by Molly Green
Now Iris broke into her thoughts with talk of the dance.
‘I’m working,’ June told her, annoyed with herself for wondering not for the first time if Flight Lieutenant Andrews would be there, and trying to pretend her heart didn’t give a tiny leap each time. ‘And I don’t want to ask Matron any favours when I’ve only been here such a short time.’ June leaned towards the nurse. ‘Iris, can I ask you something?’
‘Sure.’
‘How long have you been at Dr Barnardo’s?’
‘Oh, dear, I thought you were going to ask me a really tricky question.’ Iris leaned back in her chair and laughed. ‘Let’s see. It must be coming up two years.’
‘Do you like it here?’
‘It’s as good as anywhere,’ Iris said. ‘Better if we had a nicer matron – a proper one who actually works. The Fierce One’s a harridan and lazy with it. That’s why she’s got you here. She can push all the jobs she doesn’t like on to you. She’s been here forever and thinks she owns the place. And she’s got no kids of her own – not that I have’ – Iris threw June a grin – ‘but she doesn’t have the first clue that the kids need affection and individual attention, and it’s just as important as their food and a roof.’ She pulled a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and plucked one out. ‘You’re changing the subject, Junie, and I’m not taking no for an answer. I’m going to have some fun. And you’re coming with me.’
‘Message from Matron,’ Kathleen said, flopping down in the chair next to June. ‘She wants to see you in her office – NOW!’ she barked in Matron’s strident voice. Barbara, who was crocheting a bedspread, chortled.
June’s heart dropped. Iris had warned her that Matron didn’t usually call you into her office unless it was something serious. Her usual habit was to waylay you in front of as many people as possible to criticise you – her way of feeling superior, she supposed. But if she wanted to give you a real dressing-down, that’s when she sent for you.
June went straight to Matron’s office and knocked.
‘Enter.’
June turned the handle and opened the door to Matron’s office. The room was so full of smoke she could hardly make out the figure sitting behind the desk. Matron had an accounts book open and was reading the figures, but June had the distinct feeling the woman didn’t understand them from the way she was flicking the pages back and forth. June cleared her throat in a pointed way. Matron looked up.
‘Oh, there you are, Miss Lavender. You can be seated.’
June sat with her hands quietly folded in her lap, determined not to be intimidated by the woman. She drew in a deep breath, wondering what was coming.
‘Hilda Jackson has put in a complaint about you which I take very seriously indeed.’
Lizzie.
‘You interfered with one of her special charges, Lizzie Rae Dixon.’
June opened her mouth.
‘No, Miss Lavender. I would prefer not to hear any excuses. Hilda has explained exactly what happened. The child needs special attention and Hilda has been assigned to give it to her. She did not take kindly to your interference and I will not tolerate such behaviour. You are not to go up to the nursery again, do you hear me?’
‘Matron, I didn’t interfere, as you call it. I just—’
‘Silence!’ Matron slapped her hand hard on her desk. ‘I will also not tolerate such rudeness. I shall be keeping a close eye on you, so watch your step in future, Miss.’ She snapped the accounts book closed. ‘You are dismissed.’
June bit her lip in fury to stop herself making a retort. How dare Matron speak to her as though she were a naughty child. If she’d only let her tell her side of the story. How Hilda did the complete opposite of giving the little girl attention and love which the child was crying out for. Leaving her completely on her own while she went down to the dining room and ate her own dinner, and then bringing a plate back for Lizzie. The child could get up to anything in those twenty minutes. No, Hilda was not the right person to be put in charge of her. But how on earth was she ever going to convince Matron? But whatever Matron threatened, June was determined she was going to try to talk to Lizzie again. To break through that wall of silence.
The only place Lizzie would go outside the nursery was into the kitchen with Cook. That was the best place to talk to her, June thought, because at least Bertie had shown the child kindness. But she couldn’t risk Matron’s temper if she went to see Lizzie in work time. No, she’d leave it until her next day off. Then she could do what she liked. Go into the kitchen and have a cup of tea with Bertie if the cook wasn’t too busy and maybe Lizzie would be there. Even so, it wouldn’t be easy. The child was suspicious of everyone, it seemed, with the possible exception of Cook.
June fell into bed, exhausted by the children. It was as though they sapped all feeling, all strength, until her head spun. But at least she now knew their names. The worst of it was she already had favourites. She’d been determined not to. It wasn’t fair on the others. But who could resist little Betsy with her skin the colour of treacle and her dark-brown eyes which she used in a comic fashion when she wanted to make you laugh? June couldn’t help smiling at the vision. And Harvey with his mocking grin and legs that showed recent scars, which could only have come from someone beating him. He bragged he could play any tune you asked for on the mouth organ, and so far he’d never wavered. Then there was quiet little Janet, a shy plump child with an extraordinary vocabulary for an eight-year-old. She’d sit for hours making tiny books and writing and drawing in them.
The children took her mind off painful memories. But June always came back to Lizzie.
Once or twice June had been tempted to remind Iris about the dance, but decided her friend would immediately tease her that she was looking for a man. She momentarily closed her eyes. A certain face whose image refused to go away. A strong face with the bluest eyes that crinkled when he laughed. The cleft in his chin like Cary Grant’s. The shiny hair, the colour of a tawny lion. You see, it’s happening right this minute, she berated herself, trying to push his image away. She was being ridiculous. Their encounters would have meant nothing more to him than a brief exchange of pleasantries. Actually, that first time on the train was more of a battle. She couldn’t help smiling at the memory, and Iris, who was collecting the dirty supper dishes, caught the smile and grinned back.
‘Penny for them.’
June went pink.
‘Ah, I thought so,’ Iris said, nodding sagely. ‘It’s the RAF chap. Well, the only way you’re going to see him again is if we go to the dance on Saturday. The girls in the kitchen aren’t going as it’s an officers’ do and they don’t feel comfortable with them, even though they admit they look gorgeous in their uniform. But they prefer the soldiers.’ She gave June a sharp look. ‘What’s the matter? You’re very quiet all of a sudden.’
‘I’m not sure I’ll feel comfortable with a load of posh officers.’
‘Posh?’ Iris threw back her head and roared. ‘You should hear some of them. Granted, they might talk hoity-toity but believe me, we’re just as good as them any day of the week.’
‘All right, you’ve convinced me,’ June said, grinning. ‘And maybe one of these days I’ll surprise you and take you up on that offer of a cigarette. I’ve never tried one but everyone else seems to enjoy it. Maybe it’s time I did something different.’
She didn’t know what made her say this. Smoking was something that had never appealed, but in her new job at Bingham Hall she badly wanted to fit in.
Her eyes gleaming with mischief, Iris gave June a sly nudge. ‘That’s my girl. We’ll give it a go this evening. I’ll get Gilbert to light the fire early in the common room so we’ll be nice and cosy and can have a girls’ natter. There shouldn’t be anyone in there tonight as they’ve nearly all signed up for Barbara’s new evening art class.’
June changed her mind a dozen times as to whether she should go with Iris to the dance or not. She really didn’t have anything to wear such as a p
arty dress, as she hadn’t envisaged needing one. And even if she had, she didn’t have the coupons or the money to buy something that wasn’t practical – something she’d hardly ever wear.
‘You’re coming, and that’s all there is to it,’ Iris said as they sat in the common room drinking a cup of tea.
They were on their own except for Athena, who had her head in a book and didn’t seem to be taking any notice of their conversation.
‘What will you wear?’ June posed the question to Iris, half dreading her friend would come up with something really glamorous.
‘I’m going to wear my navy spotted dress with white collar and cuffs. I bought it before the war so it’s not new, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ She turned her sapphire-coloured eyes to June. ‘You don’t need to worry about wearing sequins for the dance. The chaps are just grateful to see any woman, whether she’s in uniform or just come off the land smelling of manure with corn sticking out of her hair and a bag of turnips in her arms.’
June couldn’t help laughing. ‘Gosh, they must be desperate.’
‘I think some of them are.’ Iris’s expression was suddenly serious. ‘These boys really see life – and it’s often extremely unpleasant with your friends getting injured and blown up at any time. So a dance means more to them than we’ll ever know. They always seem optimistic that they just might meet the girl of their dreams. Even if it’s only someone who’ll write to them when they’re abroad to stop them going mad. Can you imagine their lives – flying around trying to shoot down Germans and desperately trying not to get killed themselves?’
‘I can’t.’ June felt sick at the idea. Murray’s face flitted across her mind. She’d been curt with him when he hadn’t deserved it and it made her feel thoroughly mean. He’d only been trying to be nice and she’d cut him off – more than once. Was it because she liked him and didn’t want to let herself become interested in anyone who might be killed at any moment? A shudder ran across her shoulders.
‘… and I don’t suppose your Murray is any different.’
June gave a start as she heard Iris say his name.
‘Junie, have you heard a word I’ve been saying?’
‘I’m sorry, Iris. I was miles away.’
‘Thinking of Murray Andrews, were we?’ Iris’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘I daresay he’ll be at the dance.’
June’s heart skipped the next beat.
‘’Course I wasn’t,’ she answered crossly. ‘I was thinking of what you said about all of them. It must be awful.’
‘Well, they’ll soon have a load of Yanks to see to,’ Iris said. ‘It will give them something to grumble about. I’ve heard their uniforms are much more attractive than our boys’, and they’ve got more money too. And they’re very generous with their gifts, so I’m told – nylons and chocolate and all sorts of luxuries we can’t get.’
Athena looked up from her book. ‘Can’t you two talk about something else besides men?’ she said. ‘It’s getting on my nerves.’
‘Can’t think of anything more fun,’ Iris retorted. ‘You’re always so quiet, Athena. Have you got a boyfriend?’
‘None of your business if I have or not.’ Athena snapped her book shut. ‘I’ll leave you two alone. You’ve obviously got private stuff to talk about.’ She rose up.
‘Don’t know what’s got into her.’ Iris frowned at the disappearing figure.
‘How long has she been here?’
‘Not that long. There’s a rumour her fiancé jilted her at the altar and that’s why she’s so touchy.’
‘Oh, how dreadful,’ June said, full of concern for the young woman. ‘But if he can do that, she’s well rid of him, I should think.’
‘Yes, but there’s no need for her to be so bitter and twisted. There’s plenty of women who’ve had worse – their men killed or injured in this bloody war. You just have to get on with it.’ Iris wrapped one of her dark curls around her finger and let it spring back.
‘We could ask her if she’d like to come with us,’ June ventured.
‘I’ve asked her two or three times. She always declines.’
‘Maybe I’ll have a go. If she’s unhappy it might do her the world of good.’ June looked across at Iris. ‘I know how I would’ve felt if it hadn’t been for you and Bertie. Perhaps she just needs a friend to talk to.’
Chapter Seven
June glanced out of her bedroom window as she cleaned her teeth after the usual breakfast rush. It had snowed through the night and icicles had formed on the window panes, making the room feel even colder than usual. She shivered as she put her toothbrush in the glass over the washbasin, her breath appearing in short puffs, clouding the mottled mirror that she’d found in an empty room and installed in her own. At the same moment she heard screams coming from the floor above. She dashed up the flight of stairs and, without knocking on the nursery door, rushed straight in. Hilda was shouting and screaming with rage and gripping one hand with the other.
‘Oh, goodness, what—?’
‘That little tyke bit me.’
‘Let me see.’
Hilda thrust out her arm and June looked closely. There was a bite mark, no doubt about that, but it was minute and had only brought up red marks – there was no blood. Not exactly warranting such a fuss, June thought. But this was her opportunity.
Her eyes flew to Lizzie who was cowering in the corner. She was pulling on her thumb, her eyes wild with fear.
‘Look at her – she’s not even sorry.’
Keep calm, June said to herself. Don’t rise to her. She walked over to where Lizzie was curled up.
‘Lizzie,’ she said quietly so as not to alarm her even more, and sat on the floor beside her. She touched Lizzie’s arm but the child pulled away immediately. ‘Please tell me what happened. I know you didn’t mean it.’
‘As if she’ll speak,’ Hilda broke in. ‘I’ll tell you what happened. She meant it all right. All I did was tell her off because she crayoned over the walls. Look!’ Hilda pointed to the bottom of the wall by a cupboard door. Lizzie had drawn a childish picture of a house with four figures, two grown-ups and a boy and a girl, all holding hands, and then she’d put a great big black cross through it.
Tears filled June’s eyes as she realised immediately what the child was trying to say – that she once had a family – a mother and father and brother – and they all lived together in a house. The black cross had wiped them all away, which must have been how it seemed to Lizzie. Now she had no one. June’s heart went out to the little orphan. It was hard to imagine how desperate Lizzie must be feeling, especially with all her words trapped inside her.
‘I snatched the crayons away from her and that’s when she bit me,’ Hilda said, half turning away and giving the slight mark on her arm a little squeeze.
I’ll pretend I didn’t see that, June thought in disgust. ‘That bite needs attention,’ she said, awkwardly rising to her feet. ‘Why don’t you go and see the nurse and I’ll wait here with her until you come back?’
‘I’m not supposed to leave her,’ Hilda said sullenly.
‘You’ll only be gone the same time as you leave her every day at dinner.’ June deliberately made her voice reasonable so Hilda would have no reason not to leave the nursery. ‘Just go and get it seen to.’
Hilda slammed out of the door and June breathed a sigh of relief. She’d need more than twenty minutes to tackle this intolerable situation but there was something she could do immediately.
‘Lizzie.’ June bent down again. ‘Would you like to come for a walk with me in the garden and make a snowman?’
To her joy, Lizzie nodded.
‘Have you got a coat?’
Lizzie shook her head. She must have, June thought. Every child had a coat.
‘A warm jacket?’
Lizzie shook her head again and screwed up her face. Worrying that she couldn’t take the little girl outside in the snow with no coat, June went over to one of the cupboards. She swis
hed the hangers and pulled out a grey wool jacket. Luckily there was a pair of mittens pushed in the pockets, held together by a string.
‘Try this, Lizzie. And you can borrow my scarf. I’ll pick it up from my room on the way downstairs. Come on. Let’s hurry.’ She smiled at Lizzie. ‘This is going to be fun and our little secret.’
June put her hand out and pulled Lizzie up. She put her finger to her lips and Lizzie put her own little finger to her rosebud mouth. This was progress indeed, June thought, smiling at the child. They sneaked out of the door and down the four flights of stairs, Lizzie clutching June’s hand. It felt wonderful to feel Lizzie’s hand in hers – to know the little girl trusted her enough to leave the safety of the nursery. Her ears pricked for any sound but no one was about. The children and teachers would already be in class and Bertie and the two kitchen maids would be busy making dinner. The only person June dreaded running into was Matron but her door was firmly shut as they stole by.
June heaved open the front door and the two of them were about to slip outside when a tobacco-riven voice behind her made her jump.
‘Where might you be going with the dumb child?’
She turned. Blast! Gilbert. Why was he so interfering? June fought down a bubble of anger. Calling Lizzie a dumb child in that contemptuous tone of voice. She felt Lizzie cling even harder to her hand. Whatever Gilbert had to say, she would not be intimidated.
‘Lizzie’ – she emphasised the little girl’s name – ‘is cooped up in the nursery every day. We’re going for a walk.’
‘And who’s given you permission to take her outdoors?’ Gilbert might have been short, but his steely eyes under bushy brows were menacing.
Who did he think he was, questioning her decision on the child’s well-being?
‘I’m not sure your question requires an answer,’ she heard herself replying, and, practically dragging Lizzie, she slipped out of the door.
‘We’ll go round the side,’ June told Lizzie, ‘so no one can see us. We’re going to build a lovely snowman.’ She looked down at Lizzie, who was gazing around her as though she’d never seen the garden before. ‘Lizzie, have you ever built a snowman?’
