The Nightingale Nurses (13 page)

Millie sighed. ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Just something that happened on the ward.’

‘Oh, yes? What was that, then?’

Millie opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Just me being silly.’

But as she went back to her sweeping, Dora could see that her friend was troubled.

And I reckoned I was the one who kept my problems to myself, she thought.

Dora was twenty minutes late for her date with Joe. She’d been half expecting him not to wait for her, but as she turned the corner she saw him pacing the pavement outside the picture house, a box of chocolates in one hand.

His scowl turned to a smile when he saw her running towards him.

‘There you are. I thought you’d stood me up.’

‘Sorry I’m late.’ Dora stopped running, fighting to get her breath back. ‘Benedict and I were caught talking in class and had to stay behind.’

‘At least you’re here now.’ He handed her the chocolates. ‘I bought these for you.’

‘You shouldn’t have.’ She admired the padded silk box, finished off with a big red bow. ‘They must have cost a fortune.’

‘Only the best for my girl.’

She winced. ‘Look, Joe—’

‘I’d better hurry up and get those tickets,’ he cut her off before she had time to finish her sentence. ‘The film’s about to start.’

‘I’ll get them—’ Dora started to fumble in her bag, but Joe stopped her.

‘You put your purse away. It’s my treat.’

‘At least let me pay my share?’

‘You can get them next time, how about that?’

She opened her mouth to argue, but he was already sauntering off to join the end of the queue at the ticket booth. Dora watched him, standing so tall and handsome, smiling as he gallantly allowed an older couple to go before him. Any girl would be proud to be with him.

It must be her, she decided. She was too prickly and difficult to allow herself to be loved. If only she was as sweet-natured as Katie O’Hara, she could be blissfully happy by now.

‘Nurse Doyle?’

She turned to face the man who had approached her. There was something familiar about his smiling face, but Dora couldn’t quite place it. ‘I’m sorry . . .?’

‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’ he grinned. ‘I’m not surprised. The last time you saw me I was flat on my back with half my arm hanging off!’

As Dora peered at him, a mental picture began to slide into place. ‘Of course, I remember you now. It’s Mr Gannon, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right!’ He beamed, delighted. ‘Blimey, Nurse, you must have a good memory!’

‘It was my first day in Casualty. I’m not going to forget that in a hurry!’ She grimaced. ‘How is your arm now?’

‘As good as new, thanks to you and Dr McKay.’ He flexed his arm, clenching and unclenching his fist to prove his point.

‘I don’t think I had much to do with it,’ Dora said ruefully. ‘It was all I could do to stop myself fainting on the spot!’

‘You and me both!’ Mr Gannon said. He glanced towards the doors. ‘Oops, my missus is giving me a funny look. I reckon I’m going to have some explaining to do, stopping to chat to a young lady!’ He shook Dora’s hand. ‘It was nice to see you, again, Nurse. You’ll thank Dr McKay for me, won’t you?’

‘I will, Mr Gannon. And I’m glad your arm’s on the mend.’

Dora was still smiling when Joe came over.

‘Who was that you were talking to?’ he demanded.

Dora blinked at him, taken aback by the bluntness of his question. ‘He was my first patient on Casualty.’

Joe glared after him. ‘You seemed very friendly.’

Dora laughed, until she saw the muscles clenching in Joe’s jaw. ‘So what if we were?’ she replied tartly.

‘I just don’t like strange men getting over-familiar with my girl, that’s all.’

‘I’m not your girl,’ Dora snapped. ‘And you certainly can’t tell me who I can and can’t speak to!’

A shadow passed across Joe’s handsome face, and then his smile was suddenly back in place. ‘You’re right. Sorry.’ He shrugged. ‘Let’s go in before the film starts, shall we?’

The cinema was crowded, but the usherette found them two seats on the back row. Couples disentangled themselves hastily as they found themselves caught in the roving beam of her torch.

The film started and Joe’s arm snaked around her shoulders. Dora kept her eyes fixed on the screen, where Max Miller was playing a cheeky racing tipster. Everyone was laughing at his antics, but all she could think about was the weight of Joe’s arm, and the way his hand dangled limply over her shoulder, almost brushing her breast through her jumper.

Suddenly Max Miller disappeared and all she could see was her stepfather Alf’s leering face looming at her, his slobbering mouth and the smell of beer on his breath . . .

She jumped, just catching the box of chocolates as it slid off her lap. Joe leaned closer to her. ‘Are you all right?’ he whispered.

‘I’m fine.’ She shifted position slightly to loosen his grip on her shoulders.

She was fine, she told herself. Alf had been gone for a while now, and as the days went by she thought of him less and less. But sometimes, when Joe came too close, the dark memories would come creeping back and the old fear would engulf her.

After the pictures, he insisted on walking her back to the Nightingale. It was a mild May night. The cherry trees in the park were heavy with blossom, and the scent of mown grass filled the air.

It seemed too nice an evening to spoil, but Dora knew she had to set Joe straight. She took a deep breath. ‘Look, Joe—’

‘Before you say anything, there’s something I need to tell you,’ he cut her off. ‘It’s about your brother.’

She stared up at him, all other thoughts forgotten. ‘Peter? What about him?’

Joe paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘There was a bit of trouble at a British Union of Fascists’ meeting last night in Whitechapel. Someone started heckling, and a few of the Blackshirts turned on him and gave him a hiding.’

Her blood turned to ice. ‘And Peter was involved?’

‘I’m not saying he started it,’ Joe said. ‘But he was in there with the rest of them, throwing punches. Broke the other bloke’s nose.’

‘The silly sod.’ Dora ran her hand wearily over her eyes. ‘That’s all we need, for him to end up in jail.’

‘It’s all right, I didn’t arrest him. I just gave him a warning and frightened him a bit. But if we see him causing trouble again, I might not be able to let him off. And I don’t want to see him up in front of the judge on account of those thugs.’

‘Me neither,’ said Dora.

Joe looked anxious. ‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I wasn’t sure if I should tell you?’

‘I’m glad you did. And thanks for looking out for him.’

‘I did it for you, not him.’ Joe wrapped his fingers tighter around hers. ‘I’d do anything for you, Dora.’

He moved in to kiss her again, but she pressed her hand against his chest, keeping him at a distance. ‘Look, Joe, I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.’

He frowned. ‘What about?’

‘Us.’ She looked up into his face. His eyes were narrowed, wary. ‘I really like you, but I meant what I said. I’m not your girl.’

‘What are you, then?’

‘I dunno. Your friend, I suppose.’

His mouth curled. ‘I don’t usually take my friends to the pictures, or buy them expensive boxes of chocolates.’

‘I didn’t ask you to buy me chocolates.’

‘You didn’t turn them down, either!’ His hand tightened around hers, squeezing her fingers. ‘What is it you want, Dora? One minute you’re keen on me, the next you’re giving me the cold shoulder.’ His gaze sharpened, suddenly hostile. ‘Is there someone else? Is that it?’

His question took her by surprise. She looked up into his eyes, glittering in the light from the street lamp.

‘No, there’s no one else,’ she said, pulling free from his grasp. ‘But even if there were, it wouldn’t be any of your business.’

Joe glared at her and then suddenly the darkness cleared from his face, just as it had in the cinema earlier.

‘You’re right, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘If you want to stay friends, then that’s all right by me.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ she said, relieved.

‘But don’t think I’m giving up on you,’ he went on. ‘You might not want to be my girl now, but one day you will.’ He smiled down at her, his handsome face full of confidence. ‘You wait, Dora Doyle. I’m going to win you over in the end!’

HELEN STOOD BACK
and admired her reflection in the changing-room mirror. In all her twenty-two years she had never worn a ballgown before, and she was startled at the transformation in herself. The deep raspberry pink perfectly suited her dark colouring, and the elegant drape of the bias cut made her feel sophisticated and grown up.

She did a half-turn, enjoying the swish of the satin fabric against her skin – and then she caught her mother’s reflection in the edge of the mirror. Constance Tremayne was perched on a gilt chair, gloved hands clasped tightly in her lap, mouth pursed in objection.

‘No, no, that simply won’t do. You can’t wear that décollétage with your long neck, it makes you look like a giraffe.’

Helen turned back to look at herself. She no longer saw an elegant princess but the gawky girl she really was.

‘Where is that wretched assistant? How long does it take someone to look for a dress, I wonder?’ Constance looked around, frowning.

She’s probably hiding, Helen thought. Her mother had had the poor salesgirl running around for the past hour.

‘Must you slouch so, Helen? Stand up straight, and put your shoulders back. I know you’re far too tall, but you’ll just have to make the best of it . . . ah, here she is,’ said Constance as the salesgirl appeared, staggering under the weight of another armful of dresses. ‘About time, too. Have you brought the blue one I asked for? No, not that one. I meant the other blue one. Does that look blue to you? It looks distinctly eau de nil to me.’ Constance tutted. ‘Well, I suppose she might as well try it on. But go and fetch that blue one. Run along, girl, we don’t have all day.’

‘She’s doing her best, Mother,’ Helen said, as the girl scuttled off.

‘I’m sure she is, but it’s simply not good enough.’ Constance gave a heavy sigh. ‘Honestly, you would think a place like Selfridges would have more experienced people to assist customers, wouldn’t you?’

‘Perhaps there aren’t any more dresses left for me to try on?’ Helen gazed in despair at the rows of gowns hanging up on the rail in front of her. They had been in the ladies’ evening wear department for almost two hours, and so far nothing had been to her mother’s satisfaction. Helen was beginning to think there wasn’t a dress in existence that would disguise all her faults.

‘Nonsense, I’m sure we’ll find something,’ Constance dismissed briskly. ‘We just have to keep looking until we find one. It’s a good thing you have a half-day’s holiday.’

Helen glanced at the clock. She had planned to spend her precious afternoon off with Charlie, until her mother had informed her they would be shopping for a dress for the Founder’s Day Ball instead. Luckily, Charlie had come up with the idea of meeting her up west and having tea at Lyons in the Strand.

The salesgirl returned with more dresses, and Helen was bundled into the changing room to try on the next of her mother’s selections.

‘I don’t understand why I need a new dress anyway,’ she said, as the salesgirl fastened her into a green crepe creation. ‘I’m sure Benedict has a gown she would let me borrow.’

‘Go to the Founder’s Day Ball in a borrowed dress? I wouldn’t hear of it.’ Her mother’s outraged voice rang out from the other side of the changing-room curtain. ‘This is a very important occasion, and as the daughter of a member of the Board of Trustees, you need to look your best. There will be some very important people attending, and I do not want you to let me or yourself down. Remember, everything you do and say reflects on me.’

Helen caught the salesgirl’s eye in the mirror, and saw her look of silent sympathy.

‘But no one will be looking at me.’

‘Of course they will. As I said, there are some very important people attending this event. You must make a good impression on them, for the sake of your future career.’

I’d rather have fun, Helen thought.

They had never had a ball at the hospital before. Founder’s Day was in July and so far the most exciting thing to happen on it was a garden party held two years ago. But this year the Trustees had decided to hold a fundraising ball instead. Or rather, Constance Tremayne had decided and the other Trustees had followed meekly in her wake, as usual.

It was to be the social highlight of the year. It was still two months away, but the other nurses were already excitedly planning what they were going to wear, and how many bottles of gin they could smuggle in tucked into their stocking tops.

Helen pulled back the curtain and emerged from the changing room to present herself before her mother. She could hardly bring herself to look at her own reflection. The dress was made of a stiff fabric that scratched her skin. It was matronly, long-sleeved, and fastened up to the neck with an unbecoming ruffle. The drab, muddy green colour made her pale face look sallow. It was the ugliest dress Helen had ever seen.

She already knew what her mother would say before she opened her mouth.

‘Well, I suppose it’s the best we’ve seen so far.’

Helen caught the salesgirl’s appalled look. ‘Don’t you think it might be a bit – old for me, Mother?’ she ventured.

‘Nonsense, it’s entirely appropriate. You young girls dress far too indecently these days,’ Constance dismissed this.

Appropriate. Helen smiled at the word. She couldn’t remember her mother ever telling her she looked beautiful. The only one who told her that was Charlie.

She glanced at the clock. Not long to go now, and she would be meeting him.

‘Under Nelson’s column at four o’clock. Don’t be late!’ he’d warned her.

‘Helen? Are you listening to me?’

She turned to her mother, still smiling. ‘Sorry?’

‘I said, I’m buying this dress. Unless you want to try on some of the others again?’

‘No!’ Helen said. ‘It’s all right, honestly. We’ll take this one.’