by Maureen Lee
‘I weren’t criticising,’ Cal said quickly. As far as he was concerned, Sheila was darn near perfect. ‘I was just surprised when she didn’t seem to know what was going on.’
‘It probably went in one ear and out the other,’ Jack remarked comfortably. ‘She was never much for thinking deep, our Sheila. Now our Eileen’s a different kettle o’fish altogether. She listens to every single news bulletin on the wireless as well as reading the paper from front to back. ‘Fact, I miss having our Eileen around to talk to. We used to have some good old barneys about the war.’
Cal had called on his father-in-law on the way back from Mass, leaving Sheila and the kids to go on home. Jack Doyle was someone he could talk to, explain his feelings to and get a straight answer. He felt better for the talk, but there were still things he wanted to get straight.
‘I can’t get the picture of those men out of me mind,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I keep thinking of them struggling in the water and the ship going right through them as if they didn’t exist, yet they were our own men. They were on our side.’ It made human life seem worthless.
‘I know, lad. I witnessed sights in the Great War, sights I’ll never forget.’
‘Never?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Never,’ he said emphatically. ‘The picture fades, you stop thinking about it so much, but it’s always there, ready to be dredged up if something reminds you.’
‘It’s a terrible world, Jack.’
‘It’s only terrible at the moment, lad. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? That’s the reason for all the loss of life, the sacrifices, the rationing – to make it a better world in the future.’
‘You’re right, Jack.’ His father-in-law always seemed very wise. Cal couldn’t imagine having a problem that Jack couldn’t solve. ‘This is the first time I’ve come back,’ he said, ‘when I haven’t felt at home straight away. Everywhere looks a bit disjointed and I still haven’t got me land legs. I felt as if I was rolling all over the place on me way to Mass.’
‘You’ll feel better in a couple of days,’ Jack assured him. ‘Now, how about a pint before we have our dinner?’
‘I wouldn’t say no, but I’d better tell Sheila first, else she’ll be worried where I am.’
‘I’ll just get me best coat, seeing as how it’s Sunday.’ Jack disappeared upstairs.
Cal stood up in readiness to leave. His legs were a trifle unsteady, so he stamped his feet until they felt slightly better. For the first time, he noticed the familiar shabby Christmas tree on the wireless. The small tree was home-made, the branches wound with green crepe paper, fringed at the edge. It was decorated with straggly woollen pompoms and cardboard stars and moons which had been covered in silver paper. The knitted fairy on the topmost branch wore a dress made from a scrap of lace curtain and held a matchstick for a wand.
‘I suppose you think it’s daft, a man on his own having a Christmas tree,’ Jack said from the doorway, ‘but Mollie made that the first Christmas we were married. I could never bring meself to throw it away. Anyroad, the girls’d kill me if I did.’
‘I don’t think it’s daft, not a bit. I remember the tree meself from when I first started courting Sheila.’ The room was full of things Mollie had made; patchwork cushion covers, lacy crocheted runners, a rag rug. There was a photo of Jack and Mollie’s wedding on the sideboard, the smiling bride the absolute image of Sheila.
‘The little ’uns used to get dead excited each Christmas when Mollie brought the tree down. The girls used to fuss over that little fairy, rearranging its frock. The place seems very quiet now compared to then.’ There’d been no-one around when the tree was brought down this year, not even Sean to comment it was about time his dad got a new one. ‘Sometimes,’ Jack said in a strange, tight voice, ‘things change so much you can’t bear it.’
Cal glanced sharply at his father-in-law. It wasn’t like Jack to sound depressed. He always appeared to be completely in control of his life, an indestructible rock able to take everything thrown at it. He recalled it was only two weeks since Sean, his only son, had got married and returned to the RAF – and Eileen was living in Melling. There was just Sheila left close at hand. Not only that, both his sons-in-law were involved in dangerous occupations and could be killed any minute.
Jack must have noticed Cal’s worried glance. He said, ‘Don’t take any notice of me, lad. It’s just that I always particularly miss Mollie when it’s Christmas.’
As the two men made their way towards the King’s Arms, Jack Doyle knew he had just told a terrible lie. It wasn’t missing Mollie that so disturbed him, it was having Jess. He couldn’t keep away from her. Since the day of Sean’s wedding, he’d called in every night on his way home from the pub. Lying was so alien to Jack, he could feel himself trembling, but the woman had jolted his brain, made him think of what life could be like, when he’d been quite content with the way it already was. When he brought the Christmas tree down, it wasn’t Sheila and Eileen he thought about as he attached the fairy to the top, but Penny, imagining her chubby little hands playing with the lacy frock. If he wanted, he could start all over again. It mightn’t even be too late for Jess to have another baby.
The trouble was, it spoilt the pattern he had ordained for himself. He wished he could talk about it to someone, the way Cal had just confided in him, but that seemed weak, almost degrading. A man should be capable of sorting out his own destiny when provided with a choice. Anyroad, he’d feel embarrassed.
Perhaps that was it! It was nothing to do with patterns and that sort of rubbish. It was all to do with embarrassment. Jack had done nothing deliberately to foster the image people had of him, but he was vain enough to realise he was looked up to as a man of character, a strong man, a man who spoke his mind without fear or favour. Maybe he was worried what folks would think if he took up with Jessica Fleming in public.
‘Oh, bloody hell!’ he groaned aloud.
‘What’s the matter, Jack?’ Cal asked, concerned.
‘I’ve got a stone in me shoe, just a minute.’ As he removed an imaginary stone, Jack thought to himself, ‘another lie,’ and wished Jess was somewhere on the other side of the world.
Chapter 10
After the recent sinking of so many ships, the Royal Naval Hospital in Seaforth was crammed to capacity during November and December. More beds had to be brought up from the basement storeroom, and where there had been twenty patients to a ward, there were now twenty-six. As Christmas approached, however, the staff worked like Trojans to ensure every man fit enough would be home for the holiday, even if it meant some might have to return at a later date to have their splints, plaster casts and dressings removed or changed.
Ambulances came and went, private cars arrived to whisk away beloved sons and husbands so they could spend Christmas with their families. Gradually, the wards began to thin out. Nurses scratched their heads over railway timetables and tried to work out if they could get to and from home during the few days they had off. On the Monday beforehand, Staff Nurse Bellamy told the auxiliaries that only two of them would be required on Christmas and Boxing Day, and to sort it out between themselves.
‘Shall we draw straws?’ suggested Harriet when they stopped for their tea break. ‘The two who pick the long straws have Christmas Day off.’
‘That seems the fairest,’ Lucy agreed. ‘I hope I get a long one. Me dad’ll do his nut if he’s got to wait for his dinner till after four o’clock.’ They’d been on the morning shift again during December.
Clara Watkins watched closely, as if worried Harriet might cheat as she tore a piece of paper into four strips. She shortened two, and tucked them all inside her palm leaving four ends the same length showing.
‘You first, Clara.’
‘I might have known I’d get a short one,’ Clara said bitterly after she’d drawn. ‘The thing is, we were going round to me in-laws for the day.’
‘You can still go. It’ll just have to be later than planned,’ Harr
iet said blithely. ‘Who’s next?’
Both Kitty and Lucy drew long straws.
‘That means it’s just you and me, Clara.’ Harriet looked quite content. ‘I don’t mind in the least,’ she said. ‘I love hospital Christmases. This year, there’s going to be carol singers in the morning and a comedian from the Empire to entertain the men in the afternoon.’
‘That’s pathetic, that is,’ Clara Watkins sneered. She was clearly still smarting after drawing a short straw. ‘Most people prefer to be with their family on Christmas Day, not spend it with a crowd of strangers.’
‘You’re a cruel bitch, Watkins,’ Lucy spat. ‘Harriet can’t help not having a family.’
‘Shush, Lucy.’ Harriet patted Lucy’s hand affectionately, though she looked shaken. ‘I can fight my own battles, though in this case, the enemy isn’t worth fighting.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Clara demanded belligerently.
‘Isn’t it time we started work?’ Kitty was anxious to get away in case a full-scale row broke out. Lucy was forever threatening that one day she mightn’t be able to help herself and could well tear Watkins’ hair out. ‘The MO will have done his rounds by now.’
‘I’ll be along in a minute,’ Clara Watkins said as the three other women prepared to leave. ‘As soon as I’ve finished this ciggie.’
‘I’ve got Christmas Day off, Dad,’ Kitty said delightedly when she got home. ‘We can have our dinner at one o’clock, then listen to the King in the afternoon the way we always do. I’ve ordered a chicken from the butcher’s, and Sheila Reilly’s given us some lovely Brussels sprouts from their Eileen’s garden.’ She’d already made a cake and a Christmas pudding, though both were sadly short of dried fruit. Yesterday, she’d unearthed the decorations and the living room had paper chains hanging from each corner, though the imitation tree on the sideboard was beginning to look the worse for wear.
‘Actually, kiddo,’ Jimmy said casually, ‘I’ve already made arrangements to have me dinner elsewhere.’
Kitty looked at him in astonishment. He was standing in front of the mirror over the fireplace, rubbing brilliantine into his hair. He brushed it flat, took a step backwards and regarded his reflection with approval. ‘Where’s the clothes brush?’ he enquired, as if unaware he had just dropped a bombshell.
‘Elsewhere?’ Kitty couldn’t believe her ears.
‘That’s right, with a friend. D’you know where the clothes brush is?’ He sounded a touch impatient.
‘In the left-hand drawer of the sideboard. What do you mean a friend? Which friend?’
He looked vague. ‘It’s someone you’ve never met.’
‘You mean you’re leaving me all on me own on Christmas Day?’ She still couldn’t believe it.
‘I thought you’d be working, didn’t I?’ He leaned forward and examined his teeth in the mirror.
‘Seeing as how I’m not working after all, can’t you tell this friend your daughter will be home and you’ve got to have dinner with her?’
Jimmy turned, eyebrows raised. ‘Got to?’
Kitty felt herself grow cold. She thought of the numerous times over the last ten years when she’d been asked to places and refused because she’d felt obliged to stay in. She hadn’t gone to work, she hadn’t gone to dances, to weddings, to the pictures. You never know, she might even have been married if it wasn’t for her dad. Yet the minute he was better, he didn’t give a damn about her. She sat down, feeling suddenly scared. She’d always been there for him, had always put him first, and assumed the feeling was reciprocated. Instead, he was putting this mysterious ‘friend’ first. It didn’t bother him that Kitty would be all alone for the first time in her life on Christmas Day.
It was only then that Jimmy noticed his daughter’s white face. He felt, very slightly, guilty. ‘Someone’s bound to ask you to have dinner with them as soon as they realise you’ll be by yourself,’ he assured her.
As if I’d tell them, thought Kitty. I’d look a proper fool if folks found out. She visualised their pity, their knowing looks. ‘That poor girl, stuck by her dad she did for all those years, yet we always knew he was having her on.’
‘I’ll be all right, Dad,’ she told him gaily. There was no way she was going to sound sorry for herself as he used to do with her. ‘We can have the chicken for tea, instead. It means you’ll have two Christmas dinners.’
‘I’m not sure if I’ll be back for tea, luv. I might stay out the whole day.’
So, even if she’d been working, the house would have been empty when she got home.
Jimmy did a little pirouette. ‘Well, I’ll be off now.’
‘You’re going out already?’ Kitty said weakly. ‘It’s only five o’clock. The King’s Arms won’t be open yet.’
‘I thought I might go to the pictures for a change. Are you seeing your sailor tonight?’
‘No, it’s Monday, isn’t it?’ She hadn’t liked to leave her dad by himself more than one night a week.
‘I just thought, being Christmas week like …’ Jimmy shrugged and grinned. ‘I was wondering if it was getting serious. After all, you’ve seen him three Saturdays in a row.’
‘It’s not the least bit serious, Dad. Anyroad, he’s going back to Plymouth in the New Year.’ Stan Taylor was a pay clerk in the Navy who’d been temporarily transferred to Seaforth. He’d asked Kitty out purely for company and spent the entire time telling her how much he missed his fiancée who worked in London.
‘Tara then, kiddo.’ Jimmy preened himself for one last time.
‘Tara, Dad.’
Jimmy went out whistling, leaving his daughter feeling totally betrayed.
Next day was Christmas Eve, and the hospital buzzed with excitement. The nurses rushed around, bright-eyed, even the ones who weren’t going home. There were all sorts of parties taking place tomorrow. After work, Harriet was going to the staff bar, nicknamed the Mortuary Arms because of its situation, then to the nurses’ home for tea, followed by a party in the evening.
The patients on the first floor had been squeezed into a single ward which was decorated with branches of holly from the trees outside. One of the men had obtained a sprig of privet which he proclaimed to be ‘wartime mistletoe’, and Kitty found herself kissed again and again as she did her rounds. She affected to ignore the bottles of spirits which were being surreptitiously passed from bed to bed.
Kitty was aware of the excitement, but she felt excluded. She still hadn’t got over the shock of being deserted on Christmas Day by the one person in the world she thought she could rely on.
‘I’m all on me own now,’ she kept reminding herself. She wondered if Stan Taylor might welcome being asked to Christmas dinner, but when she could spare a minute to go down to the office on the ground floor, the big room, normally a hive of activity, was almost empty.
‘Stan managed to get a forty-eight-hour pass,’ she was told. ‘He’s gone to London to see his girlfriend.’
If it had been Lucy on duty the next day Kitty would have offered to swop. ‘Then there’d be two old maids together, me and Harriet,’ she thought bitterly. But there was no way she’d swop with Clara Watkins after that business with Martin McCabe’s ring. Anyroad, she’d want to know why Kitty was suddenly free and when she explained, Clara might declare her too to be ‘pathetic’.
Later, when she went round with the trolley to collect the afternoon tea dishes, she wished everyone a Merry Christmas from the door.
‘Does that mean you won’t be in tomorrow, Kitty, luv?’ a chorus of voices demanded in dismay.
‘I’m afraid you’ll just have to manage without me,’ she told them with a forced smile. Her head had begun to ache in sympathy with her misery and between her eyes throbbed painfully.
‘Excuse me, miss?’ one of the men called.
‘Yes, luv?’
Glyn Thomas had only arrived at the hospital the day before. His arms and chest had been badly scalded in a boiler-room accident when his ship was do
cked in Liverpool. He was older than the average patient, thirty-eight, Lucy had established, declaring herself to be thoroughly smitten by his captivating, all-embracing charm, a view already shared by half a dozen other nurses. A typical Welshman in appearance, he was small-featured, with dark wavy hair, thick dark eyebrows and roguish eyes which sparkled like black diamonds.
‘Are there any books around?’ he asked Kitty.
‘I’ll try and find you a few novels before I go,’ she promised.
He shook his head, which must have hurt his chest because he winced painfully, though the wince was quickly followed by a brief, sweet smile. ‘Not novels; political books, biographies, that sort of thing.’
‘I’m sorry, luv. There’s none of those sort of books.’
‘Never mind, it’s just that I miss reading.’
Kitty remembered Jack Doyle had a whole shelf of books, all of which were political. ‘I know someone who’ll lend you some. I’ll bring them in on Boxing Day.’
‘Pity it won’t be tomorrow,’ he said, eyes twinkling mischievously, ‘and it’s nothing to do with the books.’
Used as she was to compliments by now, for some reason Kitty flushed bright pink.
As she wheeled the trolley back to the kitchen, she thought, ‘I’m cutting off me nose to spite me face by not offering to swop with Clara. I’ll be dead lonely tomorrow stuck at home by meself. I’d be far happier here at the hospital.’
There was no sign of Clara in the kitchen, and by the time Kitty had washed and dried the dishes and put them away and been wished a Merry Christmas by a score of nurses and SBAs, it was a quarter to four before she was able to set out in search of her.
She found Harriet alone in the empty ward, making up the beds with fresh linen. ‘She’s gone,’ she said when Kitty asked if she knew the whereabouts of Clara. ‘She had a bit of a headache, so seeing as how Bellamy’s not around, she went home early.’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Kitty. Her own headache had become worse over the last half-hour.
