The Nightingale Nurses (29 page)

‘Ruby!’ she heard Nick shout. ‘Come here a minute.’

She crept into the hall, hunched with fear, trying to make herself as small as possible.

‘Hello, Mrs Riley.’ Bert Wallis smiled nastily. ‘Long time no see. Anyone would think you’ve been avoiding me or summat?’

Nick turned to her. ‘This bloke reckons you owe him money. Tell him he’s got it wrong, and then he can sling his hook.’ He eyed Bert Wallis as if he wanted to make him do just that.

But Mr Wallis stood his ground. ‘I’ll sling my hook when I’ve got my money,’ he said. ‘I’m sick and tired of knocking on this door and getting no answer. It’s been over a month since you last paid me anything.’

Ruby fixed her gaze beyond Bert’s shoulder, towards the distant rooftops. The thudding of her heartbeat in her ears drowned out the excited voices of the children playing on the green below.

‘Ruby?’ Nick’s voice was uneasy. ‘You don’t owe him anything, do you?’

She bit her lip. Suddenly all she wanted to do was to run away and never stop running.

‘Told you.’ Bert Wallis’ smile was tinged with malice.

‘But we paid it all off months ago. Didn’t we, Ruby? D’you remember, I gave you that money?’

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out.

‘I’m afraid your wife has taken out two further loans since then, Mr Riley,’ Bert Wallis said.

‘Ruby?’ She could feel Nick’s gaze on her, but she didn’t dare look at him. She didn’t want to see the hurt and anger in his eyes. ‘Ruby, answer me. What’s going on?’

She stared down at her wedding band, gleaming dully on her finger.

‘How much?’ Nick asked in a cold voice.

‘Let’s see, shall we?’ Bert Wallis consulted his big leather book. ‘With all the interest on the payments you’ve missed . . . ten guineas, six shillings and fourpence.’

‘Ten guineas!’ Ruby found her voice. ‘It can’t be . . . I never borrowed that much, I swear I didn’t!’

‘That’s what happens when you miss as many payments as you have, Mrs Riley. It all adds up.’

Ruby turned to Nick. His face was a blank mask. ‘Nick, you’ve got to believe me. I never thought—’

He turned and stomped off down the hall, slamming the bathroom door behind him, leaving Ruby alone to face Bert Wallis.

‘Happy chap, your old man, ain’t he?’ Bert said.

‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she whispered.

‘You would have had to face me sometime.’

‘Yes, but not now. Not in front of him . . .’

Before Bert could reply, Nick had returned. ‘Here,’ he said, stuffing a handful of notes into the tallyman’s hands.

Bert Wallis stared. ‘What’s this?’

‘Your money, what does it look like? Paid in full, so we don’t want to see your face round here again, all right?’

‘No need to be like that, Mr Riley.’

‘And if I do see your face on my doorstep again, I’ll sling you off that balcony, understood?’

Bert Wallis’ insinuating smile faded. ‘I didn’t ask your missus to get herself in debt,’ he started to say, but Nick slammed the door in his face.

The atmosphere in the sitting room was tense. Ruby sat on the couch, her hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the rug, unable to look at her husband.

She might have felt better if he’d raged, or shouted, or called her all the names under the sun. But the way he sat very still beside her frightened her even more. She could feel his quiet fury vibrating through every inch of him, as taut as a bowstring.

‘You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have gone behind my back like that. I told you I didn’t want any debts, and you just went ahead and did it anyway.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t do it again, I promise.’

‘You promised last time, too.’ His voice was filled with resignation.

‘I know.’ She didn’t have to look into Nick’s face to know she had destroyed his trust. And this time she would never get it back. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

He sighed raggedly. ‘If it happens again, I can’t bail you out. All the money’s gone.’

She looked up at him. ‘Not your savings? What about America?’

His mouth twisted. ‘Doesn’t look like I’ll be going, does it?’

The bleak expression in his blue eyes shook her. ‘But you’ve got to go! We’ll get the money back, you’ll see.’

‘What’s the point? You were right, it was just a pipe dream.’

‘But it was your dream.’

And now she’d taken it away from him, just as she’d taken away all his other dreams.

FIRST THING IN
the morning the porter brought the morning papers up to the ward.

Millie kept her face averted as she went about her work so she didn’t catch sight of the morning headlines. Every day brought fresh news from Spain, of bombs exploding, buildings being burned to the ground and hostages being shot. One morning she knew she would see a headline saying that a young reporter had been caught in crossfire and killed.

But try as she might to avoid it, the bad news still managed to get to her.

‘I see Franco’s lot have gained more ground,’ a young patient called Alan Cornish commented, scanning the front page. ‘Well, that’s it, then. Looks like they’ve got a full-scale war on their hands.’

‘More fool them,’ another patient, Mr Tucker, mumbled from behind his
Daily Sketch
. ‘Let’s hope they don’t try and get the rest of us involved.’

‘But we’re already involved,’ Alan argued, his face full of emotion. ‘Don’t you see? This is just the start of it. If the Fascists are allowed to defeat the government in Spain, what’s to stop them spreading through the whole of Europe?’

‘It won’t come to that.’ Mr Tucker shook his head. ‘No one wants another war, not after what we all went through the last time.’

‘We’ve got a fight on our hands, whether we like it or not. I just wish I were fit enough to go over there myself. I’d give bloody Franco and his lot what for!’

‘Oh, do shut up, Mr Cornish. You have no idea what you’re talking about!’

They both looked round, astonished by Millie’s outburst. Alan Cornish’s face flushed. ‘I’d welcome the chance to do my bit! As soon as I’m out of here I’m going to go over there and—’

‘Then I don’t know why we’re bothering to nurse you at all, if you’re just planning to go and get yourself killed!’

‘You tell him, Nurse!’ Mr Tucker chuckled. ‘He wouldn’t be so quick to say that if he knew what war was really like. I served for two years on the Western Front, and I’m telling you, it wasn’t all beer and skittles!’

Alan Cornish looked affronted. He opened his mouth to argue, but Millie stuck a thermometer in, shutting him up.

At least Charlie Dawson didn’t want to discuss the war. He greeted her with his usual bright smile when she arrived at his bedside.

‘How are you feeling this morning?’ she asked.

‘Oh, can’t complain. I woke up with a bit of a headache, but I’m not too bad, considering.’

‘Let’s take a look, shall we?’

She popped the thermometer into his mouth and went to take his pulse. His wrist felt spongy under her fingers. ‘Your pulse is a little bit faster this morning.’

‘That must be you holding my hand!’

‘Careful, I’ll tell your girlfriend you’re flirting with me!’

‘Helen knows I only have eyes for her.’

‘She’s a lucky girl.’

Charlie eyed Millie sympathetically. ‘No word of your young man yet?’

‘Not yet.’

She pulled back the bedcover to check Charlie’s legs for signs of oedema. As she rolled up the leg of his pyjamas, she could see at once that his skin was stretched and waxy-looking under the sprinkling of golden hairs. His solid flesh didn’t yield under her finger.

‘I’m sure he’ll be home soon,’ Charlie said, his mouth still clamped around the thermometer. ‘Nurse . . .?’

Millie looked up, distracted. ‘Hmm?’

‘I said, he’ll be home soon.’

‘I expect he will.’ She smiled bracingly, took the thermometer out of Charlie’s mouth and checked it. At least that was normal.

He watched her as she wrote the figures on the chart. ‘What do you reckon, Nurse? Am I on the mend?’

For once Millie tried to think before she spoke. ‘These things take time, Charlie.’ She hung the chart back on the end of his bed. ‘Now, I’ll see about getting you something for that headache.’

She turned to go, but he called her back. ‘Nurse?’

‘Yes, Charlie?’

‘Everything is all right, isn’t it?’

His trusting smile was like a knife in her heart. ‘Of course.’

‘I mean, I’m not getting any worse, am I?’

She couldn’t stop thinking about the solidity of his flesh under her fingers. ‘I told you, Charlie. These things take time.’

‘Yes . . . yes, of course.’ His smile flickered. ‘Sorry, Nurse. I’m just being daft.’

Millie hurried away, hoping her expression hadn’t given away her real concerns.

Nick was hauling a sack of rubbish down the stone steps to the basement when he spotted Joe Armstrong with Nurse Willard.

They were lurking in the shadow of the Porters’ Lodge, out of sight of the wards and in Matron’s office, talking. As Nick watched, Nurse Willard smiled shyly up from under her lashes, then Joe reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face.

Nick stared at the arrogant, handsome profile, and blood sang in his ears. It was all he could do not to march straight over and knock Joe down.

He forced himself to wait until Nurse Willard was heading back towards the Casualty department. Joe turned away and was walking towards the gates, smiling to himself. But his self-satisfied smirk disappeared when Nick stepped out in front of him.

‘I want a word with you.’

Joe looked down at the rubbish sack and then back up at Nick’s face. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’ he jeered.

Nick ignored the jibe. ‘What’s going on with you and that nurse?’

‘What nurse?’

‘Don’t play games with me. I just saw you talking to that blonde from Casualty.’

‘You mean Nurse Willard?’ Joe shrugged. ‘What about her?’

‘Does Dora know you’re messing about behind her back?’

A slow sneer crossed Joe’s face. ‘You’re a fine one to talk about messing about! What about you and your missus?’

Nick took a step towards him. ‘You’d better not hurt Dora,’ he warned.

‘Or what? What are you going to do about it?’ Joe sent him a scathing look. ‘You’d better not be threatening a policeman, or you could find yourself in big trouble, pal.’

‘I’m not your pal. And I’m not frightened of you, either.’

‘You should be.’

‘Is that right?’

Joe squared up to him. ‘See this uniform? It means I’ve got the power to make your life a misery if I want to.’

‘Your uniform don’t scare me.’

‘More fool you, then.’

‘All right, Nick?’ He heard Harry Fishman’s voice behind him. The argument had brought him and a couple of the other porters out of the lodge to investigate. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing. I was just having a chat with the constable here.’

Joe’s lip curled. ‘You’re brave when you’ve got your mates behind you, ain’t you?

‘I don’t need any mates to help me deal with the likes of you, believe me.’

‘You want to get on your way,’ Harry said, moving to stand beside Nick. ‘Ain’t you got any criminals to catch?’

‘I’ve got better things to do with my time than hang around here, that’s for sure.’ Joe turned back to Nick. ‘By the way, you’ve got it wrong. I ain’t with Dora any more.’

Nick stared at him. ‘What?’

‘You heard.’ Joe gave him a disgusted look. ‘She ditched me. And I reckon I know why, too.’ He stepped closer to Nick. ‘You’d better watch yourself, pal. Because next time I see you, you might not have your mates around to back you up!’

‘HOW’S YOUR BOYFRIEND?’

The question came out of the blue. Helen wasn’t even sure it was directed at her until she glanced up and caught Amy Hollins looking at her. They had both just come off their respective night shifts and were sitting awkwardly together at an otherwise empty breakfast table.

‘It’s Charlie, isn’t it?’ said Amy.

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Helen tensed, waiting for the sharp remark to follow. But there was genuine sympathy in Amy Hollins’ face instead.

‘I heard he was on Judd. How’s he getting on?’

‘He’s – getting better, thanks.’

‘That’s good. It must be a real worry for you?’ Again, Helen waited for the sting in the tail, but it didn’t come. Amy gazed back at her, her pretty face full of concern.

‘We were both on Male Surgical when you first met him, do you remember? After his accident?’ Helen nodded. ‘He was such a nice chap,’ Amy recalled. ‘Always so friendly and polite. Not like some of the grumpy old so-and-sos you meet in this job.’ She leaned across the table and patted Helen’s hand. ‘Give him my best wishes, won’t you? And if there’s ever anything you need, you only have to ask . . .’

‘Thanks.’ Helen stared down at Amy’s hand, covering hers. She wanted to pinch it, just to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep at the table after her busy night shift.

It wasn’t until she returned to her room in the night nurses’ corridor after breakfast that she realised why Amy had been so sympathetic. Helen saw that she looked a wreck. Ever since Charlie had been admitted she had tried to get by on the minimum of sleep. Nurses on night duty were forbidden to get up before noon at the earliest, and many liked to sleep in later. But Helen found it hard to sleep at all, and would usually be sitting up on her bed, waiting for the clock to strike twelve so she could get up and visit Charlie.

But days without sleep had left deep purple hollows under her brown eyes, and when she removed her cap her hair fell in lank strands around her face. Her limbs felt heavy with tiredness, and yet she knew as soon as she put her head on the pillow she would be wide awake again.

She tried to tell herself that there was nothing she could do, that she needed to rest so she could be bright enough to face Charlie later. But even if she did drop off from sheer exhaustion, she would jerk awake a few minutes later, convinced she could hear him calling out to her.

At noon, after five hours of staring dry-eyed at the peeling plasterwork on the ceiling, Helen made her way straight to Male Medical.