They all fell silent for a moment, and Dora could tell they were all thinking the same thing, about their loved ones far from home. Her brother Peter and sister Josie, and of course her darling Nick. She thought of all the Christmases they’d spent together in the past, and how she’d taken it for granted that they would always be there. If they were spared, she knew she would never take them for granted again.
‘So can I invite Hank for Christmas?’ Bea broke the silence.
‘Why not?’ Rose said. ‘The more the merrier, I reckon. Don’t you, Dora?’
‘I’ll say. That’s what we could all do with, a good old knees-up this Christmas. We’ve all been too miserable for too long.’
Of course it would never be the same without Nick there to share it with her. But she’d made a promise to keep her chin up, and she meant to stick to it.
‘Besides,’ Rose smiled at Bea, ‘you’ve been courting for a while now. It’s about time we met this young man of yours.’
‘Sounds like it’s serious?’ Dora said.
Bea looked unusually coy. ‘It might be.’
‘Pearl Saunders’ eldest girl has just got married to an American,’ Rose said.
‘You mean she had to get married. She’s nearly four months gone!’ Lily put in sourly.
‘At least he’s done the decent thing,’ Rose said. ‘Although I hope you won’t end up like that, Bea,’ she added sternly.
Bea shook her head. ‘I ain’t daft.’
‘I dunno about that,’ Lily mumbled.
Bea turned on her. ‘And you can shut up, Lily Doyle. Just because you don’t like Hank.’
‘I didn’t say that, did I? I just think you should be careful, that’s all. He’s a bit too much of a charmer, if you ask me.’
‘You’re just jealous.’
‘What have I got to be jealous about? I’m a married woman, in case you’d forgotten.’
‘I ain’t forgotten, but I reckon you do sometimes!’
Lily gasped. ‘You take that back, Bea Doyle!’
‘Only if you take back what you said about Hank!’
‘I was only speaking the truth!’
‘Then you can do your own bloody hair!’ Bea upended the box of curlers on to the floor and stormed off.
Lily turned to Dora and her mother, her face innocent. ‘I was only speaking the truth,’ she repeated.
They watched as Lily got down on her hands and knees to pick up the scattered curlers. ‘I hope they’re not like this on Christmas Day!’ Rose sighed.
‘I pity poor Hank if they are.’ Dora finished untangling the paper chain. ‘There. What do you think?’
No sooner had she held it up than it fell apart in her hands.
Dora looked at the decoration, then at her mother. The next minute they both burst out laughing.
‘Let’s hope it ain’t a sign of things to come!’ Rose Doyle said.
It wasn’t just at home that the Christmas festivities were starting.
With the V-2 attacks happening all over the south coast, the hospital committee had decided that the countryside was no safer than London any more, so many of the patients were being transported back to the Nightingale.
It gladdened Dora’s heart to see the Green Line buses arriving instead of taking people away. Every day, more wards opened up, and some of her old friends returned. There were still several military wards and many QAs around, but when Dora looked around the canteen now she could see as many blue Nightingale uniforms as she could Queen Alexandra’s scarlet and grey.
And with the return of the Nightingale came Christmas. All over the hospital, paper garlands started festooning the wards and passageways. Fairy lights decorated the gloomy basement canteen, and miracle of miracles, Mr Hopkins managed to get hold of a Christmas tree for the first time in two years. It stood proudly outside the battered front entrance to the hospital, next to the wooden notice that Matron had put up during the Blitz, proudly declaring that the bomb-damaged Nightingale Hospital was ‘Even More Open For Business Than Usual!’
It brought a lump to Dora’s throat to see the tree there. Her mum had talked about signs, and perhaps this really was a sign that things were finally getting back to normal at last. They had a long way to go – half the hospital buildings were still in desperate need of repair – but somehow the Christmas tree seemed like a little beacon of hope.
She was sure she wasn’t the only one who had caught the festive spirit. Walking around the hospital, she was often met by smiling QAs and porters cheerily humming Christmas carols.
The only place not touched by Christmas magic was the POWs’ ward. The pale green walls remained resolutely bare and unadorned, a stark contrast to the rest of the hospital. There wasn’t even a sprig of holly to brighten the place up.
Major Von Mundel must have noticed it too. One morning after Dr Abbott had finished his round, the Major asked Helen if there were any decorations available for them to brighten up the ward.
‘Just a few odd pieces would do,’ he’d said. ‘And the men would be happy to put them up themselves, to spare you the trouble.’
‘What a lovely idea,’ Dora smiled. ‘I was just thinking we could do with some paper chains in here. What do you think, Sister Dawson?’
Helen was tight-lipped. ‘I’m not sure if there are any decorations left over,’ she said.
‘Oh, but there must be, surely?’ Dora said. ‘We used to have boxes and boxes full in the basement.’
‘I think they were taken down to the country with everything else.’
‘Yes, but surely they must have come back with everything else? I could go down to the basement and look—’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Helen cut her off. ‘I’ll get Mr Hopkins to look. There are more important jobs for you to do than search for Christmas decorations, Nurse Riley!’
She was smiling when she said it, but Dora could see the glint of steel in her eyes.
She went about her work and thought no more about it, until two days later when she was on her way back from taking a patient to theatre, and heard shrieks of laughter coming from one of the military wards.
She peeped around the door, only to see Helen and Clare decorating an enormous Christmas tree.
‘Where did you get that?’
Helen stopped dead, a bauble dangling from her fingers. She had the grace to look guilty, Dora noticed.
‘Mr Hopkins managed to get it for us as a special treat for our soldiers,’ Clare said. ‘It’s even bigger than the one outside, don’t you think?’
‘It looks like it.’ Dora gazed up at it.
‘Between you and me, I think he’s got rather a soft spot for Dawson,’ Clare went on. ‘I think he’d do anything to please her.’
‘It’s a pity he couldn’t find any extra decorations for the POWs’ ward, in that case.’ Dora sent Helen a steady look. ‘Or perhaps you didn’t bother to ask him?’ she suggested.
Helen was silent. Clare looked from one to the other.
‘What’s going on?’ she wanted to know. ‘Helen? What is she talking about?’
‘It’s nothing,’ Helen said quietly. She turned away, reaching up to hook the bauble on a branch.
‘She was supposed to be finding some decorations for the POWs’ ward,’ Dora explained to Clare.
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Helen said quietly. ‘I’ve decided you are not to use any of the hospital decorations for the prisoners’ ward.’
‘I should think not!’ Clare said. ‘What an awful idea. As if they deserve anything!’
Dora ignored her, addressing herself instead to Helen’s turned back.
‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why won’t you let them have their decorations? It’s not too much to ask—’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, why do you think?’ Clare cut in. ‘They’re prisoners, Riley!’
Once again, Dora ignored Clare’s prattling. ‘Or is it because of what happened to you?’ she asked Helen.
Helen said nothing. Sh
e reached for a piece of tinsel and draped it over a branch, but Dora could see her hands shaking.
‘Because if that is the reason, I don’t think it’s right,’ Dora said. ‘I know you were upset by what happened to you, but you’ve got to get over it.’ She saw her friend’s spine stiffen, but she carried on, ‘You can’t let it affect your life like this, Helen. And you certainly can’t let it affect your work—’
‘Be quiet,’ Clare said. ‘Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?’
‘But she needs to hear it.’ Dora turned back to Helen. ‘This is not like you. You’re not spiteful or vindictive. I know you’ve been through a bad time, but was it really so terrible that you want to take it out on those boys?’
‘Shut up!’ Dora jumped in shock as Helen swung round to face her. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? You have no idea what —’
She stopped speaking abruptly. Her face was so twisted with anger and spite, Dora barely recognised her.
‘Dawson—’ she started to say, but Helen held up her hand to silence her.
‘It’s Sister Dawson to you!’ she snapped.
‘What—’
‘You may have forgotten your place, Riley, but I am your superior, and I will not allow you to speak to me like that. Do you understand?’
‘But—’
‘I said, do you understand?’
Dora caught Clare’s smirking expression out of the corner of her eye.
‘Yes,’ she muttered.
‘Yes, Sister Dawson,’ Helen corrected her, spitting out each word.
Dora’s cheeks scalded with shame. ‘Yes, Sister Dawson.’
Helen drew herself up to her full height. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Go back to your work, Nurse Riley. I don’t want to hear any more about this, do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
Dora was still shaking with shock when she returned to the POWs’ ward. She couldn’t stop playing the scene over and over in her head. It wasn’t so much what Helen had said as the way she’d said it. Dora didn’t think she had ever seen her friend so furious.
But Dora was furious too. She was furious that Helen had humiliated her in front of a ward full of patients, and furious that her friend was being so spiteful and unfair. Most of all, she was furious that the POWs were being punished for it.
Well, we’ll see about that, she thought. Helen might think she’d had the last word and the matter was settled, but as far as Dora was concerned, it wasn’t over. Not by a long chalk.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dora avoided Helen for the rest of the day. When they did have to speak, she was respectful and polite, but Helen could feel the wall between them. She began to wish she had not spoken so harshly to her friend.
‘You did the right thing,’ Clare assured her as they walked back to the QAs’ home through the cold December rain after their duty was over. ‘She can’t be allowed to speak to you like that. You have to make sure she knows who is in charge. If you ask me, you’ve been far too soft with her, and now she’s taking advantage.’
‘But it wasn’t all her fault,’ Helen reasoned. ‘She doesn’t understand—’
‘That doesn’t matter. You don’t have to explain anything to her. You’re her superior, and she should follow your orders, whether she understands the reason or not.’
Then you really don’t know Dora Riley, Helen thought. She smiled in spite of herself to think of all the times her friend had defied a ward sister to help someone, or to stand up for what she believed was right.
‘Besides,’ Clare went on, her nose in the air, ‘I really don’t know why she cares so much about those wretched Germans, anyway. It’s not as if they give a damn about her.’
‘That’s just the way she is. She cares about everyone.’
Clare sent her a scathing look. ‘Now you sound as if you’re defending her!’ she accused. ‘Honestly, Helen, I do wish you’d make up your mind!’
‘I’m not defending her, honestly.’
‘I should think not,’ Clare said. ‘Because if you ask me, Dora Riley seems to care more about the prisoners than she does about your feelings. And that’s not a true friend, is it?’
‘No,’ Helen said quietly.
The QAs were being billeted in what had once been the sisters’ home. When she stepped through the doors, Helen always expected to see Sister Parker searching for her spectacles, or to smell Sister Wren’s cloying scent, or to hear Sister Blake practising her musical scales. The sisters’ home held so many memories for her. It was here that she’d started to rebuild her life after the death of her husband Charlie. And it was while living here that she had fallen in love with handsome Casualty doctor David McKay.
She was standing in the doorway, shaking the rain off her umbrella, when she saw the thin blue envelope poking out of her pigeon-hole on the other side of the hall. The sight of it startled her, and for a moment she wondered if she’d somehow conjured David through her thoughts.
Clare saw it too. She sent Helen a sideways look. ‘He’s still writing to you, I see.’
Helen set down her umbrella in the stand by the door. She walked over to the pigeon-holes and reached for the letter, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch it.
‘Aren’t you going to take it?’ Clare’s voice had an edge of impatience behind it. ‘Honestly, Helen, it’s just a letter. It can’t hurt you.’ She sighed. ‘Here, let me—’
She made a move towards it, but Helen snatched the letter out of the pigeon-hole before her friend could take it.
Once it was in her hand, she stared down at it, at a loss as to what to do next.
‘Are you going to read it?’ Clare asked.
‘I – don’t know.’
‘You’re better off throwing it away, just like the others,’ Clare said. ‘No point in upsetting yourself, is there?’
Helen shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the blue envelope in her hand. The sight of David’s handwriting made her heart contract painfully in her chest. How often had she teased him about that scrawl when they worked together . . .?
‘I don’t even know why he’s still writing to you,’ Clare was still speaking. ‘You’ve told him you don’t want anything to do with him, and yet he’s still pestering you. If you ask me, it’s just selfish—’ She held out her hand. ‘Here, give it to me. I’ll throw it away for you.’
Clare tried to take the letter, but Helen tightened her grip on it. ‘No,’ she said.
‘You want to read it, don’t you?’ Clare accused. ‘Oh, Helen, are you sure that’s a good idea? You’ll only upset yourself.’
‘I don’t know what I want to do.’
‘Then let me help you.’
Before Helen could react, Clare snatched the letter from her.
‘Give that back.’ Helen held out her hand, but Clare held it out of her reach.
‘No,’ she said.
‘But it’s my letter, and I want it.’
‘Why? I told you, you’ll only upset yourself.’
Helen stared into Clare’s face. She was so sure she was right, she reminded Helen of Dora. Why was she surrounded by people who insisted they knew what was best for her?
‘Give me the letter,’ she said quietly.
‘But—’
‘Give me the letter, Clare!’ Helen raised her voice. Her hand shook with anger as she held it out to her. ‘For heaven’s sake, why do you always have to interfere?’
She could have bitten off her tongue as soon as she saw Clare’s face darken.
Clare slapped the letter back into Helen’s hand. ‘It’s all right, you don’t have to lose your temper,’ she muttered in a hurt voice. ‘I was only trying to help.’
Helen was instantly contrite. ‘I know. I’m sorry. Here,’ she tried to hand the letter back. ‘You take it. You’re right, I shouldn’t read it—’
Clare shook her head. ‘Oh no, I don’t want it. Heaven forbid I should interfere!’
Helen sighed. ‘You know I
didn’t mean that—’ she tried to say, but Clare was already walking away from her. ‘Where are you going?’ Helen called after her. ‘I thought we were going to the officers’ mess together?’
‘I’d rather be alone, if you don’t mind.’
Helen watched her go, and felt wretched. She seemed to be pushing all her friends away. First Dora, then Clare.
And David . . .
She looked at the letter in her hands. She’d pushed him away, too.
Clare didn’t return to their room with her. She would be sulking in the common room until Helen had apologised enough.
Helen put the letter on her nightstand. She couldn’t take her eyes off it as she changed out of her uniform.
She should have let Clare take it, just as she had all the others. Her friend was right, it would do her no good to read it.
Besides, she already knew what David would say. His letter would be beseeching, bewildered, trying to understand what had happened, begging her for another chance . . .
Poor David. She wished she could explain why she no longer wanted him, but she knew she never could.
She was in bed when Clare returned much later that evening. She didn’t speak, but Helen could feel the silent resentment radiating from her. By the time she woke the following morning, Clare had left without her.
Helen wondered how long it would go on this time. It never did to upset Clare. She could sulk for days and days following the slightest disagreement.
It was always better to get it over with and apologise, even if Helen didn’t feel as if she was really in the wrong.
She found Clare eating breakfast by herself in the hospital canteen.
Helen set her tray down beside her. ‘May I join you?’ she asked.
Clare didn’t reply. She nibbled on a slice of bread and marge, staring ahead in wounded silence.
She still didn’t speak as they made their way up to the ward together. Helen pushed down her annoyance. Part of her wanted to walk away and leave her to sulk, but she desperately needed a friend, and Clare was the only person she had left. She was also the only one who truly understood how she felt.
Helen took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
A Nightingale Christmas Carol Page 14
