‘Mr Hopkins thinks it’s a disgrace,’ Arthur said. ‘He says he’s a good mind not to let us set foot on that ward.’
‘He’s got the right idea,’ their father said. ‘I think it’s disgusting to waste our time and our medicine on them when one of our own boys might be in need.’ He pointed his fork at Kitty. ‘You want to do the same, Kit. Tell them you won’t do it.’
‘I’ve already tried. Matron says I’ve got no choice.’
Kitty had summoned up the courage to go back and see Matron that afternoon, to request a transfer to another military ward. She had tried to plead her case, even explained how her brother Raymond had been killed.
Miss Fox had listened, her face sympathetic as ever, but she had been implacable: Kitty had to do as she was told. Matron was sorry, but as she pointed out, Kitty wasn’t the only person to lose a loved one. This war had come at a great cost, and they were all grieving someone. But they could not and should not let that stop them doing their duty.
‘We’ll see about that,’ her father declared, throwing down his knife and fork with a clatter. ‘I’ll go down to that hospital tomorrow morning and have a word . . .’
‘Don’t do that, Dad, please,’ Kitty begged. She could just imagine Matron’s face if her father stormed into her office, banging on the desk and shouting the odds as usual.
‘Well, something has to be done. I’m not letting you nurse Germans, and that’s final!’
‘I’ll go and see Matron again,’ Kitty promised. Anything to keep her father from making a scene.
‘Well, those Germans needn’t think I’m going to fetch and carry for them, whatever anyone says,’ Arthur declared.
‘Quite right, son. I’m glad someone in this family’s got some sense!’ Kitty felt the full force of her father’s accusing stare.
‘You don’t want to get into trouble at the hospital,’ she warned her brother quietly.
‘What can they do? They can’t give me the sack, there ain’t enough men to fill the jobs as it is.’ Arthur’s chin lifted. ‘Besides, by Christmas I’ll be old enough to sign up and then I’ll be gone.’
‘Let’s hope it’s all over by then,’ Florrie Jenkins murmured.
‘I hope not!’ Arthur said.
‘Listen to him,’ Horace Jenkins said fondly. ‘The lad’s desperate to go and do his bit.’ He reached across the table and ruffled Arthur’s thatch of hair. ‘He wants to go and give those Germans what for, don’t you, son?’
‘I’ll say, Dad. They won’t know what’s hit them when I get my hands on them!’
‘That’s the spirit. You go and make your mum and dad proud, eh? Just like your brother—’
Florrie Jenkins shot to her feet and began collecting up the plates. ‘I’ll go and see about pudding,’ she mumbled.
Kitty followed her mother out to the scullery, where she was going through the cupboards, muttering to herself.
‘There isn’t much,’ she was saying. ‘I only managed to get one tin of fruit at the grocer’s this morning. And there’s no cream to go with it—’
‘I’m sure that’ll be fine, Mum.’
‘Yes, but you know how your father likes his cream.’
‘He’ll have to go without, won’t he?’
Her mother shot her a fearful look. ‘I suppose I could use the top of the milk,’ she said. ‘That would do, wouldn’t it?’
She rummaged in the drawer and took out the tin opener, but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t work it. Kitty stepped forward and took it from her.
‘Here, let me do it,’ she said gently.
‘Thank you, love.’ Florrie Jenkins brushed a mousy brown curl off her face with the back of her hand. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what’s the matter with me today. I’m all fingers and thumbs . . .’ Her voice trailed off, and Kitty read the weary despair in her mother’s eyes.
‘Don’t upset yourself, Mum,’ she said. ‘Arthur won’t need to go away.’
Her mother’s smile trembled. ‘I hope not, love. I don’t know what I’d do if . . .’
She didn’t need to say any more. Raymond’s death had hit them all hard, but her mother had taken it worst of all. Overnight, Florrie Jenkins had turned from a cheerful, capable mother to a nervous, shattered wreck. It broke Kitty’s heart to see her laid so low.
And hearing Arthur and her father talking about going off to fight didn’t help, either. Kitty wished she could explain to them how much they were hurting her mother, but she knew neither of them would listen.
They ate their pudding in silence, the four of them sitting round the table, all lost in their own thoughts. Once upon a time, when Raymond was with them, mealtimes were lively affairs. Everyone would be talking at once, and Ray would be entertaining them all with his funny stories. Her father and Arthur would be roaring with laughter, and her mother would chuckle and shake her head and say, ‘Get on with you, Ray! You must be making it up.’
‘It’s true,’ Ray would insist solemnly. ‘True as I’m riding this bike.’
But no one told funny stories any more. There was no laughter or lightness in the house. They didn’t even have any friends or neighbours dropping in. Now no one bothered to call because her mother was too frail and her father too bad-tempered. Even Arthur was no longer the happy-go-lucky kid he used to be. Losing his older brother had made him angry and vindictive.
The Germans did this to them. Kitty pushed her meagre portion of fruit around her bowl, her throat so closed up she couldn’t swallow it. The Germans had taken away her brother and torn her family apart.
And now she had to nurse them.
As her father said, it just wasn’t right.
Bea Doyle was late as usual. Kitty stood outside the dance hall for twenty minutes before she saw her sauntering down the road, arm in arm with a slim, dark-haired girl.
It always gave Kitty a jolt to see her friend. Bea looked so like Nurse Riley, with her curly thatch of red hair and freckled face. But that was where the similarity between the sisters ended.
‘There you are,’ Kitty peeled herself away from the wall to greet her. ‘I thought you weren’t coming.’
‘Better late than never, eh?’ Typical Bea, she was never one to apologise. ‘This is Lily, my brother’s wife. I told her she could come out with us.’
Lily nodded a quiet greeting. Her name suited her, Kitty thought. She looked as beautiful and fragile as a flower, her small, pointed face dominated by a pair of wide brown eyes.
The dance hall was almost deserted when they went inside.
‘Where is everyone?’ Lily looked around, her mouth turned down. ‘There’s no one here. I thought you said we were going to have fun.’
‘It’s early yet,’ Bea said. ‘Wait and see, it’ll liven up soon.’
‘I hope so,’ Lily pouted. ‘Otherwise I might as well have stayed at home and played whist with your nanna!’
Kitty looked at her and felt an instant dislike. ‘It’s hardly our fault all the men have been sent to France, is it?’ she said.
She was being sarcastic, but Lily just stared at her blankly. ‘Bea promised me we were going to have fun,’ she insisted stubbornly. ‘She said we could go dancing.’
Before Kitty could reply, Bea tapped her shoulder. ‘Don’t look now, girls, but I think we’re in luck,’ she said, nodding towards the door.
Of course they both swung round straight away and looked at the trio of young men in khaki uniforms who had just swaggered in.
Kitty automatically reached up and smoothed her hair down over her temple. Her long sleeves already hid the scars on her arm, but she tugged at her cuff to reassure herself.
‘Oh, they’re looking round. Quick, look as if we’re doing something else.’
Bea turned her back on them, but Lily continued to gawp, as if she couldn’t bear to tear her gaze away. ‘They’re coming over!’ she squeaked.
‘For heaven’s’ sake, Lily, I told you not to look!’ Bea snapped. ‘Now don’t look too eager
,’ she warned them all in an undertone, as the men sauntered over.
‘What have we here?’ one of them said in a deep Scottish accent. ‘Surely you pretty ladies can’t be alone?’
Bea affected a careless shrug. ‘It looks like it, doesn’t it?’
‘And why’s that, I wonder?’
‘Perhaps we’re particular about the company we keep.’
The young man’s smile widened. He was the most handsome of the group, his black wavy hair carefully Brylcreemed into place. The friends who flanked him were the complete opposite to each other, one tall and lanky, the other stockily built.
‘So does that mean you wouldn’t let us buy you a drink?’ the dark-haired man said.
‘Oh, go on, then. You can buy us all a port and lemon.’
‘I’ll just have a lemonade, please,’ Kitty put in.
‘Take no notice, she’ll have the same as us,’ Bea said dismissively.
Kitty glared at her as the young man headed off to the bar. ‘I can’t go home tipsy, my dad will have something to say about it,’ she hissed.
‘We’ve come to have some fun, haven’t we?’ Bea whispered back.
‘What’s your name?’ the lanky man asked Lily, when his friend had gone to the bar. Like his friend, he sounded Scottish.
‘That would be telling,’ she replied archly.
‘Then I’ll just have to call you sweetheart, won’t I?’
It was hardly the wittiest comment in the world, but Lily still giggled. She kept her left hand down by her side, hidden in the folds of her skirt, Kitty noticed.
The stocky young man turned to her. ‘I’m Mal,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘And you are . . .?’
‘It’s Kitty,’ Bea chimed in before she had a chance to answer. ‘But she’s a bit shy,’ she added.
‘Is that right?’ Mal smiled at her as they shook hands. His grip was firm and strong, and lasted a fraction longer than it should have. ‘Well, as it happens I like shy girls.’
He wasn’t bad-looking, Kitty thought. He was well built and muscular, with light brown hair and a nice smile. Just her type, in fact. But that only made her feel more flustered.
The dark-haired man returned with their drinks. ‘Sorry,’ he said, handing the glasses round. ‘The barman says they’re out of alcohol. It’s just lemonade after all.’
Bea pulled a disgusted face, while Kitty tried to hide her relief.
They found a corner table to sit down. Bea made sure she was sitting next to the dark-haired man, while Lily wedged herself in next to Len, the taller of the other two. She still kept her left hand folded in her lap.
Kitty stared into her drink, feeling at a loss. Across the table, Bea and Lily seemed to know exactly what to do, flirting and laughing and teasing with the soldiers.
Once upon a time, Kitty might have been just the same. But the accident had changed her, made her shy and self-conscious. Now she sat rigidly, her shoulders tensed in case she accidentally brushed against Mal at her side.
‘I can’t believe there’s no whisky,’ Len muttered from across the table. ‘I told you we should have gone to that pub we found last night. What was it called?’
‘The White Lion,’ Mal said.
‘Then we wouldn’t have met these nice young ladies, would we?’ his friend Andy said, sliding his arm oh so casually along the back of Bea’s seat.
‘No, but they had plenty of whisky.’
‘That’s what you think,’ Kitty mumbled.
Len turned to look at her. ‘What?’
‘It was probably topped up with methylated spirits coloured to look like whisky. They sell it to the servicemen when they’re too drunk to tell the difference.’
Mal roared with laughter. ‘Looks like you were had, pal! Imagine that, a Scotsman who can’t tell his whisky!’
‘You were drinking it, too!’ Len snapped back, his face colouring. But after a moment, he smiled grudgingly, and soon they were all laughing.
They relaxed a little after that. They found out the young men were part of a Scottish Highland regiment sent down to London three days earlier.
‘Although we can’t tell you what we’re doing,’ Len said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘It’s all very hush-hush.’
Mal tried to make conversation with her, and Kitty did her best to join in, but she’d lost so much confidence that she had almost forgotten how to be young and carefree and flirtatious.
The dancing started, and Bea and Lily quickly made their way on to the dance floor with their partners, leaving Kitty with Mal.
‘Is it my cologne?’ he said. She looked round to see him watching her earnestly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Only I’ve been sitting here trying to work out what it is you don’t like about me, and I reckon that’s what it must be. It certainly can’t be anything else, because I’m perfect in every other way,’ he said.
Kitty smiled in spite of herself. ‘Oh, you think so, do you?’
‘Of course. I mean, look at me.’ He leaned back so she could get a better view. ‘I’m a good catch, even if I do say so myself. I mean, I’ve got the looks, and the charm—’
‘And the modesty!’ Kitty laughed.
‘And I’m a darn good dancer, too. D’you want to see?’ He held out his hand to her. ‘Come on, lass,’ he urged. ‘At least if we’re dancing you don’t have to try to make conversation with me.’
Kitty smiled. ‘That’s true.’
She had almost forgotten how much she loved dancing. She had certainly forgotten what it felt like to be in a man’s arms. She was still too nervous to let herself go, but she liked the feeling of Mal’s hand resting in the small of her back, firm and strong, guiding her around the floor.
‘Relax,’ he leaned forward to murmur in her ear, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath fanning against her face. ‘You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself, remember?’
The next moment the lilting waltz ended and the music picked up tempo. Kitty took a step back from Mal and started back towards their table, but he held on to her hand, drawing her back.
‘You can’t go now,’ he said. ‘We’re just getting started.’
Kitty shook her head. Around her, the other couples were starting to jitterbug, jumping and whirling, bumping into her and ricocheting off again. ‘I don’t like this kind of dancing.’
‘Have you ever tried it?’
‘No, but—’
‘Then you can’t say you don’t like it.’
‘But I don’t know how—’ Kitty started to protest, but Mal reached out and grasped her other hand.
‘I’ll show you.’
The steps weren’t as hard as she’d feared. Soon Kitty was jitterbugging with the others, jumping and spinning and laughing with delight. The music got faster and faster and she could hardly breathe as she spun round and round, the other couples a blur of moving colour around her.
Then, suddenly, Mal grasped her round the waist and swung her high in the air. Kitty let out a scream of laughter as she felt herself flying above the crowd. She could feel her skirt flying up too, but she was enjoying herself too much to care that she might be showing her drawers to the world.
The music stopped and Mal lowered her gently until her feet touched the floor. But he went on holding her, his hands circling her waist. Kitty was still laughing, too breathless to speak, so she didn’t notice as Mal pulled her closer and reached up to push the hair back from her face.
By the time she’d reacted and pulled away from him to smooth her hair back over her temple, it was too late. Kitty saw the dawning horror in his eyes.
‘Your face—’ he started to say.
She didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. She was already stumbling off the dance floor. She heard Bea calling out to her as she fled, but she ignored her, fetching her coat and hurrying for the door.
Bea caught up with her halfway down the street.
‘Kitty?’ She grabbed her arm, swinging he
r round to face her. ‘I saw what happened. Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ Kitty dabbed at her face with her coat sleeve.
‘You’re not. I can see you’ve been crying.’ Bea paused, then said, ‘I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it. He was just – surprised, that’s all.’
‘Shocked, you mean?’ Bea might try to pretend to make her feel better, but Kitty had seen the horror and disgust on his face.
‘Don’t be daft, it’s not that bad.’ Bea’s gaze travelled up to Kitty’s scar, now hidden behind the curtain of her hair. ‘Honestly, you’re the only one who thinks it looks ugly.’
I’m not the only one, Kitty thought. Her fiancé Alex had jilted her just before their wedding a year ago. He’d made all kinds of excuses about not being sure about what their future held with the war on, but Kitty knew the real reason was that he was repelled by her scarred face. He could hardly bear to look at her.
‘Look, why don’t you come back inside?’ Bea said. ‘I’m sure Mal didn’t—’
Kitty shook her head. Nothing on earth would have convinced her to go back into that dance hall, not after what had just happened.
‘I’m a bit tired,’ she said. ‘I’d like to go home.’
‘Shall we come with you?’ She could hear the reluctance in Bea’s voice.
‘No, it’s all right. You stay. I don’t want to spoil your evening.’
‘I don’t mind, honestly,’ Bea insisted. Then she added, ‘Although I did promise poor Lily a good night out . . .’
Kitty pressed her lips together to stop herself smiling. Bea wasn’t one to miss a night out, either. ‘Then you’d best get back, hadn’t you?’
Night was falling, and Kitty hurried home, anxious to get there before it got too dark. It wasn’t the blackout that made her nervous – after five years, she’d got used to finding her way in the pitch-dark streets, measuring her steps, her ears cocked for the sound of cars and bicycles. But the idea of being caught out in an air raid still terrified her. She had been running to the shelter when she’d been caught by white-hot shrapnel raining out of the sky. Even now, all this time later, she could still feel it searing into her skin.
A Nightingale Christmas Carol Page 5
