An Angel Sings

by Nadine Dorries

‘Ooh, listen to you. You sound like you’ve worked here for years. They’ll move me to clinics and you’ll be in charge on here before we know it.’

  Tilly placed the case notes in the red wire tray on the hatch opening. Her stomach flipped at the thought. That was what she wanted and even after just her first day, she knew, she could easily do it. Advancement. More money. Respectability. All the things she required for her and Sam to be safe.

  ‘What would that mean?’ asked Tilly.

  ‘Well, you would go up to twelve pounds a week from seven. That’s a big difference and you would be the admissions clerk, not the junior. My parents are very proud of me. It’s an important job. I always wanted to be a teacher, but I ended up in St Angelus and I can honestly say, it’s the best thing that could ever have happened to me. I never want to leave.’

  ‘Why is that?’ asked Tilly.

  ‘Because as you will get to see, it’s one big happy family. Everyone has each other’s back and we all have Matron’s.’

  Tilly watched as Doreen picked up the phone. ‘Medical records, please. Yes, see you in the main entrance. Yes, I’ll bring the new girl so that you can all have a look. Yes, she is very nice and her name is Tilly, “not new girl”.’

  Tilly blanched. She knew what Doreen was talking about and had to find an excuse to escape. She couldn’t enjoy a work family, or a Christmas Eve sing-song. She had her son to look after. That was all that mattered.

  *

  After numerous admissions and visits to the wards, Tilly was relieved when the large clock in Casualty told her it was five o’clock.

  ‘Right,’ said Doreen. ‘Let’s go to Sister Pokey’s office to hand over and check out. I’ll take the discharge notes to Medical Records.’

  Sister Pokey had just arrived back in her office herself and was filling out a transfer form for a patient who was being moved to Ward Eight. ‘What a day,’ she said as they walked in. ‘Let’s hope it all quietens down in time for Christmas. I’ve never known it to be so busy.’

  ‘It’s close to being our busiest ever, Sister,’ said Doreen. ‘We’ve had fifty-eight patients through the doors today.’

  Sister Pokey slammed her metal patient kardex shut. ‘My legs can feel it,’ she said, ‘and poor Dr Cohen hasn’t even had any lunch.’

  ‘Here is the list of admissions for Matron, when she comes for the bed count,’ said Doreen.

  Sister Pokey opened the folder and scanned the list, just as both nurses and Dr Cohen walked into the office. ‘Is the coast clear?’ she asked.

  ‘It is, Sister,’ said Nurse Tanner. ‘There is one little boy with the doctor from Children’s Services, who has just had a toy soldier removed from his nose and is about to leave and that’s the last. The rush is over.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ said Sister Pokey. ‘Home time for you two.’

  She looked at Doreen and Tilly. ‘See you both back in the morning and don’t forget Christmas Eve. If you are up to it, everyone is bringing a plate of something to eat.’

  Tilly’s mouth opened and closed as panic flitted across her eyes.

  Only Dr Cohen noticed. ‘I am also off now, Sister,’ he said. ‘My replacement is with the doctor from Children’s Services, he’ll be in in a moment.’

  Doreen touched Tilly’s arm and gestured for her to leave. Tilly was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice Dr Cohen fall into step beside her. ‘Where do you live?’ he asked.

  She had no idea how to get out of answering the question and so she lied. ‘Princess Avenue,’ she said.

  ‘Fantastic, that’s on my way home,’ he lied back. ‘Let me give you a lift.’

  Tilly was torn. This man was kind, unlike her father and the man who had so brutally taken her. She had watched him all day long, he was kind to everyone he met. From the relatives of the poor child who had died in the morning road traffic accident, to the little boy who had stuck the tin soldier up his nose.

  Without waiting for a reply now, he said, ‘Come along. My car is in the main car park. I can have you home in five minutes.’

  She hesitated and then realised, it would mean she could have Sam back in her arms half an hour sooner. She could get him to drop her on Princess Avenue, wait for him to drive off and then turn around and run back to Upper Parliament Street. It would still be quicker than waiting for the bus.

  ‘Well, if you don’t mind?’

  ‘I really don’t, it will be a pleasure.’ He smiled again.

  Ten minutes later, he turned his Morris Traveller into Princess Avenue. ‘It’s just here, thank you,’ she said.

  They had talked non-stop on the short distance from the hospital and despite the fact that she felt self-conscious and silly for asking all the obvious questions, she found she couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Have you been a doctor for long? Did you train at St Angelus?’ One after the other, they tripped off her tongue, filling the void, terrified he was about to ask her something in return.

  As he pulled up at the kerb, he jumped out and opened the car door for her. For a moment, she was trapped between his body and the seat. She could almost feel the warmth emanating from him. Could see the beginnings of the stubble on his chin and could not escape his penetrating brown eyes.

  ‘Are you going to the service on Christmas Eve?’ he asked.

  ‘Er, actually, no. I can’t, I’m afraid I have to be somewhere else.’ She couldn’t think of anything to say, so before he asked her another question, she stepped sideways. ‘See you in the morning,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  Jumping back into the car, he adjusted his rear-view mirror to catch sight of her, but she had disappeared. ‘Must live in one of the houses on this side,’ he muttered to himself. It took a few minutes to turn around, as he waited for a brewery horse and dray to pass safely on its way home. He turned on the wipers, as the first flakes of snow fell and then, as he moved up a gear and crossed the junction, he caught sight of her and wiped the inside of the windscreen with his gloved hand. Tilly was standing outside a house on Upper Parliament Street, not Princess Avenue. He knew it was one of the roughest streets in Liverpool. It was where the back-street abortionists operated and left the likes of Casualty to pick up the pieces. She was talking earnestly to a young man, taking a baby out of a pram, then dragging the pram up the steps behind them. He had no idea why, but his heart sank. She was taken, married, had removed her wedding ring. Women who worked often kept the fact that they were married secret, because many employers simply would not take them on. As he drove past, he saw her hold open the door for the young man as he lifted the pram into the hallway of the house. She didn’t see him as he drove past.

  He tried to shift the gloom that had settled over him and failed. His heart felt heavy as the image of Tilly popped into his mind. Her smile, her warmth, her kindness. She was the kind of woman he would love to spend more time with, but she was taken.

  ‘You idiot,’ he muttered, as he turned west and headed to Faulkner Street, where Mrs Hope would be waiting for him, with a warm dinner and a lit fire and he knew he should be more grateful than he felt.

  7

  Arthur was just coming back to the house when Tilly ran towards him, yelling his name.

  ‘Hello, how did your first day go then?’ he asked, as soon as she caught up with him. She was breathless and could barely reply, as she ripped at the pram cover.

  ‘I took your little lad out for a walk in his pram today. Hope you don’t mind. I had to go to the docks to find out our sailing time and took him with me. Slept all the way there and all the way back, he has. I took him to see the ducks in the park for half an hour. I reckon it’s the fresh air, knocked him out.’

  Tilly was stunned, to the point that she forgot all about getting indoors as fast as possible and challenged Arthur.

  ‘You did what? You took my Sam out? Who said you could? Where was Mrs Kelly?’

  ‘He was fine, I have a little lad of my own. I told you. I thought he would enjoy the fresh air an
d he did. I think it did him good.’

  Tilly stopped, with her hand on the door. ‘Don’t you understand, the only way I have been able to get through today is by knowing exactly where he is. If the authorities find out that I am on my own and don’t have enough money for the electric, or to keep us, they will take him off me. You’re only allowed to be poor and a mother if you are married. Did anyone stop you or speak to you?’

  Arthur looked confused. ‘No, why would they?’ His words dropped like a bomb. ‘Why would they?’

  He was right. She spent her time hiding indoors, keeping Sam hidden, in case her parents or the police were looking for her and yet, of course, no one would think to stop Arthur. Her baby son had spent the day like other babies, out in the fresh air. She opened the door, for him to pull the pram into the hallway.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I panicked.’ She pushed the door for him to bring the pram in and ran up the stairs, not stopping till she burst through the door of Mrs Kelly’s room.

  Mrs Kelly was stirring something that smelt delicious. ‘There you are, see. He’s had a smashing day. How was yours? I’ve made you some stew, if you fancy it,’ she said. ‘Sit down, before you take him back and tell us all about your day. You too, Arthur. Come on, Tilly, you can’t go cooking and messing about upstairs when you’ve been working hard all day.’

  Tilly looked around the shabby kitchen. The smell of the stew was enticing. Arthur removed his jacket and pulled out a chair at the yellow Formica table. ‘Smashing,’ he said as he rubbed his hands together.

  ‘A few more weeks, and we’ll be mashing stew up for that little fella and he’ll be eating it with us,’ said Mrs Kelly, ignoring the tears in Tilly’s eyes. Tilly was speechless.

  ‘If you went to the Queen’s to check, I have been in, just for one, when Arthur took the baby out, on me way to the butcher’s for the scrag end. I’m not a bleedin’ saint. Do me a favour, get that bread and cut it, would you, Arthur, to dip in the gravy. Waste not want not. Come on, eat – and then you can get yourself upstairs if you want, or, you can stay here awhile by my fire.’

  Tilly felt ashamed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she stuttered.

  ‘Sorry for what?’ asked Mrs Kelly as Tilly pulled out a chair and lay Sam on her lap. ‘Sorry for thinking I wouldn’t look after him properly? I know my house isn’t Buckingham Palace and I’m guessing you were brought up somewhere a bit more la di da than this, but you know what they, say Tilly love, never judge a book by its cover. Come on, eat.’ Mrs Kelly placed a spoon in Tilly’s hand and smiled her gap-toothed grin.

  Arthur laid a slice of freshly cut white bread on her plate. ‘Tuck in,’ he said and as he flopped into his chair. ‘Come on then, spill the beans. Did you see any blood?’

  That night Tilly tucked Sam into the drawer at the side of her bed. ‘The first thing I am going to have to buy for you is a big Moses basket,’ she whispered, into his soft cheek. He had slept almost throughout the evening. ‘Gosh, that fresh air really has wiped you out, hasn’t it?’ and, as she stroked his brow, she frowned.

  He felt hot. She lifted him and removed the knitted cardigan Sister Theresa had given her, but by the time she had taken it off, he was cool again and his face pale. Tilly thought about whether she should go downstairs and speak to Mrs Kelly, but remembered that by now she would be in the Queen’s. Satisfied that his temperature was normal, she chastised herself. You are a worrier, she told herself and for the first time ever, she sang to her baby boy and felt something close to happiness.

  8

  ‘I’ll have your tea ready as usual. I’ll keep it on a plate on top of a pan of simmering water with a lid on it for when you get in. Don’t be leaving it for long or the gravy will dry up. I’m not going to lie, I’ll be down the Queen’s, but I’m going to get a nice pie from the market and make a pan of mash and gravy.’

  ‘That sounds nice,’ said Tilly as she laid a freshly bathed and dressed Sam on the chair.

  Mrs Kelly was in front of her fire, backcombing her hair in the mirror. She was also washed and dressed and it occurred to Tilly that looking after Sam had made a difference, given Mrs Kelly a sense of purpose.

  ‘Sea conditions are bad and Arthur can’t get home. He’ll be stuck here for Christmas, poor fella. If you want to be a bit late at that carol service at the hospital, he will look after Sam for you.’

  Tilly had taken a deep breath.

  ‘Oh, don’t be thinking I forced him. He offered. Miserable as sin he is, you’d be doing him a favour. The only seaman I know who saves all his money to take home to his missus and doesn’t spend it over the counter at the Queen’s.’

  It had been a long time since Tilly felt as stable or happy as she had over the last few days. Having a warm meal ready for her, as soon as she arrived home from work, had been a welcome delight, but the urge to be with Sam, to protect him was stronger than ever now that she spent hours away from him each day.

  ‘No, thanks. You tell Arthur I will be home at my usual time and, anyway, Mrs Kelly, I’m sure he wants to be down the Queen’s himself tonight. It’s Christmas Eve. He doesn’t want to spend it babysitting.’

  ‘Oh, he does. Said he’s missing his own little lad so much and he’s gutted he can’t get home for their first Christmas.’

  ‘Well, I’ll see,’ said Tilly thoughtfully. ‘Maybe I will stay for a couple of the carols, but Sam is a bit grizzly today.’

  ‘Look, I’ll tell Arthur to be in here when I go over the road. It doesn’t matter what time you get back. I’ll make up a bottle or two. Go on Tilly, have a sing-song and a laugh. You deserve it, queen.’ Tilly felt tempted and overcome with gratitude.

  ‘Thank you for having my tea ready every night this week, Mrs Kelly, it has made such a difference from tins of soup. Here’s extra in the money.’ Instead of handing over the usual two and six, she gave Mrs Kelly five shillings.

  Surprisingly, Mrs Kelly waved it away. ‘No, no you don’t have to do that. I have Sister’s ten bob, I can’t take any more, wouldn’t be right. I’m not a thief. I’ve bought a turkey with it and all the trimmings. Arthur’s coming to the market with me to today, to help me carry it back.’

  Tilly’s brow furrowed. ‘Sister’s ten bob? What do you mean?’

  Mrs Kelly blushed and felt a fool. ‘Oh flamin’ hell, now I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I? Sister Theresa, she has your back, you know she does, always looking out for you. She came and gave me an extra bit of money to help.’

  Tilly was stunned. As she made her way down the stairs, she pondered this new information. She had become happier in herself, and could even see a way out of her predicament. She had dreamed that she would maybe find a place of her own. As each day had passed at St Angelus, her confidence rose. Now, however, she was consumed by disappointment. She hadn’t done as well as she thought. It was Sister Theresa all along.

  ‘Well, at least I got the job myself. She may have written the reference, but I got the job,’ she muttered, as she ran for the bus and felt the stinging chill wind land on her hot cheeks.

  *

  ‘So, there’s your suitcase ready by the door. They have forecast snow and just in case it does, I have got plenty of food in,’ said Mrs Hope to Andrew, before he left for work.

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hope,’ he said. He looked up at the sky. ‘Do you really think it’s going to snow on Christmas Eve? Wouldn’t that be too much like a Christmas card?’

  ‘Andrew, when the sky is that heavy and grey, it is more than likely. It’s already started in Edinburgh. Jennifer was in a right state on the phone last night.’

  Jennifer had made another of many calls, to ensure that Andrew was ready and that there had been no news in Liverpool from Lime Street of train cancellations.

  ‘Jennifer just likes to have something to fret about,’ he said, pulling on his gloves. ‘Right, here I go, my last day on Casualty, a sleep on a train, Christmas with my nephews and then back to the wards.’ He sighed, patted his gloved hands together and
then headed down the steps to the car.

  ‘I wish something would cheer him up,’ Mrs Hope had said to Jennifer on the phone the previous evening. ‘If only he could meet someone nice, who really would care for him.’ The only person who wanted that to happen more than Mrs Hope, was Jennifer herself.

  ‘I thought the new secretary at the practice would be right up his street. I was sure it would be love at first sight, that is, if he doesn’t mind someone who is very talkative.’ Jennifer groaned. ‘Honestly, she never stops, she’s driving Robert mad and he’s warned me that if I encourage his brother-in-law to fall for her, he will leave me, straight after the Boxing Day party.’ Mrs Hope laughed at such a very unlikely prospect.

  Andrew pulled out the choke and tried to coax his car to start. As he did so, the face of Tilly Townsend popped into his mind, again. She had been so kind, and vulnerable, at the same time. He thought he had seen something in her eyes which reflected his own loneliness. How wrong could he have been? He leaned forward over the steering wheel and scraped at the window with his glove. As the car spluttered and coughed, he turned the heater full onto the windscreen, and remembered her answer to the last question he had asked yesterday.

  ‘So, what are you doing for Christmas?’ he had said, as he dropped a set of case notes into her in-tray. She had been sitting at a typewriter, completing an admissions form.

  ‘Oh, nothing special,’ she said, with a weak smile. ‘Just church in the morning and then spend the day indoors. It is so bloomin’ cold.’ She rubbed the top of her arms with her hands. ‘What about yourself?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been dragooned into spending it with my sister, her husband and their two boys in Edinburgh. They think that I might drink or starve myself to death if I’m left to my own devices. Are you looking forward to Christmas?’ he asked and it was the sadness in her eyes, the reluctance in her voice, the hesitation that had reeled him in. She looked at him, opened her mouth, closed it again, tried to speak, blushed, hesitated and then blurted out, in a voice that was far too bright and brittle, ‘Of course I am, yes, yes, of course. It’s Christmas.’