Snow Angels: An emotional Christmas read from the Sunday Times bestseller (The Lovely Lane Series Book 5)

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘Oh, Mam, I’d rather be here. She does hate me and I don’t know why. I try really hard. There isn’t anything I can’t do and haven’t been doing here to help you since I could walk. I swear to God, she hasn’t smiled once and she bites my head off all the time.’

  With considerable force her mother plunged the washing under the water in the huge copper boiler using a pair of wooden washing tongs. The steam made her face sweat and her clothes damp. One of her husband’s shirts stubbornly floated on the top, puffed up with air and soap suds, the arms out at the side, resembling a man drowning in Omo.

  ‘If we didn’t need the money, Gracie, I’d tell you to tell Mrs Duffy to stick her job, but we can’t, love. Not with your da’s back being bad like it is.’

  Gracie felt the anger surge up and, biting her lip, suppressed it, but as always with Gracie, she just couldn’t keep her opinion to herself. ‘Funny how his back played up the day I started my new job, isn’t it, Mam. Never stopped him going down to the Silly on my pay day, did it?’

  Her mother hung the tongs on the nail in the wall and, lifting her apron, wiped her face. ‘Gracie, stop it. You can see he’s in pain. I told him, I’ll call Dr William out if he gets any worse. I’ve got Granny Ida on my back for not doing it sooner.’

  ‘Oh, he won’t get any worse, Mam, and he’ll make a miraculous recovery when I get paid today and be off to the pub, then he’ll be back in bed again next day. Why should I have to work to give that lazy lump money? Why don’t you tell Granny Ida that?’

  Her mother looked weary. ‘Gracie, your da has his self-respect. I can’t stop him going down to the pub with his mates – and besides, it just makes life easier.’

  Gracie didn’t have time to answer. ‘I’m off, Mam, or I’ll miss the bus. I’ve put the milk and sugar in the range oven to warm for the kids’ breakfast and the bowls are on the top. I’ll see you tonight.’ And with that she closed the door to the wash house behind her. She didn’t want to hear any more of her mother’s protestations. Couldn’t bear to. As she reached the wooden gate, she turned back to the house, to the bedroom window that overlooked the yard. Her father was standing there, in his vest and braces, a cigarette in his hand. He threw up the sash and stuck his head out.

  ‘Gracie, I’m dying of thirst up here Where’s me tea and where’s your mam?’

  Gracie knew the large enamel mug was on the table, steaming. If she went back and got it for him, she would miss the bus. If she left it, her mother would get the wrong end of his bad mood all day. She looked at his face and felt like she wanted to ram her fist right into his nose. She lifted the latch on the gate.

  ‘It’s on the table; if I get it, I’ll miss the bus and lose my job; and if that happens, I’ll get no pay and you’ll have to go down to the pen tomorrow and line up for work along with the rest of the dockers from around here and sign on for the day, bad back or not.’

  She saw the look of horror that crossed his face. ‘Don’t worry, queen, I’ll get it. You get yourself off to work. Don’t miss that bus.’

  ‘Mam’s in the wash house,’ she said, feeling guilty for her thoughts towards her father and her white lie. ‘And then she’s off to mass. Da, help her carry the washing to the mangle, her back is really bad from bending over the boiler.’

  A look of irritation crossed her da’s face. ‘Not as bad as mine, Gracie, I’m in agony up here.’

  ‘Not as much agony as our ma is in,’ she hissed back. ‘If she gets any worse, I’ll be giving up my job of my own free will to stay at home and help her and you can beg for a pint at the pub door, because there won’t be any money from me.’ She glared up at him, not knowing where her courage had sprouted from, hoping her look was enough.

  Her father’s expression changed. ‘I don’t know where you get your cheek from, queen. All right, all right, I’ll come down,’ he said as he placed his hands on the sash window to close it, wanting to end the confrontation with his daughter as soon as possible. ‘I’m feeling a bit better today – not that you care,’ were the last words she heard as the window slammed down shut.

  *

  Nurse Pammy Tanner arrived in outpatients A to find Sister Antrobus waiting for her in front of the desk which had a large stack of case notes on one side and a wire tray full of lab reports on the other. Pammy looked as kind as Sister Antrobus did severe. Pammy Tanner’s hair, long, dark and shiny, was tied back and neatly tucked under her starched linen cap. Pammy, always being told off for wearing lipstick to work, flouted the rules every chance she got, and outpatients, under Sister Pokey whom she’d expected to see, was one of them.

  Sister Antrobus, her steel grey hair scraped into a tight chignon at the back of her neck, glared at her, her horn-rimmed glasses swept up at the sides in an attempt to cling on to a more youthful age. It didn’t work and her eyes snapped along to the beat of her sharp words.

  ‘Sister Pokey has gone down with this blasted cold that is sweeping around the hospital, so you have me again. Match each of the lab reports in date order to the patient and insert them inside the case notes before clinic starts so that the doctor can easily see what he needs,’ Sister Antrobus barked. ‘You have plenty of time. Almost an hour before the baby clinic starts and the chest clinic is light today. Obviously, some of the more chronic chest cases think Christmas shopping is more important than their check-up with Dr Gaskell. They should be struck off the follow-up list if you ask me.’

  ‘Yes, Sister,’ said Pammy.

  ‘We only have one more of these before Christmas and then a break until the new year. Hallelujah. I am now about to take my lunch. Oh, we have a new cleaner starting on here today. Half of the cleaners have been hit with a severe cold and I told Matron that we can’t possibly have a clinic of forty babies and no mop and bucket in attendance.’ An image of a mop pushing a bucket wearing a headscarf flew into Pammy’s mind and she suppressed a giggle. Giggling was not something one did in the presence of Sister Antrobus. ‘And the Christmas trees are arriving on the morning of the next clinic – can you imagine the mess? That, on top of everything else. Babies and Christmas trees. One an annoyance, the other a permanent irritation.’ She gave an involuntary shudder. Sister Antrobus did that a great deal in the baby clinic. ‘I told Matron, the passengers on the Titanic had less of a flood to deal with than we did in here last week.’

  Pammy almost laughed out loud at the memory of the last clinic, but stopped herself just in time. The previous week had not been a good one. Sister Antrobus had grown impatient with one of the new mothers who was undressing her baby ready to be weighed. ‘Oh, here, give him to me,’ she had barked as she almost pushed the mother away. She lifted the baby into the air, unaware that the mother had already unfastened the nappy pin. The nappy fell away and the little boy, possibly as a result of fright, decided at that moment to relieve himself, all over Sister Antrobus.

  ‘Show her where the cleaning cupboard is and the Lysol, Nurse Tanner. Really, this is the worst day of the week, baby clinic. The little horrors.’ Sister Antrobus shuddered again. ‘And get that lipstick off your face now, unless you want me to report you to Matron.’ And with that parting note, she swept out of the double doors.

  Pammy flopped down at the desk, took a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped at her lips. ‘Right, you lot, let’s start with alphabetical order,’ she said to the pile of lab reports and almost laughed out loud with relief to discover that Doreen, the outpatients clerk, had already done the job for her; all she had to do was insert them into the case notes.

  She was almost at the bottom of the pile as her hand landed on the last full blood count. The haemoglobin level was low and she checked the notes that corresponded with the report. They belonged to one of Dr Gaskell’s patients. As with all results that could not afford to be missed, she clipped it to the front cover of the notes and placed it on the top of Dr Gaskell’s notes. She looked up as the double doors gave the faint swish that let her know someone had arrived. It was Gracie, nervously edgin
g towards the desk. Pammy had seen her at the nurses’ home, where she had started work the previous week.

  ‘Gracie, are you the new cleaner on here today?’ she asked, puzzled.

  Gracie had never felt so relieved in her life to see that it was Pammy behind the desk. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘Matron said I had to come up here at lunchtime on clinic days, to help out. The note also said that someone here would show me what to do.’

  Pammy rose. ‘Don’t look so nervous, Gracie. It’s just mop and bucket work. Honestly, it’s not too bad. We have the odd accident and the toilets need a regular clean – that goes without saying – and Matron, she’s a bit of a stickler. She likes all the chairs and doors to be washed down with a chlorhexidine solution at the end of each clinic.’

  Gracie looked confused. ‘What’s that and why?’ she asked.

  ‘It stops infection spreading and babies are the first to be knocked down by it. We have the TB clinics here as well, so we have to be extra careful. Come on, I’ll show you around. I’m way ahead of myself, thanks to the clerk, Doreen. She lives in clinic B, which is all surgical, and will come over here to say hello, I bet. Doreen runs all the clinics.’

  Pammy walked Gracie around the empty and eerily quiet clinic, opening the doors, showing her which room belonged to which doctor.

  ‘This room gets washed down before and after every clinic,’ she said, opening one door. ‘The trolleys, the paintwork, the floor, the lampshade, the walls – it’s treated like it’s an operating theatre. One of the new auxiliary nurses in the yellow uniforms from casualty comes over to do it after the clinic but you will have to do the main surfaces before. That way, Matron knows who is responsible if it’s not done to her standard. We never stop cleaning. And none of the babies are seen in this room. Dr Gaskell has a TB clinic here twice a week and no one wants a baby to catch that, do they.’

  Pammy turned the handle on another door almost as quickly as she closed Dr Gaskell’s. ‘Here’s the cleaning cupboard with the mops and everything you need. You have to make sure you put everything back properly. You’ll have the night cleaners leaving you notes if you don’t. They are very particular and you probably know them all anyway. How’s your mam? Does she still go to the bingo on Thursdays?’

  Gracie felt almost too ashamed to answer. The bingo had been the one treat a week her mother had looked forward to. Unlike the other women, she had never smoked in order to save the pennies her husband barely earnt but there was nothing left for the bingo these days. ‘She doesn’t have time, not with our lot,’ she managed.

  ‘Tell her I was asking about her,’ said Pammy, kindly, who knew only too well, how lazy Gracie’s father was, not least because her own da Stan was always complaining about him on the days he was in work.

  ‘Oh, I will, I do,’ said Gracie, her voice as strong as she could make it, aware that this world, of nurses in uniforms and doctors in white coats, was one she was unused to and fearful of. ‘What’s that smell?’ she asked.

  Pammy took hold of the mop handle and a metal bucket on wheels and glided it out of the small cleaning cupboard. ‘That smell is Lysol.’ Pammy reached up to the shelf and lifted down a large bottle of Lysol. As soon as she removed the cap, the smell almost knocked Gracie out. ‘One capful per bucket. It turns a milky white when it hits the water – and if you ask me, the smell alone kills all the germs, never mind the mop full. If I were you, when the baby clinics and paediatrics are on, I would keep the bucket and mop ready. All the mums have to strip their babies down to the nuddy, and every one of the little blighters manages to leave a puddle on the floor.’

  Gracie wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m only on here for afternoons,’ she said.

  Pammy smiled. ‘Perfect. The baby clinic is on from three until four, every afternoon.’ Gracie grimaced. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t like babies as well?’ said Pammy.

  ‘I don’t mind them,’ said Gracie. ‘There’s enough of them in our house, remember? I’m the eldest and there’s been six after me.’

  Pammy looked up at the big clock on the wall. ‘I lose count of everyone’s kids after the third. Look, I have to go and place the notes on the desk in each clinic room. You have a look around. Outpatients’ sister will be here soon, Sister Antrobus. If I were you, I would keep out of her way. My advice is: spot a puddle, clear it up as fast as you can. Every half an hour, pop into the toilets. Many of the mothers who turn up with prams have a few other kids in tow and they don’t all have the best toilet habits! Just keep the place looking exactly as it is now. With a bit of luck, she may never need to ask you what your name is.’

  Gracie smiled. ‘I’ll take that advice. Oh, look someone’s coming in now. I thought it didn’t start until three.’

  ‘Oh, that’s our Sister Horton with Louis. She has to bring him to the baby clinic to be weighed every week because he was very poorly once. Biddy looks after him in Sister’s sitting room over at the school; he has his own playpen in there and Mrs Duffy looks after him down at the Lovely Lane home when she gets busy here – but that is one great big fat secret, so don’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I know,’ said Gracie. ‘Grandad told me when I took the tea out to the workmen and Louis’ pram was parked by the front steps and Granny Ida asked me if I’d seen him.’

  Pammy felt alarmed, but wasn’t quite sure why. Ida Botherthwaite was the kind of woman her mother, Mavis Tanner, described as a scold.

  ‘Hello,’ said Emily as she rushed towards them hugging Louis to her chest. ‘Can I weigh him now, Nurse Tanner, and could you do me a favour and enter it into his notes? I can’t get back at three and I can’t wait because I have a lecture so I have to whip him down to Mrs Duffy for the afternoon – everyone is busy here and Biddy has had him all morning.’

  ‘Oh, I know Mrs Duffy,’ Gracie blurted out. ‘I’m working at the nurses’ home in the mornings to help her.’

  Emily’s face lit up. ‘Oh, that’s you? How lovely to meet you at last, Gracie. I’ve asked after you every time we have been. You must be working hard because you are always busy.’ Gracie didn’t want to say that when anyone called, she was sent off to do a job, out of the way. ‘How is it going?’

  ‘It’s fine, I’m not sure Mrs Duffy likes me though.’ Gracie was immediately embarrassed at having blurt out her predicament.

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ said Emily. ‘She’s been managing alone for years and I know her, she will see this as some sort of knock to her competence or authority and really, it isn’t. She’ll resent you being there for a while but she will soften up and we will help. I’ll speak to the nurses and so will Nurse Tanner.’

  ‘Oh, would you?’ asked Gracie.

  Emily noticed that tears had sprung to her eyes and laid a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll have a word with Mrs Duffy, I promise. I feared this would happen. She’s been there since before the war. You are from the four streets, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am,’ said Gracie.

  Pammy had picked up a stack of notes and was walking in and out of the clinic rooms, checking the notes against a list and laying them on the end of each wooden desk. Emily looked at Gracie wistfully and realised that her own mother, when she had been alive, had known Gracie’s.

  ‘It’s all going to be fine,’ she said, and her tone was so reassuring, Gracie smiled. Emily added, ‘It’s this one you want to watch out for – absolute dragon, she is, since she came over to outpatients, aren’t you, Nurse Tanner?’

  ‘Oh, aye, I am,’ Pammy laughed as she rejoined them. ‘Come on, then, if we are going to weigh this little lad. Gracie, you’re used to babies so let’s give Sister Horton a hand and get him stripped off and weighed. Come on, Louis, are you ready?’

  Louis, well used to the routine, turned and smiled at Pammy and put out his arms to picked up by her.

  ‘What do I do with the notes?’ asked Pammy. ‘Shall I put them through as though he attended?’

  ‘Please,’ said Emily, looking mildly guilty. ‘Look at him, he’s pi
ling the weight on and he’ll be walking soon. It’s just that the year is almost up and the adoption papers all need to be verified. But I can’t keep this appointment and I can’t miss it either or there will be a gap and I don’t want children’s services to see it. You know what sticklers they are.’

  Pammy wasn’t really listening to Emily, her attention captured by Louis. ‘Hello, little man,’ she said as she lifted him and placed a big kiss on his cheek. ‘You come to Aunty Pammy. You go on,’ she said to Emily. ‘I’ll bring him back myself when I’ve weighed him.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Emily said.

  ‘Of course I am. The clinic doesn’t start for ages yet so I’ve loads of time and Gracie will help me. Go!’

  It hadn’t been that long since Pammy had been a brand-new probationer and Sister Emily had scared the life out of her. ‘Look at you!’ Emily grinned. ‘She’ll be taking over my job as Sister Tutor one day, you just mark my words, Gracie.’ She left, smiling.

  *

  Gracie took Louis in her arms as Pammy placed a paper towel onto the scales.

  ‘Here, let’s put him in here before he soaks you.’

  ‘Oh, he won’t do that,’ said Gracie. ‘I’m holding his nappy against him; I’m used to their tricks.’

  They both laughed, but neither of them as much as Louis who began kicking against Gracie and giggling. His brown eyes looked up at Pammy, pools of hidden mischief as she swiftly placed him on the scales. Pammy almost whispered, ‘Don’t tell Sister Antrobus we’ve done this. She wouldn’t like it. We only need to record the weight on the sheet out there.’ She nodded to a pale green piece of paper on the desk, next to the open set of case notes. ‘He’s a special little fella, is Louis.’ She dropped her voice even lower, as though Louis might hear and understand her. ‘He was the abandoned baby.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Gracie whispered back. ‘I don’t think anyone who lives around here doesn’t know.’

  Pammy placed her hands over Louis’ arms. ‘Sit still, Louis, there’s a good boy. No, stop your wriggling, you little worm!’ The red needle on the scale flew from one side to the other, as Louis kicked his legs and tried to grab hold of the sides of the large cream enamel-coated dish that he was sitting in. ‘Oh gosh, he’s getting too big for these,’ said Pammy. ‘Look, I’ll hold him and you tell me what the weight is. What do you think that is, twenty pounds four ounces, or is it nineteen pounds?’