Wartime for the District Nurses

by Annie Groves

  She arrived first, scanning the small room for a vacant table where they could be fairly private. The one in the far corner was free and she walked swiftly to take it, smiling at the middle-aged waitress who looked familiar, but not so much so that she would enquire too closely why Edith was there.

  ‘Table for one?’ the waitress asked, straightening her clean but well-worn apron with its threadbare seams.

  ‘There’ll be two of us; my friend will be here in a minute,’ Edith explained, sitting down. ‘I bet she’ll want a cup of tea, so can I order it for both of us now?’

  ‘Course you can, ducks,’ said the woman, and turned back to the counter.

  Edith draped her light jacket over the back of her chair and tried to marshal her thoughts. It wasn’t easy, as she’d had yet another busy day. Now that the children were on summer holidays, they seemed to get up to all sorts of mischief, and therefore there had been a flurry of minor accidents – nothing as dramatic as Belinda’s episode with the broken acid jars, but time-consuming nonetheless. The current craze was for playing Battle of Britain, in which the children sped around the Downs and other parks on their bikes, dodging the trenches that had been dug for people to shelter from the air raids that the council believed were coming, chasing one another and pretending to fire guns at their friends. This meant trying complicated moves with one or no hands on the handlebars, with the predictable consequences of plenty of falls, and injuries consisting mostly of bruises and scrapes but sometimes broken arms or legs. There was at least one suspected concussion and plenty of the parents were at their wits’ end. Edith had spent at least as much time reassuring them as treating their sons and sometimes daughters.

  ‘Sorry I’m a bit late. I came as soon as I could.’ Peggy pulled out the chair opposite, shaking her hair from its factory scarf. ‘Ugh, these things make my scalp itch when it’s so warm. I don’t know how you manage when you have to wear your cap all the time.’

  Edith grinned. ‘It’s better than having hair in your face when you’re working. I don’t think my patients would thank me if I couldn’t see what I was doing when giving them an injection or taking out their stitches.’

  ‘Suppose not.’ Peggy paused while the waitress brought across their pot of tea. ‘Oh, that’s lovely. I’m parched. I never get time at work to have enough to drink and it can get really hot in there.’

  Edith waited until her friend had finished and the waitress had gone away again.

  ‘Anyway, I heard something yesterday that I thought you should know.’

  Peggy looked up, alarmed. ‘That sounds serious. What do you mean?’

  Edith’s face twisted as she tried to think of an easy way of saying what she had to say, but there simply wasn’t one, so she jumped straight in.

  ‘It’s about Laurence. He’s been killed in action.’

  Peggy put down her cup abruptly. ‘Oh.’ A confusion of emotions played across her face.

  Edith stared at her anxiously. ‘Sorry to come out with it like that, but I thought you should know.’

  Peggy dropped her gaze but it was several moments before she spoke. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right, I wouldn’t have wanted to hear it as gossip. That bastard. Now everyone will say he’s a hero. How did you know about it, anyhow?’

  Edith explained, knowing full well that Peggy’s prediction had already come true. That was how he would be thought of from now on. There was nothing they could do about it, though; that would be the rest of the world’s opinion. Only they knew otherwise.

  Peggy nodded. ‘I don’t suppose Alfie and Ronald know what he was really like. Oh God, Edie, I don’t know what to think. I suppose he was brave and all that, it’s just he was also a monster. I’m glad I’ll never have to see him again. Does that sound awful? I shan’t say it again but, really, when I think about what he did …’

  ‘I know.’ Edith didn’t rush to fill the silence. It was all too difficult. ‘He’s paid the ultimate price, hasn’t he,’ she managed eventually.

  Peggy shrugged. ‘So he has. And at least now I know he can’t do what he did to me to anybody else. That was playing on my mind. I didn’t want to tell anyone, but I worried that it would mean he’d just attack some other poor girl. Now I can rest easy on that score.’ She sighed. ‘That’s just between us.’

  Edith nodded. ‘Of course.’ Neither of them had touched their tea. She raised her cup to her lips to prevent the waitress coming over to see if anything was wrong.

  ‘At least the bastard didn’t leave a bun in the oven.’ Peggy grimaced. ‘That’s the only good thing. I was worried for a while, but that’s one anxiety out of the way.’

  Edith met her gaze. ‘Just as well. You didn’t need that on top of everything else. I was concerned before, I’ve been wondering.’

  ‘I know. I’m glad you knew, it made it a bit easier.’ Peggy drummed her fingers on the table top. ‘I think I’d better go, Edie. My mind’s going round and round, I won’t be good company.’

  ‘You do what you think is best,’ Edith told her. ‘It’s bound to take a while to sink in.’

  Peggy nodded briefly as she stood. ‘Do you know what gets me really angry? That people will say he’s the same as Pete and Harry. When we know they were proper good men, while underneath it all Laurence was an evil bastard. He couldn’t hold a candle to my Pete.’ For a moment she looked as if she would cry, but then she won control of her feelings again. ‘So I’d best be off. Thanks, Edie. I know that can’t have been easy.’ She swung around and headed for the door.

  Edith slowly drank her tea, staring at the posters, some advertising Bovril and others reminding the customers that ‘Careless Talk Costs Lives’, then left some loose change on the table so that she wouldn’t have to engage in conversation with the waitress. She could always make up an excuse as to why Peggy had had to rush off, but would far rather avoid having to do so. She picked up her jacket and slung it over her shoulder as it was really too warm to wear it. She could sympathise with Peggy, Clarrie and the rest of them in the overheated factory.

  Pushing open the café door, she thought she could see Billy in the distance down by one of the market stalls, but she couldn’t be sure. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her as, while she didn’t want to be rude, the last thing she felt like doing was having a friendly conversation about how their day had gone. Peggy’s face, with its stark look of pain, guilt and anger, had stayed with her, and she didn’t feel like having a light-hearted chat. Feeling a little guilty herself, she took a slight diversion so she could avoid Billy, if it really was him.

  Billy caught a glimpse of Peggy rushing along the central aisle of the market, but paid little attention to her as he was too busy with the task in hand. Stan had taken him aside yesterday to ask if he knew of anyone who would be suitable to join them as an ARP warden. He was concerned that they simply didn’t have enough manpower to provide the necessary service. All the wardens they knew were working flat out, and few were getting enough sleep. That meant mistakes might be made, and that would not do at all.

  Billy had had a think overnight and had come up with the owner of the hardware stall. He’d hurried up after his shift at the docks to catch the man before he closed down for the evening, and fortunately he had made it in time. The man had been reluctant at first, but Billy thought he’d managed to persuade him, or at least to come along to see what was involved. ‘You never know, the government might decide everybody has to be conscripted into something at home, even if they aren’t eligible for the armed services,’ he had said. ‘So it stands to reason that it’s better if you choose yourself. The wardens are a good bunch; we all pull together when there’s a crisis. Makes you feel you’re doing your bit.’

  Mr Richards had nodded, even as he was securing his awnings and putting away his boxes. ‘You could have a point there, Billy,’ he conceded. ‘I know I’m too old and past it to go off to France or wherever, but I don’t want folk to think I’m dodging my duty. I’ll have a word with me better half and, i
f she agrees, then I’ll come along like you say.’

  Billy had beamed with delight and shaken the man’s hand. ‘You would be a natural, Brendan, cos you already know everybody.’ As he looked over the man’s shoulder, he could have sworn he saw Edith some distance away, but he might have been mistaken because she didn’t show any sign of recognising him and then turned away from her usual route home.

  As he began to make his own way back to the house he shared with his mother, he reflected that she had every right to be out and about and he’d have a chat with her another time. He was very fond of Edith, and felt extremely protective of her after what she’d been through, losing Harry like that. He had known very well that Harry had been a proper ladies’ man but, once he’d met Edith, he had seemed to change overnight. Edith had been just what he needed: good fun, bright as paint, a real looker, but not one to take any of Harry’s nonsense. All that, and she did such a responsible job too. Truly, Harry couldn’t have done better for himself, and all their gang had been delighted when the pair became an established couple. For the thousandth time, Billy cursed the beaches of Dunkirk. He’d never forget the scenes of horror he had witnessed there.

  As he strode along the pavement, his mind turned to Edith’s colleague. He’d enjoyed their conversation when he’d walked her home for the second time. There was another one who took a difficult job in her stride. He was sure that Belinda’s patients loved her, knowing they were safe in her hands. He was also aware that she had beautiful dark eyes, which brightened with laughter, and a warm voice that was very easy to listen to. She was about the same height as him, and he knew that must put many men off, but he had been conscious that he was at a level with her lips, her wide smile.

  To tell the truth, he had almost asked her to come with him to the pub one evening. It would have been so natural, and he sensed that she might have said yes. He was tempted to seek her out and see if he was right. If things had been otherwise, he would probably have done so.

  However, he knew he was still in love with Kathleen, even if he could do nothing about it at present. He had hoped that – with Ray out of the picture – she would have turned to him and they could start their life together as he so dearly wanted. Yet, if anything, she had been even more distant since the news of her husband’s death. He sensed that she needed more time and he told himself that he had to respect that and give her as long as she wanted. She was worth waiting for.

  He should be glad that she was showing proper respect to her late husband, however badly he had treated her, since he was Brian’s father and the little boy would want to know that his mother had done the right thing. In his head, Billy recognised this was good and correct, but in his heart he longed for nothing more than to take her in his arms as soon as possible and show her just how much he loved her. He had an overpowering urge to make her feel safe, to show her that not all men were bad lots like Ray Berry. She would never have to fear the sound of the front door opening or to hide the bruises from her friends. He would never dream of hurting her. She just needed more time.

  So, however attractive Belinda was, and however strong his suspicion that she had feelings for him, Billy would do nothing about it. His heart belonged elsewhere, and he wasn’t the sort of fellow to mess around with a girl, however pretty and admirable. Other men might, but not him. She would make someone a fine girlfriend – but not him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Alice was making a quick visit to the service room to check how much cocoa she had left in her own personal supply when she almost collided with Gladys, who was coming out.

  ‘Sorry, miss. I mean Alice.’ Gladys smiled brightly.

  ‘You’re in a good mood this morning,’ Alice observed. ‘What’s happened? Have I missed some news?’

  Gladys laughed, as Alice was the person least likely to be behind with any sort of news. ‘No, nothing like that. I just helped our Walter, that’s my youngest brother, when he burnt himself. He should have known better; then again, my sister was meant to be minding him but she’s got her head in the clouds sometimes.’ Her face lost her bright smile for a moment.

  ‘So what did you do?’ asked Alice hurriedly. She knew Gladys was pinning her hopes on her sister taking on responsibility for the younger ones at home, to free her up for her long-abandoned education.

  ‘Silly boy was playing too near the kettle,’ Gladys said with a mixture of affection and annoyance. ‘Burnt his hand cos he weren’t looking what he was doing. Got carried away with his wooden planes, he did. So I remembered you should put the affected part under running water, only of course we ain’t got any at home. So I did that other thing, when you bathe a burn in tea.’

  Alice nodded approvingly. ‘That’s right, it’s because of the tannin in it. It’s meant to help burns.’

  ‘I know,’ said Gladys proudly. ‘I read it in the magazine.’

  Alice’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Which magazine?’

  ‘Well, your magazine, Alice. The special one for nurses. The Queen’s Nurses’ Magazine. It’s ever so useful.’

  Alice beamed. ‘Gladys, that’s marvellous news. I know you can read the newspaper, although sometimes that’s easier as we all go round talking about what’s in it every day. But some of the articles in the magazine are quite difficult, with all the technical terms. You’ve really come on.’

  Gladys nodded in delight. ‘I found it ever so hard at first, but I kept going cos I know that’s where you find out what new things have been decided or learn how to treat different cases. I read about the tannin only last week. Just as well for Walter that I did. I got our Evelyn to take him down the doctor’s after just in case.’

  ‘That’s probably for the best,’ agreed Alice.

  ‘And he’s never to play with his plane in the kitchen,’ said Gladys firmly. ‘I can’t be worrying about him doing the same thing all over again. Him and his friends, they pretend they’re Spitfires fighting the Luftwaffe from morning to night. But not in our kitchen, they won’t. Not any more.’

  Kathleen’s first instinct was not to let the woman in. She had been out in the back yard, annoyed by the mess of broken boxes the Coynes had left to blow around in the breeze, when she’d heard the banging on the front door. Perhaps if she ignored it, the woman would go away, she thought as she peered through the window. Then again, better to confront her on her own territory than let her shout her quarrel to the whole street, whatever it might be about. She carefully shut Brian in the small back kitchen, swiftly checking any sharp implements were safely out of his reach, and that he had his teddy. Then she squared her shoulders and opened the door.

  There was no doubt that this was the same person Mrs Bishop had spoken about; she had got the description to a T. Definitely not a lady: bottle-blonde hair, over-bright lipstick, even though it was only mid-morning, a low-cut blouse which left little to the imagination, and a tight skirt that barely reached the knee, with high-heeled shoes that Kathleen wouldn’t have known how to get into, let alone walk in. This was a woman to remember all right.

  The woman looked her up and down. ‘So …’ she drawled, ‘this is what you look like.’

  Kathleen folded her arms. ‘And who might you be?’ she forced herself to say, calmly, not screaming as she felt like doing.

  ‘You don’t know?’ The woman cocked her head. ‘No, I don’t suppose he ever mentioned me, did he? That wouldn’t have been like him.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But I know all about you. You and your saintly ways, but not knowing how to give a man what he really wanted. He had to come to me for that.’

  Kathleen took a slow, deep breath. ‘I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.’

  ‘No, I bet you haven’t.’ The woman gave her a condescending look. ‘I’ll spell it out then. I’m what’s called a common-law wife. Or rather, now a common-law widow. And d’you know who my husband was? Ray Berry.’

  Kathleen reached for the doorframe for support in her shock. ‘What?’ she gasped.

  ‘Yes, that’
s right. Half the time you thought he was away at sea, he was no such thing. He was with me, in his other house, leading his other life, which was a damn sight more fun than the one he led down here. Oh, I’m sorry, surprised you, have I? Aren’t you going to ask me in? Or do you want all your neighbours to hear what I’ve got to say?’

  Kathleen almost fell back through the door and the woman followed her like a shot.

  ‘How did you find me?’ Kathleen gasped.

  The woman gave a bitter laugh. ‘That was easy. He talked non-stop about all his contacts down the London docks, how they could get hold of everything, you name it. He was going to be part of something big. Then he went and got himself killed.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘So don’t I get a cup of tea? It’s hot out there.’ The woman was taunting her now.

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Kathleen’s eyes flew to the kitchen door, willing it to stay shut. She didn’t want Brian anywhere near this imposter, who she was sure would mean him no good. Unthinkingly she rubbed her wedding ring, which she still wore, more for her son’s sake than anything else.

  ‘Charming, I’m sure.’ The woman looked around, sizing up the small room and its meagre contents. ‘I can see why he couldn’t wait to get away from here. Not exactly cheerful, is it?’

  ‘Is that what you’ve come to say?’ Kathleen burst out, stung at the insult to her home, into which she had poured such care. As for the devastating news the woman had just delivered, it was too much to take in.

  The woman turned to face her squarely. ‘No. It isn’t.’ She paused to draw out the moment, enjoying Kathleen’s discomfort. ‘All right, I’ll tell you straight. You’ve got something that I want. That I need.’ She stepped forward and Kathleen instinctively drew back.

  ‘Wh-what?’ She couldn’t imagine what this woman could be talking about.

  The woman fixed her with a steely glare. ‘His pension, stupid. Stands to reason, we’re both his women—’