A Nightingale Christmas Wish

by Donna Douglas

  As she hurried to the Accident Treatment Room, the young mother’s imploring cries followed her. ‘You will save her, won’t you? Promise me you’ll save her . . .’

  In the Treatment Room, Dr McKay had already administered a shot of morphia and was scrubbing up while he waited for it to take effect. He shot a sideways look at Helen as she set about preparing the tannic-acid compresses. Her hands were shaking so much she could scarcely hold the brown glass bottle still enough to pour it.

  ‘We will save her,’ he said softly. ‘The burns are extensive, but they’re not too deep.’

  ‘Neither were the other girl’s.’ The child on Christmas Eve had hardly been touched by the flames. And yet she’d still died.

  Finally the anaesthetic took effect and Dr McKay set about removing the loose, blistered skin. All the while, Helen watched the child’s face, the rise and fall of her chest, waiting . . .

  ‘Her breathing is fine.’ Dr McKay looked up briefly, reading Helen’s thoughts. ‘Clean this area with ether for me, and then start applying the compresses.’

  Helen didn’t move.

  ‘Sister?’

  She stared down at the little girl. ‘She’s cyanosed,’ she whispered.

  ‘Let me see.’ He leaned over to look. ‘Her colour is perfectly healthy,’ he said.

  ‘She’s turning blue. Look, why can’t you see it?’

  ‘Helen, look at me.’ She glanced up in shock at the sound of her Christian name. ‘She is breathing normally and her colour is good,’ said Dr McKay patiently. His brown eyes were warm over his surgical mask. ‘Now, I need you to stay calm and help me. Can you do that?’

  His voice was like balm, soothing her. Helen took a deep breath and nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  Once she had applied the compresses and the little girl had been splinted to keep her body rigid, Helen set up a saline drip and tucked blankets and hot-water bottles around her to keep her warm.

  She was sitting with her in the Recovery Room, trying to coax some sugar water past her lips, when Dr McKay came back in.

  ‘You can’t sit there all night, Sister,’ he said.

  ‘I know. I just want to wait with her until she’s transferred up to the ward.’

  ‘She’ll be all right, you know.’

  Helen looked at him. ‘Will she, Doctor?’ she asked. ‘Will she do?’

  He nodded. ‘She will. Sister Parry will look after her.’

  The silence lengthened between them. Helen knew she had to say something.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For making me do this.’ She brushed a pale strand of hair off the little girl’s face. ‘I was so afraid . . . I didn’t think I could . . .’

  ‘It happened to me once,’ he said. ‘When I was a junior houseman, I lost a patient with a ruptured appendix. From then on, every time a patient presented with any kind of abdominal pain, I couldn’t cope with it. I thought my medical career was over before it had begun, but the senior registrar made me deal with every abdominal case that came in from then on. At the time I thought he was the cruellest man in the world but it turned out it was the best thing he could have done for me.’

  There was a soft knock on the door and the porter appeared.

  ‘I’ve come to take the little girl up to Parry.’

  A sudden thought struck Helen then, and she looked at her watch. ‘Oh, my gosh! I completely forgot. My fiancé came home from sea today and I’m supposed to be at his party.’ She jumped to her feet in a panic.

  ‘Mustn’t miss that, must you?’ Dr McKay said. ‘I’ll walk out with you.’

  It was past nine o’clock, and Penny Willard and the day staff had already gone. A solitary night nurse sat behind the booking-in desk, flicking through a textbook.

  The doors opened and a dark-haired woman walked in.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Helen started to walk towards her, but Dr McKay stopped her.

  ‘Actually, she’s with me,’ he said.

  ‘Oh . . . Oh, I beg your pardon.’

  Helen watched him going to greet the woman, leaning in to kiss her cheek. For some reason the sight shook her more than she wanted to admit.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  THE PARTY WAS already in full swing at the Dawsons’ house when Helen arrived, late and breathless.

  Through the sitting-room window she could see Christopher holding forth in the middle of the room, a glass of beer in his hand, surrounded by a circle of aunties and uncles. He must have been telling one of his stories, by the way they were all roaring with laughter.

  Helen paused unseen for a moment to admire him. He looked so handsome, with his reddish fair hair and twinkling smile. It was hard to believe he was really hers.

  ‘Here she is!’ Christopher’s voice rose above the general merriment as Helen came in. ‘I was starting to think you’d stood me up!’

  ‘Sorry I’m late – we had an emergency.’ Helen nodded a shy greeting to the aunties and uncles, who all turned to look at her.

  ‘Never mind, you’re here now.’ He put down his glass and held out his arms to her. ‘Come and say hello properly to your old man, then.’

  The next moment he’d gathered Helen into his arms and was kissing her long and hard, much to the delight of everyone around them, who whooped and cheered encouragement.

  ‘Chris! Please! Not here.’ She pulled away, embarrassed.

  ‘Saving it for me in private, are you?’ Christopher chuckled, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  Two of the aunties grinned at her, and Helen felt the hot blush rise up her throat.

  ‘How much have you had to drink?’ she hissed.

  ‘Listen to that! She’s nagging me already and we ain’t even wed yet!’ Christopher announced to everyone. Helen did her best to smile along with the joke, but privately she was wondering why he had to keep showing off in front of his audience.

  ‘So when is this wedding going to be, then?’ Auntie Mabel shouted back. ‘You need to give me plenty of notice so I can get me hair done.’

  ‘Go on! What she means is she’s got to get her old man’s whistle out of the pop shop!’ Auntie Midge laughed.

  In the middle of the laughter, Christopher turned to Helen. ‘I dunno, I’m going to have to ask my fiancée.’ He pronounced the word slowly, letting it roll over his tongue. ‘Come on, love, don’t keep us in suspense. When’s the big day?’

  Helen felt everyone watching her expectantly. ‘Um . . . I’m not sure yet,’ she mumbled.

  His smile faded to a frown. ‘I thought you were going to book the church?’

  ‘Give her a chance, Chris. I expect she’s been busy, ain’t you, love?’ Nellie came to her rescue.

  ‘Maybe she don’t really want to marry you after all?’ one of the uncles suggested.

  Helen saw Christopher’s merry expression cloud over, and stepped in quickly.

  ‘Of course we’ll be setting the date – as soon as Chris has asked my father’s permission,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Quite right too.’ Auntie Midge and Auntie Mabel nodded their approval. ‘Told you she had lovely manners, didn’t I?’ Auntie Midge said. ‘That’s how a proper lady gets married – not like us, running off to the register office three months gone!’

  The party was exhausting. Helen was already weary after her twelve-hour shift, and even though she did her best to smile and laugh with the others, inside she could only think of going back to the sisters’ home and crawling into bed.

  It was a stiflingly hot night, too, and she slipped outside into the backyard for some much-needed air. She was so weary she briefly considered leaving by the back gate and heading for the hospital, but she didn’t want to disappoint Christopher.

  What was the matter with her, she thought as she gazed up at the stars peppering the inky sky? She had just been reunited with the man she loved, the man she was going to marry, and all she could think about was going home.
>
  But it wasn’t the reunion she’d been hoping for all these weeks. She’d imagined them alone, walking hand in hand by the river, talking and getting to know each other again. But instead they’d both been tossed into the middle of this party. With so much drinking and singing and laughter and general mayhem going on around them, it wasn’t surprising they’d hardly had a chance to say two words to each other.

  Chris was different, too. Alone, he was the kind-hearted, charming young man she’d grown to love. But with a few drinks inside him and an audience to please, he turned into a brash, cocky stranger.

  It was just the excitement, she told herself. He’d been away at sea for weeks, it was hardly surprising he wanted to kick up his heels and enjoy himself now he was surrounded by his loved ones again. It would all be better when everything had calmed down, and she could have him to herself again.

  Raised voices coming from the kitchen made her look round.

  ‘Look, no offence, son, but I’m just not sure about it,’ she heard Uncle Harry saying.

  ‘Why not? I’m a good worker, ain’t I?’ Her ears pricked at the sound of Christopher’s voice.

  ‘Oh, you work hard enough, I’ll give you that. But it’s that temper of yours. The other lads won’t put up with it. And I don’t want to be sorting out fights in my factory.’

  ‘They put up with me before.’

  ‘Only because you had your cousin to look out for you. Everyone kept away from you out of respect for Charlie. But now he’s gone . . .’

  ‘So you ain’t going to give me a job, is that it?’ Christopher’s voice was thick and slurred.

  ‘I can’t, son. Why don’t you stick to the merchant ships? You got a good thing going there.’ Chris must have made some reply she couldn’t hear, because Uncle Harry sighed and said, ‘Suit yourself, mate. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

  Helen stood in the darkness, hugging herself, not sure what to do. She didn’t want to walk back into the kitchen because then they’d know she’d been eavesdropping. But she couldn’t stand out in the yard all night either.

  While she was still trying to make up her mind, the back door opened wider and Chris stumbled out. Helen watched him lighting up a cigarette. The flare of the match briefly illuminated his handsome features.

  He looked up sharply as she stepped forward out of the shadows.

  ‘Helen! Jesus, you gave me a fright!’ He clutched his heart. ‘What you doing out here?’

  ‘Just getting some air.’ She looked up at the sky. ‘It’s a lovely night, isn’t it? So warm. And did you ever see so many stars?’

  ‘I ain’t looking at the stars.’ He put the cigarette down on an upturned bucket and came over to her. ‘I’m glad I’ve got the chance to be alone with you at last. I’ve missed you, Helen.’

  ‘I’ve missed you, too,’ she said.

  ‘Come here and show me how much.’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. His mouth tasted of beer and cigarettes as he kissed her hungrily.

  Helen pulled away, laughing nervously. ‘Stop it! Someone might see.’

  ‘I don’t care.’ His eyes glittered in the moonlight. ‘I want you, Helen. I’ve thought about nothing else since I’ve been away.’ He moved closer to her, his face brushing hers. ‘I want us to find somewhere, just the two of us. So I can show you how much I love you.’

  A nice little B and B. Penny Willard’s knowing comment popped into her mind.

  ‘I thought we were going to wait?’ Helen said.

  ‘I can’t.’ His voice was hoarse with longing. ‘Jesus, Helen, I’ve been away at sea for weeks. You can’t make me wait any more, it wouldn’t be fair!’

  As he moved in to kiss her again, there was nothing gentle or sensuous about it. It was as if he wanted to possess her, to prove she was his.

  Helen put up her hands to ward him off, pushing against the solid wall of his chest. ‘Stop it, Chris. I mean it,’ she said.

  ‘You can’t keep me at arms’ length for ever,’ he whispered. ‘Charlie might have had the patience of a saint but I’m just a man—’

  The mention of Charlie’s name was like a bucket of cold water over her, shocking her to her senses.

  ‘Don’t,’ she snapped, pushing away his hand. Christopher lost his balance and staggered backwards, kicking over the upturned bucket.

  ‘I was only joking!’ he protested.

  ‘I don’t care. Don’t ever talk about Charlie like that.’

  ‘Oh, no, we can’t have that, can we? Can’t ever take the name of blessed Saint Charlie in vain.’ Chris’s face twisted, becoming ugly with malice.

  ‘What’s going on out here?’ Nellie Dawson appeared in the doorway, peering out into the darkness.

  ‘Nothing, Auntie,’ Christopher called back, his eyes still fixed coldly on Helen. ‘Nothing going on at all.’

  The following morning Christopher turned up at the sisters’ home, bearing a huge bunch of flowers and with a remorseful expression on his face.

  ‘Helen, I’m sorry, I dunno what came over me, I really don’t. It was the drink talking, that’s all. You know I’d never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do – I love you, you know that. You do understand that, don’t you, Helen?’ he pleaded. ‘And as for all that stuff about Charlie – I’d never say a bad word against him, honest to God. I loved him like a brother, I did. And if I ever thought I’d done anything to hurt him or you—’

  ‘I’m sorry, too,’ Helen said. ‘You’re right, it’s unfair of me to make you wait.’

  ‘But I don’t mind,’ he assured her quickly. ‘I’ll wait for ever if it’s what you want. I just want us to be happy, Helen,’ he pleaded.

  ‘So do I,’ she said. And so she forgave him, because after a sleepless night facing the prospect of being lonely again, forgiving Chris seemed like the best thing to do. ‘I just want to be happy, too,’ she said.

  ‘Come here and give us a cuddle, then.’

  And so she let him take her in his arms, and they held on to each other fiercely. And Helen fought off the terrible feeling that she was clinging on not to the man she loved, but to a lifebelt in a sea of loneliness.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ‘THE COAST IS clear, Kath – fancy a cuppa?’

  Kathleen looked up with a smile as Vera stuck her head round the door. She was joined by Cissy, who’d been admitted two weeks earlier after an ectopic pregnancy.

  ‘Are you sure Sister isn’t about?’ asked Kathleen, throwing back the bedclothes.

  ‘She’s gone off to her sitting room to read her magazines. We won’t see her for the rest of the afternoon with any luck!’

  Kathleen slid her feet into her slippers, shrugged on her dressing gown and followed the two women to the main ward. After nearly three weeks, they still had no idea who she was, and Kathleen preferred to keep it that way. Once they knew she was Matron, they might treat her differently, and she didn’t want that. She enjoyed being one of the girls too much.

  As she made her way up the ward, Kathleen caught the eye of Jess Jago, one of the students. She gave her a conspiratorial smile and hurried off to the sluice. Even the young nurses seemed to have forgotten she was Matron. Without her black armour and starched headdress, she was just another woman.

  She’d fallen into a comfortable routine with the other patients. Once Sister Wren had gone off to put her feet up, all the women who were well enough would gather together, either in Kathleen’s room or around one of the other women’s beds, to drink tea, smoke and gossip. Sometimes they flicked through magazines, sometimes they sewed or knitted. They would comfort each other when they were feeling homesick or they’d had bad news, or give vent if Sister Wren had upset them. But most of the time they found something to laugh about.

  Kathleen had learned far more about the women and their lives that she would ever have found out on one of her ward rounds. She discovered that Cissy was married to a coalman, had two young children and lived in Whitechapel. She found out that Ve
ra had had her first baby at sixteen, and almost one a year since then. Ten of them had survived, three had been stillborn and one had died of diphtheria at five years old. She also found out that mousy Mrs Grange, who spent most of her day murmuring over her rosary beads, had been caught by her husband having relations with the milkman.

  ‘You wouldn’t credit it, would you?’ Vera had whispered. ‘It’s always the quiet ones, ain’t it?’

  ‘Some people will do anything for an extra pint,’ Cissy grumbled, then looked around at them blankly when they all cried with laughter.

  As she got to know them better, Kathleen was constantly amazed by their resilience. Their lives seemed to be a constant struggle to overcome poverty and to keep their families safe and well. And yet they faced death, disease and everything else life threw at them with smiles on their faces.

  But today, as they gathered around Elsie Watson’s bed, the conversation turned to the war.

  ‘My son’s talking about joining up,’ Elsie said mournfully. ‘He reckons if he gets in now he’ll be able to choose where he goes, instead of waiting to be told when he’s called up.’

  ‘My husband’s the same,’ Cissy sighed. ‘He wants to go in the Navy. Dunno why, he gets sick on the boating lake in Victoria Park! I don’t want him to go. I dunno how I’ll cope with two kiddies on my own.’

  ‘I wish my old man had bloody well joined up years ago, then maybe I wouldn’t have kept having kids!’ Vera said.

  ‘It’s frightening, though, ain’t it?’ Elsie said, when they’d stopped laughing. ‘Seeing ’em go off like that. Not knowing what’ll happen to ’em, whether they’ll come back safe.’ Her voice was thick with emotion. ‘No mother wants that for her son.’

  ‘If this war is as bad as they reckon, there might not be anything to come back to,’ another woman, Pauline Farrell, joined in, taking a drag on her cigarette.

  ‘What about you, Kath?’ Cissy turned to her. ‘You got any loved ones signing up?’

  Kathleen shook her head. ‘My father and brother were both killed in the last lot.’

  ‘Mine too,’ Vera said. ‘It’s a bloody business, ain’t it? Hardly seems fair. They all reckoned it was never going to happen again, and now look at us. At it again. Bloody men never learn.’