From the Ashes

by Deborah Challinor

  *

  Pauline swivelled in the pew to watch the coffin as it was carried into the church. She knew it was heavy because she’d been allowed to help carry it out last night after the vigil, when there’d only been family and a few close friends. She wasn’t allowed to help carry it in today, though — her mother said it wasn’t the done thing for women to be pallbearers. She’d been surprised at the great weight of it, but had assumed it was the wood, not Nan, because she’d weighed hardly anything when she’d died. At the thought of her poor, bony, helpless little body, Pauline felt tears burn her eyes yet again and she blinked madly. She would not cry in front of all these people.

  Creepy Mr Grimwade the undertaker, in his shiny black suit and top hat, beckoned the pallbearers towards the front of the church, and she thought, you bloody idiot, where else would they take the coffin? He caught her eye and at his dirty look she realised her face had betrayed what she was thinking. Too bad, you disgusting old deathmonger. She hated him because he’d poked and prodded at Nan’s body and filled her up with all sorts of strange chemicals, and all because her mother insisted on it. They should have just left Nan alone and buried her as soon as she’d died, in peace. Because that’s what she deserved. Peace.

  As the coffin was settled on the bier Pauline faced the front again. She was sitting in the front row of the church with the rest of her family. A lot of people had turned up and the place was full, and here she was wearing a boring grey skirt, a navy blue top and flat black shoes. God. She’d dressed this morning in her white capri pants, a new blue gingham shirt that tied at the waist and white wedges — a nice bright and breezy outfit her Nan would have liked — but her mother had gone so mental about it she’d changed. Donna was wearing head to toe navy, Allie was in black and her mother in dark grey. Sonny didn’t own a suit but still looked pretty good in dark trou and a sports jacket. Her father did own one, and was wearing it, but it was ancient and shiny and looked like it had come from the Salvation Army and wouldn’t do up across his belly. Good old Dad.

  Her mother wasn’t talking to her anyway, except to tell her off. Last night she’d said she hadn’t wanted to go to the vigil, because she’d been terrified the coffin might be open and she’d have to look at Nan’s face, all pale and still and empty. Or even worse, painted up like a doll’s, which would have been awful. Her mother had accused her of not caring and hadn’t even asked why she didn’t want to go, so Pauline didn’t bother telling her and it had all got a bit horrible until her dad took her aside and asked her could she please go to the vigil just to keep the peace. And he’d promised that the coffin would be closed, and it was, so it hadn’t been that bad after all.

  Nan was having the full mass, which meant they’d be up and down like yoyos. Pauline sighed. She rarely came to church, and her parents didn’t very often, either, but Nan had come every Sunday without fail, so she supposed it was only right that Father Noonan went the whole hog. There’d be prayers and songs, the lot, and it’d take ages.

  It did, and by the time they got out to Waikumete Cemetery it had started to rain, though the weather was still warm and the air dense. Grimwades’ Funeral Directors had provided a car and driver for the Roberts family, in which Pauline quite enjoyed being chauffeured, though Allie and Sonny went in their truck. The fresh soil around the open grave had been covered with green cloth which the family, being the most bereaved, got to stand on while everyone else, ladies in particular, had to suffer their heels sinking into the turf. Father Noonan performed the final Rite of Committal, and Pauline closed her eyes as down Nan went into her narrow grave. It seemed like such a lonely, muddy, diminished end to such a loving, clever woman. But at least she was next to Granddad Patrick, or what was left of him. Pauline wondered what was left of him. Bugger all by now, probably.

  Her boyfriend, Butch, who was a member of the Rebels motorcycle club, reckoned that when you died there was nothing left of the real you, that your body was just the packet you came in, so who cared what happened to it? She didn’t agree with that. She thought dead bodies should be treated with respect, but kept that to herself because Butch could be a proper shit if you disagreed with him. In fact he was a shit anyway. They hadn’t been getting on lately and she suspected he was about to dump her because she wouldn’t have sex with him. That was all right. She wouldn’t miss his bad temper, crass jokes and really quite bad body odour, but she would miss his beautiful Triumph motorcycle, which had been the main thing that had attracted her to him.

  Also, she had her eye on someone else. She didn’t think he owned a motorbike but he was so gorgeous she could probably overlook that for the time being. If the Rebels were in town of a night, and they usually were, roaring round making a noise and scaring the crap out of people, they ended up at the White Lady pie cart on Fort Street, like nearly everyone else out and about late, because it was the only place you could get decent coffee, and she’d seen this boy there a few times, hanging round with his mates. Someone said his name was Johnny someone-or-other. He was Maori and she grinned to herself as she imagined taking him home to meet her parents. They hadn’t been that thrilled to start with about Allie and Sonny but now they thought Sonny was the ant’s pants, but if she took a Maori boy home they would no doubt say, oh, no, we’re not having another one. But she hadn’t got that far yet. She hadn’t even spoken to Johnny whatever-his-name-was, but he did know she existed because he’d winked at her once and given her a little wave, right in front of Butch, which had earnt her a slap before Butch had told her she was walking home.

  Nan had known all this. She, Pauline, had gone round to her house at least once a week, every week, to chat, and then when Rose had broken her hip she’d visited her in the hospital even more, usually on her way home from work and nearly always on her own. She hadn’t felt the need to tell her mother she visited her nan so regularly, because it was special time, just for the two of them. She’d told Rose everything, and Rose never said she was being bad, or wilful, or stupid. She listened, and only gave advice when asked for it, though one time Nan did ask what it was she thought she was looking for. She’d said she didn’t know, just like she didn’t know why she couldn’t behave. Not that she deliberately set out to do wrong things, people just saw them that way. And what had she done wrong, really? She was still a virgin, she hadn’t broken the law, and she had a job. She thought she was doing all right.

  But now Nan was gone and there was no one for her to talk to. Her girlfriends were, frankly, too silly; talking to her parents was out of the question, even her father; Donna never took any notice of her; and Allie had her own problems, after losing poor little Hana and everything. She wouldn’t want to listen to her little sister whingeing on as well.

  And, finally, Pauline did cry.

  *

  Donna had been at the Green Lane School of Nursing for one week, and already she loved it. She loved the training and lectures and working on the wards at Green Lane Hospital, she loved how busy she was, she loved the uniform, and she loved living in the nurses’ home (even though it was quite shabby) with the other trainee nurses. But best of all, and this had really taken her by surprise, she’d met a man she really quite fancied.

  His name was Robert Sullivan and he was a doctor — that was all she knew about him so far — and she thought he was the most glamorous thing in his flapping white coat with his stethoscope slung casually around his neck. She’d met him when he’d barrelled round a corner and nearly knocked her flying. Unfortunately she’d been carefully carrying a full bedpan with a paper bag over it and the lot had gone everywhere. She’d sworn quite loudly then gone red in case someone had heard her, and he’d laughed and offered to take her out for a cup of coffee by way of an apology.

  Some of the girls on her floor in the nurses’ home squealed when she told them she had a date with a doctor. Well, Barbara Bassett and Helen Dawson did, because she’d become friends with them immediately, but Joan Proctor, who was twenty-one and slightly older and therefore, a
pparently, superior, looked down her nose then went back to her embroidery.

  ‘I don’t think we’re allowed to fraternise with the doctors.’

  ‘Well, we aren’t,’ Helen said. ‘Donna is, so it’s none of your business.’

  ‘I hope Matron doesn’t find out.’

  ‘She won’t if you don’t tell her.’

  ‘It is against the rules,’ Joan insisted, tying off a thread and selecting a different colour.

  ‘But it’s still no skin off your nose, is it?’ Barbara said. She was curled in a chair, prising the lid off a tin of chocolate macaroon biscuits. ‘This was nearly full yesterday! Who’s been hogging them?’

  Guilty silence.

  ‘I just don’t think it’s becoming,’ Joan said eventually, ‘nurses chasing after the doctors, especially trainee nurses. It gives us a bad name.’

  ‘I’m not chasing him,’ Donna said. ‘He asked me out for coffee.’

  ‘You’re just jealous ’cos no one’s asked you out,’ Helen said.

  Joan sniffed. ‘I have a boyfriend. In fact, I’m engaged.’

  ‘Really?’ Barbara said. ‘That’s interesting. We nurses are supposed to be single, aren’t we?’

  Joan flushed, obviously realising she’d just plummeted from her high horse.

  ‘Ha ha, got you,’ Helen said.

  ‘Well, all I’m saying is it’s against the rules. And you should be careful, Donna.’

  ‘Careful of what?’ She was a funny old trout, Joan.

  ‘Of . . . everything.’

  ‘Oh, never mind being careful,’ Barbara said, stuffing the last chocolate macaroon into her mouth. ‘We haven’t considered the most important question, have we? What are you going to wear?’

  *

  Donna decided on her floral, flared Horrockses cotton dress (her best and quite stylish) and her only pair of good sandals, red wedges which fortunately matched. She shaved her legs, painted her toenails, spent ages on her make-up, and agreed to let Helen curl her long, fair hair with a hot tong.

  Then, sitting in front of the mirror, she said, ‘You know, I don’t know why I’m doing all this. I’m here to train as a nurse, not get myself a boyfriend. And my nan just died. I shouldn’t be going out having fun.’

  ‘Would she want you to stay in and mope?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘There you go then.’

  Donna lit a cigarette. ‘It’s not as if I banged into him on purpose, you know.’

  Helen took another lock of Donna’s hair and wrapped it around the tong. ‘You don’t have to justify yourself to me. Is he picking you up here?’

  ‘He said to meet by the gates to the park.’

  Briefly silent, Helen worked on Donna’s hair. Then she said, ‘Really? That’s romantic.’

  Donna glanced at Helen’s reflection in the mirror. She was sure she’d heard a touch of sarcasm. ‘I think he was worried about me getting caught going out.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Well, we’re not allowed out during the week, are we?’

  ‘No. You’re right, he’s probably just being careful.’

  ‘He’s got a car, though. We’re going into town, to a coffee bar. Pooh, God, is that my hair I can smell burning?’

  Helen whipped the tong out of Donna’s hair. ‘I’ve nearly finished. It looks lovely at the back. All shiny and ringlety.’

  Finally Donna was ready to go. Leaving through the back door of the nurses’ home, she walked along Green Lane Road to the entrance to Cornwall Park, where she sat on a stone wall under the trees to wait.

  When Robert arrived he was driving the most extraordinary vehicle — nearly as eye-catching as Mr Leonard’s car next door to her parents’. This one was a bright red two door convertible, but it was smaller and sort of more rounded off than Mr Leonard’s vast American job.

  He got out, trotted round and opened the passenger door for her. ‘Your chariot awaits, fair princess. Hop in!’

  She did, luxuriating in the cream leather seats. ‘Is this yours?’

  ‘Like it? It’s a Ford Mark I Zephyr.’

  ‘It’s lovely! I have to admit I do rather like American cars, though.’

  Settling himself back in the driver’s seat, Robert said, ‘Fords are American cars.’

  ‘Oh. Are they?’ God, what an idiot. ‘Well, it doesn’t look like one.’

  ‘These ones are made by Ford UK, though this one was actually assembled here. In Wellington, I think. Or is it Petone?’

  ‘Really?’ Donna hoped he wasn’t going to talk about cars all night.

  Robert put his down his foot and off they tore, Donna’s hair streaming out behind her in the evening air and immediately losing most of its curl.

  ‘I thought we’d go to the Hi Diddle Griddle,’ he said. ‘Have you been there? On Karangahape Road?’

  Donna hadn’t, of course, though she’d heard about it. It served American-style food and was the place to eat, and was far too expensive for the likes of her. ‘No, but I’ve been meaning to for ages.’

  ‘Great food, you’ll love it.’

  Donna’s heart sank, though not far because her stomach was in the way, full of the rather stodgy tea she’d recently eaten at the nurses’ home. How was she going to manage two suppers? He’d said they were only going for coffee. ‘Sounds lovely.’

  At the Griddle they were lucky to get seats in a red leatherette booth. Donna looked around. The restaurant was long and narrow, and on one wall hung a huge black velvet mural of Hawaiian scenes that glowed in the dim light. Next to that was a waterfall made of giant clam shells, and farther along was a small stage and dance floor. It was all rather . . . exotic.

  ‘What do you fancy?’ Robert asked, indicating the menu.

  Donna read, almost fainting at the prices. Two and six just for a cup of coffee? You could get a three-course meal for that in a lot of cafes. A fairly basic meal, true, but it’d be a lot more filling than a coffee.

  ‘I’m thinking about the New York steak,’ Robert said. ‘Or maybe the Chicken Maryland.’

  Donna checked the menu. Ten and six, and fifteen bob respectively. Bloody hell. Choosing the smallest item she could see, Donna said, ‘A fruit cup would be lovely, thanks.’

  Robert rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you’re watching your weight. Come on, push the boat out. My treat. What about a Hawaiian steak, or try the lobster tail. Or maybe a pizza. Have you ever had a pizza? You haven’t lived till you’ve had pizza. Or what about a cheeseburger? They’re pretty tasty.’

  About to ask for a cheese omelette, Donna changed her mind when she saw the price of that was eight and six. For a couple of eggs! ‘I think I’d like a cheese toasted sandwich, thank you.’ Two shillings and sixpence.

  Robert looked vaguely disappointed, but ordered it for her when the waitress came, a steak for himself, and a corkscrew. He retrieved the bottle he’d put on the floor under the table when they’d arrived, and took it out of its anonymous brown paper bag. Donna thought it might be red wine, which she’d never tasted. She’d never had white wine, either. She drank beer, or sherry, or occasionally Pimm’s or gin and orange, when she was being flash.

  ‘They don’t mind if you drink here,’ Robert said, winding in the corkscrew, ‘as long as you keep the bottle out of sight. If the cops come in just quickly put your glass on the floor.’ He pulled out the cork with a pop and poured her a glass. ‘There you go. It’s a cabernet sauvignon. A New Zealand one but it’s not bad.’

  Donna took a sip. It was disgusting, like drinking oily vinegar.

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s quite nice, isn’t it? Quite . . . unique.’

  ‘Would you prefer white?’

  ‘No, this is fine, thanks.’ Actually, she’d prefer a Coca-Cola. Or a cup of tea.

  ‘I like a good red,’ Robert said, swirling his wine around then smelling it like a dog sniffing another dog’s bum, ‘though I did think twice about bringing this. I n
eed to be a bit careful about raids, being a doctor.’

  ‘Are you a specialist?’ Donna asked.

  Robert laughed. ‘No, I’m a house officer. I’ve just started my second year.’

  Donna looked at him politely. Surely he’d explain if she sat here long enough.

  He did. ‘Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re new at Green Lane. A house officer is at the bottom of the pecking order.’

  ‘I thought that was first year pupil nurses, like me.’

  ‘Well, yes, but I’m talking about doctors. A house officer is a fellow who’s completed their medical degree at Otago University, and is now doing practical work at a hospital. Generally we’ll do two years as a house officer, then either go off and be a general medical practitioner somewhere, or continue at a hospital as a senior house officer, then a registrar, then train as some sort of specialist or consultant.’

  ‘And which will you do?’

  ‘I’m going to train as a cardiac specialist. Green Lane is the best place in New Zealand for cardiac care, though no doubt I’ll do a stint overseas somewhere as well. London, probably.’

  ‘Have you always wanted to be a doctor?’

  Robert shrugged. ‘My father’s a surgeon and my older brother’s an orthopaedic specialist at Auckland Hospital. It was sort of inevitable, really. Why, did you always want to be a nurse?’

  ‘Not until quite recently. No one in my family’s ever got a professional qualification, before me.’ Donna shut up, wondering if she should have said that.

  ‘So you’re not looking for a husband, then?’

  He said it with a laugh but Donna could tell he meant the question seriously because his smile hadn’t quite reached his eyes, and he was watching her intently, waiting for her to answer. She had a terrible urge to tell him she was, just to see what he’d do.

  ‘At the moment I’d rather be studying towards my general nurse’s qualification. Plenty of time for everything else later. Much later. I’m only eighteen, after all.’