The Nightingale Nurses

by Donna Douglas

  She saw Charlie’s crestfallen expression and stopped laughing. ‘Charlie? You surely can’t imagine I’d notice another man, handsome or not?’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did.’ He toyed with the crumbs on his plate. ‘I’m not much of a prospect, am I? A crippled costermonger’s son from Roman Road. You could do a lot better than me. I expect your mum thinks so, too.’

  ‘I don’t care what my mother thinks.’

  His blue eyes glinted with amusement. ‘Yes, you do.’

  ‘All right, perhaps I do. But not where you’re concerned. I was all ready to elope with you to Scotland, remember? When she threatened to send me away?’

  Her mother tried to pack Helen off to another hospital when she’d first found out she was seeing Charlie in secret. She had come round once she’d realised how strong her feelings for him were. But that didn’t mean she was happy about it, or that she’d given up trying to part them.

  ‘I’m glad we didn’t run away,’ Charlie said.

  ‘So am I.’ It was he who had changed his mind, insisting that he didn’t want to ruin Helen’s life. Not that her mother had given him any credit for that. As far as she was concerned, Charlie Dawson was dragging her daughter down into the gutter.

  Helen looked at her watch. ‘When did you say the next train was due?’

  ‘Should be here in about ten minutes.’ Charlie cleared a patch in the steamy window with his sleeve and peered out. ‘It’s gone very dark all of a sudden. I don’t like the look of those clouds—’

  No sooner had the words left his lips than a flash of lightning split the pewter-coloured sky, followed a second later by thunder rolling like an avalanche of giant rocks, shaking the window frames and bringing a deluge of rain.

  Charlie looked rueful. ‘I don’t think we’ll be going to Southend, do you?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Helen shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie.’

  ‘What did I tell you about apologising for everything?’

  ‘I’m so—’ She saw his mock stern expression and stopped herself just in time. ‘It’s a habit,’ she said.

  ‘Then you need to break it. It’s not your fault it’s pouring down, is it? And I don’t really fancy sitting on a beach getting drenched.’

  Helen stared at the rain streaming down the glass, turning the outside world into a blur of dismal grey and washing away her chances of enjoying her day off. ‘I suppose I should go back to the nurses’ home and catch up on my studying,’ she sighed.

  ‘And miss spending your one day off with me?’ Charlie looked aghast. ‘We won’t have a whole day together for another month.’

  ‘Well, we can’t spend the day here.’ Helen thought for a moment. ‘I suppose we could go to the pictures, or take a bus ride up to the city?’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Charlie said. ‘Why don’t we go back to my house? We’ll be back in time for my mum’s Sunday roast, if we get a move on.’

  ‘Won’t she mind?’ Helen asked. She knew her own mother would be aghast if a guest turned up out of the blue.

  ‘You know my mum. The more the merrier, as far as she’s concerned,’ Charlie grinned. ‘Anyway, she’s got a real soft spot for you. She’s always asking when I’m going to bring you round to ours. I think she wants to show you off to the neighbours!’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ Helen blushed.

  ‘I mean it. She’s always bragging about how her son’s courting a nurse.’ He stood up and offered Helen his free arm. ‘Shall we go?’

  Helen hesitated. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind about Southend?’

  ‘We’ll go another day. Now I’ve got a whole day with my best girl and my mum’s roast beef to look forward to. What more could any bloke want?’

  Chapter Four

  NICK BRACED HIS muscles and hefted a chest of drawers on to the back of the horse-drawn wagon.

  ‘Careful!’ Ruby dived forward and snatched a box out of the way. ‘You nearly smashed our new china.’

  Nick watched her nursing the box to her bosom. They didn’t have much new for their home, just a few wedding presents people had given them. There was a canteen of cutlery, a tablecloth, bed linen, and some cups, saucers and plates with a fancy flower pattern around the edge. Ruby had picked those and every night she took each piece out of its wrapping just so she could admire it. It made him smile to watch her running her fingers so lovingly around the delicate gold-painted rim of each cup.

  ‘You do realise we’re going to have to use that?’ he’d said. ‘Or are you planning to keep it locked up in a glass case?’

  ‘As long as we’re careful.’ She held it up to the light. ‘Look, it’s so thin you can almost see through it. That’s proper bone china, that is.’

  ‘Dunno how I’m going to manage with it.’ Nick looked down at his hands. They were made for knocking down opponents in the boxing ring, not for handling delicate china. ‘Maybe we should keep it for when the new King comes round?’

  ‘You can laugh,’ Ruby said. ‘But I want everything in our new flat to be perfect.’

  He saw her expression turn sour as she stood beside her mother, watching the removals men start to load the wagon. Ruby hadn’t been happy about accepting some of her mother’s cast-off furniture, but as Nick had told her, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ his mother June said.

  Nick turned to look at her as she stood in the doorway, arms folded across her skinny bosom, squinting at him through the smoke drifting up from her cigarette. He had never known his mother show any concern for him before. She only noticed he was there when she needed money.

  Her next words destroyed any illusions he might have had. ‘How am I supposed to pay the rent?’ she demanded, her voice querulous.

  Nick’s mouth twitched. ‘You had me going there for a second. I thought you might actually be bothered about me. But why change the habit of a lifetime, eh?’

  ‘Why should I be bothered about you? You’ve been nothing but trouble to me since you were a kid.’

  ‘Except when I’m paying the tallyman for you.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you keep a roof over your head. But you’ll have to find some other mug to pay for your gin.’

  ‘And who’s going to look after our Danny?’

  Nick shot a glance over at his brother, perched on top of the coal bunker. He liked to sit up there, out of everyone’s way, and watch the world go by. But today his head drooped like a wilting flower on his slender neck. Nick had to look away to stop the tears welling up in his eyes.

  He hadn’t been able to sleep for the past week, and not just because he and Ruby were sharing a lumpy single mattress in her parents’ front parlour. He’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling until the pale dawn light crept under the curtains and he heard the sound of the milkman’s horse clopping slowly up Griffin Street. Sometimes he thought he heard Danny sobbing in his sleep downstairs, and Nick’s heart ached for him.

  ‘You’re his mother, you should look after him,’ Lettie Pike said.

  June turned on her. ‘My son needs a lot of looking after. You don’t know what it’s like. A boy like that is a burden to a poor woman on her own.’ She took out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘He can come and live with us, if he’s that much of a burden,’ Nick said.

  Ruby and her mother both whipped round to look at him. ‘Nick!’

  ‘Did you hear that, Danny? Your brother wants you to go and live with him.’ June’s face brightened instantly.

  ‘C-Can I, Nick? Can I come and l-live with you?’ Danny slithered down from the coal shed roof.

  Once the idea had occurred to Nick, he wondered why he hadn’t thought about it before. ‘Well, I don’t see why—’

  ‘Sorry, Danny love, we ain’t got no room,’ Ruby cut in before Nick could finish his sentence.

  ‘You’ve got a spare room, ain’t you? Or he could sleep on your settee,’ June said. ‘And he�
��s as good as gold, really. He won’t be no trouble.’

  ‘I thought you just said he was a burden?’ Lettie muttered.

  Nick glanced at Ruby. Her face was rigid as stone, anger simmering in her eyes.

  He turned back to his brother. ‘I’m sorry, Dan. It might be best if you stayed here with Mum.’

  ‘B-but I want to go with you! You s-said—’

  ‘I’ll come back and see you as often as I can, I promise.’ Nick couldn’t look into his brother’s face. He knew if he did he would be lost.

  ‘P-please, Nick! Don’t l-leave me . . .’ Danny threw his skinny arms around his brother’s neck, clinging to him. Nick held himself rigid, not daring to hug him back.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Dan.’ He didn’t like to show emotion, but his voice sounded thick and choked.

  ‘Come on, Danny.’ Ruby stepped in, gently but firmly disentangling his arms from around Nick’s neck. ‘It’s not like we’re moving to the other side of the world.’

  ‘She’s right, Dan. You can always come and see us.’

  ‘C-Can I?’ Danny wiped his face. ‘Can I come and s-see you, Nick?’

  ‘Any time, mate. You’ll always be welcome.’

  ‘Not if that missus of yours has anything to do with it,’ he heard his mother mutter.

  He was silent all the way to their new flat in the wagon, worrying about Danny. Seeing his brother in tears was like a knife in Nick’s heart.

  ‘I’ve been looking forward to moving into this flat for ages,’ Ruby interrupted his thoughts. She swayed against him, rocked by the steady plodding of the horse. ‘I hope you’re not going to sulk all day and ruin it?’

  ‘I just don’t like seeing Danny upset.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have been upset if you hadn’t told him he could come and live with us. You had no business putting that idea in his head.’

  He stared at the backs of the removal men, sitting side by side on the long front seat. ‘You’re right,’ he sighed.

  ‘I don’t know what you were thinking,’ Ruby continued, her mouth pursed. ‘Never mind upsetting Danny. What about upsetting me? I’m your wife now, Nick. You should be thinking about me before anyone else.’

  Don’t I know it? he thought.

  As if she knew she’d gone too far, Ruby leaned against him, threading her arm through his. ‘Please don’t spoil this, Nick. Everything will be all right, you’ll see. As soon as we’ve got settled in our lovely new flat, everything will be just perfect.’

  Their new flat in Victory House was a palace compared to Griffin Street. No damp, no peeling paintwork, bedbugs or mice scampering out of the stove. The whole place smelled of fresh paint and polish, and the April sunshine poured in through the sparkling picture windows.

  It made him laugh to see Ruby running from room to room, flicking light switches on and off, as excited as a child on Christmas morning.

  ‘Oh, Nick, isn’t it smashing?’ she sighed. ‘Look at that tap. Just think, you turn it on and hot water comes out. You don’t have to boil a single kettle. Who’d have thought you and me would ever be living in a place as grand as this?’

  ‘It should be grand, the rent they’re charging!’ He was already doing the sums in his head, wondering how they would pay for it all. He’d be stretched to breaking point after paying his mum’s rent too.

  Ruby pulled a face. ‘We’ll manage.’

  ‘Things are going to be tight now you’ve given up work.’

  ‘Stop worrying!’ She wound her arms around his neck, smiling up into his face. ‘I told you, everything is going to be perfect.’

  He kissed the top of her curly blonde head, breathing in her perfume, and tried to convince himself it was true.

  All right, it wasn’t the life he had hoped for, and Ruby might not be the girl he’d hoped to marry. But it could have been a lot worse. He knew lots of men in Bethnal Green who would envy him, landing a cracker like Ruby. And it wasn’t just her looks, either. Deep down, she was a nice kid with a good heart. She drove him mad at times, but she also made him laugh.

  It wasn’t as if she’d chosen to end up in this situation, any more than he had. Maybe, given the choice, she wouldn’t have married him either. She was trying to make the best of the hand life had dealt her, and now he had to do the same.

  He held her at arm’s length, smiling down into her eyes. ‘Come on, then. Let’s have a proper look around this palace of yours.’

  The flat consisted of a small hallway, which led to a sitting room, a narrow kitchen, bathroom, a bedroom, and a much smaller room, hardly bigger than a cupboard, with a high strip of window.

  ‘I suppose we could make this the nursery?’ Nick said, peering inside. ‘What do you reckon, shall we paint it pink or blue?’ There was no reply. ‘Ruby?’

  He turned to look around, thinking she’d wandered off to inspect another room. But she was standing behind him.

  ‘Rube?’ She was so pale-faced and silent, he worried she might be ill. ‘Are you all right?’

  He saw her throat move as she swallowed. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said slowly.

  ‘What is it?’ He smiled. ‘Don’t tell me you’re expecting twins?’

  She didn’t laugh. ‘Nick—’

  A sharp rap on the front door broke the tense silence, startling them both. A moment later the door opened and one of the removals men stuck his head around the door.

  ‘D’you want us to start bringing this furniture in, guv?’ he called.

  ‘Just a minute.’ Nick turned back to Ruby. ‘What was it you wanted to say?’

  ‘It’ll keep for another time.’ Her smile was back in place, as suddenly as it had disappeared. ‘We’d best get unpacked or those blokes will start expecting overtime!’

  Nick helped the men haul the furniture up the three flights of stone stairs. While he waited for them to huff and puff their way up the last flight after him, he paused on the narrow concrete walkway to admire the view.

  The four squat red-brick blocks of flats formed a square, their walkways facing inward to overlook a small patch of green in the centre. Beyond the flats lay the rooftops of Bethnal Green, and beyond that the dock cranes that lined the Thames, reaching high into the sky. The air was filled with the acrid smells of the glue factory and belching chimney smoke. But below children played in the spring sunshine, chasing each other among the blossom-filled trees.

  My kid will play down there one day. Nick couldn’t keep a smile off his face as he thought about this.

  It had been a shock when Ruby first told him she was expecting. But now he’d had time to get used to the idea, he realised he was looking forward to being a father.

  And he was going to be the best father he could be. His son or daughter would want for nothing he could provide. He would see they were the best-dressed, the best-fed, the best-loved kid that ever grew up in the East End.

  They would certainly have a better upbringing than he’d had, stuck with a drunk mother who had no time for her kids and a father who liked to teach his sons a lesson with the buckle end of his belt when he’d had a skin full.

  Nick’s hands balled into fists. It was a beating from Reg Riley that had left Danny the way he was, brain-damaged and helpless when he was just a child of twelve. Nick was still tormented by nightmares of seeing his brother smashed to a pulp and lying close to death in a pool of blood. He’d given his father a taste of his own medicine that night. Reg Riley had been so frightened of his sixteen-year-old son’s rage that he’d packed his bags and disappeared.

  But his old man had taught him a lesson, if only he’d known it. Nick would never lay a hand on his own kid, no matter what.

  Chapter Five

  THE OPERATING THEATRE was deep in the bowels of the hospital, a silent tomb of gleaming steel and glaring lights. The hissing, steaming autoclave and the heating pipes running along the thick stone walls made it almost too hot to bear, and Helen could feel perspiration trickling down inside her dress as she counted
out the swabs for the next operation. She was glad they had lighter uniforms to put on for surgery, even though it meant changing in and out of her usual calico-lined uniform several times a day.

  The next operation of the day was a perforated ulcer, and she carefully consulted the heavy ledger to check which instruments Mr Latimer preferred. As she laid them on the trolley, she remembered the mnemonic she had read in her textbook the previous night – knife, fork and spoon. Scalpel first, then forceps, then scissors. They looked so perfect and orderly, gleaming in neat rows on the trolley. Helen stood for a moment, gazing at her handiwork.

  ‘Very nice, Nurse, I’m sure. Perhaps you should hang it in a gallery where we can all admire it?’

  She swung around at the sound of Sister Theatre’s voice. Miss Feehan was in her early-thirties and a typical Irish beauty, with her glossy black hair, milky skin and brilliant emerald eyes. But behind that sweet face lurked the heart of a monster. And Miss Feehan’s biting sarcasm seemed to cut even deeper when delivered in her lilting Irish accent.

  ‘You do realise that if those sterilised instruments are exposed to the air for too long they’ll be no use to anyone?’ she snapped. ‘Cover them with a cloth quickly, girl, or they’ll all have to go back in the steriliser. And then you’ll have to explain to Mr Latimer why his operations are being held up.’

  ‘Yes, Sister. Sorry, Sister.’ Helen bobbed a quick apology and hurried off to find a sterilised cloth.

  She was surprised to find her brother William scrubbing up at the metal sink. He was chatting amiably to Dr Little, one of the junior anaesthetists. He reminded Helen of a cherub in a Renaissance painting, with his round pink face and fair curls that almost reached the collar of his surgical gown.

  They both turned to look at her when she walked in.

  ‘Ah, here she is now,’ William said. ‘You’ll have to watch yourself, old chap, my sister is a stickler for doing things properly. Helen, have you met my friend Alec? Alec Little, this is my sister Helen.’