‘Eight . . . nine . . . ten!’
The yells of the crowd seemed to be coming from a long way away. Nick barely knew what was happening as he felt his hand jerked into the air in salute. All he could think about was getting out of the ring before he collapsed.
Jimmy, his trainer, was furious as he sponged Nick’s shattered jaw in the dingy back room.
‘What did I tell you?’ he said. ‘I told you not to fight. I said this would happen. “Don’t get in the ring again, Nick,” I said. “It’s too dangerous.” But did you listen?’
‘I won, didn’t I?’ He forced the words out, his lips already stiff with congealed blood.
‘It was a lucky punch. Another minute and he would have had you on the ropes.’ Jimmy’s face was creased with anxiety as he pressed the sponge against Nick’s face. ‘You’re not as quick as you once were – not since the accident. You can’t get yourself out of trouble like you used to. And you don’t have to look at me like that,’ he went on. ‘You might scare other people with that stare of yours, Nick Riley, but you don’t scare me. I’ve known you since you were a nipper, don’t forget. I’m not frightened to tell you the truth.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Nick grunted. Jimmy was the only one brave enough to face up to him. He was like a father to Nick, far more so than his own useless father had ever been. Nick respected his trainer. Also, even though Jimmy hadn’t been in the ring for thirty years, he still had the sinewy strength of someone who knew how to deliver a killer punch.
Nick was only angry with Jimmy because he was right. Nick’s fractured pelvis might have healed, but it had slowed him down. He might still pack a punch like a freight train, but he couldn’t dodge or weave away from blows liked he used to.
‘I’m serious, Nick. I don’t want to see you in the ring again,’ Jimmy said.
‘I ain’t got a choice. I need the money.’
‘Nothing’s worth getting clobbered for, night after night.’
Nick thought of Dora. The idea of never being married to her was too dreadful for him to contemplate. ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he said.
Jimmy shook his head. ‘Then I hope the next bloke you fight manages to knock some sense into you.’
After Jimmy had patched him up, Nick went to find Terry Willis, the promoter who’d arranged the fight. He was in the bar as usual, talking to a dark, thickset man Nick had never seen before.
‘Nicky boy!’ Nick caught a waft of whisky on Terry’s breath as the promoter turned to face him. ‘Were your ears burning? We were just talking about you. What are you drinking?’
‘I’m not. I’ve come for my money.’
Terry turned to him, his smile slack in his narrow, foxy face. ‘Have you now? I’m not so sure I should pay you, after that performance.’
‘I won, didn’t I?’
‘By the skin of your teeth.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not what I’ve come to expect from you, Nick. Not what the crowd expects, either.’ He sighed. ‘Bit of a disappointment, to be honest—’
Nick’s hand flashed out, grabbing Terry’s lapels. ‘I won,’ he growled. ‘And now I want my money.’
Terry grinned nervously. ‘No need to get uppity, son,’ he squeaked. ‘I was only having a laugh. Of course you can have your money.’
Nick released him, and Terry took a moment to straighten his pinstripe suit before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of notes.
‘I see what you mean, Terry. He’s got a short fuse, all right!’ the stranger said. ‘I reckon he’s just what I’m looking for.’
Nick turned around to face the man who had spoken. He looked as if he’d been battered himself a few times, judging from his flattened nose and cauliflower ears.
‘And who are you when you’re at home?’
‘Let me introduce you to Lew Smith,’ Terry said. ‘He’s in the fight game, like myself.’
‘Hardly!’ The other man grinned, showing off a mouthful of gold teeth. ‘I provide a different kind of – entertainment.’
Nick narrowed his eyes. There was something about Lew Smith he didn’t care for. ‘Yeah? And what’s that then?’
‘Ever done any bare-knuckle fighting?’
Nick nodded. ‘A bit.’ He’d been a street fighter when he was a kid, to earn money for his family. Luckily, Jimmy had found him and encouraged him into the ring instead. And Nick was grateful for it. Bare-knuckle boxing was brutal.
‘Lew runs the boxing booth at his family’s travelling fair,’ Terry explained. ‘He’s always looking for likely lads to fight all comers. Ain’t that right, Lew?’
The man nodded. ‘It’s easy money for a fighter,’ he said. ‘Most of the fellows who step up are amateurs, wanting to try their luck and impress the girls. A couple of taps and they’re usually down. But, of course, you have to put on a decent show for the crowds, make ‘em think the local lads stand a chance. That way they might come back for another go, see?’ He put down his drink. ‘So how would you like to earn some decent money? I reckon it would suit you down to the ground. And you wouldn’t have to get battered every night for it either.’ He cocked his head. ‘What do you say?’
Nick hesitated. Once upon a time he’d hoped to go to America and fight Max Baer, the world champion. He would have been insulted at the very idea of taking on strangers in a bare-knuckle boxing booth. And God only knew what Jimmy would say about it.
But then he thought about Dora. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any boxing title.
‘I’m interested,’ he said.
Jess looked around to make sure no one was watching then aimed a vicious kick at the vacuum cleaner.
Stupid, cumbersome thing! The supervisor at the main nurses’ home was very taken with it, insisted it was a marvellous labour-saving device that would make their lives much easier, but Jess couldn’t see how. By the time she’d hauled its heavy iron bulk up three flights of stairs, she was bathed in sweat and more exhausted than if she’d used a broom.
And then there was the noise . . . It bellowed like an angry bull, which generally brought Sister Sutton or one of the students running out to complain. As if Jess enjoyed it any more than they did! She went back to her room at the end of every day with ringing ears and aching temples.
And then there were some days, like today, when the wretched thing just wouldn’t start. It squatted in the middle of the students’ sitting room, silent and malevolent.
Jess flopped down on one of the settees and tucked a tendril of damp hair back under her cap. She wasn’t even supposed to be cleaning in here, but Sister Sutton had insisted.
‘But I cleaned the sitting room yesterday,’ Jess had protested.
‘You obviously didn’t make a very good job of it, or it wouldn’t need doing again,’ Sister Sutton snapped back.
‘You told me I had to clean the bathrooms this morning first thing.’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Sister Sutton said.
‘Yes, you did. You said . . .’
‘Good gracious, girl, I think I should know what I said or didn’t say, don’t you?’ Sister Sutton glared at her. ‘Now please don’t argue with me, or I shall start to think you’re a troublemaker.’
So now Jess had to waste her time cleaning a room that was already spotless. She stood up with a sigh and started plumping the cushions to make it look as if she’d been busy. As she did, she noticed a book wedged down the side of the settee.
She pulled it out. It was another textbook, Anatomy and Physiology for Nurses by Evelyn Pearce. Jess couldn’t resist flicking it open. She had been reading the students’ textbooks whenever she found them in their rooms, snatching a few minutes here and there to stop and devour a chapter. And the more she read, the more she started to understand all the long words and Latin names. And the more she understood, the more fascinated she became. Until she had started reading books like these, she’d had no idea how extraordinary the human body was, or how all the bones and muscles and organs worked in harmony with e
ach other. It was like a complex puzzle, the pieces fitting perfectly together.
How could the girls sigh and roll their eyes and complain about having to study something so wonderful? Jess wondered.
She was so transfixed by her reading she barely caught the flash of brown and white out of the corner of her eye. She looked up sharply to see Sister Sutton standing in the doorway, Sparky dancing around her fat ankles.
Jess dropped the book and jumped to her feet. ‘I – I’m sorry, Sister,’ she stammered. ‘The vacuum cleaner overheated again, so I was waiting for it to settle—’
‘What were you reading?’ Sister Sutton’s brows met in a frown over her beady eyes.
‘Just a book I found, Sister. I wasn’t doing any harm,’ Jess gabbled on. ‘I was going to put it back, honest.’
‘Never mind that.’ Sister Sutton held out her hand. ‘Give it to me, please. I sincerely hope it wasn’t one of those cheap romance novels? I’ve warned the girls before about filling their heads with—’
She fell silent as Jess handed her the book. Sister turned it over in her hands and then flicked through the pages as if she suspected a trick.
‘What were you doing with this?’ she asked finally.
‘Reading it, Sister.’
Sister Sutton’s frown deepened. ‘Tell the truth, girl. You couldn’t possibly understand a book like this.’
Jess’ skin prickled with indignation. ‘Yes, I do. You can ask me a question about it, if you like?’
‘Don’t be insolent.’ The Home Sister looked down at the book, then back at her. ‘Why would you want to read this?’
‘I find it interesting.’ Jess lifted her chin. ‘How the human body works and everything.’
‘I wish some of the students shared your interest,’ Sister Sutton grunted. She tucked the book in her pocket. ‘But may I remind you, you are a maid, not a nurse. It is not your place to study.’
‘No, Sister.’
‘Now get on with your work. I don’t expect to find you slacking again.’
As she turned to leave, Jess said, ‘Please, Sister, I’ve done everything you told me to do.’
Sister Sutton swung round. ‘Everything?’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Then you’d best go up to the top floor and clean the landings. And take that thing with you.’ She nodded at the vacuum cleaner. ‘It gives Sparky a headache.’
Chapter Twelve
EFFIE SAT AT the back of the stuffy classroom, chin resting in her hands, fighting to keep her eyes open as Sister Parker the Sister Tutor explained how to clean a broom.
‘Let me remind you, Nurses, good work is not done with dirty brooms,’ she rapped out in her Scottish accent. ‘They should be washed once a week by dipping the bristles into boiling water with a little washing soda. The handles must, of course, be scrubbed thoroughly with soap and a brush.’
Effie looked around the classroom. The other girls in her set were all scribbling furiously, their heads down. Effie frowned at her own empty page. How on earth could they find so much to write about washing a broom?
In the two weeks she had been in PTS, she had seen enough of brooms to last a lifetime. Every morning they had to sweep and damp dust the practice room, cleaning out lockers no one ever used and making the bed that no one ever slept in. When they weren’t cleaning and making beds, they spent the morning rolling bandages, stitching splints, and learning to wash the glassy-eyed dummy, in the Nightingale’s approved way.
And when they weren’t in the practice room, they were crammed together on hard wooden benches in the classroom, listening to dreary lectures on nutrition and physiology, or reciting lists of muscles and bones.
Effie gazed longingly towards the window. It was a glorious day outside, and she hadn’t had a breath of fresh air for ages. She’d thought once she came to London her life would be one exciting round of parties, dances and trips to the cinema. But so far the most exciting thing to happen to her had been her set’s guided tour of the local sanitation works.
The heat of the classroom overcame her and she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. Almost immediately, Sister Parker’s voice rang out, loud and clear across the room.
‘I’m sorry. Are we boring you, O’Hara?’
Effie looked up. Sister Parker’s sharp gaze was fixed on her. ‘Er . . .’
‘Perhaps you feel there’s nothing more I can teach you?’ Sister Parker went on. ‘After two weeks, I imagine you already know everything there is to know, is that correct?’
‘Um, I – not at all, Sister.’ Effie found her voice at last.
‘Let’s see, shall we? Perhaps you’d like to explain why we should not use a dry duster when we clean?’
‘Er—’ Effie heard a couple of unkind sniggers coming from the front row of benches as she scrabbled around in her non-existent notes for the answer. The girl next to her, a bespectacled mouse called Prudence Mulhearn, slid her notes a few inches closer. But squint as she might, Effie couldn’t make out the other girl’s spidery handwriting.
Sister Parker sighed. ‘Don’t trouble yourself, O’Hara, I can see we’re never going to get a sensible answer out of you. Padgett?’ She turned to one of the girls in the front row.
‘Because a dry duster would only flick the dust from one place to another, Sister,’ she replied primly.
‘That is correct, thank you.’ Sister Parker turned back to Effie. ‘You see, O’Hara, you might know more if you bothered to listen. Unless that is too much trouble for you?’
‘No, Sister.’ Effie lowered her gaze to the top of her desk, heat flooding her face.
‘You have a long way to go before you will prove to me that you deserve your place here. And you can start by staying behind and copying out all the notes on this afternoon’s lecture. After which, perhaps, you may finally understand what a duster and broom are for. Because I have to say, from watching you in the practice room this morning, you seem to have failed to grasp their function at all.’
It wasn’t fair, Effie thought later, as she sat alone on the bench, her hand cramped around her pen. All she’d done was yawn. She didn’t even know how Sister Parker had seen her do it – the old biddy must have eyes in the back of her head.
Sister’s eyes were fixed on her now. Every time Effie took a moment to glance up from her paper, Sister Parker was standing in front of her, hands folded, unblinking blue gaze watching her from behind her pebble spectacles.
Finally Effie finished copying out the notes, and handed them to Sister Parker to inspect. She could feel perspiration trickling down inside her heavy uniform as she waited for the elderly Sister Tutor’s approval. If Sister Parker made her copy out the notes again Effie didn’t know what she would do.
But just as she doubted her legs would hold her up any longer, Sister Parker handed her back the sheaf of notes.
‘Perhaps that will teach you to pay more attention in future,’ she said. ‘Really, O’Hara, I know you come from a long and illustrious line of nurses, but I have to say I am most disappointed in you so far. Most disappointed.’ She shook her head in sorrow.
‘Yes, Sister.’
It was a relief to escape back to the nurses’ home, although not such a relief when she found Katie in their room. Effie groaned inwardly. She’d forgotten it was her sister’s evening off.
Katie sat on the bed, brushing out her bushy dark curls. ‘Why are you so late?’ she asked.
Effie thought about making up an excuse, but she knew there was no point. Like their mother and the rest of Effie’s sisters, Katie seemed to have a way of knowing when she was being untruthful. It was most annoying.
‘I had to stay behind and copy out some notes,’ she said, bracing herself for another lecture.
Katie stopped tidying her hair and lowered her brush. ‘You didn’t? Oh, Effie, I hope you haven’t been getting into trouble?’
‘No, I haven’t!’ Effie flopped down on the bed and pulled off her shoes. ‘I just yawned, that’s all
. I didn’t mean to do it,’ she added quickly, seeing her sister’s face fall. ‘It was so hot and stuffy in that classroom, it’s a wonder I didn’t doze off completely!’
But Katie wasn’t listening. ‘You know, you shouldn’t upset Sister Parker,’ she said. ‘You have to get through PTS if you want to work on the wards. It’s only twelve weeks, Effie,’ she pleaded. ‘You can manage that long without getting into trouble, surely?’
‘Of course I can. You don’t need to talk to me as if I’m a child!’ Effie flared back at her. ‘For heaven’s sake, it was just a stupid yawn, that’s all. It’s not the end of the world.’
‘It will be if you don’t pass PTS.’
‘I’ll pass it, don’t you worry.’ Effie rubbed her cramped toes. ‘You look nice,’ she said, trying to distract her sister. ‘Where are you going tonight?’
‘I’m out dancing with Tom.’
Effie brightened. ‘Could I come?’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Oh, go on, Kitty. I haven’t been for a night out since I arrived, and I so want to have some fun.’
‘You can have fun with the rest of your set.’
Effie rolled her eyes. ‘They wouldn’t know the meaning of the word! Honest to God, all they ever do is study. They’ve got their nose in books all the time, and when they haven’t they’re chanting lists of bones to each other. I’ve never met such a boring bunch of girls in my whole life.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt you to settle down and do some studying yourself,’ Katie said, through a mouth full of hairpins. ‘I don’t think you’ve even looked at those books since you arrived.’
‘Not you, too!’ Effie stared at her sister in despair. And to think Katie had always been her favourite sister. ‘Mammy would be proud of you. You’ve turned out just like our Bridget.’
But in spite of all her pleas and cajoling, Katie still refused to take Effie out dancing with her. When she’d gone, Effie made a half-hearted attempt to look through one of her books, then gave up and wandered downstairs to find the other girls. If she was going to be bored to death, she might as well do it in company, she decided.
Nightingales on Call Page 10
