A Christmas Wish

by Lizzie Lane

  Barely audible, but he heard the discernible squeak of the wardrobe door. The room was directly above the kitchen. She’d finally opened it.

  Rising slowly and carefully, he pulled the chair out from beneath him and headed for the stairs, the landing and the room next door to that once occupied by the housekeeper.

  The room was dusty, the door well oiled. No squeak from this one. The dust was another matter.

  Father Anthony held his breath. Wasn’t it typical he thought that a tickle in the throat arises at the most inconvenient time?

  In an effort to stop the threatening cough, he placed a hand around his throat, fingering his windpipe as though such movements might dissipate the problem.

  To his great relief it seemed to work. Now he could concentrate on what he was doing, drink in the delectable scene in all its glory. Nobody would know; certainly not the girl.

  He’d discovered the hole in the plaster purely by chance when trying to hang a picture of some obscure Irish saint on a rusty nail already hammered there. Either the nail had been too rusty or too weakly secured, or the picture had been too heavy. Whatever the reason, the picture had crashed to the floor and the nail had fallen out of the wall.

  What was left was a small hole; certainly not enough to poke a hand through or even a finger, but certainly enough of a peephole to see into the next room.

  That was exactly what he was doing now, his eye against the hole, his face turned slightly to one side so that his cheek lay against the faded wallpaper.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Magda 1936

  It was most people’s opinion that 1936 was a year to go down in history. King Edward VIII had abdicated in order to marry his American divorcee, and King George VI had taken his place.

  People were still arguing about the rights and wrongs of the whole scandal, but other people had more important things to think about. Important to them that is.

  Magda Brodie, now a second-year medical student, hugged her lecture notes against her chest as she descended the slippery steps from the annexe that was presently serving as a lecture room. The building was old and had served its purpose for some time, but the heating was almost non-existent. The students joked about leeches used in past ages for blood-letting still being stored in the dusty cellars. A few more months and she would be leaving the lecture rooms for real medicine on the wards of Queen Mary’s Hospital for the East End.

  ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!’

  On raising her head to see who had called her, her foot slipped and she landed with a bump.

  ‘Magda. Are you all right?’

  The young man standing over her had glossy brown hair and kind blue eyes behind the horn-rimmed glasses he wore.

  Magda laughed. ‘Just give me a hand up. If we hear a cracking sound, we’ll know I’ve broken something.’

  ‘That may not be enough. I can always give you a thorough examination if there’s any doubt,’ the young man replied. His eyes twinkled mischievously.

  ‘You’re a cheeky monkey, Andy Paddock,’ she said as he helped her to her feet.

  ‘Doctor Andy Paddock, if you don’t mind.’

  Feeling slightly privileged that someone like Andy who had been studying for five years was interested in her, Magda smiled at him. ‘At long last. I bet it feels good.’

  ‘To be a real doctor at last after all those gruelling lectures and grovelling to senior house doctors? You bet it does! Now. I know you’re going home for Christmas and so am I, but what about celebrating New Year together? I’m on duty. You’re on duty, but we could possibly squeeze an hour or two together – perhaps around midnight.’

  ‘Nineteen thirty-seven. I’m so looking forward to it.’

  ‘So you should. You’ve done wonders in your first year and second year. Now for your third – out there in the thick of things.’

  ‘That’s what I want.’

  Alongside training on the wards full time, she’d opted for assisting a charity working in the East End with impoverished families. A lot of the work would be with children and attending women in labour.

  ‘You’re a brick,’ he said to her, his eyes shining with admiration. ‘Can I give you a lift home in the orange box?’ Andy was one of the few doctors who happened to own a motor car – nothing grand, just a little black Ford that he fondly called the orange box. That was in fact what it looked like; an orange box on wheels!

  Magda looked down at her hand, which was still in his. Not that she could feel much through the thick mitten, but it still made her feel good.

  ‘No, but thank you. The underground is close by and if I don’t hurry I’ll miss my train.’

  ‘You know I like you a lot, Magda.’

  It came out in a rush as though he’d been building up the courage to say it.

  She nodded, her head slightly bent forward so she could feel the weight of her hair on the nape of her neck. It was still long, though captured in a snood nowadays away from her face. She was a doctor in training. Compromises had to be made.

  ‘I have to go now. Have a Merry Christmas Andy. See you soon.’

  He looked a little dejected that she didn’t go even halfway to making a reciprocal comment. The truth was that she couldn’t say that she felt the same way, because she really didn’t know whether she did. She was fond of Andy Paddock, newly qualified doctor from a well-to-do family. But did she love him? Time will tell, she said to herself. Give it time; besides you want to be a doctor before you’re anybody’s sweetheart or wife.

  With a look of regret, he let her hand go.

  ‘I’ll be seeing you then.’

  He waved and she waved back, only stopping when it seemed she was making no forward progress.

  The pavements were slippery and she was careful where she stepped. It was gone ten o’clock when she finally got down onto the platform for the eastbound train.

  The cavernous tunnels echoed to the sound of footsteps and for a moment she thought she was hearing more than just her own.

  Refusing to bow to her nerves and look behind her, she kept going until she gained the station itself.

  The underground stations were nearly empty, the main army of people commuting to the new suburbs already sitting in their living rooms, drinking Ovaltine and listening to the radio. Just a few stragglers remained, men in bowler hats likely to travel only one stop, a merchant seaman, kit bag slung over one shoulder.

  A prim-looking woman wearing a shabby coat and scuffed shoes, probably a domestic servant on her way home to the East End, got in behind her. For one moment she turned anxious eyes in Magda’s direction but then seemed to change her mind.

  Alms for Christmas, thought Magda. So many people with families needed money for Christmas. If the woman had asked, she would have given her a shilling, maybe even half a crown.

  A drunk huddled in one corner suddenly blinked open his eyes and began singing ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, in a pretty decent baritone despite the drink.

  Magda smiled to herself. So what if he was drunk? He was harming nobody, just enjoying himself.

  The only other occupant drew her attention and once drawn she couldn’t look away. He wore a trench coat over a navy blue suit; his shirt was crisply white, his tie a moderate shade.

  At first she couldn’t see his face, hidden as it was beneath the brim of a tan-coloured trilby hat that matched his trench coat.

  Becoming aware that he was being scrutinised, he looked up.

  His deep-set eyes were a compelling blue beneath dark eyebrows; his features strong and even.

  At first he looked surprised to see her, almost as though they knew each other.

  Magda searched her memory. No. If they had met before, she would have remembered him.

  His mouth opened as though to acknowledge her; then he smiled, shook his head as though mistaken and turned away.

  He got off at the next stop, though not before tipping the brim of his hat in her direction, his smile just as controlled
as before, just as enigmatic.

  She turned her attention back to her notes on that day’s lecture. The lecture had occurred after an early-morning start on the women’s ward where she’d been required along with a number of other students to accompany a senior around the wards. They’d lingered over one particular woman patient who had been in labour for three days.

  ‘One day more and I’ll operate,’ the surgeon had said loftily before moving onto other patients.

  Magda had frowned and looked back at the woman, feeling for her pain. By her judgement, three days seemed too long.

  The surgeon noted her expression.

  ‘She’s a charity patient, Miss Brodie. Surgery costs money. Please remember that.’

  A hand touched her sleeve, disturbing her thoughts.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  She jerked her head back from her notes. The face of the woman looking at her so intently was thin with a long nose and jet black eyes. Magda recognised the woman she’d taken earlier to be a domestic servant.

  ‘Are you Doctor Brodie?’ she asked in a hushed voice.

  Magda racked her brains. This was certainly a night for coming across people she might or might not know.

  ‘I’m not a doctor. Not yet anyway. Just a medical student. How do you know my name?’

  The woman looked sheepish. She was wearing a shabby coat, shiny with wear, the seams coming undone. Her knitted hat and mittens had a wrinkled look, made from a variety of unpicked garments if the mix of colour was anything to go by.

  The woman’s eyes were round and unblinking.

  ‘I made enquiries at the hospital and somebody pointed you out to me. I was going to make meself known outside the hospital, but then I saw you talking to that young man. I didn’t like to intrude, so I followed you, waiting for the chance to get you alone. Susan sent me.’

  ‘Susan! How is she?’ asked Magda, relieved that this woman was not dangerous and knew her old school-friend.

  ‘That’s why I’ve been waiting for you. She needs to see you.’

  Magda glanced at the wristwatch Winnie had bought her for her birthday.

  ‘Can this wait for tomorrow? It’s late and my aunt will be worried.’

  She called Winnie her aunt even though they were unrelated but it saved having to explain anything.

  ‘Please. It’s very urgent.’

  The jet black eyes pleaded and the woman’s pinched face pinched itself in further.

  ‘Is she ill?’ Magda asked.

  The woman nodded.

  Magda settled back in her seat, resigned to going with this woman.

  ‘All right,’ she said.

  Absorbed as she was in her studies, it had been a while since Magda had seen her old friend. Susan had married the first man to ask her.

  The woman’s thin body, so rigidly held up until now, suddenly deflated like a balloon with a slow leak.

  What’s Winnie going to think, Magda worried to herself as the train pulled into her stop and within minutes pulled out again?

  Winnie would assume that she’d been asked to stay on and assist. It wouldn’t be the first time. Even junior doctors were put upon to deliver more hours; medical students were no exception. Whilst studying they doubled as cheap labour; it was hard, but that was the way it was.

  Her reflection looked back at her as they rattled through the dark tunnels of the underground. In her mind she was with her friend Susan again and the thought of that chirpy face and wild red hair made her smile.

  They hadn’t seen much of each other since leaving school. It was only when she’d bumped into her out shopping in Clapham High Street with two kids piled onto a pram that she knew what had happened.

  ‘I married Billy Sellers. You might remember ’im. Two yards wide with hands like shovels. Not the sort for getting down on bended knee an’ all that,’ Susan had said to her, nodding at the eldest child who looked to be no more than two or three years.

  Their paths had divided. With the help of a friend of Winnie, Magda had got into medical school with the barest of qualifications. Any protests about it being cheating had fallen on deaf ears.

  ‘It’s not what you know, it’s who you know. And besides I’m owed favours.’ Winnie’s eyes had twinkled with untold secrets and vivid memories.

  The train rattled to a stop.

  The pinched-faced woman ground the stub of a Woodbine underfoot and jerked her head, indicating that Magda should follow.

  ‘What’s Susan suffering from, Mrs …?’

  ‘Ruby. Call me Ruby. Women’s trouble.’

  Magda didn’t press her for more information. She had an inkling of what that might be and was on her guard.

  The dark streets of an area close to the docks and far meaner than Edward Street echoed to their footsteps. The flickering of gaslights made their shadows seem longer and almost monstrous, falling like giants up the fronts of flat-faced houses.

  Life was all around. The sound of voices raised in violent quarrel fell from a bedroom window. Somewhere a baby cried and ahead of them cats yowled in close combat with each other.

  ‘In ’ere,’ whispered Ruby, the woman with the pinched face.

  She pushed open a paint-scabbed door, strips of it hanging in ribbons. The smell of overcooked food and gangrenous walls greeted them.

  ‘Susan’s got the upstairs rooms. I got the downstairs,’ explained Ruby.

  Just as they reached the stairs, something scuttled across the floor.

  ‘Mouse,’ said Ruby. ‘Place is bloody running with the little bleeders.’

  She began to climb the stairs. Magda followed on behind.

  The landing at the top of the stairs was tiny. There was a door on both sides and no floor covering – just bare boards.

  Ruby tapped on one of the doors and called out, ‘It’s me, Susan. I’ve brought your doctor friend with me.’

  Magda was about to remind Ruby that she was far from being a doctor, but didn’t bother. She certainly wouldn’t be doing any doctoring tonight; she hadn’t brought anything with her. All she could do was give advice.

  The room was dominated by a double brass bed and lit by a single gaslight. The curtains wavered in front of the draught blowing in from around the ill-fitting window. The wallpaper was dark, the wall-mounted gaslight fighting bravely against the gloom.

  Besides the big bed, there was little other furniture in the room, all of it well used and dating from the last century.

  ‘Magda. Nice of you to come,’ said Susan.

  She was lying to one side of the bed, bedclothes up to her chin. Even by the frail light, Magda could see that her old colour was sadly lacking.

  She grinned, just like the girl she used to be. ‘Sorry about the place. Not exactly a palace but we do what we can, don’t we Rube? We do what we can.’

  Susan’s ginger hair was like a squashed pumpkin behind her head. Her eyes were as lively as ever, though there were dark lines below them and blood at the corner of her mouth.

  Magda felt her worst fears coming true. She knew how things were amongst the desperately poor, what lengths they would go to in order to improve their lot.

  After placing her lecture notes onto a chest of drawers that she noticed had one drawer missing, she pulled up a stick-thin chair to the side of the bed and sat down.

  Ruby, she noticed, had lit up another cigarette and stood on the window side of the bed. The draught whirled the smoke up into a thin spiral that circled around her head.

  Magda stroked Susan’s hair back from her forehead. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t visited you before.’

  ‘You’re a busy woman. My word. Fancy a girl who grew up across the street from a whore house becoming a doctor.’

  ‘Susan, Ruby said you were ill. Women’s problems. What exactly is the matter?’

  Susan’s merry eyes travelled to Ruby and stayed fixed as though sharing a secret. Still with her eyes on Ruby, she began pushing the bedclothes down.

  ‘I’ve got two kids asleep in the
other room there. Billy comes home from the sea, knocks me up and goes again. I ’ardly know where the next loaf of bread is coming from. I can’t face having another kid.’

  Raising herself up on her elbows, she turned imploring eyes onto Magda’s face.

  ‘Help me, Magda. For old times’ sake, please help me. I’m all ready. Ruby’s got everything you need to get rid of it.’

  Magda stared at the turned-down bedclothes, the shabby cotton nightdress pulled up over meaty thighs. She was being asked to do exactly what she’d feared.

  ‘Susan, I can’t!’

  ‘It’s easy. Ruby’s seen it done, but it takes a proper doctor to do it properly. And you’re my friend, Magda. Come on. For old times’ sake. If Billy finds out …’

  She stopped abruptly and Magda guessed she hadn’t meant to go this far.

  ‘You’re saying it’s not Billy’s?’

  Susan shrugged and tossed her head, her pert nose sniffing.

  ‘I gets lonely. He’s away, and I gets lonely.’

  It was as though an awful chill had descended on her shoulders.

  ‘Whose is it?’

  Even to her own ears, her voice sounded small and scared. Somehow she had an idea of what the answer would be.

  ‘Eddie. Eddie Shellard.’

  Magda closed her eyes and turned her head away.

  ‘Oh come on, Magda. You’re my oldest and best friend. I need you to get rid of this kid. I don’t want it, and Billy certainly won’t.’

  Magda looked at her, hardly able to believe that Susan had indeed been her best friend. In the past she would never have made demands on her like this.

  But that was when we were girls, she reminded herself. Susan has other priorities now.

  Magda shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you. My career …’

  Susan swung her legs out of the bed. ‘Well, that’s bloody typical. Forgotten where you came from, Magda? Forgotten where the money came from to pay for you to become a doctor?’

  Magda bridled and felt the heat coming to her cheeks.

  ‘My father paid for my education …’

  Susan laughed. ‘Believe that if you like girl, but it ain’t the truth. I hear tell your old dad came looking for you some time back and a right state he was in. Not a penny in his pocket. I bet he had a pound or two though once he left your place. Old Winnie paid ’im off. Told ’im to scarper and leave her to look after you. That’s what I ’eard!’