by Cathy Sharp
‘Ma and Pa aren’t here, are they?’ she answered defiantly, though the thought of her mother and of having to stay in the home for longer than she could imagine tore at her insides. ‘Billy isn’t a thief like his brother, Arthur,’ Mary Ellen said, indignantly defending her friend and determined not to succumb to tears, knowing it would only annoy Rose. ‘He is going to study hard and learn to be a train driver.’
‘In that case he will be studying for a lot of years yet,’ Rose said. ‘Come on, let’s forget about Billy for the moment. I’ve come to take you shopping for some nice new shoes for best.’
Mary Ellen looked sideways at her, but she knew better than to labour her point. Rose could be sharp when she wanted to and they mustn’t spoil the day out. Billy was her special friend, and even if she went to live with Rose and he didn’t, Mary Ellen would never lose touch with him.
‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘It’s a long way off and things may be different by then …’ Rose didn’t know Billy the way she did. If she gave him half a chance, she’d soon see that he was worth far more than the rest of his family ever were. ‘I’m looking forward to my new shoes.’
Billy took his football boots off in the garden. He’d rushed back to the home after football practice and hadn’t had time to change back into his school shoes. He would walk upstairs in his socks, because the football studs scraped the polished floor and he’d be in trouble if he got caught sneaking in and making the floors muddy.
He was just straightening up after removing the boots when he caught sight of someone sitting on the wooden seat, staring moodily ahead of him. The boy was of a similar age, and Billy grinned at him, pointing to his boots.
‘Been to football practice,’ he said. ‘Sister Beatrice will have my guts for garters if I wear ’em in the house. I’m Billy Baggins. Do you like playing football, mate?’
The boy stared at him moodily for a moment and then shook his head. ‘I ain’t never played, ’cept with Pa in the lane when he was in a good mood.’
‘Don’t know what you’re missin’,’ Billy told him cheerfully. ‘We play a lot of matches at our school. You’ll be comin’ there now – and they’ll teach you how to play if you want. Mr Harrison is all right for a teacher and great at training.’
‘I don’t go to school. I ain’t no good at learnin’.’
‘Nor was I once,’ Billy said. ‘I thought lessons were a waste of time – but that was before I caught on. It’s them what don’t bother that waste their time. I want to get on and be better than my pa – and my brother. Pa used to drink too much and Arfur was a bad one, but I don’t have to be the same, do I? I’m going to learn to be a train driver. What do you wanna do?’
Terry shrugged. ‘I ain’t never thought about it.’
‘Well, you should. If you don’t try you won’t learn and then you’ll end up with being pushed around by some so-and-so in a rotten job and be stuck with it for the rest of your life.’
‘What could I do?’
‘You could drive a bus or a tram, or be a foreman at the factory, if you’ve learned your letters and numbers,’ Billy suggested. ‘Depends what you like doing, mate.’
‘I could be a soldier and kill people,’ Terry suggested, and brought his arm up, making a shooting motion. ‘Bang, yer dead – you’ve got no head left …’ He giggled and looked at Billy expectantly. Billy made a groaning sound and tottered around as if he were dying and Terry’s laughter rang out. ‘Yer all right, mate,’ he said, copying Billy. ‘I thought they were all rotten ’ere, ’cept for Father Joe – but you’re all right.’
‘Most of us are all right,’ Billy said. ‘Come on in now. I’ve got to change my things and then it will be time for tea. We’ve got proper fish and chips today with squashy peas and brown sauce. Do you like fish and chips?’
‘Only ’ad it once,’ Terry said, and grinned at him. ‘I like yer, Billy. I’ll sit with yer at table and I’ll go to school and be a soldier if yer want me to?’
‘That’s it, mate,’ Billy said. ‘Come on now and you can meet me other friends, Mary Ellen and Marion.’
Terry hesitated. ‘I don’t like other children much – they make fun of me and throw things.’
‘Not my friends,’ Billy said. ‘If anyone did that when I was around I’d bash ’em for you.’
‘I’ll shoot their heads off,’ Terry said, and giggled. ‘All right, I’ll come with yer. I’m hungry.’
‘What did you bring that Terry to our table for?’ Mary Ellen asked Billy after tea that evening. ‘I’m not sure I like him – or the way he tried to shut Marion and me out. He wanted you to himself – and he was horrible to Betsy when she sat next to him. I think he pinched her and made her cry.’
‘She told him he was rude because he talks with his mouth full,’ Billy said. ‘I don’t like her much either, but it was you what made her welcome. I’d rather have Terry at our table than her.’
‘Betsy is lonely and doesn’t have any friends. Terry has his sister – he wants to be with her most of the time anyway.’
‘Well, he’s going to come to school with me soon,’ Billy said. ‘He’s all right underneath, Mary Ellen. I reckon he just needs a bit of looking after. I think he’s had a rough time at home. He didn’t say much but it’s there in his eyes, you can tell them kids when they come in ’ere. He needs help as much as Betsy.’
‘Well, I’ll help her and you help him,’ Mary Ellen said, and looked at him uncertainly. ‘You’re not going to let him take you away from me, are you, Billy?’
Billy stared at her and then burst out laughing. ‘You’re jealous,’ he said, and looked delighted.
‘No, I’m not.’ Mary Ellen stalked off, refusing to look back even though he called after her.
‘I’m sorry,’ Billy called. ‘Of course I shan’t, Mary Ellen – you’re my best mate, you know that.’
She kept on walking and wouldn’t look round. Billy wanted to go after her, but something kept him from giving in. Whether it was his pride or a feeling that he liked her being jealous, Billy wasn’t sure – but he’d make up with her next time they met. Besides, he couldn’t just dump Terry. Billy’s instincts told him that the other boy was desperately in need of a friend and he couldn’t let him down now. Mary Ellen would get over her sulks and they would all be friends again. Yeah, he rather liked her being a bit jealous over him; it showed she cared and Billy thought it was a nice feeling.
TWENTY-THREE
Carole was busy on the wards, but she wanted time to think about the evening she’d gone out with Mark the previous week, when he’d taken her to the theatre and then to an intimate supper in a nightclub.
She’d danced with him twice, and the nearness of his body was thrilling; there was something special about the way he held her, strongly but with care. Most of the men she’d been out with recently had used the dance floor as an opportunity for a grope and it usually ended up with sharp words, but Mark was the perfect gentleman. Yet she’d sensed that he enjoyed being close to her as much as she had being close to him. She thought he would be an exciting lover, because his hands looked so sensitive and the fingers were long, his nails short and clean; she imagined his hands caressing her body … Mark smelled of soap and a fresh cologne and she’d found it intoxicating.
Love didn’t enter her mind, but lust certainly did. Carole didn’t particularly want to fall in love with anyone; it got in the way. No, what she wanted was a strong, caring man she could rely on if she needed him, and one who wouldn’t be bothered about having children – there were enough spoiled brats in the world, or little guttersnipes like the children at the home. She wanted a man who was rich enough to give her the kind of life she craved.
One day she might like to be a kept woman … with a wedding ring and security thrown in, of course. Her dreams of travelling had been put on hold during the war, but now it was beginning to be possible again. Mark might be the right sort of man – the kind of man who could give her what she wanted from life.
Carole’s thoughts were rudely interrupted as Angela Morton entered the ward carrying a tray of drinks and food for the patients. She was looking particularly elegant that morning in a dark green skirt with a fine paler green sweater with short sleeves, puffed at the shoulders.
‘Could you not knock before you enter?’ Carole snapped. ‘I might have been bathing one of the patients and we do need some privacy, you know.’
‘Sorry,’ Angela apologised. ‘It’s not easy to knock carrying a heavy tray and Michelle always says not to bother.’
‘Well, I’m in charge here at the moment and I’d prefer you to knock.’
‘Very well, I shall try to remember.’ Carole noticed a flush creep up Angela Morton’s cheek, but she used a conciliatory tone. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. I knew you were busy so I thought I would save you having to come down. We’re short of kitchen staff again.’
Carole checked herself because she knew that Angela didn’t have to help out the way she did; it wasn’t her job to run up and down stairs with loaded trays.
‘Sorry to be snappy. We’re a bit stretched here, too.’ Carole forced herself to be nice. She knew that knocking at doors had nothing to do with it; it was Angela’s friendship with Mark that was eating away at her. ‘Just a bit tired, I was out until the early hours the other night – theatre, supper and a nightclub. Haven’t got over it yet …’
‘Goodness, lucky you. Did you have a good night?’ Angela said. ‘A heavy date with the boyfriend?’
‘Well, perhaps you could call him that.’ Carole looked at her boldly. ‘Mark Adderbury took me out, in fact.’
Carole was trying to goad her, but frustratingly, Angela’s voice was steady. ‘Well, I’m sure it was a lovely evening.’
Carole had expected to provoke a reaction but she was disappointed. Angela’s tone was even and devoid of emotion. Angela even smiled at her as she left the ward, leaving Carole smarting with resentment. She’d love to wipe that smug smile of her face.
Well, she probably thought she had Mark Adderbury twisted round her little finger but Carole was determined to prove her wrong. She was pretty certain that Mark had wanted her that night. While they were dancing Carole had pressed herself close to him, closer than she normally dared and she’d felt his body respond; his hand caressing the arch of her back as he drew her even closer. Now she was going to turn that to her advantage. She would make him fall for her and then, if once she’d decided that he was up to the job, she’d make him marry her.
A smile touched Carole’s mouth. Mrs Toffee-Nose Morton would wake up one day and discover that Mark Adderbury had been snapped up by the better woman. And that wasn’t the limit of her ambitions either. Sister Beatrice was efficient, but she was too trusting. It had occurred to Carole that rather than waiting for the Warden to get too old, she might find a way of making it appear that the caring Sister was becoming careless … Yes, this haughty St Saviour’s lot had it coming to them, all right …
Mark saw Angela walking ahead of him along the hall and stepped into the lift rather than taking the stairs as he normally did. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to speak to her that morning, perhaps it was something to do with getting a bit carried away the night he took Carole out.
Whatever had made him suggest going on to that nightclub he could not imagine, but he’d been a little intoxicated by Carole’s company and with the gin cocktails; flattered, he supposed, because she was beautiful, young and altogether too alluring. He’d noticed the envious looks he was getting all night. Carole had worn a skimpy black evening dress, the skirt short and flared so that it flirted about her swaying hips as she walked. The top of the dress had narrow straps and a tight-fitting bodice, which dipped to a daring V at the back – the sight was intoxicating.
He brought himself back to the present as he left the lift and tapped at Sister Beatrice’s door. He’d been thinking a lot about Terry and, without alarming her too much, he felt he must warn her not to endanger her own safety by pushing Terry too far.
‘Come in,’ Sister called, and Mark entered. He discovered that Angela was in the office with Sister Beatrice, she was bending over the desk, a sheaf of papers in her hand having beaten the lift by running upstairs.
‘Ah, Mark,’ Sister said, glancing up. ‘Did you need to speak to me?’
‘I can come back later if you’d rather?’
‘Don’t worry, I’m on my way out.’ Angela gave Mark a brief impersonal glance and said, ‘I’ll leave the list with you, Sister. You can tell me if you need changes later.’ She nodded briefly at him but without her usual smile. Sensing a new coolness, Mark knew deep down that it had something to do with taking Carole to the theatre. He found the realisation made him uneasy.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’ He smiled apologetically at Sister Beatrice.
‘Well. I imagine what you have to say is important or you wouldn’t be here.’
‘You asked me to take another look at Terry the other day, and I have. For the first time I was able to speak to him without Nancy being there.’
‘Yes, go on?’ Beatrice looked at him intently.
‘Although I wouldn’t class him as insane, he is unstable. One minute he’s a nervous, frightened little boy, who cries for his mother and can’t remember that she died in the fire and the next he’s – well, a different and more violent personality altogether.’
‘Is he a danger to my children?’
‘I don’t believe so, providing neither he nor his sister is threatened. I don’t want the lad sectioned and put away in an asylum, because that could be disastrous for him and send him over the edge – but he ought to be transferred to a more suitable place where he can be monitored and treated. I wanted to warn you to be careful personally.’
‘Why me personally?’
‘Terry has taken a dislike to you, and if he thinks you’re threatening his security, which is represented by Nancy, he could turn nasty.’
‘It sounds to me as though the sooner he is moved the better.’
‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ Mark told her. ‘But it would be hugely damaging to separate him from his sister and put him away unless it is necessary.’ He met her doubtful look with a lift of his brows. ‘Will you allow me the time to find him somewhere suitable? I don’t feel there is any immediate danger to anyone.’
Sister Beatrice hesitated, then inclined her head. ‘I have always trusted your judgement, Mark, and if you feel we have time then I’ll comply. I’ll be careful when dealing with the boy now that you’ve warned me.’
‘I hope that I can find a good place for him. There are still some terrible institutions out there but things are changing, especially where young children are concerned, and very few respected experts in the field of mental illness feel that locking someone up and throwing away the key is the right answer any more; not for seriously troubled children, anyway. It might even be possible for his sister to be relocated close to his placement so that she can visit – but it will take a few weeks.’
‘Yes, I understand,’ Sister Beatrice said. ‘But if you see any signs that he is deteriorating – well, I do have all the other children to think of, and much as I would regret it, I cannot have one child being a danger to the others. Or indeed to my staff.’
‘Yes, of course I see that. If I thought he was really dangerous I would take him away immediately. It is still hard to be completely sure it isn’t simply the trauma of the fire. I’m sorry to be so inconclusive, but it is often like that in my work. We have to hunt for the key that unlocks the patient’s mind so that we can be sure, and sometimes it takes many hours of talking and analysing.’
‘I understand that your work isn’t a precise science but a matter of observation and judgement; it’s a bit like that in nursing too.’ Sister gave him a fleeting smile. ‘We’ll leave it there for the moment, shall we?’
Mark smiled and took his leave. He’d bought himself some more time to think things over. Terry had pulled the win
gs from that butterfly but other children sometimes did similar cruel things without thinking. The lad had been terrorised by a brutal father and then lost both his parents in that fatal blaze. If the police had some idea of how the fire had started it might be a help. Had it been an accident – or was there a more sinister cause?
Had one of the children deliberately set fire to the door of their parents’ bedroom? If so, which one was more likely to have planned it? Mark frowned as he wondered. Once or twice he’d thought Terry almost afraid to make his sister angry. Could it be possible that she was the dangerous one and the boy just a backward lad who hadn’t understood what he was doing when he mutilated that poor insect?
A cold shiver ran down his spine; he hoped he had what it took to get to the bottom of it, and he’d need his wits about him when dealing with the brother and sister.
TWENTY-FOUR
Angela realised that she’d been staring at her typewriter for ages without typing a word. Somehow, she hadn’t been able to get the expression in Carole’s eyes out of her head all day – and then there was the way Mark had avoided looking at her, as if he were guilty of something, which was ridiculous. Even if he were seriously dating the pretty nurse he had no reason to feel guilty, because he didn’t owe Angela an explanation. They were just good friends. It was true that she’d come to rely on his friendship, to feel that he was always there for her if she needed him – but surely she was over all that now? She no longer needed Mark to prop her up. Yet she was conscious of a deep and painful hurt inside her chest. Somehow, she’d begun to think of Mark as hers … and the triumphant look in Carole’s eyes had told her that she was mistaken. But she’d kept Mark at arm’s length for a long time now, even though before Christmas she’d been pretty sure he wanted to be more than a friend. Could she be surprised if he’d turned to a pretty nurse, who was several years younger than Angela?
