A Nightingale Christmas Wish

by Donna Douglas

  ‘Oh, Frannie, I’m so sorry.’ John looked at her, his eyes dark pools of sorrow.

  She turned to him. She had been putting off asking the question since the first moment she’d seen him, but she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer.

  ‘Do you know what happened to Matthew?’ she asked.

  John shook his head. ‘I only know what it said in the telegram.’

  ‘Missing, presumed dead.’ Frannie recited the words dully. ‘But that could mean anything, couldn’t it? Was it a mortar shell? Did he get hit by a sniper?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But you were in the same section, surely you must have seen something.’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know anything about it!’

  His voice was harsh, shocking her into silence. For a moment neither of them spoke.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ John said heavily. ‘I didn’t mean to lose my temper. It’s just I find it very hard to think about.’

  ‘I understand.’ Frannie nodded. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up – I’m sorry.’

  He drained the last of his drink and put down his glass. ‘It’s late,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you back to the hospital.’

  ‘I can make my own way back.’

  ‘I want to take you.’

  They made the taxi journey back to Bethnal Green in awkward silence. Frannie stared unseeingly out of the window as they left the bright lights of the West End behind, passing through the City of London and out the other side, into the darkened streets of the East End, with its narrow terraces, cobbled back alleys and slightly menacing air. The stark outlines of the towering dock cranes stood out against the moonlit sky, and the air was filled with the salty, tarry tang of the factories that lined the river.

  Frannie dearly wished she hadn’t said anything. It was as if a yawning gulf had opened up between them.

  The taxi drew up at the hospital gates and John asked it to wait while he got out with her.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ he said.

  Frannie looked rueful. ‘I’m sorry it ended so badly.’

  He frowned. ‘Has it ended badly?’

  ‘You don’t have to be polite, John. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t brought up the past . . .’

  He put his finger to her lips. ‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind talking about the past, Frannie, truly I don’t. But in my experience it rarely does any good to keep looking back. We need to look forward if we’re going to live our lives to the full.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she sighed.

  He looked down at her and for a mad moment she was sure he was going to kiss her. But then he took a step back and started towards his waiting taxi.

  As she watched him get back into his cab, Frannie put her hand up to her mouth. She could still feel the gentle touch of his finger against her lips.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE FOLLOWING DAY was Effie’s afternoon off, and she caught the bus up to the West End. In the two years she had been in London, she had only ever ventured past St Paul’s with one of her sisters or some of the other girls from her set. Now she wished she’d brought someone with her as she traipsed the wintry streets of Bloomsbury alone, the cold wind flaying her cheeks. She would have felt better if she’d had her sister Katie or her friend Jess with her. But she knew they wouldn’t approve of this mission. They would tell her she was getting too involved, as usual.

  After losing her way several times and trudging down many wrong streets, Effie finally found Adeline’s address. It was on a street of tall, grey-brick houses in Bloomsbury. Effie’s heart was in her mouth as she climbed the short flight of stone steps and rang the front doorbell. Now she was here, it occurred to her that she hadn’t the first idea what she was going to say.

  She was still wondering when a man answered the door. He was in his twenties, reed-slim, with slicked-back hair and a thin moustache. Even though it was past two in the afternoon, he was wearing dishevelled evening dress. The sound of laughter and jazz music drifted from inside the house.

  He looked her up and down. ‘Yes?’

  Effie’s courage nearly deserted her. ‘I’ve come to see Adeline,’ she said.

  He frowned. ‘She isn’t here.’

  ‘Who is it, Charles?’ A woman’s voice drifted from inside the house.

  ‘Some girl wants to see Adeline,’ he called back over his shoulder.

  ‘Tell her to go away.’

  ‘I’m trying,’ the man laughed. He turned back to Effie. ‘You’ll have to come back another time.’

  He started to close the door, but she stood her ground. ‘When is she expected back?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea. She’s hardly ever here at the moment. She spends all her time at the hospital.’

  ‘Hospital? Which hospital?’

  ‘How should I know?’ The young man sighed impatiently. ‘Hold on a moment,’ he said, and disappeared.

  Effie peered into the shadowy hallway. Every inch of the walls was covered with paintings. But these weren’t the sort of pretty landscapes her mother liked. These were strange, disturbing, filled with splashes of colour that didn’t resemble anything at all as far as she could see.

  Effie was still staring, trying to fathom them out, when her eye snagged on something else. A red velvet coat, hanging on the coatstand at the far end of the hall.

  An uneasy feeling started to grow inside her. She had seen that coat before.

  The man returned and handed Effie a piece of paper. ‘Here you are. This is the address. You’re bound to find her there. She’s visiting her fiancé.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Effie stuck the piece of paper in her pocket. She didn’t need to look at the address. She already knew where she’d find Adeline.

  Two days after Boxing Day, Father Christmas came to Casualty, escorted by a policeman.

  ‘Bit late for Christmas, aren’t you?’ Dr McKay commented.

  ‘He was caught breaking in through a warehouse window,’ Helen told him. ‘He thinks he may have broken his ankle.’

  ‘A window, eh?’ Dr McKay said. ‘You should’ve come down the chimney as usual, then you wouldn’t be in this mess.’

  ‘Don’t you start!’ Father Christmas mumbled irritably, pulling off his beard to reveal a dark, stubbly chin. ‘I’ve had that all the way here from the copper. Right comic cuts, he is!’

  ‘Well, if you will dress up as Father Christmas to go robbing, what do you expect?’

  ‘I thought no one would think anything of it if they saw me,’ he mumbled.

  Helen did her best not to smile, but when she caught the doctor’s twinkling eye it was difficult to keep a straight face. ‘Let’s have a look at that ankle, shall we?’ he said.

  As it turned out, the ‘broken’ ankle was nothing more than a severe sprain. Dr McKay applied a firm bandage, then sent the patient up to the ward.

  ‘You’ve done a nasty job on it,’ Dr McKay said. ‘I’d like to have the consultant look at it. He might decide you need a splint.’

  ‘Suits me, Doctor.’ The man grinned. ‘I ain’t in any hurry to go to the cop shop. Besides, that rozzer’s got a nasty look in his eye, if you know what I mean. Got a bit rough with me on the way here, he did. I don’t fancy my chances against him.’

  ‘Nonsense, I’m sure he was only doing his job,’ Dr McKay dismissed. ‘Sister, will you go and break the news to him?’

  The policeman was leaning against the booking-in desk, talking to Penny Willard. From the look on her face, they seemed to be arguing.

  They stopped speaking abruptly as Helen approached.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, looking from one to the other. Penny stared down at the ledger in front of her and said nothing, but the policeman turned to Helen with a smile. He was tall, fair-haired and handsome, but there was something cold about his arrogant grin.

  ‘Couldn’t be better, Sister. How’s the patient?’

  ‘Severely sprained ankle,’ she said. ‘Dr McKay
wants the consultant to look at him, so he’s sending him up to the ward.’

  The policeman’s smile disappeared abruptly, like a light going off. ‘But he’s under arrest!’

  ‘Nevertheless, Dr McKay has decided—’

  ‘I don’t care what Dr McKay has decided! That little toerag needs to come to the station with me. He’s probably putting it on anyway. I’ve seen it happen before. They make out they’re at death’s door, then the minute the nurse’s back is turned they have it away on their toes out of the door.’

  ‘I don’t think this patient will be having it away anywhere with his ankle in that state.’

  They turned around. Dr McKay stood there, notes tucked under his arm.

  The policeman gave a derisive snort. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he was pulling the wool over your eyes.’

  ‘Are you suggesting I don’t know a sprained ankle when I see one, Constable?’ Dr McKay replied. He was smiling, but there was a steely look in his brown eyes.

  A muscle twitched in the policeman’s tense jaw. ‘No,’ he snapped.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Because I also found some bruising to his arms and neck that can’t be explained by falling heavily through a window. I’m sure you wouldn’t like me to ask too many questions about that, either?’

  The silence stretched to breaking point. ‘I’m going up to that ward with him,’ the policeman muttered. ‘He ain’t getting away from me that easily.’

  He gave Penny a brief nod, then he was gone. Helen watched him disappear through the doors, letting them crash shut behind him.

  ‘What a charming man,’ Dr McKay remarked.

  Penny looked uncomfortable. ‘That’s Joe,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Your fiancé?’ Helen caught Dr McKay’s eye. He looked as dismayed as she felt.

  ‘He’s not always like that,’ Penny defended him stoutly. ‘He just gets angry when he’s not allowed to do his job properly.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s very – conscientious.’ Dr McKay put the notes down on the desk. ‘See these are sent up to the ward, will you? And send the next patient through.’

  As he disappeared back to his consulting room, Helen heard a sniff, and turned to look at Penny Willard. Her fair head was bent so Helen couldn’t see her face. ‘Nurse Willard? Are you crying?’

  ‘I’m fine, really.’ Penny wiped her fingers across her cheek, still not looking up from the ledger. ‘I just don’t want anyone thinking badly of Joe. He’s a good man, really. It’s my fault he’s in a bad mood.’

  ‘Your fault?’

  She nodded. ‘We had a bit of an argument. He’s still upset with me for standing him up on Christmas Eve.’

  Helen shuddered at the memory of that awful night. ‘But that was an emergency,’ she said. ‘Surely he wouldn’t blame you for that?’

  ‘No, he was just – disappointed, that’s all.’

  Helen stared at the top of Penny’s head, her fair hair tucked under her cap. Her hands were locked together on the desk in front of her. Looking at them, Helen caught a glimpse of yellowing bruises under her starched cuffs.

  ‘What have you done to your arm?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ Penny slipped her hand under the desk, out of sight.

  Cogs began to turn and whirr inside Helen’s head, slowly clicking into place. ‘Nurse Willard—’ she started to say, but Penny cut her off.

  ‘I’d best get the next patient sent in,’ she said, picking up the list. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘I think that would be me.’

  Helen turned around. Standing in the busy Casualty hall, addressing them both, was Christopher.

  There it was again, the same powerful jolt Helen had felt when she first saw him. It took all her self-control not to run into his arms.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she greeted him, as coolly as she could manage.

  ‘I’ve done my shoulder in.’ He nursed his left arm across his broad chest, his jacket slung loosely around his shoulders.

  ‘Oh, dear, how did you manage that?’

  ‘Would you believe, I fell off a roof?’ He looked rueful. ‘I was trying to fetch a ball out of the gutter for the kids and I slipped.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, in this icy weather.’ Helen shook her head. ‘You’d better come with me.’

  In the consulting room, Dr McKay was similarly unimpressed. ‘You’re lucky it’s only your shoulder. You could have broken your neck.’

  ‘Not me, doc.’ Christopher grinned confidently. ‘I’m like a cat. I’ve got nine lives.’ He turned to Helen. ‘Anyone would think I’d done it deliberately, to see you again,’ he said in a low voice.

  Helen blushed. Dr McKay looked from one to the other. ‘Do you two know each other?’

  ‘We met on Christmas Day, didn’t we?’ She could feel Christopher’s warm gaze on her but she couldn’t meet his eye. ‘Except she disappeared like Cinderella before I had a chance to talk to her properly.’

  ‘Mr Dawson is – was – my husband’s cousin,’ Helen explained quietly.

  ‘I see.’ She could feel Dr McKay’s disapproval as he turned back to Christopher’s shoulder. And just when things were starting to improve between them! Ever since Christmas Eve she’d sensed him thawing towards her. Now he was bound to have something to say about Christopher flirting with her in front of him. ‘Well, it’s definitely dislocated. I’m going to have to reset it.’

  ‘You go ahead, doc,’ Christopher said, still grinning at Helen.

  ‘It might hurt . . .’

  ‘I’m a big lad, I’m sure I can take it.’ Christopher shook his head. ‘I’ve put it out a couple of times and it’s gone back right as rain – ow!’ He flinched as Dr McKay started to rotate his upper arm.

  ‘I told you it would hurt.’

  ‘It’s never hurt that much before.’ Christopher stared at him balefully.

  ‘I’m sure you can take it.’ Dr McKay parroted his words back at him. ‘Now, put your elbow across your chest for me. This will probably hurt a bit more . . .’

  Christopher caught his lower lip between his teeth to stop himself roaring in pain, but Helen could see the sweat standing out on his brow as Dr McKay rotated his arm again. She had never known a patient complain so much. Perhaps Christopher wasn’t as tough as he looked, she thought.

  Finally, Dr McKay finished and stood back. ‘Right, Sister, you can strap him up now,’ he said.

  Helen felt very self-conscious as she applied the heavy adhesive strapping. Once again, she could feel Christopher watching her, even though she kept her eyes fixed on her task. She could sense his lazy amusement, as if he knew exactly the effect he was having on her. She couldn’t finish the job quickly enough.

  ‘You’ll have to make an appointment for Outpatients in a week’s time to have it taken off,’ Dr McKay said, scribbling his signature on the notes.

  ‘A week?’ Christopher laughed. ‘That’s a bit much, ain’t it? Last time I did it I was hauling crates on deck the next day.’

  ‘That’s probably why it keeps dislocating.’ Dr McKay handed Helen the notes. ‘A week, and then you’ll need massage to get the joint moving again.’

  ‘He’s a miserable old stick, ain’t he?’ Christopher said, as Helen followed him back into the Casualty hall.

  ‘Sometimes,’ she agreed.

  ‘Anyway, he’s not going to stop my fun. I was thinking of going up to Trafalgar Square on Saturday night, to see in the New Year. D’you fancy coming with me?’

  Helen stared at him. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ she managed finally. ‘You really ought to avoid crowds, with that shoulder . . .’

  ‘There’s a lot of things I ought not to do, but I still do ‘em!’ Christopher grinned at her, and Helen found herself smiling back.

  ‘I’ve never been to Trafalgar Square on New Year’s Eve before,’ she said.

  ‘Me neither,’ he admitted cheerfully. ‘It’ll be an adventure for both of us, won’t it?’ He looked at her. ‘So what do yo
u reckon, Helen? Do you fancy being reckless with me?’

  Their eyes met, and she saw the direct challenge in his gaze. Her first instinct was to refuse, to back away, to stay safe. But as she was beginning to realise, safe was also very lonely.

  She smiled up at him. ‘Why not?’ she said.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘SOMETHING WRONG WITH your tea, love?’

  Effie looked up at the café proprietor standing over her, wiping his hands on his greasy apron, then back down at the cup of tea cooling in front of her.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she replied.

  ‘Only you ain’t touched it for half an hour. I just wondered if you wanted a fresh pot?’

  ‘I’m waiting for someone.’

  The proprietor looked down at her. He was a big man, an Italian cockney with strands of greasy black hair smeared over his shining bald patch. ‘Been stood up, have you?’ He grinned.

  ‘No!’ Effie stared back at him, affronted.

  The man shrugged his shoulders. ‘You wouldn’t be the first.’ He nodded towards her teacup. ‘Sure I can’t get you a crumpet to go with that? Or a teacake? Or a plate of assorted fancies?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  The man went off, grumbling about how he was never going to afford to retire if all his customers were like her. Effie didn’t blame him for being cross. She had been sitting there for nearly an hour, eking out one cup of tea while she waited for Adeline Moreau.

  She cleared a spot in the steamy window with her sleeve and looked out into the grey, slush-covered street. According to Jess, Adeline left her fiance’s bedside at one o’clock every afternoon to have lunch here. Effie had had to wait three days before Sister Blake moved her off-duty time from morning to afternoon and she could come here.