily she wiped her raw eyes. This was what she had feared: coming home reawakening the sharp hurt of the past, combined with her parents’ conviction that all she needed was a replacement young doctor for all to be right again. Slowly she breathed out, trying to regain some kind of control over her tumult of emotions. This was so unlike her. If any of her colleagues could see her now, they wouldn’t recognise her. Well, except Edith.

  A thought occurred to her that Edith had laughed when she’d first described her childhood home. The idea of growing up with an inside bathroom had struck her friend as incredible. Edith’s family had shared one outside toilet between everyone else living in the block of back-to-back terraced houses, and had managed with one cold tap in their back kitchen, and even that was thought of as a luxury. Alice had never had to endure such privations. Of course, in the hospitals where they’d first studied and now in the nurses’ home, hygiene was paramount and they were never without such facilities – but for some of the nurses it had all been a novelty.

  Alice buried her face in a thick cream towel and recognised her mother’s favoured washing powder, Persil. Despite herself, she laughed. She’d missed that smell. The nurses’ home used something else and she didn’t have a say in the matter. Maybe she could ask her mother to wash all the clothes she’d brought up for the short stay and then she could take the smell of them back down with her.

  Eventually she stood up. She felt better. Quickly she splashed her face with cold water and tried to improve her puffy red eyes. When she’d done as much as she could, she steeled herself to walk back downstairs.

  Her mother was waiting in the hallway outside. As soon as she saw her daughter she opened her arms and enveloped her in a warm hug. ‘Darling, we didn’t mean to upset you,’ she said.

  Alice nodded against her mother’s shoulder. They were about the same height, as her mother preferred court shoes with medium heels, whereas Alice hardly ever wore anything other than a low heel at the most. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m better now.’

  Her mother paused a moment. ‘Don’t ever feel sorry,’ she said at last. ‘There’s no shame in falling in love. It’s not your fault it all went wrong. Believe me, we hated seeing you suffer like that and we were glad you had your work to fall back on. We’re so proud of what you do. But promise me you won’t let losing Mark ruin your life.’ She stepped back a little. ‘Life is for living, Alice. I know you find it hard to credit, but your father and I were once young too. We remember what it’s like. We just want to see you happy.’

  Alice nodded. ‘I know, Mum. It’s been hard but I really think I’m on the mend. I was nervous about coming home but I’m glad I did.’

  Mrs Lake gave a big smile. ‘That’s the spirit, my love. We’re glad you came back too. We understand why you didn’t before, and all that matters is that you’re here now.’ She tucked her arm into her daughter’s. ‘So let’s go back to your father and finish off those cakes.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Fiona hurried along the corridor to her office, as fast as she could without actually running. There seemed to be more and more to do these days. Constant committee meetings of various kinds demanded her presence. Rotas always needed changing, and the two new recruits to the district required supervising until they had settled in. Two nurses had moved out – one to get married, and one to join up as an army nurse and work in France. Primrose and Belinda had joined the North Hackney nurses’ home at New Year, fresh from their Queen’s Nurse training. She was tempted to delegate keeping an eye on them to Gwen, but was aware that maybe understanding the young wasn’t her deputy’s strongest suit. Gwen had instantly decided the pair were flighty and made no secret of it.

  Fiona sighed. In addition to all that, it was colder than she could ever recall in London, as bad as her native Scotland. The Thames had frozen over. It had playe
d havoc with travel arrangements. She would have to sanction extra money towards fuel; she couldn’t have her nurses getting cold on top of everything else they endured, mostly without complaint.

  ‘Well, at least it will keep transmission of infection down,’ she muttered as she reached her office door. She paused as she could hear the sound of someone singing ‘Over the Rainbow’ from inside. She smiled and reprimanded herself for being so gloomy. There was always something to be grateful for, and Gladys finding her voice was one.

  She opened the door and the singing abruptly ended. ‘No, carry on, carry on,’ Fiona said hastily. ‘Don’t let me stop you. It cheers me up to hear you, Gladys.’

  Gladys, who had been cleaning the bookshelves, beamed. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ She bobbed a little curtsey and Fiona frowned.

  ‘No need for that, my dear. But as you’ve stopped, tell me, when is Alice Lake due back, do you know?’

  Gladys nodded. ‘She went to visit her folks, ma’am, and they’re up in Liverpool, it’s ever so far. Then she had to call us on the telephone to say the trains weren’t running because of the weather and she’ll be back tomorrow instead.’

  Fiona nodded. She had feared as much. ‘That’s a shame, but nothing to be done about it. We’ll just have to manage without her.’

  Gladys rolled up her duster in her hand. ‘Miss Edith said she’d help me with my reading later.’

  ‘That’s kind of her,’ said Fiona. ‘You’re coming along nicely, Gladys. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You work a full day here and then you study all evening. Well done.’ She paused. ‘Actually, can you ask Edith to come up here, if she’s downstairs? Her shift should be over by now. Mary, too, if you see her. They haven’t done anything wrong, I just need to ask them a favour.’

  Gladys bobbed again, pink with delight at the praise. ‘Of course, ma’am.’

  Mary shook her hair and sighed. ‘What do you make of that, then?’

  Edith shrugged as she took down the cocoa powder from the top shelf. ‘Suppose we’d better have this without sugar.’ She pulled a face. ‘It’s not so bad, is it? Just keeping an eye on the new nurses while they settle in? I think Fiona didn’t want to seem heavy-handed and that’s why she didn’t ask Gwen. She thought it would be better coming from us as we’re at the same level as they are.’