The Angels of Lovely Lane

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘She wants one of those electric steam iron things coming into the shops, she was saying. I told her, well, once it’s spent it’s spent, and you can’t eat an iron, can you? Although I’m sure no one in her house would be able to tell the difference. Mrs Beeton herself would faint if she saw what Hattie Lloyd put on the table in the name of food. Move where? To what? Everyone would think ye had gone mad. No, you cannot move, you daft thing.’

  Martha stared at her mother. It was no use arguing. She could not think of one valid reason why she would want to move from a job every other domestic in the hospital coveted. Except for the real reason, and she knew not a living soul would believe that. They would lock her up at the very least. Say she was as mad as a hatter. Accuse her of leading him on. And worst of all, Jake might believe them.

  *

  Mr Scriven had taken to visiting the sitting room more and more often, and each time he sought her out. He talked and talked until a kitchen orderly or another consultant entered the room. She far preferred being ignored. She had no idea how to respond or what to say or even why he wanted to speak to her. He had told her about his wife, who drank gin all day when he was at work and had to be put to bed when he got home. About his children, who attended boarding school and barely spoke to him during the holidays. He actually said, ‘My wife doesn’t understand me, Martha. But you do, don’t you? You listen to me.’

  ‘I make you tea and sandwiches,’ Martha whispered, without expression or emotion in her voice.

  His face was always etched with pain when he spoke, but the truth was that she didn’t understand much of what he said and often felt as though the pained expression and long woeful looks were for effect. For her benefit alone. She knew he was a sad and lonely man, and she supposed that was why she hadn’t screamed when he kissed her and placed his hands over her breasts. She had never been kissed before. She had thought about it and imagined what it would be like when Jake finally did it. But in reality her first kiss had been a crushing disappointment. She had hated it. It had made her feel sick and she had asked him to stop.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he had said. ‘I thought you would like it. Thought that maybe it was what you were looking for when you spoke to me that day.’

  ‘Oh, no, Mr Scriven,’ she had said, taking a step back. He was far too close; he had taken to coming into her little galley kitchen off the sitting room and trapping her at the end, so that she had no escape. ‘It wasn’t that. I just saw that you were troubled and I wanted to help if I could.’

  ‘I see. Well, you did. I mean you have helped. It has been a relief telling you about my awful bloody wife and the way she has turned the children against me. All because I work long hours to pay for the school fees and the nice big house they want to live in.’

  Martha almost smiled. ‘Well I’m glad I did help, then. Would you like some bread and butter with your tea?’

  Anything other than touch me again, please, she thought.

  In answer to her prayers, the sitting-room door opened and one of the other doctors walked in and shouted, ‘A quick cup of tea, please, Martha.’

  Martha let the breath she had been unaware she was holding escape without a sound.

  Mr Scriven looked over his shoulder and beamed at the new arrival. ‘Charles,’ he said. ‘Good to see you. Are you joining us for golf on Saturday?’ But as he turned to walk away, to join his colleague in the sitting room, he bent slightly and whispered in Martha’s ear, ‘I’ll be back, Martha. Later. With a treat.’

  Chapter seven

  Dana stood outside what she thought must be the Lovely Lane nurses’ home with her overly heavy suitcase in one hand and a rain-dampened sheet of paper, extracted from her letter of acceptance, in the other. Home was just twenty-four hours away, but already felt like another lifetime. She had barely thought about Patrick, and the further she got from Ireland the more the memory had faded. When she realized how close she had come to being imprisoned in a life she had never wanted she felt herself begin to tremble, but she forced herself to stop. To put him and that night from her mind for ever, because the fact was, she was finally free.

  Is it this door? she wondered for what felt like the tenth time. Before her stood an imposing building of large grey bricks on four floors. A towering black-painted door with a large polished brass handle stood at the top of a short flight of steps. The front garden lacked any flora or finery and comprised two finely manicured green lawns on either side of a short path. By the light of the street lamp she saw that the top of the low surrounding wall was pitted with holes which had once been home to a fine set of wrought-iron railings. The Lovely Lane home bore the scars of the war effort by shedding tears of rust every time it rained.

  On the opposite side of the road was the Lovely Lane park, where branches once held back by railings grew out over the pavement and dripped rain from variegated leaves. There was no sign to announce that she was in the right place, and no number on the house. Her heart beat madly. She had never before approached such a building and she realized she would have to walk down the path and knock on that huge door. All she could think of was that it would be the wrong place and the owner would be angry at being disturbed. Her confidence was not what it was before Patrick had attacked her.

  On arriving at the Pier Head, she had decided to walk to her destination. The letter she was holding said that Lovely Lane was only ten minutes from the docks, and she felt that the exercise might help to clear her thoughts a little. Her last moments in Ireland had been more eventful than she could ever have anticipated, and had done much to restore her deflated spirits. Mr Joyce had carried her case all the way to the ramp of the boat. He had spoken very little on the journey, as was his way, but when they approached the barrier he reached into his jacket and took out an envelope, which he held out to her.

  ‘What’s that?’ she had asked in a voice loaded with curiosity. ‘I already have me wages; ye gave them to me yesterday.’

  ‘I know that now,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t want yer mammy to be worried about ye. Here’s something to keep ye going when ye are in Liverpool.’

  Dana took the envelope and looked inside, and saw a brown ten-shilling note wrapped around a much larger bundle. Hesitantly, she extracted the money and counted it in the fading light. ‘I can’t take this,’ she said, her eyes filling with tears as she stuffed the notes back in the envelope and thrust it back at him.

  He had expected and prepared for this reaction. After all, she was Nancy’s daughter.

  ‘Well, it seems to me now that if ye give it back, and sure that is up to you, I’ll have to put it in the post and hope that Mrs Brock in the post office doesn’t find out and no postman on the way to Liverpool fancies it for himself.’

  ‘But I haven’t earned it,’ Dana gasped.

  ‘No, for sure, but when I tell yer mammy ye won’t be going hungry or dependent on anyone for anything it will make her happy, and wouldn’t that be a great thing indeed now. Your taking it would earn her that.’

  Dana looked at the envelope in her hand and then back at Mr Joyce. She could not stop the tear that escaped from her eye and rolled down her cheek. Patrick, whom she had known since birth, had tried to rape her. Now another man from the village, with whom in all her life she had never held a conversation that was not about groceries or her mammy, was handing her two hundred pounds. She had seen her father return from market happy with a great deal less.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, pushing the envelope deep down into her handbag. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Ye don’t have to say anything, but do come home to visit now, won’t ye? We will all be wanting to know how ye are getting along.’

  It suddenly struck her that her mammy had said the same thing. She looked at Mr Joyce while she struggled to make sense of the coincidence, but there was no time.

  ‘All aboard,’ a voice rang out, and the next moment she was standing on the deck watching the lonely figure of Mr Joyce disappear into the crowd.
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  She had regretted her decision to walk the ten minutes to Lovely Lane in less than two and wished she had taken a taxi; the driver would have known exactly where to drop her off. The cabbies had shouted after her as she left the ferry and walked away up the rise, but she had placed her hand protectively over the envelope in her handbag and ignored their offers. She had money for the first time in her life and she wanted to keep it. She would not be wasting it on taxi fares.

  ‘Can I help? You look lost.’

  Dana almost jumped out of her skin. A young man had approached her, also carrying a heavy suitcase, which he now set down next to hers. The first thought that crossed her mind was that she had never seen a man like this in Ireland. Even on Sundays, the boys at home never reached such a level of presentability. They were in a perpetual state of grubbiness from working every hour of daylight on the land. Those who could had done exactly what Dana was doing for herself and had left for Liverpool or New York. This man had not a speck of mud anywhere about him and his trousers were not ripped or tied up with twine. His teeth were white, his skin was clean and his hair was combed. A faint aroma hung about him, a light sweet and spicy smell infusing the cold damp air. This was not a man as Dana knew men to be and for a moment she stared, her mouth agape.

  Recovering herself, she spluttered, ‘Oh, thank you. I’m just looking for the Lovely Lane nurses’ home. I’m not really sure if this is it?’ There hadn’t been a man in Dana’s life till now that she hadn’t known since she was a child. Being spoken to by a stranger was a new experience and she felt herself blush. His accent was crisp, with no hint of Irish, and his eyes, which were now crinkled up at the corners and smiling at her, were honest and kind. Dana knew in an instant that she had nothing to fear from this man. She marvelled at the sight of him, and realized that she was still staring. He grinned as he took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered her one.

  ‘No thank you, I don’t smoke,’ she said rather primly. She was trying hard.

  ‘Ha!’ The man laughed. ‘That will last for less than a week. I would bet there isn’t a single nurse in St Angelus who doesn’t smoke.’

  Dana bristled. ‘Well, there will be now. I made a promise to Mammy.’ By now she was blushing furiously. She had made many promises to Mammy over the past few days. Mrs Brogan knew an emotional advantage when she saw one and had pushed it to the hilt, saving the best until last. Dana could still hear the whispered words in her ears.

  ‘Never let a drink pass your lips, never smoke, and no sex outside marriage. I have only agreed to your moving to Liverpool because I know ye will swear to me, by all that is holy, to stick to those three promises, Dana.’

  Dana had laughed in response. It was the first she had heard of it. ‘Well, they are easy promises to stick to, Mammy,’ she had replied. After Patrick, she had truly meant it. She had vowed never to speak to another man ever again.

  ‘What else did you promise your mammy, then?’ The young man exhaled a long plume of smoke and studied Dana carefully as he flicked his ash on to the pavement.

  Dana prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her. How could she have been so naïve? Here was a man, a proper man, not one of the ignorant boys from the country. A man who smelt of cigarette smoke and something else she could not quite make out. A man who had the good manners to offer to help a girl who was obviously lost and not poke fun at her. This man, with his dark swept-back hair and deep brown eyes, with his polished brown leather suitcase, was a man of the world and Dana had been caught out. Her tongue was already in knots. Her mind was spinning and her mouth was dry with embarrassment. She knew if she spoke now, she would make even more of a fool of herself.

  ‘Go on then, what other promises did you make?’ She could sense he was on the verge of laughing again. ‘Was one of them not to speak to strange men, by any chance? Because if it was, you have already broken it. But, I might add, you are perfectly safe with me. I work at the hospital. That’s how I knew you must be a new nurse, looking so lost on Lovely Lane. So go on, I’m intrigued. What advice does an Irish mammy give to a daughter travelling to big bad Liverpool? Was it beware of strange men, and don’t drink alcohol along with the smoking? I think that’s what I would tell a daughter of mine if I ever had one.’

  Dana found her voice. ‘Well, as it happens, no, it wasn’t. Not really. I am quite capable of holding a conversation with anyone, strange man or not, and ye don’t look very strange at all. Mammy didn’t need to warn me about that. I can look after myself very well.’

  She was feeling more confident now. How dare this man try to tie her up in knots? Gorgeous or not, she would hold her own. She felt her bashed and beaten confidence return with a surge.

  ‘Well, I’m not going to give up until you tell me. I will regard it as my personal duty to find out, just in case it was don’t speak to strange men. Then I’ll know what my chances are of getting you to come out for a drink with me.’ He held the cigarette packet out to her again. Dana felt her stomach somersault at the audacity of a man who was telling her that he wondered if he had any chance of being alone with her. That had certainly never happened before and her head was spinning.

  ‘My name is Edward, by the way, and everyone calls me Teddy, but you will probably get to know me by a different name altogether.’ He took two cigarettes out of the packet, lit one and held it towards Dana. ‘What’s your name then, Miss Lost in Liverpool? If you tell me, then neither of us will be guilty of talking to strangers.’

  ‘I’m Dana. Dana Brogan. I’ve just got here off the boat,’ she said and then fell silent, not knowing what else to say. This man was confusing her. She was determined not to sound like the country girl she was.

  ‘Go on then, Dana, be a daredevil. We are practically best friends now by Scouse standards. Here, have a “welcome to Liverpool” ciggie.’

  ‘Really, no thank you.’ She smiled politely. She would have liked to try a cigarette but her mother’s breath was still warm on her ear.

  ‘Have you visited any of the wards in St Angelus yet?’ Teddy asked. Dana felt on safer ground with this question and responded with enthusiasm.

  ‘Oh, no. Not at all. I am dreading the wards. I’m near terrified.’

  Teddy exhaled smoke before he replied. ‘Well, I should think so. Some of the doctors are terribly fearsome.’

  He grinned at her and the cold damp Liverpool air was banished by a warm feeling glowing inside. For a moment she allowed herself to compare this man with Patrick and shuddered.

  ‘I’ve heard the ward sisters can be terrors,’ she said. She felt a conspiratorial thrill at discussing hospital staff she had never set eyes on with a man she had met less than ten minutes ago.

  ‘Yes, that is true, some can be. The best fun to be had is on nights. Not so many eyes around and lots of high jinks. Look, I have to go.’ Teddy held out his hand, and, not really knowing what was expected of her, Dana tentatively placed her own leather-gloved one in his. ‘I have to get to my own room,’ he explained, looking down the street as though he were expecting to see someone. ‘I look forward to meeting you again. Maybe next time I can work on getting you to break another of those promises you made to Mammy.’

  Dana’s eyes bulged as she remembered. No sex outside of marriage.

  Teddy dropped her hand, grinned, and said, ‘Go on, be brave. Go and knock on the door.’ Then, with a wave, he was gone. Swallowed up by the smog. Dana watched him vanish, wondering if all of a sudden he might reappear. Return to say something he had forgotten. Rush up the road and say, ‘Oh, by the way, Dana, if you ever need anything...’ and she would make sure she would.

  She felt as though she knew him already. His teasing words and laughing eyes were intoxicating. She had definitely wanted to talk to him for longer. She hadn’t asked him what he did. Maybe he was a male nurse. She had heard that there had been quite a few working at St Angelus since the war. There was something about him that was both playful and worldly. She felt he was a man who had dep
ths, and knew things that she couldn’t possibly imagine. Gosh, what kind of man would just stop a woman in the street and tease her like that? Dana wondered what he had meant when he said she would get to know him by another name. She had been so flustered; she had had no time to organize her thoughts and ask him. At least that meant he was sure she would be seeing him again. He appeared to have been confident of that.

  With a sigh, she looked up at the tall, dove-grey building. She had never before had to walk up a flight of stone stairs to knock on a door twice her height and felt nervous about doing so now. What if one of the fearsome sisters was on the other side? She straightened her hat, picked up her suitcase, and taking a deep breath, prepared herself to approach the door that would open on to her new life. She half hoped that someone nice inside would peep round the net curtains, see her loitering and open the door before she knocked to shout a welcome down the steps and say yes, this is your home for the next three years and it’s lovely here, really it is.

  Before she could move, she heard footsteps approaching, and a voice with a strong Liverpool accent called out to her.

  ‘Are you all right, love? Are you a new nurse, like me?’