by June Francis
The Royal Infirmary, a Victorian redbrick building, stood in Pembroke Place and backed on to the university on Brownlow Hill. Jack telephoned the hospital asking about visiting hours and that evening set out for Pembroke Place, carrying with him the Liverpool Echo.
He was there on the opposite side of the road, hiding behind the newspaper, ten minutes before Andy Pritchard came marching along. Jack watched as he went inside the hospital and was halfway through perusing what was on at the cinema – The Son of Robin Hood and The Sheriff of Fractured Jaw with Jayne Mansfield – when the visitors came spilling out of the hospital again.
Jack folded his Echo and set off in pursuit of Mr Pritchard, thinking he might lead him to Celia, only to end up outside Pritchard’s Emporium once more. He did not mind that at all because he had remembered Nurse Vicky was on nights. So he waited and it was not long before his patience was rewarded by the sight of her emerging from the sweet shop, now wearing black stockings and mackintosh and nurse’s cap.
He followed her to the bus stop but was separated from her in the queue by several people. Still, he kept his eyes open and saw her go upstairs and again he followed, only to have his chance of starting up a conversation with her thwarted by an elderly woman sitting next to her. The two women began to talk as if they had known each other for years. He took a seat behind her and watched for glimpses of her profile. Her skin was what the poets might call peaches and cream and her voice was low-pitched. He could easily imagine Nurse Vicky calming the most troublesome patient or relation. He liked her flaxen hair, too, and by the time they had reached their destination knew exactly which way every curl lay beneath her cap.
He followed her off the bus, a plan already formulated in his mind, and when he caught up with her, said, ‘Excuse me, but I think you might have dropped this on the bus.’ He held out a silver cigarette case.
She gazed at him and their eyes met on a level. She was tall for a woman and long-limbed with it, but with what his mother might call a bit of meat on her. And there was a twinkle in her blue eyes. ‘No, I haven’t dropped it. But have we met before?’
He looked dubiously at the cigarette case. ‘I was sitting behind you on the bus and I could have sworn –’
‘If you were sitting behind me, you’d know I didn’t smoke. Nice try, though. But what would you have done if I’d laid claim to that cigarette case?’
‘Handed it over.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve given them up. Can’t afford them, really. I keep thinking of pawning it but my brother gave it to me for my twenty-first birthday.’
‘Sensible man! Any doctor would tell you they’re bad for your chest.’
‘I know,’ he said ruefully, ‘but good for the nerves. I’m in the profession myself.’
She looked surprised. ‘Not at the Royal?’
‘No. I’ve done most of my training in Edinburgh.’
‘Then you’ll be doing an extra year. Isn’t that the Scottish way?’
‘That’s right.’ They had come to the hospital entrance and both stopped. Vicky folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself. The wind had dropped in the last day or so but it was still very cold. ‘You’re from Scotland then?’
‘No, I was born in Liverpool. My family are still here. I was thinking maybe of changing cities and perhaps doing my last year at the Royal.’
She glanced at the red brick building behind her. ‘Ever read Her Benny?’
He nodded. ‘One of my mother’s favourites and written by a Victorian clergyman. The Royal Infirmary gets a mention. Heartwrenching stuff.’
They stared at each other. ‘You could do worse than work here,’ she said softly.
He nodded. ‘I think so too.’
There was silence. ‘I’ll have to go,’ she said, holding out a hand, that twinkle still in her eyes. ‘It was nice talking to you.’
‘The name’s Jack Mcleod.’ He took her hand.
‘Vicky Bartholomew.’
‘Perhaps we can see each other again?’
‘I’ll be catching the same bus every evening at the same time this week.’ She withdrew her hand and walked away.
The following evening Jack sat next to Vicky on the bus and she told him how her father had been knocked down by a car during the blackout and how her mother had been a nurse for a short time so it had seemed natural she should follow in her footsteps.
‘What about Dolly’s Mixtures? I would have thought she’d have wanted you to take it over.’
‘No. She was pleased when I said I wanted to be a nurse. She thinks nursing is a gift. That you’re born with it.’ Vicky slanted him a sidelong glance. ‘Do you think that’s true? That something like nursing or being a doctor is in your blood?’
Jack would have agreed with anything she said because he was already head over heels in love. On Saturday he planned on asking her for a proper date. But it was then that Andy Pritchard spoilt his plans somewhat by not taking the bus home after visiting his sister.
He was extremely late coming out of the hospital and when he did he was looking agitated. Jack was undecided what to do but when the man quickmarched down London Road in the direction of Lime Street, he followed. His destination turned out to be the Odeon cinema and Jack watched as he stood waiting several minutes before going inside the foyer but he was soon out again. He walked round the block and only then did he catch a bus heading for Old Swan.
Jack glanced swiftly at the clock that hung on the wall outside the jeweller’s in London Road and raced to the hospital. His luck was in because Vicky was hovering on the pavement outside. ‘Sorry!’ he panted. ‘But I couldn’t help it. Something turned up.’
‘It’s OK, you’re here, but I’m going to have to go in a minute,’ she said, her voice tinged with regret.
He took her hand and held it tightly. ‘Listen, are you off duty tomorrow afternoon? Will you go out with me?’
Her smile dazzled him. ‘I thought you were never going to ask. Of course I’ll go out with you. Where will we meet? And don’t say here!’
‘Lewis’s corner!’ He planted an exuberant kiss on her mouth and thought if he never had anything else to thank Katherine for all the rest of his life, he had something to thank her for now.
Chapter Fifteen
Andy Pritchard had not turned up and Celia could have wept as she caught the bus home. She had waited over an hour but in the end had to accept that he was not coming. Perhaps he had never meant to come? Perhaps there had been something in her behaviour that had made him suspect she was not all she claimed to be? Yet he had seemed so keen on New Year’s Day and she was sure she had not put a foot wrong, even explaining why he could not call for her by inventing a domineering mother who hated men.
Mrs Evans … What was she going to say to her when she arrived home far earlier than expected? Knowing the old woman, Celia expected the third degree as soon as she got upstairs. Perhaps she should walk round for a bit? But then, she was not wearing the right kind of shoes. The pictures! She glanced at her watch and thought she might just catch the big film.
There was a crowd coming out of the Royal cinema and immediately she saw Donny and his grandfather. The boy’s face lit up when he caught sight of her and without looking he ran across the road towards her. She let out a scream as a car came towards him but it swerved and missed him by inches. She caught hold of him as he reached her side of the road and shook him. ‘That was silly, Donny! You could have been killed!’
‘I wasn’t, though.’ He grinned up at her. ‘Are yer going to the pictures all dollied up? Yer’ve missed the black and white film and it was a detective one and real good.’
‘Never mind that,’ she said severely. ‘You must look both ways when crossing the road.’
‘He can’t be told,’ said Mr Jones, reaching them. ‘I’ve tried to drum it into him, like, but it goes in one ear and out the other.’
Celia looked at him and saw a man at least fifteen years her senior with a prominent nose and deep-set eyes hooded by thick eyebro
ws. He was only a couple of inches taller than herself but had a thick head of hair and was much more smartly dressed than when she had last seen him.
He smiled and said, ‘You look really nice.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘I was meeting a friend in town but they didn’t turn up and I thought it was too early to go home.’
‘All dressed up and nowhere to go, like?’
She nodded and gave an involuntary sigh.
Donny tugged on his grandfather’s hand. ‘She could come and have supper with us, couldn’t she, Granddad?’
‘She could,’ he said gravely. ‘But she mightn’t want to. Ours is a bachelor household and not what she’s used to.’
‘Ours is a place!’ said Donny scornfully. ‘Yer should have seen owd Mrs Evans’s place before Mrs Mcdonald and Katherine got to work on it.’ He slipped his free hand into Celia’s. ‘We’ve got chocolate biscuits. Yer’d like them.’
The feel of the boy’s hand in hers made Celia’s sore heart feel a little better. ‘Me favourites,’ she said.
‘Let’s go then!’ He swung on her hand as he beamed up at her, so she went.
The Joneses lived in an area known as the Lake District. There was a Windermere, Rydal, Ullswater, Coniston and Grasmere Street, but a district less like that northern countryside could not be imagined despite most of the terraced houses being looked after with housewifely pride. Celia knew from having walked the streets during the day that most had their brassware gleaming, steps scrubbed and sandstoned, and upstairs and downstairs curtains matching beautifully.
She was ushered into the front parlour. Two glass-fronted bookcases filled the alcoves to either side of a tiled fireplace where a single-bar electric fire stood. There was a painting of a bluebell wood on the wall above. Flowers and ornaments were conspicuous by their absence. The floor was covered in green and brown linoleum and a multi-coloured rag rug lay between hearth and brown leatherette sofa.
‘Me owd lady made the rug,’ said Mr Jones, switching on the fire. ‘She and the daughter. I sorta hang on to it even though the room would probably look better with a carpet square from Sidney’s.’
‘It looks nice,’ said Celia reassuringly. ‘I remember making one just like it. We couldn’t afford oilcloth in the old days, never mind carpets!’ It was a confession she would never have made to Andy Pritchard. Her heart seemed to skip a beat just thinking about him and then plummeted again.
‘The good owd, bad owd days, like,’ he said, smiling as he stood with his hand on the open door.
‘More bad than good if I remember right,’ she murmured, sitting on the sofa and gazing at the picture of the bluebell woods, feeling warm at the sudden memory of an outing to Kirkby.
‘Aye, well, I’ll go and see how Donny’s getting on making the tea,’ he murmured. ‘He’s keen, like, but he tries to do everything in a hurry.’ And Mr Jones closed the door behind him.
Celia leaned back and shut her eyes, telling herself to forget the ‘owd days’. She concentrated on trying to visualise Andy Pritchard’s face. Why had he let her down just when her confidence was building up? A heavy sigh escaped her and, getting up, she went over to the bookcases and peered inside. There was a whole row of Dickens, some R.L. Stevenson and several large thin books. Curiously she opened one of the glass doors and took one out: Bibby’s Annual 1922. There was a knight in armour on the cover. He had his arm round a woman but he was not looking at her but sternly at some distant enemy. Celia thought, I want a man who enjoys looking at me!
Clothes were so important and she had spent some of her Pools win in November (her private means) on a new coat, two dresses, shoes and a decent pair of soft leather gloves, as well as a Christmas present for Katherine. She needed to recoup that money and there had been horse racing over the sticks that day so she had bet ten pounds on a horse the bookie’s runner had tipped to win. It had fallen at the first fence, though, so she had lost her money. Accidents could happen to anyone, she had told herself, but decided not to trust that runner again.
A thought suddenly struck her. Maybe Andy had had an accident? How could she find out? She did not know where he lived but someone as important as he would surely get a mention in the Echo. He could have been run over by a bus or fallen down a coal hole! There could have been a fire and he’d stopped to help rescue people! What if …?
The door opened and her host entered bearing a tray. Donny followed, carrying a plate of biscuits and a milk jug. He walked carefully with a solemn expression on his face and the tip of his tongue protruding. Celia’s heart was touched. He was so young, so earnest! She moved away from the bookcase and sat down, still holding the book. Tea was poured and biscuits offered. She placed the book on the arm of the sofa and Mr Jones picked it up.
‘I’ve worked for Bibby’s since I was a lad. Me dad worked there and wasn’t always sober, like. He fell in the East Waterloo dock one day and drowned.’
Celia made a sympathetic noise in her throat. ‘You’ve had your fair share of upsets, Mr Jones.’
He smiled. ‘That was a blessing, luv. He used to beat me mam and us lads something rotten. But after he kicked the bucket Bibby’s were good to us. Gave me and another brother a job. And I’ll be getting a nice little lump sum, like, for me accident. They’re a good firm to work for. Have social clubs – not that I can get to them often with Donny to look after. But I’m chunnering on and I don’t want to bore yer, like. Donny, pass Mrs Mcdonald another biscuit.’
Celia accepted another biscuit. She found the man’s and boy’s attention soothing, and besides, whilst Mr Jones talked she could let her mind drift to her next meeting with Andy Pritchard, hero! It was Donny who brought her back to where she was.
‘Was Katherine’s dad Scottish?’ he asked. ‘’Cos yer name is, like Flora Mcdonald who helped Bonnie Prince Charlie escape. Me granddad’s told me all about them.’
Celia felt the colour rush up under her skin and her knees were suddenly shaking. What would this good man think if he knew she’d never been married? That Katherine was illegitimate? She thought swiftly and with a bright smile said, ‘That’s right. He was a sailor and his ship went down in the North Atlantic. He was a very brave man.’
‘A hero,’ said Donny, resting his head against her arm. ‘Yer must have been sad?’
‘I was, but it’s a long time ago now.’ She realised then that the thought of Mick no longer had the power to hurt or anger her. When had she stopped feeling like that?
‘It’s ages and ages since Gran died, isn’t it, Granddad?’ said Donny. ‘Yer wanna see her picture?’ He scrambled off the sofa. ‘Here she is wiv a veil over her head and a big bunch of flowers.’
Celia rose, expecting to see an ethereal figure, but Mrs Jones had been a big woman with a very determined expression.
She sought for something complimentary to say but could only wonder how the little man sitting in the armchair opposite had coped with her. Perhaps her death had been another blessing? She was shown a photograph of Donny’s parents and he talked about them with affection and sadness in his voice. They chattered about this and that and Donny fell asleep against Celia’s shoulder. By then they were Frank and Celia to each other and he offered to see her home.
‘No! It’s time Donny was in bed. It’s been very nice but I’ll manage on my own.’
Frank helped her on with her coat. ‘Yer welcome to come again,’ he said wistfully. ‘We’ve both enjoyed yer visit.’
She smiled but made no promises, her mind still on scanning the pages of the Echo for mention of Andy’s heroics.
There was nothing in that evening’s newspaper and Celia was downcast all the next day but on Monday Mrs Evans, who always got to read the newspapers first and was a keen peruser of the Births, Marriages and Deaths, prodded a finger on the newspaper and said, ‘Eight mentions for ol’ Agnes Moore who I used to know at school. Got more money than sense some families – sisters, brothers, nieces. Look at them! They’ve all put something in.’
; Celia looked, read, and read on. Ethel Pritchard, dearly loved sister of Andrew, passed away peacefully on …
Her spirits soared and she read no further. A death! She had never thought of a death. Of course he could not come to meet her when his sister had died! She glanced again at the newspaper to see when the funeral was to take place and where, and also more importantly the address where flowers could be sent. She was surprised but thought the word ‘Emporium’ did have an impressive ring to it. She would buy herself a little black suit and a hat with a discreet wisp of veiling and go and pay her respects. Katherine had asked her to look after the shop that afternoon but that was out of the question now.
But when Celia told her daughter she was going out that day, Katherine was vexed. ‘You have to! You promised! I’m going out with Patrick. He’s still getting over that wound, you know.’
Guilt caused Celia to go on the defensive. ‘You’ll have to tell him you can’t go. I’ve a funeral to attend.’
‘I can’t do that! I don’t know where he lives.’
‘That’s stupid! Fancy not knowing where yer fella lives,’ said Celia irritably.
‘I’ve never had to know where he lives!’ Katherine scowled and paced the floor. ‘Oh, why do you have to mess up my day!’
‘It’s not intentional,’ said Celia sniffily. ‘But I feel I have to go to this funeral of a dear old friend.’
Katherine looked at her suspiciously. ‘You told me you had no friends but Rita?’
‘Well, I had this one! It’s just that I forgot about her for a moment.’
‘She couldn’t have been that dear, then.’
Celia put a hand to her chest and took a couple of deep breaths. ‘You’re giving me palpitations. It’s important I go. A last farewell. You’re too young to understand the need for that yet.’
‘OK! But Patrick’s going to be disappointed.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that, luv. But he’ll understand if he’s worth having.’ Celia hurried out of the room before Katherine could say any more.
