Maggie's Girl (4 page)

‘She's two years older than I am. Two years is a long time, especially for a girl. At least now I've left university, she's had to accept this isn't some sort of a schoolboy crush!'

‘Age shouldn't matter, John.' Holly did her best to cheer him, realising he couldn't help the way he felt, any more than she could.

‘What does my grandmother think about this?' she asked, curious.

‘Daisy doesn't know!' he exclaimed, horrified at the mere idea. ‘She's the reason why you mustn't say anything! She doesn't like me, I know that much.' He looked up, his eyes puzzled.

‘Why is that, do you think? After all, her daughter looked after us when we were little, you and I virtually grew up together. Yet she doesn't even like your Harry playing with Cliff.'

‘I think it's some old feud between our families.' Holly took a sip of tea, and put down her cup. ‘I'll ask my mother, if you like.'

He smiled.

‘You're a good girl, Holly.'

Well, he liked her, at least, enough to confide in her. She tried to take what comfort she could from it, like a young bird pecking at crumbs dropped from a picnic table.

‘Things will work out, John.'

He smiled and pushed his cup away.

‘I'd best get off, or the old folk will be wondering. Granddad hasn't come to terms with me joining up yet. I'll be in for a wigging, I expect. I can hardly blame him.'

He meant Silas Bradshaw had lost both his sons because of the last war. Holly didn't want to think about that, not now.

‘He worries about you.' Me, too, she wanted to say, but didn't.

‘Do you want a lift home?' he offered, but she shook her head, suddenly miserable all over. When would she see him again?

‘You will be careful, won't you?' She couldn't help saying it, and he knew exactly what she meant.

Unexpectedly, he leaned across and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Her hand flew to her face in surprise.

‘Of course I will!' he said. ‘I'll write if I get time. Don't worry – any trouble, I shall duck!'

He rammed on his hat and left, walking smartly through the gates into the factory yard, where he'd parked his car.

If only John would look at her in the way he'd looked at Mary – if only he saw her as more than a child!

But he had kissed her, and said he'd write. Wonderingly, her fingers traced the curve of her cheek, remembering how soft his lips had felt. How would it feel if he kissed her properly? Like heaven, she guessed.

Pushing the thought from her mind, she crossed the main road in front of the factory, retracing her steps along the bridge and jumping nimbly down through the stile to the path by the meadows.

John had kissed her. It was something to dream about, even if it meant no more to him than a greeting between friends.

‘The leg's looking fine, Mrs Pettit. We might make a Rams player of you yet!'

‘Aye, well, and I'd be better than anything they've got at the minute!'

The elderly woman in the bed looked up at nice Dr Hardaker and chuckled, her eyes bright. Andrew winked at Maggie, who suppressed a smile with difficulty. Derby County always had their problems.

She switched into professional mode and began to re-bandage Madge Pettit's leg. The ulcer had been in danger of infection, but they'd drained the excess fluid and kept the leg up. The patient was well on the road to recovery.

‘Told you,' she whispered, patting Madge's hand.

Maggie had seen Andrew do this so many times – take a
fretful and anxious patient, and reassure her until she was relaxed enough to share in his banter. He was a good doctor, one of the best.

Women's Surgical was a soft burr of activity. Outside the world was at war, but inside the walls of the hospital, life continued much the same.

What a relief it was to get back to work!

She wheeled the trolley through to the sluice-room and began to clear up.

‘Do you want a lift home?' Andrew's cheerful face appeared around the door. No wonder the patients all felt better for seeing him! Maggie turned and smiled.

‘Thanks all the same, but Tony's waiting for me.'

He lounged against the door, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his white hospital coat, watching her.

‘It looks like that's it, then. We're at war.'

‘The very worst news,' she agreed. ‘I can't bear to think—'

‘Don't,' he said instantly, ‘at least not too far ahead. I shall have to get an older man in to run the practice, if I can. Easier said than done, but there'll be more work here than they'll have hands for.'

Maggie's eyes were troubled.

‘Just take things a day at a time,' Andrew encouraged. ‘And don't forget the staff meeting tomorrow!'

She nodded. She hadn't realised the effect the war was going to have on all their lives. Andrew was right; it didn't do to think too far ahead.

She finished up, and went to have a quiet word with Sister Aspen about Madge Pettit. She grabbed her bag from the back of the staffroom door, and made her way out to the car-park.

‘There you are!' Tony dropped a light kiss on her cheek and opened the car door for her – he did have nice manners.

And yet … did she really love him? Perhaps the war had brought things to a head; the matter had loomed in her mind of late.

She felt, somehow, that Tony had coerced her into this
relationship
, being so persistent, demanding her attention so often.

Why has she got involved with him if she didn't feel the time was right? She was a grown woman, and Hughie was long in the past. One thing was for sure – if this wasn't right with Tony, it would never be right again.

‘You're quiet.' He nosed the car through the hospital gates.

‘Just tired, I expect.' She kicked off her shoes, stretching out her feet.

‘We're all on edge at the minute, love. Is it any wonder? Blast Hitler! Come to the club for a drink?'

‘Oh, not tonight, Tony! I'm simply too tired.'

He was staring intently at the road ahead. She'd disappointed him again. But though she liked the jazz club, Maggie was tired, and besides, she didn't really care for Gus, Tony's business partner – there was something about the way he looked at her she didn't like, especially when Tony wasn't around.

But Tony had said people needed diversion, and he'd been proved right. How else could he have persuaded a sound-headed businessman like John Bertram's stepfather to back the venture?

He played jazz and yet more jazz – Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Duke Ellington on record, and sometimes he arranged for bands to come up from London to play – Tony could spot talent. Castle Maine had taken to the new venture with gusto. Most evenings the club was thronging; by the weekend it was hard even to get through the door.

Maggie wouldn't dream of telling Tony she found the
atmosphere
in the smoky cellar claustrophobic. He was happy. How could she spoil that? But equally, how could he expect her to want a night out after a momentous day like this one?

‘It'll be over before we know it,' he said, reading her mind, his eyes firmly on the road.

She smiled, feeling the comfort of his hand solid round her own. She more than liked him, but did she like him enough?

Maggie's head was spinning. She needed to get home and think.

By the time Maggie opened the door, Holly had the tea on. Gramps and Harry hadn't as yet got back from Grandma's, though Holly had been to the door often enough to look out.

Harry was like enough out with one of his friends, and had forgotten all about the time, whereas Gramps was probably nattering on and on to Grandma about the war.

Midway between the pantry and the table, Holly stopped, engulfed in a fresh wave of despair. John was already lost to her, and to Auntie Mary, of all people!

‘Goodness, love! Are you all right?' her mother asked, taking one look at her face.

‘Of course I am, Mam.' Holly gathered herself together enough to put the bread-board down.

‘Try not to worry!' Maggie said at once, chastising herself for her lack of thought. This morning's news had been so
mind-numbing
, she hadn't even got round to considering the effect it must have had on the children. What a frightening place the world must seem to the young!

‘We'll get through it,' she encouraged, but Holly was still downcast.

‘Mam, I saw John today.'

Comprehension dawned on Maggie's face.

‘Waiting for his posting, I expect? He'll be fine, love.'

How could she possibly know John Bertram would be fine? But Holly was altogether too young to look like this.

‘He has no idea where he'll end up. Somewhere safe, I hope!' Holly muttered.

She began to butter the cut side of the loaf furiously as if she could keep from even thinking about John going into danger.

‘Mam, why doesn't Grandma Daisy like John?'

Maggie was surprised at the question. She filled the kettle and set it on the gas-stove to boil, dropping the used match back in its box.

‘She never liked me working for Silas Bradshaw, nor working for Connie either. I expect it's just that old thing with Gramps. Silas wasn't very good to Gramps once upon a time, you know.'

‘But I thought it had all been settled?' Holly licked butter from her fingers, her face puzzled. She knew all about the money in trust for herself and Harry, after Silas had settled a fairly hefty sum on Gramps to make things right.

Too little and too late, Grandma had said, though Gramps told her it put an end to the matter at last.

It puzzled Holly still that Auntie Mary and Uncle Billy's trust funds weren't as much as hers and Harry's. Why should she and Harry get more than Grandma's other children?

‘You know your grandma!' Maggie said, still on the question of Daisy not liking John.

‘But I've always thought there was something else.' She paused, remembering how often over the years she and her mother had fallen out over Maggie's connection with the Bradshaws. Did it really matter so very much now?

‘It is odd, Mam, all the same.' Holly arranged the bread and butter neatly on a plate, and began to spoon strawberry jam into a dish. At least she had something to tell John – John, who couldn't see the woman she was soon to become.

Maggie made the tea, but Holly was still far too quiet. She poured two cups of tea, and sat down.

‘There's something else, isn't there?'

Holly took a deep breath and put down her cup. Mam wasn't going to like this, but hear it she must.

‘This war's changed everything, Mam.' Trouble was written all over her young face. She'd been thinking all day, ever since the Prime Minister's broadcast she'd heard this morning. Seeing John so unexpectedly had focused her thoughts.

‘Mam, at school they're always telling us to be mature, be confident, we're not children any more but young ladies. I've made my mind up about something. You're not going to like it….'

‘Whatever is it, love? Say it and be done, for goodness sake.' Maggie's face was troubled now, too. Why was Holly watching her in quite that way, defiance all over her face?

‘I want to do something to help. Do my bit for the war, you know?' Holly bit her lip and frowned. ‘I don't know exactly what yet.'

So that was all it was! Maggie puffed out her cheeks and began to relax, but then realised there must be more to come.

Holly spoke firmly, clearly, so there would be absolutely no mistake.

‘I'm not going to university, Mam! What would be the point with things as they are? I'm not even going on to sit my School Cert. I'm leaving school as soon as I possibly can.' 

‘A
toast!' Peter Bridges raised his glass.

Cries of ‘To our Maggie!' and ‘To Mam' rippled round the table.

Peter's look was full of pride. Now that the family had
actually
recovered from the shock of Maggie going off to nurse in France, things had at last begun to settle down.

Daisy leaned back in her chair and watched her family enjoying their Christmas dinner. It was right they should be together. If only Maggie was here to share it with them!

The room was bright with the holly and ivy she and Harry had gone up to the woods to fetch the day before. It looked a treat. They were having such a happy time, despite the war.

‘She shouldn't have gone,' Holly muttered, putting down her cup with a clatter.

‘Don't start!' Daisy had heard too many jarring notes from her granddaughter already. Of course Holly was annoyed. She was the one who'd wanted to dedicate herself to thwarting Hitler, and at only fifteen! Maggie's going had put paid to that idea, at least.

‘I wish she'd never met that Diana Metcalf,' Holly grumbled.

‘Well, she did, young lady! You might as well get used to it.'

Despite the sharpness of her tone, Daisy did have some
sympathy. If Maggie had never bumped into her old friend at the hospital, none of this would have happened.

Diana just happened to be leading a group of nurses for the Salvation Army. She hadn't had to ask Maggie twice if she wanted to nurse in France.

But to put herself so wantonly in danger, when Maggie had a family to care for, seemed perverse to her mother.

‘Where's Maggie?' William said to no-one in particular.

‘She's in France, nursing – remember, Gramps?' Billy spoke directly into the old man's ear. ‘She's gone off to France.'

‘That's my girl.' The old man nodded and smiled.

‘Mam's not a girl, Gramps!' Harry turned to Peter. ‘Granddad, will you come and fly my new kite with me this afternoon?'

‘You bet I will!' Peter was pleased now that he'd sat up nights making it. He'd wanted the lad to have something nice for Christmas.

‘Maggie's lucky to have got away from here,' Mary muttered, and her mother got up.

‘I'll make some fresh tea!'

Daisy found it all too much suddenly. She'd been so tired of late, and she wasn't getting any younger. William got frailer by the day, the children were a handful, there was work, worrying over Maggie…

They were coping, but Daisy was beginning to wonder for how much longer.

‘Are you all right, Mam?' Mary came through, her hands full of plates. ‘I'll do the washing up. You look all in.'

‘I'm fine,' Daisy replied untruthfully, lifting the kettle on to the range. ‘There'll be enough left for the pots when this is boiled. That'll be a help. You're a good girl, Mary.'

Her saying that to Mary any other time than Christmas Day
would have caused a chuckle or two. If Peter could hear that! Most of the time Mary was anything other than a good girl, and they both knew it.

‘Where did you get to last night, anyway?' She tried to steer herself back to normality.

‘I went to Tony's, to the Christmas Eve dance.' Mary leaned back against the sink and regarded her mother critically. ‘You do look tired, you know.'

‘Stop trying to change the subject! You went to the dance. And?'

There was bound to be a man in it somewhere. Daisy waited.

‘His name's – er – Frank,' Mary replied, laughing. ‘He's in the RAF, home on leave for Christmas.'

‘I thought you were already seeing someone?' Daisy hadn't asked before. Mary didn't usually divulge that kind of
information
.

‘Well, you're right, there is someone else,' her daughter answered, surprising her. ‘I don't like to finish with him, as he's fighting. It's never serious, Mam. And Frank—'

‘Frank?' Daisy measured three careful spoons from the caddy into the teapot, and infused the tea.

‘Hope that's enough.' She eyed it dubiously. ‘With rationing starting, we're going to have to get used to it weaker.'

‘That's not till next month, Mam. It's Christmas! As for Frank, he's lonely, that's all.' Mary held her mother's gaze.

‘It's strange, this being at war and nothing happening. I worry about when things really start.'

‘And you think I don't?' Daisy put the lid back on the pot. ‘There's no point worrying over anything, love, that's what I think.'

It was how she'd felt all her life – through losing Ned
Bradshaw, Peter's accident, Maggie going to work for Adèle Bradshaw …

‘Don't worry about tea for me.' Billy poked his head round the door. He already had his cap on.

‘You're never off out!' Daisy protested. ‘But it's Christmas Day…'

‘I have to be somewhere. I'll see you later.' The head
disappeared
abruptly before Daisy could ask more, and moments later, the front door slammed.

‘I don't know what's got into that lad!' she grumbled. ‘Where's he going?'

‘Leave him be.' Mary picked up the loaded tray and carried it through.

‘He never tells me where he's going,' Daisy complained.

‘Me neither,' Mary called over her shoulder, and Daisy sighed as she followed her through.

This family was falling to pieces. Maggie away, Billy off out all the time, and Mary up to goodness alone knew what. There was nothing she could do about it! Was she getting old?

Peter and Harry, wrapped up against the cold, disappeared down to the meadows to fly the kite. The day was a bitterly cold one. A thin rime lay over everything.

William dozed in his chair, and while Mary went upstairs to change, Holly sat on at the table, poring over the letter she'd received from John Bertram a few days since.

Daisy knew it was from John, because she'd been the one to pick up the post that particular day.

She'd had half a mind to shove it into her apron pocket and not tell Holly, but Holly herself came downstairs at that precise moment, her face a picture of delight at the sight of his
handwriting
.

‘I should think you've read the ink off that thing!' Daisy complained now. ‘Haven't you anything better to do?'

‘He only wants to know what's going off, Gran.' She lifted her head, sensing Daisy's antagonism, even if she didn't understand it.

‘Is that all?'

‘Leave the lass be!' William's doting gaze fell on Holly and her precious letter. ‘She's never reading that thing again?'

‘Why shouldn't I, Gramps?'

‘You're sweet on him,' William teased.

‘I am not!' Holly retorted hotly. ‘John only writes to me because – because the girl he is sweet on never has time to write! Someone has to tell him what's happening at home.'

‘You're soft on him,' William accused, chuckling at his own wit.

‘She'd better not be!' Daisy spoke more sharply than she'd intended. She ought to have more sympathy – John Bertram was a pilot, after all, backing up the BEF in France.

But he was also Silas Bradshaw's grandson, and the very idea of one of her own having anything to do with one of them …

Daisy fought down the impulse to snatch the letter out of Holly's hands and put it to the back of the fire. Dad was right; the girl was soft.

‘I'd have thought you'd have something better to do,' she persisted.

‘Give over, woman!' William grumbled testily, at once on Holly's side. ‘John's a right enough lad, and if he happens to like our Holly—'

‘You haven't listened to a word I've said!' Holly protested hotly. She put the letter into her pocket out of harm's way.

‘It's about time you put that business with the Bradshaws
behind you,' William said testily to Daisy. ‘Why can't you just let it be?'

‘Give over, Dad!' Daisy stiffened. He mustn't bring all that up again, especially in front of Holly.

William subsided back into his chair, his mind abruptly miles away. What was he thinking about now? Daisy was irritated all over again.

‘I should think you'd have given over fretting, and the country at war,' William mumbled, almost to himself. ‘John Bertram's in the thick of it, and if he takes a bit of comfort writing to our Holly – well, family is family, after all.'

‘Dad!' Daisy warned sharply, glaring at Holly, daring her to say anything. It didn't work.

‘What do you mean, Gramps?' Holly asked curiously. ‘John Bertram's not family.'

‘Of course he's not!' Daisy hid her flaming face while tucking William's blanket back over his knees, blocking the old man from Holly's sight.

‘Goodness, your mind does wander, Dad! Go and put the kettle on, Holly, there's a good girl, and fetch the Christmas cake from the pantry. We'll have a bit of cake, cheer ourselves up, shall we, Dad?'

Had she managed to smooth things over? William had said too much, and Holly was sharp enough to cut herself
sometimes
.

Maggie and the other nurses sent out by the Salvation Army had crossed into France from Southampton.

It was late afternoon; dirty grey light was dying slowly over Southampton Water, making Maggie shiver. The dockside was thronging with soldiers waiting to embark.

These were the men they were going to care for, but the sight of so many left her momentarily unsure.

She squared her shoulders. Well, Diana and the rest of the group must be here somewhere. She blessed her nurse's cloak as she began to push her way through the mass of bodies, receiving a deal of good-natured banter.

‘You can come and berth with me any time, love, I always did love a nurse! It's the uniform.'

‘Nurse, come and kiss this better!'

Suddenly, there was Diana's calm, good-natured face.

‘I was beginning to wonder if you'd make it!' Diana smiled as Maggie clutched her arm.

‘Me, too!'

Diana introduced her to the rest of the group, four more nurses. She and Diana were the oldest by some years.

Some of the tension that had been steadily building up since Maggie had left Castle Maine that November morning began to evaporate. There was no point wondering now if she ought to change her mind – going home was no longer an option.

‘Why do I suddenly feel my age?' She laughed, and the others joined in. They seemed a nice group, easy enough to get on with.

‘Looks like we're off!' Diana warned.

A line of soldiers was filing up the gang-plank into the ship, which was rusty and in need of painting. The girls were moving, too, on deck at last, feeling the ship rock beneath their feet.

Once on board, things began to improve. They were escorted with great courtesy towards the front, where it was less crowded, and made as comfortable as they could be sitting on their bags on deck. It seemed the men were pleased to have them along.

All at once, this had begun to feel like an adventure – one Maggie had never thought to undertake in her life.

Rations were issued; tea was brought round in Army mugs.

The banter and jokes amongst the men had disappeared, replaced by a curious silence, full of expectation, excitement and fear. Maggie recognised that in herself.

They were sailing off into darkness. How many would make the return journey?

‘We'll be all right,' Diana said, sensing her nervousness.

Out of the harbour, the ship lurched and pitched, so that it was hard to stand. Maggie stumbled over to the railings and caught hold, fighting a sudden return of panic.

But there was the moon, appearing from behind cloud, shining with sudden startling brilliance on the eddying waves, eerily lighting a path towards France.

It felt almost as if she'd wake up shortly and find herself safely tucked up in bed in Castle Maine, with William snoring across the way and Holly reading by torchlight next door.

She stared down into the ink-black water, wondering not for the first time exactly what she was doing, abandoning her family, and Tony, and everything that made her feel secure in life. But she couldn't quietly sit at home and never lift a finger.

‘You managed to get round your mother, then?' Diana
staggered
towards her, laughing as if this was fun.

‘Eventually.'

Maggie remembered abruptly the expression on her mother's face when she'd told her what she planned.

‘Have you gone mad, Maggie Bates?' The words echoed in her ears.

Sister Aspen, at the hospital, had told her the same thing. If it hadn't been for Dr Hardaker stepping in and telling Sister Aspen it was a courageous thing Maggie was doing, and they ought to be proud of her, she'd have left the hospital under a
cloud, too. There hadn't even been the time to work her notice.

‘What about the children?' Daisy had demanded, as if she'd suddenly realised exactly what Maggie was asking of her.

‘I was hoping you'd keep an eye on them. It wouldn't be so very much more than you're doing now.'

‘You've never stopped to think things through! I can't believe you've even come up with such a hare-brained scheme … And what about Holly? Wait until you tell her what you're doing!'

Daisy knew perfectly well the problems Maggie was having with her daughter. Holly had protested long and volubly to Daisy about Maggie's refusal to let her leave school.

‘She'll have to shoulder responsibility for Harry,' Maggie said, ‘and do as she's told for once. She's not old enough to leave school yet.'

‘When has our Holly ever done a thing she was told?'

That Holly had far too much of her mother in her was pointedly left unsaid.

‘Make sure you come back,' had been Daisy's final word, with a hug so fierce that Maggie had gasped.