Call Nurse Jenny

by Maggie Ford

  Jenny wasn’t so sure he’d wait. He might be going out with Jean but he’d been seen on two occasions with that blonde Middleton girl from St Anne’s Close, a fact Jean shrugged off with affected nonchalance. Jenny reflected that had she been treated like that, she would have given Matthew his marching orders long ago no matter how it broke her heart. Trouble was, Matthew’s dreamy brown eyes hardly ever strayed in her direction, not in that way, so there’d never be a chance of her putting that valiant promise to the test.

  ‘Marie Middleton told me yesterday she’d be there,’ she remarked, more from the need to move Jean along faster than from any sort of spite, but Jean flicked her a look saturated with venom.

  ‘For your information, she’s not his sort. He doesn’t care for blondes. Or redheads for that matter, if you want to know.’

  The dig wasn’t lost on Jenny and she felt ruffled. She was no competition. ‘I just happened to see him eyeing her at the dance last week, that’s all.’

  She found herself rewarded by another glare, the small pretty face with its retroussé nose and bright red lips waspish. ‘You keep your eyes to yourself. Dennis Cox is your partner. Anyway, Matthew told me he thinks I’m the tops. So there!’

  Even so, her stride had quickened, past the Council offices, past the Bethnal Green Children’s Museum set back from the road, on their right a train travelling the viaduct above the small shabby shops, filling the air with smoke and a sooty smell. They covered the half-mile to their destination far more quickly than Jenny ever guessed a small-built girl could, and she had to hurry to keep up with Jean, who was rattled.

  Finally reaching St John’s church at the Salmon and Ball crossroads, they were both hot, Jean’s cheeks glowing prettily, Jenny’s a fiery flush. In the hall, the pianist, drummer and saxophonist on the tiny stage, with its brown curtains hanging limp and dusty with East End smoke, were still sorting out their arrangements. The hall, with its faded religious prints around the walls and its small grimy windows, echoed with the garbled conversation of young people perched on splintery bentwood chairs waiting for the dance to start, girls in bright dresses, boys with hair slicked back with Brylcreem, their suits well pressed, jackets already hanging on chairbacks to reveal well-ironed white shirts.

  Early arrivals had already commandeered the few folding tables on which to put their soft drinks and crisps. Jenny’s gaze flicked anxiously to each one, knowing that if Matthew was still here, he would certainly have got himself a table. He had, of course – one of the better tables at the far end of the hall, near the band.

  Sharing the table were Freddy Perry and Eileen Wilcox, who only had eyes for each other these days, and Dennis Cox. The latecomers were immediately spotted by Matthew who was instantly up from his seat, beckoning, his handsome face alive with welcome as they came over, his lips parting in a wide smile that revealed even white teeth.

  ‘Thought you two would never arrive.’ It was a full-toned voice that reflected a zest for life and the natural impatience of a soul seldom in need of rest. ‘We got our drinks before it got busy.’ He eyed the bar at the far end with its two ladies serving a growing queue. ‘What would you like?’

  Jean dropped into the seat he’d vacated, very sure of herself. ‘God, it’s hot! A nice long cool lemonade, darling, large as they can make it.’

  Jenny hesitated, wondering if she should offer to pay for herself or not. She heard him chuckle wickedly.

  ‘Come on, Jenny, make up your mind.’

  His well-spoken accent made the playful quip sound flippant. Those living in such as Victoria Park Road tended not to have the accents of the East End. Matthew had once said that his mother had been a lady’s maid before she’d married. Jenny supposed that the mannerisms of her then upper-class employers must have rubbed off on her, though to her mind Mrs Ward boasted just too many airs and graces. Not that it bothered Jenny. She was well spoken too, her family as good as any. And all her friends spoke very much the same, so there was really nothing for his mother to be snobbish about. Thank God Matthew wasn’t. He even joked about it, apparently to his mother’s face as well as behind her back. Still, the quip took Jenny a little off guard.

  Her already bright flush deepened. ‘Can I have lemonade too?’ Her thin enquiry annoyed her. His ringing laugh made her wince.

  ‘What makes you think you can’t?’

  It wasn’t his fault. She was an idiot. It was being so close to those velvet-brown eyes. Flustered, she hurriedly sat down next to Dennis Cox.

  Dennis immediately began to monopolise her with an account of his new job. Coming straight from college armed with diplomas and bags of hope, he had landed himself a position in a firm of London solicitors. Listening to him, Jenny could well imagine him in years to come, bustling from court to court, bundles of legal briefs under his arm, probably having grown much plumper than he was now.

  He was still expounding on his future when Matthew returned with two glasses of lemonade for the girls and two of ginger beer for himself and Dennis. Jenny smirked covertly. She’d seen the drill before. He probably had a tiny flask of whisky in the inside pocket of his jacket now hanging over the chairback. The moment the ginger beer was gone, empty glasses would be surreptitiously replenished by the contents of that flask, the same colour as the soft drink. Lots of the boys did it, not enough to get drunk on, but enough to be lively. If St John’s vicar were to know, he would have a fit.

  Matthew was lifting a mocking eyebrow at Dennis. ‘Why don’t you give the mouth a rest, Cox, and do some work for your living? There’s two more drinks on the counter, and some crisps. Go and get them for us, eh?’

  Dennis looked affronted. ‘See here – I’ve been sweltering all day in the City.’ The amiable laugh at his protest provoked even more indignation from him. ‘All right for some. All you do is drive about in your dad’s van all day. So what happened to that smashing job you were offered by Marconi’s when you left college last year? I thought you were going to be big in radio communications or something.’

  If he had hoped to rattle his opponent, he was disappointed. ‘Turned it down in the end, old man. Dad’s shop takes priority. His chest plays him up sometimes and there’s only him to run it. He’s not getting any younger.’

  ‘And of course it’ll be yours one day, won’t it?’

  The remark had an insinuating ring to it and although Matthew’s easy grin did not alter, the dark eyes adopted a fractionally harsher glow. ‘I don’t need to prove I’ve more brains than you by sweating in some office.’

  ‘You’re just plain lazy,’ Dennis sneered.

  ‘I probably am.’ The good humour had returned. ‘Come on, Cox, get cracking. It’s on the counter, all paid for.’

  Slipping into a spare seat beside Jean, he left the peevish Dennis no option but to do as ordered. Eileen and Freddy, lost in each other, hadn’t caught the small note of dissension, their hands hidden under the table.

  Matthew grinned. ‘Now then, you two. You’re in company, remember? There’s a time and place for everything, you know.’ As their hands came back into sight, the pair looking sheepish, he turned his gaze on Jenny.

  ‘You look nice tonight, Jenny. Blue suits that hair of yours.’ The impish grin seemed to her to belie the compliment.

  ‘You mean ginger?’ she corrected, but was halted by the unexpected change in his expression.

  ‘Some girls would give their eye teeth for that colour,’ he said slowly, his scrutiny of her so deep and personal that she felt her cheeks flush and her heart give a leap. But Jean’s brittle voice cut in.

  ‘Matthew, I’m still waiting for my lemonade.’

  The glass was within arm’s reach, but he must have realised it was the only way she could get his attention at this moment for as he pushed the glass towards her, he treated her to a low ‘mee-ow’. Jenny wanted to laugh out loud as Jean tossed her short dark curls in pique, a pout spoiling her pretty face. It was good to know she wasn’t alone in getting the raw edge of Matthew�
�s sometimes far too caustic wit.

  When Dennis returned with the remaining refreshments, vague hostilities faded. The hall was growing uncomfortably hotter by the minute with so few windows capable of being opened. The band was still warming up, sheet music was being turned, scales on the sax being tentatively tested, the drums tapped at intervals. Dennis turned his attention to studying his already half-drunk ginger beer, eager for the small tot of whisky to liven it up.

  ‘What do you think of this Hitler lark then? Me, I think he’ll go into Poland, whatever Chamberlain says. If you ask me, we’re being cocked a snook at. I don’t relish giving up a brand-new job, but I’d be willing to go and fight him. The RAF for me. What about you, Matthew?’

  ‘Haven’t given it much thought.’ Matthew’s tone was airy.

  ‘You should, old man. Don’t want to sit by too long and get roped into any old thing when they start conscripting. Get in quick, I say. We’re all officer material, you know, with our education.’

  Jean gave a little giggle, pique forgotten, and squeezed her partner’s arm. ‘You’d make a spiffing officer, darling.’

  ‘Will it be the RAF for you too?’ Dennis was looking at him, waiting for a reply. ‘It’s the only service to be in. Great uniforms.’

  His quarry leaned back in his chair, squinting through the shafts of dust-laden sunlight at the yellowed windows. It was as though he hadn’t heard a word of anything that had been said.

  ‘Ye gods,’ he sighed, his favourite expression. ‘It’s bloody hot in here.’

  ‘It’s been a hot summer all round,’ Jenny offered quickly, all she could think to say with an uncomfortable sense of embarrassment at the way he seemed to have neatly evaded Dennis’s question.

  But Dennis appeared to have forgotten his own question. ‘Where’s that flask then? You did bring it?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Matthew grimaced as the band at last sprang into action with a ragged tempo that echoed tinnily around the hall. ‘Who wants to bother with this rubbish anyway?’

  ‘I do, Matthew,’ Jean protested. ‘Listen, darling, it’s a waltz.’

  He was an excellent dancer, as he was excellent at most things, and Jean was aching to show off in his arms. But he continued to frown at the tempo that would fail to allow him full enjoyment of his skill.

  ‘I know.’ His face brightened on a flash of inspiration. ‘Why don’t we go swimming?’

  ‘Swimming?’ There was an echo of disbelief from everyone except the couple still locked in each other’s gaze.

  ‘Victoria Park Lido. This time of year it’s open till late. We could pop home, pick up our togs and be there inside fifteen minutes. Who’s game?’

  ‘Me.’ If there was a sport Jenny felt happy with, it was swimming. But Jean was pouting again. Water would spoil those tramline Marcel waves of hers, even under a swimming cap. But rather than lose him this evening as she might well do, she grudgingly agreed. Dennis too had little love of water, but he agreed, not wanting to appear soft.

  Matthew regarded the two lovers. ‘A dash of cold water wouldn’t do you two any harm. Fancy going for a swim?’

  ‘What?’ They looked blank.

  ‘We’re going to the lido. You two want to come?’

  For a moment they regarded each other, coming to a silent mutual agreement. ‘No … Not really.’

  Matthew’s laugh dismissed them. ‘Right then, it’s us four.’

  It was a dash to get swimming costumes and towels, then back to meet at the park gates. Matthew, with one arm around Jean’s shoulders, led the way, Jenny and Dennis following behind.

  The evening belonged to Jenny, with Jean, eager to preserve her Marcel waves, sitting on the side of the pool, just her feet stirring the water as she posed hopefully for Matthew’s attention.

  Dennis, after lowering himself tentatively to his well-fleshed waist in the shallow end, pulled himself out again, shivering with the shock of cold water after the heat outside, then went and sat beside Jean. Matthew was unsympathetic.

  ‘Come on, Cox, shut your eyes and jump. There’s enough flesh on you to keep you warm on an iceberg!’

  He himself had taken a flying header into the deep end, surfacing among the other swimmers to flick water from his dark hair with a brisk toss of his head before making it the length of the baths with a fast crawl to confront the shivering Dennis, his taunting laugh echoing over the surrounding tree tops above the cries and shouts of the other bathers.

  Dennis declined to join him so he swam off again, deftly avoiding those around him, Jenny close behind matching stroke for stroke, until he hoisted himself out at the far end and made for the diving boards. Treading water, she watched the lean figure appear on the top board, poised, waiting for a clear space below before launching itself off, piercing the surface like an arrow. The skill and grace took her breath away. At the same time she felt a small sense of foreboding take hold. He took his physical assets so much for granted, that slim tireless body fashioned to perfection, that abundance of health, that quick alert brain. War was coming, unavoidable. Young men like him would be taken to fight for their country. She had heard her own father’s account of the last war, the trenches, the mud, death from disease, bullets, shells, gas; men blinded, maimed, the rest of their lives ruined.

  As a child she had shuddered from her own imaginings after listening to such talk. Now she shuddered again, seeing perfect bodies reduced to utter wrecks, bodies like Matthew’s. She swam slowly now, trying to push away such visions, but they persisted. Men with such bright promise to their lives, so many blessings to look forward to, plucked off the fair tree like ripe fruit. True, there were those who had, and those who had not. Matthew was one to whom everything had been given; it seemed almost unfair that so many blessings should be heaped on one person while another knew little but ill health and hard luck. Yet how much worse would it be for someone like Matthew, with everything, if his happy world should crumble than for another already equipped for adversity? With no experience of how cruel this world could be, couldn’t Matthew be more stricken than the already ill-fated should he come face to face with the worst aspects of this world?

  Jenny pulled her thoughts up sharply. It was this threat of war. It might even yet be averted and there’d be no more need for morbid reflection. Matthew was climbing the diving board again. This time she turned away, again plunging into her own pool of dejection. War was no respecter of the beautiful and Matthew was indeed …

  Her feet were suddenly tugged from below and she instinctively gulped air before going under, surfacing again to see him grinning into her face.

  ‘You … you …’ she spluttered at him.

  Dejection swept away, she grabbed for his hair, a move he easily evaded. Together they wrestled, spluttered, yelled, laughed. His hands were cool on her body, his arms strong, hoisting her from the water as the whistle sounded for the lido to close. Jean was jealous, purposefully ignoring her. No doubt Matthew would kiss her into a better frame of mind when he took her to her door to caress her in a way Jenny could only dream of. But this evening had been hers. She was content, even to the point of allowing Dennis to drop a kiss on her cheek without shrugging him off, but no more than that.

  They dawdled across the park, taking their time with the air still warm, lounging on a bench talking, giggling, Matthew bent on petting Jean into a forgiving mood. Then they went on in the last crimson glow of this midsummer evening which promised another fine day tomorrow. Matthew cocked a weather eye at the darkening red streaks, remarking, ‘Red sky at night, shepherds alight!’ His humour was whimsical as always, his mind on the rewards Jean would bestow on him for all the attention he intended to shower on her at her door.

  When the friends parted company, Jenny glanced at the purpling sky promising its fine tomorrow. How many tomorrows before the sky darkened forever with Matthew far away? She firmed her lips and shrugged away the thought.

  Chapter 2

  With the metallic voice of Prime Ministe
r Neville Chamberlain fading away, followed by a defiant rendering of ‘God Save the King,’ Jenny turned her gaze to her mother’s face. It was chalk-white.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ For some reason the futile question got under Jenny’s skin. She got up from the armchair where she had been sitting taking in what the sad, disillusioned, somewhat quavering voice had to say, hardly able to believe its message no matter that they’d seen it coming for weeks and especially these last few days, and switched off the radio.

  ‘Not much we can do, is there? Sit tight, I suppose.’

  ‘It won’t be like the last war.’ Mrs Ross, still huddled in her armchair, looked like a plump little elf amid the silence that seemed to have closed in around them now the wireless had been turned off. ‘That was the first time ordinary English civilians had ever been bombed. We can expect them to do it again. And this time they’ll use gas on us. Why were we issued with those horrible gas masks last year if they didn’t think it would be used against ordinary people? Evil-smelling rubber thing, it smells like gas itself.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Mumsy.’ She tried to be flippant. ‘How would you know how gas smells? Except what comes out of the stove. It’s all a storm in a teacup. Everyone says that once England has shown her teeth and stopped appeasing him, Hitler will back down. It’s a show of strength, that’s all. In a month this will all be behind us. Now I’m going to make a cup of tea. I think we both need it.’

  Wishing she felt as certain as she hoped she sounded, Jenny went into the kitchen to put the kettle on, followed by her mother who had herself into gear at last. She was sure there’d be more alarmist sounds from her, but thankfully she said nothing, going about the task of setting out the teacups and saucers, the clink of china unreal in the odd sort of silence that lay over them. It was far too beautiful a sunny Sunday morning for such news.

  She was on the point of emptying the teapot of its dregs from the last brew made just before Chamberlain’s awaited announcement when there came a strange sound, a distant wailing, followed by another, much closer. For a second it was unidentifiable. Then Jenny realised.