The Nightingale Christmas Show

by Donna Douglas

  Her mother blinked at her. ‘I wanted to see you,’ she said, her voice faltering. ‘It’s been such a long time …’

  ‘Nearly fourteen years,’ Violet said. ‘All that time without a single word from you, and now suddenly you’re interested in us. Why is that, I wonder? It wouldn’t be anything to do with Oliver’s inheritance, would it?’

  Her mother’s face was blank. ‘What inheritance?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know! Oliver stands to inherit Victor’s estate once he turns eighteen, in two months’ time.’

  Dorothy shook her head. ‘I didn’t know … I supposed you must have inherited it, as his widow?’

  ‘He tried to leave it to me, but I didn’t want it. I told the solicitor to give it all to Oliver, that I didn’t want anything to do with him or his wretched estate.’ Violet curled her lip. ‘Unlike you, I’ve never been interested in Victor’s money.’

  Dorothy frowned. ‘You really think that’s why I’m here? Because I’m after Oliver’s inheritance?’

  ‘Why not? You’ve always been obsessed with Victor’s wealth. That’s why you pushed me into marrying him in the first place!’

  Her mother stared at her. ‘I didn’t push you. You were in love—’

  ‘I was young and naïve. But foolish as I was, even I soon realised what kind of man he was. I wanted to call off the wedding, but you wouldn’t let me.’

  ‘I thought you were just being silly,’ Dorothy said. ‘I know Victor could be – difficult – sometimes, but he was a good man. I knew he would look after you—’

  ‘Look after me? Do you want to know how well he looked after me?’ Violet rolled up her sleeve. ‘Look,’ she said, proffering her arm. ‘This is what he did to me. This is how good a man he was!’

  The scar had faded over the years, the once livid flesh now pale and puckered. But there was no mistaking what it was.

  Dorothy stared at it. ‘Victor did that?’

  ‘He held my arm to the fire when I dared to answer him back,’ Violet said matter-of-factly, ignoring her mother’s appalled expression. ‘But that wasn’t the worst thing he ever did to me. Oh no, he did much worse than that. He broke my bones, dragged me downstairs by my hair, smashed my head against the wall until I passed out. And he raped me. Night after night, he pinned me down and forced me to—’

  ‘Don’t!’ Dorothy begged her. ‘Please … I don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘Of course you don’t,’ Violet said derisively. ‘You didn’t want to hear it then, either. When I came to you and begged you for help, when I told you I wanted to leave him, you closed the door on me. You told me to go back to him!’

  ‘I didn’t know!’ Her mother’s voice was raw with pain. ‘You only said you wanted to leave. You didn’t tell me he – he—’

  ‘How could I? I could barely admit it to myself that the man I loved was a violent monster. But you should have trusted me, you should have listened …’

  That was what hurt, more than anything Victor had ever inflicted on her. That her mother had taken his word over hers, that she had not believed her own daughter.

  ‘I know.’ The words came out as barely a whisper. At first Violet wondered if she had heard them.

  But then her mother turned to her, and Violet saw her eyes were shimmering with tears.

  ‘I let you down,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re right, I should have trusted you. I should have listened, protected you. But I didn’t. I thought you were being foolish. I didn’t know what was going on in your marriage, truly I didn’t. All I knew was you telling me you wanted to leave your husband and go off on your own. It made no sense to me why you should want to do such a thing, especially with a baby …’ A tear spilled down her cheek, making a track in her heavily powdered face. ‘I know what it’s like to be on your own with a child,’ she said quietly. ‘After your father died, it was difficult for me. I’m not as strong or as resourceful as you, Violet. Surely you must remember what a struggle it was for us just to get by when you were young?’ She sounded weary, defeated. ‘All I wanted was for you to have a good life, the kind of life I could never give you. So when Victor came along – well, I was just so glad that at last you’d have someone to take care of you. I thought if you married him you’d never have to struggle again …’

  Violet watched her in silence. She had never heard her mother admit she was wrong before, and hearing those words was like a huge weight rising from her shoulders.

  She couldn’t blame Dorothy Tanner for being so captivated by Victor Dangerfield. Violet herself had been so dazzled she had fallen in love with him.

  To the outside world, Victor seemed like a charismatic, sophisticated man, a skilled surgeon who saved lives every day. It was only behind closed doors that the veneer of charm disappeared, revealing the ugly monster underneath.

  She had run away from him to save her son from ever turning into him. But Victor had hunted her, haunted her every move until the day he died. Only then had Violet been free of him.

  She looked down at the scar on her arm. ‘I lived in fear for years,’ she said. ‘Running from place to place, never settling long enough for him to find me.’

  ‘Oh, Violet—’

  ‘I could have escaped him,’ she cut her mother off bluntly, not wanting to hear the gentle sympathy in her voice. It was too late for pity now, far too late. ‘I could have stopped running, if only you’d been on my side …’

  ‘I know that now. But it isn’t too late to make amends, surely?’

  Violet looked away so she wouldn’t have to see the desperate plea in her mother’s eyes. She wasn’t sure she would be strong enough to resist it.

  ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she said. ‘Why did you decide to come back now, after all this time?’

  ‘Do you think I wanted to wait this long?’ Her mother shook her head. ‘After you’d gone, I tried so hard to find you. I put advertisements in the newspapers, wrote to everyone I knew in case you’d been in touch with them. But Victor told me you’d run off with another man and wanted nothing more to do with any of us.’

  Violet gasped. ‘Victor told you that?’ She shouldn’t have been surprised. She was beyond being shocked by her husband’s cruelty. ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I have? It made sense of everything that had happened. Besides, I didn’t think to question your husband. I had no idea what kind of man he was –’ Her gaze strayed to Violet’s scar, now hidden under her sleeve again. ‘After he died, I asked his solicitor for your address, but he wouldn’t give it to me. He also refused to pass on any letters. I assumed it was you who had given the instruction.’

  Violet shook her head. ‘I knew nothing about it. I suppose it must have been Victor’s orders.’

  Her mother looked confused. ‘But why would he do such a thing?’

  ‘Because he took pleasure in hurting people.’ Violet could see the dawning realisation on her mother’s face. She had felt the same bewilderment as a young bride, the first time Victor had driven his fist into her face.

  ‘Anyway, I asked the solicitor if he could pass on a letter to Oliver, and he said no, not until he came of age. So I decided to wait.’

  Violet had a sudden picture of her mother, steadfastly marking off the days on a calendar, ticking off the months and years until she could speak to her grandson again.

  She felt tears pricking her eyes and looked away, driving the picture from her mind.

  ‘But perhaps I have left it too late?’ Dorothy sighed. ‘I know I should have tried harder, refused to take no for an answer. That’s what you would have done, isn’t it? But I know you’re a far better mother than I could ever be.’ There was a touch of pride in her voice. ‘Seeing what a fine young man Oliver is, and hearing all the terrible things you had to go through – well, it makes me feel very humble. I’m proud of both of you, even though you probably don’t want to hear that. I just wish I could have done something to make you proud of me, too—’

&
nbsp; Just then the door opened and Mrs Morgan came in, Oliver following behind her with the tea tray.

  ‘Here we are, a nice fresh pot,’ she said. ‘And I’ve managed to find a bit of cake in the tin, too – oh! Are you leaving, Mrs Tanner?’

  Violet glanced over her shoulder. Her mother was pulling on her gloves.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Morgan, I didn’t realise how late it was. I really should be getting home …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Must you go?’ Oliver’s voice was pleading.

  ‘I’m afraid so, my dear.’ Dorothy sounded regretful.

  ‘It’s late, and the buses have stopped running,’ Mrs Morgan said. ‘How will you get home?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I can get a taxi.’

  ‘Shall I walk with you, up to the taxi rank?’ Oliver offered.

  ‘No, I shall be quite all right. Night time holds no fears for me, since the blackout.’ Dorothy smiled bracingly.

  ‘Will you come and visit again?’ Oliver asked anxiously.

  There was a slight pause, and Violet could feel her mother’s eyes on her. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Soon, I promise.’ Violet held herself rigid, not turning round. In the mirror’s reflection she could see her mother planting a kiss on Oliver’s cheek. ‘Goodbye, my dear. You’re a wonderful young man, and a credit to your mother.’ She met Violet’s gaze in the mirror. ‘Goodbye, Violet.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Violet replied stiffly, looking away. She longed to say more, but pride stopped her.

  ‘Your mum seems like a very nice woman,’ Mrs Morgan commented, as Oliver showed Dorothy Tanner out. ‘Brave, too. I daresay it can’t have been easy for her after all these years. She must have really wanted to see you.’

  ‘It was Oliver she came to see,’ Violet said stiffly.

  ‘Is that what you think?’ Mrs Morgan said. ‘I was watching her, Violet. She could hardly take her eyes off you the whole time she was here.’ She paused. ‘You know, it ain’t like you to be so uncharitable, ducks. Everyone deserves a second chance, don’t you think?’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you, I suppose,’ Mrs Morgan said. ‘But all I’ll say is this. I would give anything to have my husband and sons back. There are so many things I wish I’d said to them when they were alive, and now I know I’ll never get the chance.’ She paused. ‘You make sure you don’t leave it too late, Violet.’

  Mrs Morgan’s words stayed with her for the next few days. No matter how much Violet tried to push them aside, they kept coming back to her.

  Everyone deserves a second chance.

  She should have said something to her mother, she knew that now. She was wrong to let her walk away without making some kind of amends with her.

  She was still feeling troubled as she joined the other nurses for the next rehearsal.

  ‘Oh, Miss Tanner, it’s such a pity you’re not still in charge,’ Miriam Trott said in a stage whisper as Violet took her place at the piano. ‘We had such fun last week, didn’t we? Such a change from the week before.’

  Violet looked at Miss Davis. The Assistant Matron’s shoulders stiffened, but she said nothing. Violet prayed that Miriam’s remark wouldn’t set her off. The last thing she needed was an argument with Miss Davis.

  But half an hour later, when Miss Davis lost her temper with a hapless orderly and his assistant for messing up their magic act and ended up ordering them out, Violet couldn’t help but speak up.

  ‘Miss Davis—’ she started to try to reason with her, but Charlotte turned on her.

  ‘Oh, I might have known you’d have something to say about it!’ she snapped. ‘If you don’t like the way I do things, you can go too!’

  For a moment no one moved. Violet could feel all eyes on her, everyone waiting to see how she reacted. At any other time, she might have laughed off the Assistant Matron’s petulant remark, absurd as it was. But today she was on edge, and she’d had enough of Miss Davis and her pettiness.

  She lowered the lid over the piano keyboard, gathered up her music and stood up.

  She only meant to go outside long enough to calm down. But a moment later the doors opened and a gaggle of ward sisters walked out, followed by a group of medical students. Soon there was no one left in the dining hall except for Charlotte Davis, still sitting at her table alone.

  ‘Well, that’s showed her!’ Miriam Trott declared triumphantly. ‘She can’t speak to us like that and get away with it. Let’s see how she manages to produce a Christmas show with no performers!’

  Violet returned home wearily to Cheshire Street. As usual when she turned the corner she could see light blazing in the living-room window. The curtains were open and through them she could see Oliver and Mrs Morgan decorating the Christmas tree.

  Violet watched them through the window for a moment. Oliver was grinning as Mrs Morgan struggled to hang a bauble from one of the topmost branches.

  Her family. Not the family she had been born into, but one that had come together out of friendship and necessity.

  Until recently they had been all she needed, but now it troubled her that someone was missing.

  There were so many people who had lost loved ones during the war. Poor Mrs Morgan, left alone without her two sons. Dr Gruber, who had watched his whole family perish in the concentration camp. There was scarcely a nurse or doctor at the Nightingale who had not lost a husband, wife, a mother, father, brother or sister or a child in the war.

  She could have easily lost her mother. Dorothy had said herself she was lucky to escape the bomb that fell on her house. But instead of being grateful, Violet had chosen to turn her back on her.

  Perhaps Mrs Morgan was right: everyone deserved a second chance. But not everyone was lucky enough to get one.

  ‘Have you heard from your grandmother lately?’ Violet asked Oliver later, as she helped them finish off decorating the tree.

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve written to her, but I haven’t had a reply yet.’

  ‘Perhaps you should drop her a line yourself?’ Mrs Morgan suggested.

  Oliver nodded. ‘You’re right, Mrs M. She might not say yes if she doesn’t think it’s what Ma wants. Will you write to her, Ma?’

  ‘Or you could go round and speak to her in person?’ Mrs Morgan said.

  Violet snapped a look at her, but the other woman’s face was the picture of innocence as she draped tinsel on the tree.

  ‘What a good idea, Mrs M,’ she said tightly. ‘Very well, I’ll go and see her. Give me the address, Oliver.’

  As luck would have it, the following day was her afternoon off. Violet caught the bus up west, then another over London Bridge to Camberwell.

  It took her a while to find the address her mother had given. Dorothy had told them she was a housekeeper, but none of the run-down Victorian villas in Church Terrace looked particularly well kept.

  Violet went back and forth down the street several times, counting the numbers to make sure she had the right place. Yes, number eighteen was definitely this one. Violet stood for a moment, staring up at the dilapidated house, with its cracked windows, lopsided gate and overgrown front garden. She had lived in enough grim lodging houses for it all to be depressingly familiar to her.

  A thin woman answered the door, drying her hands on a grubby apron.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, looking her up and down.

  ‘Is Mrs Tanner at home?’

  The woman frowned. ‘Mrs Tanner? I’m sorry, I don’t – oh, hang on a minute. You’re Dot’s girl, ain’t you? I recognise you from the pictures.’

  Violet frowned. ‘Pictures—’ she started to say, but the woman cut her off.

  ‘Wait there a minute,’ she said, and closed the door in Violet’s face.

  Violet stared at the peeling paintwork, taken aback. Just as she was about to knock again, the door opened once more and another woman stood there, broad with a flat, broken nose and fleshy lips.

  ‘You�
��re Dot Tanner’s girl?’ she said, glaring at Violet. ‘You’d best come in. I’ll be wanting a word with you.’

  Her sour expression puzzled Violet. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand – my mother does live here, doesn’t she?’

  ‘She did,’ the woman said. ‘She walked out on us last week.’

  ‘Walked out?’

  ‘Did a flit,’ the woman sniffed. ‘Left owing me five bob rent, too.’

  Violet was confused. ‘Rent? But I thought she was the housekeeper here?’

  ‘Housekeeper?’ The woman roared with laughter, opening her mouth wide to reveal rotting teeth. ‘That’s a good ’un! Do we look like we have a bleedin’ housekeeper?’ She shook her head. ‘She did a spot of cleaning here and there, but she rented a room, same as everyone else. And she told you she was a housekeeper, did she?’ The woman sneered. ‘That sounds like Dot Tanner. Always did have ideas above herself.’

  ‘You mean she had a bit of pride,’ Violet said.

  ‘Not too proud to slink off owing me rent!’ the woman retorted. ‘And she left a load of her stuff behind. I can’t rent out the room with all that rubbish in there. I was going to sell it off to the rag and bone man to get some of the money I was owed.’

  ‘I’ll pay your rent for you.’ Violet took out her purse. ‘How much did she owe, did you say? Five shillings, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Ten. I haven’t been able to rent out her room because she left her stuff behind.’

  Violet handed over the ten-shilling note. ‘And I’ll take her belongings with me. Everything you haven’t nicked, anyway.’

  The woman did her best to look outraged. ‘Nicked? I’ll have you know, I run a respectable establishment here. Besides,’ she sniffed, ‘there weren’t anything worth nicking anyhow.’

  She directed Violet to a room at the top of the house, a draughty attic with threadbare curtains and a stained horsehair mattress. Like the rest of the house, it reeked of damp and stale cooking. Mould blossomed in the corners.

  But Violet could see her mother had done her best to make it homely. There was a vase of faded chrysanthemums on the window sill, and cross-stitched cushions on the chair. Violet recognised her mother’s careful hand in embroidering them. She was always sewing when Violet was growing up. And the pictures. An array of photographs on the dresser, all of Violet and Oliver as a baby.