‘As I said, I’m sure it’s nothing serious,’ she began, when she’d finished dressing. ‘Just my imagination, I expect . . .’
She emerged from behind the screens and looked at James Cooper. She was waiting for him to say she was right, it was nothing to worry about. But his grave face told a different story.
‘With your permission, Matron, I would like to operate straight away,’ he said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
AROUND TEATIME ON 15 May, Dora Riley hobbled into Casualty in the throes of labour.
Nick was with her, carrying her bag in one hand, the other arm protectively around her shoulders.
‘She was digging a hole in the backyard for a bloody Anderson shelter when her waters went,’ he told Helen grimly. ‘I told her not to do it, but would she listen?’
‘We needed to get it put in,’ Dora protested. ‘I thought I might as well get on with it, since I had nothing better to – ooh!’ She stopped in her tracks, doubling over.
‘Dora?’ The colour drained from Nick’s face. ‘Do something!’ he pleaded with Helen.
‘I’ll fetch Dr McKay.’ She turned away, but Dora put out a hand to stop her.
‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘It’s just labour pains, that’s all. I don’t even know why he brought me in.’ She shot a dark look at her husband. ‘I told him I only need my mum and my nan to help me when the time comes . . .’ She stopped talking again, drawing in a sharp breath between her teeth. ‘Ooh, that was a bad one.’ She tried to smile.
‘So is our new maternity department not good enough for you, Nurse Doyle?’ Dr McKay approached them, smiling.
‘It’s Mrs Riley to you, Doctor,’ Dora told him primly. ‘And I’m sure your maternity department is lovely,’ she added. ‘It’s just I don’t want all the bother. My mum had all her babies at home, and so did my nan. I don’t see why I shouldn’t do the same – ow! That bloody hurt!’ she cursed under her breath.
Helen glanced at Nick’s helpless expression. He looked as if he was suffering every contraction with his wife.
‘Are the pains getting worse?’ he asked worriedly.
‘No, you fool. It’s your hand gripping my arm that’s hurting!’ Dora tugged herself free. ‘You’re going to draw blood in a minute, if you’re not careful.’
She looked at Helen and they both burst out laughing.
‘Just get me home, for gawd’s sake,’ Dora said. ‘I’m having this baby in my own home and my own bed, and that’s – aah!’ She stopped dead again.
‘Those contractions seem to be coming thick and fast,’ Dr McKay said. ‘I think we’d better check how far along you are, just to be on the safe side.’ He nodded to Helen. ‘Take Nurse – I mean, Mrs Riley – up to the labour ward, will you? I’ll telephone and let them know you’re on your way.’
‘I’ll take her,’ Nick offered immediately, but Dr McKay barred his way.
‘You’re an expectant father today, Mr Riley, not a porter,’ he said. He turned to one of the student nurses. ‘Nurse Forrest, could you arrange a cup of tea for this young man? And I don’t think a spot of brandy would go amiss, either. The way he looks, we may end up admitting him too, in a minute!’
Up in the labour ward, Helen helped Dora undress and get comfortable in bed.
‘I really don’t want a fuss,’ she kept saying. ‘Look at me, putting you to all this trouble . . .’
‘It’s no trouble,’ Helen assured her. ‘It’s what we’re here for, remember?’
Dora smiled weakly. Her freckles stood out like dark pinpricks against the milky pallor of her skin.
‘Are you nervous?’ Helen asked.
‘A bit,’ Dora admitted. ‘But I’m more worried than anything. This wasn’t supposed to happen for another three weeks. It will be all right, won’t it?’ she asked anxiously. ‘That the baby’s come early, I mean?’
‘Of course,’ Helen said. ‘You know these things never go exactly to time. It will come when it’s ready.’
‘It’s my own stupid fault, digging that hole,’ Dora muttered, gnawing at her thumbnail. ‘Nick warned me not to do it, but I wouldn’t listen. I had to be stubborn . . .’
‘You, stubborn? Never!’
Dora looked at her ruefully. ‘I’m not the only one. You were the one who walked out on me, remember – ow!’ She groped blindly for Helen’s hand as another labour pain swept over her.
Helen checked the watch on her bib. ‘Dr McKay was right, they’re definitely coming quicker now.’ She glanced at the door. ‘What’s keeping my brother, I wonder? Perhaps I should go and check . . .’
‘No!’ Dora gripped her hand tighter. ‘Stay with me – please? I feel better when you’re with me.’
Helen gazed into her friend’s muddy green eyes. Dora was a proud East End girl, and not the type to ask for help unless she badly needed it.
‘Of course I’ll stay,’ promised Helen. Even if Dr McKay gave her a telling-off for it, she wouldn’t abandon her friend.
‘Thank you.’ Dora smiled gratefully. ‘And I’m sorry I stuck my oar in about you and Christopher,’ she added in a rush. ‘I meant what I said – I am happy for you.’
Helen smiled, the argument that had kept them apart already long forgotten. She was so relieved to have her old friend back. ‘Thank you.’
Just at that moment, William swept in. ‘What’s going on here?’ he said, picking up her notes. ‘I hear you’ve been digging trenches?’
‘It was an air-raid shelter,’ Dora muttered.
‘All the same, not a good idea in your condition.’ He scanned her notes. ‘Let’s have a look at you, shall we?’
Still holding her friend’s hand, Helen watched a shadow cross William’s face as he examined Dora. Her heart sank.
Dora noticed, too. ‘What is it?’ she demanded. ‘What’s wrong?’
His brittle smile fooled neither of them. ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Just a bit – unusual, that’s all.’
Dora turned panicked eyes to Helen. Her fingers tightened, biting into Helen’s flesh.
‘For God’s sake, Doctor, you’re forgetting I was a nurse,’ Dora said. ‘I know when something’s wrong, and when it ain’t. Just tell me, please!’
William glanced from Dora to Helen and back again.
‘Prepare yourself,’ he said. ‘I think it’s twins.’
Five hours later, Winifred and Walter Riley came howling into the world, tiny and utterly perfect, both with intense blue eyes and dark curls like their father.
Helen presented them, washed and wrapped in their knitted shawls, to their proud but stunned parents.
‘Blimey, I reckon we’re going to have to knit some more matinee jackets!’ Dora grinned up at Helen as she took her son in her arms. Her red curls clung damply to her freckled face. She looked tired but happy, and none the worse for her gruelling labour.
‘And here’s your daughter.’ Helen placed little Winifred in Nick’s arms.
He stared speechless down at the baby. He didn’t have to say anything. His look of stunned pride and love said it all.
Dora caught Helen’s eye. ‘Reckon there’s another girl in my husband’s life now!’
‘I’ll leave you alone for a minute.’ Helen hurried away before they could see the tears in her eyes. Not that they would have noticed. They were so wrapped up in themselves and their happiness, they wouldn’t have noticed if she’d danced a jig in front of them.
And that was how it should be, thought Helen. They were a perfect family, the four of them together. Those babies would have everything they ever needed, growing up with parents who were so utterly devoted to each other.
That was what she wanted for herself, too. One day, she wanted to have a baby of her own, and to be able to share it with a husband who adored her as much as Nick did Dora.
William was washing his hands in the cleansing area.
‘Mother and babies doing well?’ he addressed Helen’s reflection in the mirror.
‘Very well,
thank you.’
‘How about the father? Has he calmed down? I had the awful feeling he was going to kick the door down and throttle me once Mrs Riley started screaming.’
‘He’s very happy.’
‘Good,’ William said. ‘Because I for one would hate to see him when he isn’t.’ He groped for the towel. ‘Speaking of happy couples, when are you going to tell Ma and Pa your little secret?’ he asked.
Helen sighed. ‘Not again, William!’
‘Well, you’re supposed to be engaged, aren’t you? It seems rather rum that you haven’t even told your own parents yet. Unless you’re having second thoughts?’
‘Certainly not,’ Helen said, dumping the tray of instruments down and running the taps.
‘So why the big secret? I hope you’re not going to spring another surprise wedding on them like the last time, are you?’
Helen looked up at him sharply. ‘That was hardly my fault, was it?’ she snapped. ‘Charlie was dying.’
William’s smile disappeared. ‘No, you’re right. I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.’
‘Yes, it was. Very.’
She turned her back on him and started washing the instruments. All the time she was aware of her brother watching her expectantly.
‘All I’m saying is don’t wait too long,’ he said. ‘You know Mother will take a while to get used to the idea.’
‘I daresay she will.’ Helen was dreading the idea of telling Constance. Her mother had made no secret of her disapproval when Helen had married Charlie, so heaven only knew what she would say when she found out her daughter was planning to marry his cousin. ‘Look, I’ll tell them when I’m ready,’ she said shortly. ‘I thought I might wait until Christopher comes home, then we can tell them together.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘In a couple of weeks, I think.’
‘You think? You mean you aren’t counting off the days in your diary?’
She turned to face him, her arms still immersed in hot water. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘You just don’t give the impression of a girl who’s hopelessly in love, that’s all.’
‘Yes, well,’ she said, turning back to the sink. ‘Not everyone is as giddy and romantic as you are.’
William sighed. ‘Oh, Helen,’ he said. ‘If you can’t be giddy and romantic when you’re in love, when can you be?’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
FRANNIE WAS PLEASED to see her friend looking so well again. The drawn, scared woman was gone, and the smiling, energetic Kathleen Fox was back. Her cheeks bloomed pink and healthy, and her grey eyes sparkled with their usual merriment as she lay against the pillows in her flower-filled room off the Gynae ward.
‘It’s like a florist’s in here!’ Frannie laughed, breathing in the heady scent.
‘I know. Everyone’s been so kind. Even Mrs Tremayne sent me flowers.’ She nodded towards a mean little bunch of carnations on the window sill.
‘Who are those from?’ Frannie asked, admiring an extravagant bouquet of roses, jasmine and lily of the valley.
‘Mr Cooper.’ A blush rose in Kathleen’s cheeks. ‘Poor man, I don’t know what he must have thought of me, sobbing all over him in his office.’
‘I daresay you’re not the first,’ Frannie said.
‘I know, but I’m Matron. I’m supposed to be above that sort of thing.’
‘You’re also human,’ Frannie reminded her.
‘All too human, I’m afraid.’ Kathleen looked rueful. ‘Oh, Fran, I feel so foolish,’ she said. ‘To think I made so much fuss, thinking I was going to die, when all the time it was only fibroids.’
‘You weren’t to know. Even Mr Cooper wasn’t sure until he operated.’
‘I suppose.’ But Kathleen didn’t look convinced as she chewed her lip worriedly. ‘I still wish I’d sought help sooner instead of getting myself in such a state about it.’
‘I did try to tell you.’
‘I know,’ Kathleen sighed. ‘But I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry for losing my temper with you, Fran.’
‘You have nothing to apologise for. I’d be just the same in your position. Besides, it’s probably me who should be apologising,’ she went on with a grin. ‘As I recall, I didn’t talk to you in quite the way a sister should address a matron!’
‘No, but I needed to hear it. You gave me just the kick I needed.’ Kathleen paused for a moment, then said, ‘Thank you for keeping my secret, too. I know I put you in a difficult position, asking you not to tell anyone about my illness.’
‘I’m not sure how long I could have kept my promise,’ Frannie admitted. ‘I’d already almost broken it by the time you went to see Mr Cooper!’
‘I had a feeling you might.’
Kathleen went quiet for a moment, and Frannie saw the troubled look in her grey eyes. ‘What is it, Kath?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. I’m just being silly. It’s just – I wish he hadn’t had to perform a hysterectomy, that’s all.’ She gave a sad little smile. ‘I know it sounds daft, and there was never any question of my having children at my time of life, but still . . .’
‘The chance was always there?’ Frannie finished for her.
‘I told you it was daft, didn’t I?’
‘There’s nothing daft about it, Kath. I think it’s something we all think about from time to time. The life we could have had, if only . . .’ She’d certainly been thinking a lot about it herself lately.
As if she knew what Frannie was thinking, Kathleen said, ‘You haven’t heard from John, then?’
‘No, and I don’t expect I ever will. John gave me no illusions about that.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘I just have to accept that it’s over and done with. If it ever started in the first place!’ she added wryly. It had finished so suddenly, she had begun to wonder if it had all been in her imagination.
‘I don’t understand it,’ Kathleen said. ‘He was besotted by you, anyone could see that.’
‘Obviously not.’ Frannie shook herself. ‘Anyway, it’s you we’re thinking about now,’ she said briskly. ‘I’ve brought you some presents . . .’
She unpacked the bag she’d brought for Kathleen, containing books and magazines and some sweets.
‘Turkish Delight, your favourite,’ she said. ‘But don’t tell Sister Wren, because they’re her favourites, too!’
‘You’d better hide them in that case!’ Kathleen grinned conspiratorially. ‘Or we could eat them now.’
‘How are you getting on with Sister Wren?’ Frannie asked, as they dived into the box. ‘She’s specialling you herself, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she is. But between you and me, I don’t think she enjoys it very much.’ Kathleen brushed icing sugar from the front of her nightgown. ‘She keeps asking me if I wouldn’t be more comfortable in the Sick Bay.’
‘I expect you make her nervous.’
‘I think she’s more cross because she can’t hide in her sitting room and read her romance novels in peace! Poor Sister Wren,’ sighed Kathleen. ‘It must be every ward sister’s worst nightmare, having Matron come to stay!’
Once Frannie had gone back to work, Kathleen was soon bored again. It might not have been so bad if she’d been put on the main ward, she thought. But Sister Wren had decided that only a private room was good enough. Kathleen wasn’t sure how she would cope for three weeks staring at the same four walls. It would drive her completely mad, she was sure of it.
Sister Wren was no help. She made sure she visited frequently but was always very brisk, as if determined to show what an efficient nurse she could be. Kathleen would have liked to chat while she succumbed to her not so gentle ministrations, but never had the chance.
Then, in the middle of the afternoon, just as Kathleen was flicking disconsolately through the magazine Frannie had brought her, salvation arrived in a faded pink satin dressing gown.
‘All right, love?’ A woman stood in the doorway, cigarette i
n hand. She was pretty but tired-looking, half an inch of dark roots showing through her platinum blonde curls. ‘No fun for you, stuck in here on your own, I’ll bet. I’ve just put the kettle on – fancy a cuppa?’
Kathleen stared at her. ‘Um – yes. Thank you.’
‘Won’t be a tick.’
She disappeared. Kathleen was just wondering if she’d imagined it when the woman returned with a cup of tea.
‘Here you are, ducks. I’ll just put it down here then I’ll pull that table up for you – no, don’t you do it, love, you don’t want to bust your stitches, do you?’ She dragged the bed table into place and put the cup down.
Kathleen stared at it. ‘You make your own tea?’
‘Oh, yes. Us lot that can get up take it in turns. We like to help out where we can, see. And Sister doesn’t bother with us, as long as we stay out of her way.’ She settled herself down on the edge of Kathleen’s bed and pulled her dressing gown tighter around her. ‘Besides, it does us good to stretch our legs. Most of us ain’t used to sitting on our arses being waited on all day.’ She smiled at Kathleen. ‘I’m Vera, by the way.’
‘Kathleen.’
‘Nice to meet you, Kathleen. Fancy a smoke?’ She pulled a cigarette packet out of her dressing-gown pocket and offered it to her. Kathleen shook her head.
She watched, dazed, as Vera unhooked the notes from the end of her bed and consulted them. ‘What you in here for, Kath? Ooh, fibroids, eh? My sister had them. Painful buggers, they are.’ She replaced the notes. ‘I might have to have all mine taken away, too,’ she announced. ‘I’ve got a weakened womb, so Mr Cooper reckons. Well, I’m not surprised after thirteen kids, are you? The doctor reckons another one could kill me. “Mrs Maloney,” he said, “if you have one more child it will be the death of both of us.” So I said to him, you’d best sew it all up while you’re about it, because that’s the only way I’m going to stop my old man having his conjugals!’ She cackled with laughter. ‘You married, ducks?’ she asked , peering at Kathleen through the plume of smoke rising from her cigarette.
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