‘I don’t think you’re soft at all.’
The intensity of his gaze embarrassed her. She cleared her throat, suddenly nervous.
‘Thank you, anyway,’ she said.
As she went to walk away, he called after her, ‘If you really want to thank me you could go out with me sometime.’
She smiled. ‘You never give up, do you?’
‘You know what they say. Faint heart never won fair lady.’
Kitty opened her mouth to refuse, then shocked herself by saying, ‘All right, then.’
He looked even more shocked than she was. ‘You will? When?’
She thought about it. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve next got the evening off, if you like.’
‘All right. I’ll look forward to it.’
‘Me too.’
His look of utter surprise made her smile all the way back to the ward.
Chapter Sixteen
By the end of the week, the young pleurisy patient had died.
Kitty helped Nurse Riley perform last offices. The senior nurse was in a strange mood as they stripped the bed ready for the laying out. It was always sad to lose a patient, but Dora Riley seemed to be taking this one’s death very hard indeed. Kitty could hear the catch in her voice as she recited a final prayer at his bedside.
They went through their duties quickly, and in silence. The young man was washed, his short fair hair combed and his nails trimmed.
‘What shall we dress him in?’ Kitty asked, when they’d finished. ‘I suppose it will have to be his prison uniform—’
‘No!’ Dora looked up from the label she was filling in. ‘Go and find some clean clothes. I’m sure we must have some spare from the old emergency ward. I won’t let him be buried a prisoner. It ain’t right.’
Kitty looked at her in surprise. The staff nurse’s mouth was an obstinate line, but Kitty could swear there were tears in her eyes.
They managed to find some clothes for him, then wrapped him in a sheet. As Dora stitched the shroud in place, Kitty cleared his belongings from the bedside locker.
There were a couple of photographs, one of a pretty young girl who must have been his sweetheart, and another of a smiling family. There was also a silver St Christopher, and a tiny, battered Bible.
‘He must have kept this in his pocket the whole time.’ The tissue-thin pages whispered as she flicked through them, the tiny print incomprehensible to her. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, to think of them reading the same Bible as us?’
‘Why is it so strange?’ Dora said sharply. ‘They’re no different from us. They’ve got wives and mothers and sisters, just like everyone else. People who want them to come home . . .’
Kitty looked at the St Christopher, glinting on the end of its chain. Her mum had given Raymond one just like it for his twenty-first birthday, a few weeks before he joined the navy.
‘What shall I do with this?’ she asked. ‘It looks valuable.’
Dora looked up at it, and for a moment she seemed lost in thought. Then she said, ‘I’ll pass it on to Sister Dawson. She can keep it locked in her office with the rest of his possessions until it can be sent back to his family.’
Helen was in her office as usual. She looked up as Dora came in.
‘Yes? What is it?’
Dora put the box down on her desk in front of her. ‘Helmut Gruber’s belongings. The boy with pleurisy?’ she said, as Helen looked blank. ‘He died this morning.’
‘Oh yes. Of course.’ Helen blushed.
‘I wasn’t sure what to do with them,’ Dora went on. ‘I’m sure his family would want them back, but I don’t know how we’d go about sending them . . .’
‘I’ll ask Matron.’ Helen stared at the box in front of her. Was that guilt on her face, Dora wondered. If it was, she deserved it.
Her better judgement told her to walk away. But she couldn’t stop herself speaking.
‘He didn’t have to die,’ she blurted out. ‘If Dr Abbott had only listened to Major Von Mundel . . .’
‘People make mistakes,’ Helen muttered. ‘Besides, there was nothing we could do about it.’
‘You could have done something. You could have made Dr Abbott listen.’
The words were out before Dora could stop herself. Helen’s head shot up, their eyes meeting. ‘That’s not true!’ she said. ‘You know as well as I do that it’s not our place to argue with a doctor – ’
‘That’s never stopped you in the past, has it? I’ve seen you stand up to a doctor if you thought it was in the interests of a patient. I bet you would have said something if Helmut Gruber had been an RAF pilot, or a British soldier. But just because he was a German, you think his life doesn’t matter!’
Helen’s gaze dropped away from hers. ‘That’s not true,’ she murmured.
‘Isn’t it? You’ve shown no concern for the POWs so far, from what I can see. You’re rarely on the ward, and when you are you might as well not be there for all the interest you take. You don’t like the Germans, do you?’
‘Do you?’ Helen flashed back.
For a moment, Dora heard her sister-in-law Lily’s voice in her head, taunting her.
At least I know what side I’m on.
‘It doesn’t matter what I think of them,’ she said. ‘They’re still my patients, and I treat them just the same as anyone else who needs my care.’
‘Yes, well, perhaps that’s not so easy for the rest of us,’ Helen muttered.
Dora stared at her. Helen didn’t meet her eye. She gazed down at her hands, lacing and unlacing on the desk in front of her. ‘Why not?’
‘Let’s just say I have my reasons.’
‘What reasons?’
Helen was silent for a moment, her attention still fixed on her hands. Her long fingers were raw and bitten at the tips, Dora noticed.
‘I was attacked by a POW,’ she said at last.
Dora froze. ‘When?’
‘A few weeks ago. While I was working in a field hospital near Tobruk.’ Once again Helen paused for a moment, and Dora could see her fighting for control of her emotions. ‘A unit of Germans had been brought in. Only a couple of serious injuries, but most of them starving and exhausted. They were only supposed to stay for one night, until they could be shipped off . . .’ She took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I was on night duty, on my own. I was supposed to be sitting with an unconscious patient, but one of the Germans starting carrying on, demanding attention. When I refused, he smashed a glass on his nightstand and tried to push it into my face.’ Her voice was flat, matter of fact, with only the barest hint of a tremor.
‘Oh, Helen!’
‘It’s all right, I wasn’t badly hurt. He didn’t cut me or anything, but he did sprain my wrist where he twisted it up behind my back.’ She rubbed her arm under her thick calico sleeve. ‘It was more the shock than anything,’ she said. ‘After that night, I found I couldn’t do it any more. I kept having nightmares, you see . . . so they sent me home.’
‘And now you’re here, nursing POWs?’ Dora said.
Helen looked up at her, her brown eyes full of appeal. ‘Now do you understand why I’ve found it so hard? I know I have to do it, but every time I hear their voices, I just freeze . . .’
‘Oh, Helen.’ Dora stared at her friend’s wretched face. Why hadn’t she realised the truth before? ‘Can’t you speak to your commanding officer? Surely if she understood the situation – ’
‘She already knows. Why do you think I was transferred back to England?’ Helen was rueful. ‘Major Ellis already thinks it’s more than enough that I’ve been allowed to come home.’
She gave Dora a sad smile. ‘I’m sorry that I haven’t been pulling my weight,’ she said. ‘But I’ve just found it so difficult . . .’
‘Of course.’ Dora’s anger evaporated, replaced by concern for her friend. ‘And I’m sorry I lost my temper with you.’
‘No, you’re right,’ Helen said bracingly. ‘I need to pull myself together and remember my d
uty.’ She gave Dora a brave smile. ‘I’m going to start pulling my weight on this ward from now on.’
‘You don’t have to, you know. I’m sure we can manage . . .’
‘No, I must. As Major Ellis would say, I need to buck up!’
That night there was news of another raid over Germany. According to the BBC, the Allies had rained more bombs over Berlin.
‘Good thing, too!’ Kitty’s father beamed with satisfaction as they sat around the table for tea. ‘About time those Germans got a taste of their own medicine, after everything they put us through over the past few years.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘We’ve got ’em on the run now, all right!’
‘I just wish it would all stop,’ her mother said quietly as she dished out the vegetable pie.
‘I don’t!’ Arthur joined in. ‘Not until I get my chance to have a go, anyway.’
Kitty looked at her mother’s stricken face across the table. Suddenly a picture came into her mind of another mother, sitting at her own family’s table worrying about her son, not knowing that his Bible and St Christopher would soon be making their way home to her.
‘Not eating, love?’ Her mother looked anxious as Kitty pushed her plate away.
She shook her head. ‘Sorry, Mum, I think I’ve lost my appetite,’ she said.
Chapter Seventeen
In early August the fair came to Hackney Marshes, and Bea decided that they should all go.
‘I’ll bring my new boyfriend Hank,’ she said. ‘And you can bring Mal.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ Kitty said. ‘Can’t we keep it just us girls?’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Bea pouted. ‘Go on, it’ll be a lark. And I’ve been dying for you to meet Hank.’
Kitty was keen to meet him, too. Bea had been going on for ages about the handsome GI she’d met at the Washington Club. To listen to her, anyone would think he was Cary Grant, Clark Gable and Spencer Tracy combined, with a dash of Tyrone Power thrown in for good measure.
But when Kitty saw Hank, she realised that for once her friend hadn’t been exaggerating.
‘Isn’t he divine?’ Bea sighed, as they watched the men compete on the coconut shy. ‘So good-looking. Don’t you think he’s good-looking, Kitty?’
‘He’s very handsome.’ No one could argue with that. Hank was a tall, broad-shouldered giant of a man, with slicked black hair, dark eyes and a devilish smile. He dwarfed Mal as they stood together at the shy, aiming wooden balls at the coconuts. Bea had already warned Kitty not to expect her boyfriend to win her anything, since Hank was the best shot in his unit, and captain of the baseball team.
‘And charming, too. Such good manners, not at all like the British men. No offence, of course,’ she added with a giggle. ‘I mean, your Mal seems very nice.’
‘He is,’ Kitty said.
She watched the two of them, side by side. Mal might not have Hank’s movie star looks, but he was sweet and funny, and he made her laugh. Somehow without even knowing it, their one night out together had stretched into another, and now they had been courting for nearly a month.
‘I thought you said he was a good shot?’ Lily mocked, as Hank aimed another ball wide and it hit the sacking backcloth with a whump. Mal patted his shoulder in consolation.
Bea ignored her. ‘Did I tell you he’s rich?’ she went on to Kitty. ‘His family owns a farm in Texas—’
‘So he says,’ Lily mumbled her through a mouth full of chocolate. The best part of the day had been Hank arriving with a big box of candy, as he called it.
‘Anyway, they have miles and miles of land, and pots of money,’ Bea continued. She sighed happily. ‘I think I’m in love!’
Lily choked on her chocolate and started coughing until tears streamed down her face. ‘In love?’ she spluttered. ‘Gawd, Bea, you’ve only known him five minutes!’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ Bea said primly, digging in her bag and handing her sister-in-law a handkerchief. ‘It doesn’t matter if I’ve known him a week or ten years; once you meet The One you just know. Ain’t that right, Kit?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Kitty shrugged.
Bea twisted round to face her. ‘You mean you don’t feel like that about Mal?’
‘Don’t be daft, I hardly know him.’
‘Quite right,’ Lily said. ‘You ought to listen to your mate, Bea Doyle. She’s got her head screwed on, unlike you.’ She helped herself to another chocolate from the box. Bea scowled at her sister-in-law.
‘I can’t help it if he’s swept me off my feet, can I? All I know is I’d follow Hank to the ends of the earth if he asked me.’
‘I don’t know if I’d follow Mal to the ends of the earth,’ Kitty said, gazing over at him as he consoled Hank over another missed shot.
‘That’s because you’re afraid,’ Bea told her confidently. ‘After what happened with Alex, you’re worried about giving your heart to another man in case he breaks it.’
‘Am I?’ Kitty frowned.
Bea patted her arm. ‘Trust me, love, Mal is the one for you. Anyone can see that.’
Just at that moment, Mal and Hank returned. Hank was empty-handed, while Mal had his arms full of a big stuffed teddy.
‘For you,’ he said, placing it reverently in Kitty’s arms. ‘He’s called Monty.’
‘Thank you.’ She glanced over at Bea, whose face was like thunder.
‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ Hank said. ‘I guess the best man won.’
‘Everyone knows the coconut shy is a fix,’ she said, her mouth a tight line. She turned to Lily. ‘I hope you haven’t eaten all the Turkish Delights?’ she said, snatching the box out of her hands. ‘You know they’re my favourites.’
As they walked away, Mal reached for Kitty’s hand. ‘What were you girls gossiping about? You looked like you were having a good old chinwag.’
‘Oh, nothing.’ Kitty hugged Monty tightly under her arm.
Perhaps Bea was right, she thought. Perhaps her heartbreak over Alex had made her wary about falling in love again.
Or perhaps she just didn’t want to look too far into the future because she didn’t know what it might hold. Whatever the reason, all she knew was that she was happy with Mal, and that was enough for now.
Her mother had just finished doing the ironing when Kitty returned home shortly before tea. She appeared in the kitchen doorway as Kitty was shrugging off her coat.
‘Is Mal not with you?’ Florrie Jenkins looked disappointed. ‘I was going to ask if he wanted to stay for tea.’
‘He had to report back for duty.’
‘What a shame, I was looking forward to seeing him. You’ll have to invite him round again soon.’ She smiled at the teddy in her daughter’s arms. ‘Who’s this, then?’
‘His name’s Monty. Mal won him for me at the fair.’
‘Monty, eh? After the hero of Alamein, I s’pose?’ Kitty nodded. ‘Did you have a nice time at the fair?’
Of course her mother wanted to hear all about her day out. Kitty followed her to the kitchen and gave her all the details as they folded the ironing together.
‘That Bea Doyle always was a fast little piece,’ Florrie said, shaking her head.
‘She reckons she’s dead serious with this American.’
‘I dunno what her mother would say about it.’ Florrie folded up a shirt and added it to the pile. ‘Although I suppose if he’s half as nice as your young man, she won’t have much to complain about.’
‘You like Mal, don’t you?’ Kitty said.
Her mother smiled. ‘Oh, yes. And your dad approves, too. We wouldn’t mind welcoming him into the family.’
‘Mum!’
‘What? It’s the next step, isn’t it, getting engaged.’
‘But I scarcely know him.’
‘Oh, I know it’s early days. But I’d love to see you happily married.’
‘We’ll see, shall we?’ Kitty picked up the pile of ironing. ‘Do you want me to take this lot upstairs?’
&
nbsp; ‘Thank you, love. They’ll all be home soon and I need to get the tea on.’
It gave Kitty a jolt to walk into Arthur’s room. Once he’d shared it with Raymond, but their father had dismantled the bed after their brother was killed. He talked about selling it, but Kitty knew he kept it in the shed on his allotment. He couldn’t bear to see it, but no one could bring themselves to get rid of it, either.
Even with the bed gone, Arthur hadn’t tried to spread out his possessions to make the room look more lived in. There was still a space on one side of the room where the bed had been, still half the wardrobe empty where Raymond’s clothes had hung.
Kitty hung up Arthur’s shirts to fill the space, but she knew he would only push them all to one side again. Even after more than a year, he was still waiting for his brother to return.
She closed the wardrobe door. Arthur’s Home Guard uniform hung on the back of it, ready for drill practice that evening. He was so proud to be a member of the Local Defence Volunteers, had joined up as soon as he turned sixteen. He and their father never missed a night’s duty. He even kept a photograph of himself in his uniform on his chest of drawers, next to another framed photograph of Raymond in his Royal Navy uniform.
As Kitty turned to look at it, something else caught her eye. There, beside the photographs, a familiar looking object lay glinting.
Kitty went over to look. But no sooner had she registered what it was and where she had seen it than Arthur’s voice came from behind her, sharp and angry.
‘What are you looking at?’
He stood in the doorway, white-lipped with tension.
‘Put that down,’ he hissed.
Kitty held up the St Christopher. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘It’s mine.’
Kitty looked at the tiny silver figure dangling on the end of the chain. She would have known it anywhere. ‘It belonged to that patient – the one who died.’ She stared at him in shock. ‘You took it from Sister’s office, didn’t you?’
She expected him to deny it, but his chin lifted defiantly. ‘What if I did? It’s not as if he needs it any more, is it?’ he sneered.
A Nightingale Christmas Carol Page 11
