A Nightingale Christmas Wish

by Donna Douglas

  ‘I bet you did the same when you were a student,’ Effie said, pulling her glove back on.

  ‘I most certainly did not!’ Bridget turned on her heel and stalked off again. ‘We’re not all like you,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘Some of us respect the rules. Some of us would prefer to stay out of trouble. Some of us – ow!’

  Effie squawked with laughter as a snowball came out of nowhere and hit her sister squarely in the back of the head, sending her hat spinning sideways into the snow.

  A moment later a grinning little face appeared around the corner.

  ‘Sorry, missus!’ a cheeky voice called out.

  ‘Why, I—’ Bridget spluttered, shaking snow off her hat. She looked so outraged, Effie could hardly breathe for laughing.

  But then a snowball hit her in the face, stinging her cheeks. As she wiped the grimy slush from her eyes, she saw Bridget standing a few yards away, dusting snow off her hands. A rare smile lit up her face.

  ‘That should wake you up a bit,’ she said.

  Effie felt a little better when she returned to the ward at five o’clock, thanks to several cups of tea, a brisk wash in cold water and a bar of chocolate that her room-mate Devora Kowalski had carelessly left in her bedside drawer.

  Sister Blake met her at the door and told her to prepare a warm salt bath for the arthritis patient, Mr Anderson. Her sister Katie found her in the bathroom as she was filling the tub.

  ‘You missed all the excitement at visiting time,’ she said, closing the door behind her.

  ‘What excitement?’

  ‘Mr Campbell’s girlfriend came to see him.’

  Effie straightened up. ‘Adeline was here?’

  ‘She arrived just as visiting time was over,’ Katie nodded. ‘At least I’m assuming it was her. Very fancy-looking piece in a feathered hat. She strutted up the length of the ward with her nose in the air, didn’t even look at us. I don’t know what he sees in her,’ she sniffed.

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I? She didn’t stay long, I know that much. Barely five minutes.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know.’ Katie sighed with exaggerated patience. ‘Unlike you I don’t make a point of eavesdropping on patients’ conversations.’

  Effie knew that wasn’t true, but she let it pass. ‘How is he now?’ she asked.

  Katie shrugged. ‘A bit quiet, I suppose,’ she says. ‘It’s hard to say, since he never talks to anyone but you.’

  ‘Doesn’t he?’

  Effie preened herself on hearing this, but then Katie ruined it by saying, ‘By the way, that bath is overflowing. You really ought to watch what you’re doing.’

  Effie longed to talk to Adam and find out what had happened, but Sister Blake kept her busy with lots of other jobs so she didn’t have the chance.

  It wasn’t until she was helping with the bedtime cocoa round that she finally managed to spend a moment alone with him.

  He was very quiet, staring vacantly into space as Effie pushed the trolley to the end of his bed. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ she asked.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Cocoa? Horlicks?’ He shook his head. ‘You might feel better if you have something,’ Effie suggested.

  He sent her a withering look. ‘Do you really think a cup of cocoa is going to make all my problems go away?’

  ‘It can’t make you feel any worse.’

  He stared at her for a moment, then turned his head to one side. Effie waited patiently for him to speak. Silence stretched between them.

  Then, when she was about to give up and push her trolley to the next bed, he suddenly said, ‘I suppose you’ve heard Adeline came to see me?’

  Adam turned his head to look at her, just as she was trying to compose her features into a suitably surprised look.

  ‘Don’t pretend you hadn’t heard,’ he said. ‘I know you nurses love to gossip.’

  ‘I did hear something about it,’ Effie replied, unable to lie. ‘How was she?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘It’s over between us.’

  Even though she’d been expecting this, it still felt like a punch in the stomach. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Why? It’s not your fault.’ Adam’s voice sounded quiet, almost resigned. ‘If anyone is to blame, it’s me. If I hadn’t been so stupid and pig-headed, if I hadn’t tried to force the situation . . .’

  ‘You weren’t stupid,’ Effie said. ‘It wasn’t your fault she led you to believe there was more to it than—’ She stopped abruptly, realising what she’d said. It was too much to hope Adam hadn’t noticed.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘How did you know that?’ he asked.

  Effie stared back at him, panic-stricken. Then, thank goodness, she heard her sister Bridget calling her. She had never been so pleased to hear that eldritch shriek in her life.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she said, taking hold of the handle of the trolley.

  ‘You talked to her, didn’t you?’

  Effie felt a blush rising in her face. ‘I had to,’ she admitted quietly. ‘I was worried about you. I could see what it was doing to you, waiting every day to hear from her.’ She darted a quick look at him. ‘But I shouldn’t have interfered,’ she said. ‘You have every right to be furious . . .’

  ‘I’m not furious,’ he said. ‘I’m grateful to you.’

  She eyed him warily. ‘Grateful?’

  ‘You’re right, I needed to know for sure, one way or the other. And it was kind of you to take the trouble to find her. Even if it wasn’t quite what I wanted to hear,’ he added, his mouth twisting.

  ‘Nurse O’Hara!’ Bridget’s voice rose from the other side of the ward. ‘When you’ve quite finished, there are other patients waiting!’

  ‘Coming,’ Effie said. She gave Adam a quick smile. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said.

  As she left, he called after her, ‘Nurse O’Hara?’

  She turned back. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I should have put some hearts and kisses on that letter after all.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  IT WAS LATE on a chilly Thursday afternoon in February, and Victoria Park was almost deserted. A damp grey mist hung low over the grass, the avenue of bare skeletal black trees rising out of the gloom.

  ‘At least we’ve got the place to ourselves!’ Christopher joked.

  ‘That’s true,’ Helen replied, pulling her coat tighter.

  Christopher looked sideways at her. ‘We could go somewhere else, if you like? Catch a bus up West, have tea in Lyons?’

  She shook her head. ‘I have to be back on duty at five, remember?’

  ‘Another time, then.’

  ‘Another time.’ Helen smiled with relief. Every time she saw Christopher, she felt a little flutter of panic that today might be the last time they met. Sooner or later, she thought, he would go back to sea, or meet someone else, or just grow bored with her.

  But it hadn’t happened so far. In fact, after nearly six weeks he still made sure he saw her every day, even if it was only for a snatched half-hour at the hospital gates after Helen came off duty. If she had the evening off, they would go to the pictures or dancing. Or sometimes they would just walk down to the docks and Christopher would point out to her the various ships and where they’d come from. He’d been all over the world, seen places Helen could only imagine.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so happy, and it frightened her. She couldn’t trust it. She knew too well how quickly happiness could be snatched away. She was so wary she hardly dared allow herself to enjoy the moments she had, just in case she lost them.

  Christopher had laughed when she told him how she felt.

  ‘Nothing lasts for ever,’ he’d said. ‘You just have to make the most of the good times while you can.’

  But that was easy for him to say. He approached every day with the same breezy confidence that so
mething good, or funny, or exciting would happen. Unlike Helen, he never planned, never worried or looked round corners, expecting something dreadful to be lurking there. He never stared up at the sky, searching for rain. It made him laugh that she took an umbrella with her everywhere, even on the brightest of days.

  But gradually, under the warmth of his sunny personality, Helen felt the chill around her heart thawing. Sometimes she caught herself smiling for no reason.

  They skirted the lake, and Christopher reached for her hand.

  ‘I’d forgotten how much I love this place,’ he said. ‘Charlie and I used to hang around here all the time, when we were kids.’

  Helen waited for the pain that usually lanced her whenever Charlie’s name was mentioned, but for once it didn’t come. Christopher often talked about his cousin, dropping his name into the conversation as easily as if Charlie were still alive. And after a while Helen had got so used to it, it stopped hurting so much.

  She smiled at Chris. ‘I bet you were always getting into trouble, weren’t you?’

  ‘I was a right little tearaway!’ He grinned. ‘No one really taught me right from wrong when I was growing up, what with my mum being ill for so long and my dad not being bothered. I thought I could just go on doing as I pleased when I moved in with Charlie’s mum and dad, but Aunt Nellie soon taught me different!’ He grimaced at the memory. ‘Even then, I was always getting into scrapes, and Charlie would have to wade in and help me. The times he saved me from a hiding!’

  ‘That sounds like Charlie.’ Helen smiled.

  ‘But he didn’t mind teaching me a lesson himself, if he thought I needed it,’ Christopher went on. ‘One time, when I was a nipper, I nicked a couple of apples from that stall over there.’ He nodded towards the small wooden hut on the far side of the lake, closed up for winter. ‘Charlie caught me eating one and gave me such a clout! He can’t have been much more than twelve himself, but it didn’t half hurt. Then he got me by the collar and marched me back round to the stall and made me give the other apple back. And the woman behind the counter gave me a clout too! I hated Charlie for that, but I learned my lesson, I can tell you.’

  ‘You never stole anything again?’

  ‘I made sure I never got caught!’

  For some reason Helen remembered a comment she’d overheard at that Christmas party, the night she’d first met Christopher.

  A leopard can’t change its spots.

  They stood at the edge of the boating lake, a flat expanse of pewter-coloured water with the mist hanging low over it. A few miserable-looking ducks paddled around the shallows, searching for scraps in the soggy earth.

  ‘This was where Charlie and I had our first date,’ Helen recalled. ‘The park was closing but he persuaded the park-keeper to let us take a boat out. It was lovely, having the lake to ourselves.’

  ‘We could have it to ourselves now, if we took one out?’ Christopher suggested.

  Helen frowned up at him. ‘Surely it’s closed down for the winter? The boats are all locked up.’

  ‘Yes, but I know where they keep them.’ Christopher grinned mischievously. ‘Come with me.’

  Helen followed him around the edge of the lake to the boathouse. ‘Chris, you can’t steal one!’ she protested.

  ‘I ain’t stealing it. I’m just borrowing it for a little while.’

  ‘But what if someone sees us?’

  He gave her a teasing smile. ‘Trust me, Helen!’

  They picked their way across the soft mud to the boathouse doors. Christopher tested the padlock.

  ‘I reckon I could get into this,’ he said. ‘Got a hairpin I can borrow?’

  ‘But . . .’ Helen started to argue, then gave up. She took off her hat, pulled a pin from her hair and handed it to him. ‘Just be careful,’ she warned.

  ‘You keep watch for me,’ Christopher said, huddling over the lock. Helen thrust her gloved hands into her pockets, shivering with cold and fear as she looked this way and that.

  ‘This is silly,’ she declared. ‘I don’t know why you’re insisting on—’ She broke off as Christopher emerged from the shed, dragging a rowing boat across the damp shingle behind him. He looked so pleased with himself, Helen couldn’t help smiling.

  He hauled the boat into the shallows, then turned to her. ‘Your carriage awaits, madam,’ he said, with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

  ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m not getting in that thing.’

  His face fell. ‘You mean I’ve gone to all this trouble for nothing?’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to break in and steal a boat.’

  ‘No, but I’ve done it now. So we might as well enjoy it, don’t you think?’ he coaxed. ‘Go on – just for a few minutes? We can stick close to the shore, I promise.’

  Finally, he managed to persuade her into the rickety little craft. She yelped as it swayed and rocked beneath her feet, nearly knocking her off balance.

  ‘Shhh!’ Christopher hissed. ‘We don’t want the whole world to hear us, do we?’

  He hopped in and sat down on the seat opposite, then rolled up his shirtsleeves and picked up the oars. Helen was very aware of him as they glided out on to the still, misty water. They were so close, their knees were brushing. She found herself watching his strong, sinewy forearms as he pulled on the oars.

  And then, suddenly, she thought of Charlie, and how she’d watched him in the same way when he rowed them across the lake on that fine evening in early summer. She remembered how she’d teased him about his rowing, so he’d handed over the oars and made her try instead. They’d laughed, and the sun had shone down on them and the birds had sung and she’d thought her happiness would last for ever.

  ‘Helen?’ She looked up. Christopher was watching her closely. ‘Are you all right? You were miles away.’

  She forced a smile. ‘I’m fine.’

  He gave a wry smile. ‘I can see you’re not,’ he said. ‘We’ll turn back, shall we?’

  No sooner had he turned the boat round than they heard a shout from the shore. Looking over Christopher’s shoulder, Helen saw the distant figure of the park-keeper waving from the open doorway of the boathouse.

  ‘Blimey, now we’re for it!’ Christopher laughed.

  ‘It’s not funny!’ Helen said. ‘What if he catches us?’

  ‘We’ll have to make sure he doesn’t, won’t we?’ Christopher swung the boat around again and headed away from the boathouse, skirting the shore as closely as he dared. But the park-keeper was keeping pace with them on the opposite bank, waving his fist and threatening to call the police.

  ‘It’s no good,’ Christopher admitted. ‘We’ll have to row back and face the music.’

  ‘We can’t!’ A horrible vision came into Helen’s mind of being frogmarched in handcuffs back to the hospital. She would be sacked for sure, and sent home in disgrace to face her mother’s wrath.

  She looked desperately about her at the grey, weed-choked water. ‘We’ll have to jump,’ she said.

  ‘Abandon ship, you mean?’ Christopher stared at her. ‘But we can’t do that. The water will be freezing. It’ll kill us.’

  ‘My life won’t be worth living anyway, if my mother finds out what I’ve done.’ Helen was already on her feet.

  ‘Helen, don’t . . .’ But she didn’t wait to hear the rest as she pitched herself headlong into the lake.

  It wasn’t deep, but the icy water made her gasp, robbing her of breath. The weeds caught at her, entangling her legs as her heavy coat dragged her down. The water closed over her head, cold and murky, filling her nose and mouth and ears in a roaring rush.

  And then suddenly she was aware of strong arms grasping her around the waist, pulling her gasping to the surface. She opened her eyes and saw Christopher, his hair slicked off his face.

  He swam backwards, threshing strongly through the water with one arm while dragging her with the other. As they reached the shore, Helen felt the rough shingle scraping against her legs and scrambled
to her feet.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, grabbing her arm.

  They ran as fast as they could, weighed down by their soaking-wet clothes, pushing their way through the dripping branches of the weeping willows that edged the lake, then out into open land.

  ‘This way.’ He half dragged her through some bushes. The spiky branches snagged and tore at her stockings, but Helen barely noticed in her desperate hurry to escape the park-keeper. On the other side of the bushes was the bandstand, and beyond that a small wooden hut where the deckchairs were kept. Helen struggled to keep up as Christopher sprinted towards it.

  They reached the far side of the hut and collapsed on the damp, mossy ground. They lay wedged into the narrow space between the peeling painted walls and a rhododendron bush, and listened as the park-keeper came pounding towards them, still shouting and threatening. Helen was shivering so violently from cold and wet and fear she was sure he would hear her teeth chattering, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  She looked at Christopher. He pressed his finger over her lips to quieten her. They waited. The park-keeper was getting closer, closer . . .

  And then, by some miracle, his footsteps started to recede towards the bandstand. They both froze, waiting and listening, as his shouts grew more distant.

  ‘Looks like we got away with it.’ Christopher grinned.

  The pent-up tension flowed out of her and Helen collapsed back on the ground. As she lifted her hands to push her soaking-wet hair off her face, she saw that they were shaking and blue-tinged with cold.

  ‘I thought he was going to get us,’ she whispered.

  ‘So did I.’ Christopher propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her. Admiration shone in his eyes. ‘Well, you’re full of surprises, ain’t you? Fancy jumping in the water like that! And I thought I was the one who liked living dangerously.’

  ‘I couldn’t think what else to do.’ She struggled to sit up. ‘Oh, God, I thought he was going to get us. I was just wondering how to explain it to my mother.’

  Christopher laughed. ‘It was fun though, wasn’t it?’