Wartime for the District Nurses

So all she could do was keep Billy at a distance, because the love she saw in his eyes threatened to undo her and break her resolve. She couldn’t let it happen. Better he thought she had stopped caring than he knew the truth – even if it cost her what she longed for most.

Peggy glanced around the interior of the pub. It wasn’t quite what she had expected. Somehow she had imagined that Laurence would have a taste for the good things in life, after he had appeared to have money to spend so liberally on drinks for a group of people he hardly knew. This place could not be described as luxurious. It was even a bit rundown, if she was honest, but she made up her mind not to be disappointed. He had probably chosen it because of its convenient location, halfway between the station where his train would pull in and where she lived.

It wasn’t as if she was out to snare a rich husband either. Nothing could have been further from her mind, although she knew some of the women she worked with were targeting airmen as they were most likely to have plenty of cash. This was solely to escape from everything that now weighed her down. She took in the sight of the other customers. There were plenty of young men in uniform, but mostly army rather than RAF. There were equal numbers of young women and older men, some who had perhaps come straight from work, as she herself had. She’d taken the precaution of telling Mrs Cannon that she might stay at Clarrie’s so the older woman would not wait up for her. Not that she intended to stay out, but she didn’t fancy a grilling about where she’d been and with whom.

There was no sign of Laurence yet. Peggy was not sure if he was staying in London or coming up from his airfield that day, and she’d heard that the trains were now often delayed and so it was nothing to worry about. She knew the sensible thing to do would be to find a table and sit there to wait for him, but she was in a reckless mood. She elbowed her way to the bar, its deep wood surface marked with scores of rings from where glasses had stood. The bar staff at the Duke’s Arms would never have stood for that, but this place evidently had different standards.

There was a middle-aged man serving at one end, his thinning hair combed unconvincingly across his pink scalp. Peggy looked away before he could meet her eye. She didn’t fancy getting stuck in conversation with him. Then, from around the other side of the bar, a youngish woman appeared, older than Peggy but with a far friendlier demeanour than the barman. ‘Evening,’ she said brightly, her big brass necklace flashing in the beams of the overhead lights. ‘What can I get you?’

Again Peggy thought of the sensible choices, lemonade or ginger beer. ‘Port and lemon please,’ she said decisively.

‘Port and lemon coming up.’ The barmaid reached for a glass, held it up to the light and hurriedly wiped it with a tea towel. ‘Your first time in here, is it?’

Peggy nodded. ‘I’m meeting a friend.’

The barmaid raised an eyebrow. ‘A male friend, might that be?’

‘He’s in the air force,’ Peggy told her eagerly. ‘He’s a pilot.’

The woman pulled a face. ‘Is he now? We get some of them in here all right. Well, don’t go getting too fond of him if you take my meaning.’

Peggy was confused. ‘Not sure I do. What do you mean?’ Now the woman was standing more closely Peggy could tell that she was older than she’d first appeared, with worry lines across her forehead and the beginnings of crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes.

The woman sighed. ‘Because they’re getting shot down like nobody’s business,’ she said brusquely. ‘Day after day, all those fights with Hitler’s planes. You can call it the Battle of Britain if you like, but all I see is customers who suddenly don’t show their faces again.’

Peggy bristled. ‘That’s not what they say on the news,’ she began, even though she often didn’t listen properly. It hadn’t saved Pete, after all.

‘I’m only giving you a friendly tip,’ said the barmaid. ‘You can be friends with whoever you like, no skin off my nose. But those boys have a habit of not coming back, so have a care.’

‘Enough of that, Marge, you’ll frighten her off,’ growled the man. ‘Don’t go saying such things in public.’

Marge tossed her head and the necklace flashed. ‘Still true though,’ she said. ‘You mark my words.’ She slammed the full glass on the counter, gave the barman a filthy look and disappeared around the corner of the bar to the snug.

Peggy took her drink and gave the money to the barman, who glared at her as if it was all her fault. She took a quick sip and turned, scanning the room for a table. There was one in the corner. Making her way across the saloon, she decided that the woman was jealous, probably because she was stuck with the miserable barman and couldn’t flirt with the pilots any more. Well, that wasn’t Peggy’s problem. Marge must have gone straight to the wireless as the sounds of the Andrews Sisters rose over the hubbub of chatter from the punters.

Taking her seat, Peggy toyed with her glass, knowing she had better not finish this drink too quickly. She ignored all the interested glances from the young lads in army uniform, or those from the men old enough to be her father. Dirty so-and-sos, she thought.

Finally, when she was over halfway through the port and lemon, there was a flash of movement and he was there beside her. Laurence, even more handsome than she remembered.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ he said, in that relaxed accent that made her knees go weak. ‘Have you been waiting long? Here, let me get you another.’

Peggy beamed up at him and stood. ‘I don’t mind if I do,’ she said.

‘Got a moment?’ Edith stuck her head around Alice’s bedroom door. Her friend was sitting by the window to catch the last of the daylight, the sunset fading from bright gold to deep red over the rooftops. Her hair, swept up into a loose bun to keep it out of the way, picked up the golden highlights. In her hand was a letter. ‘Sorry, are you busy?’

‘No, no, come in.’ Alice folded the sheets of paper and tucked them back in their envelope. ‘It’s from Joe. I was only rereading it.’

Edith gave a small smile. Joe, Harry’s older brother, wrote frequently to Alice, and there had been plenty of their friends who took this to mean more than it actually did. Edith knew for a fact that most of their correspondence consisted of comments about books they had recently read and there was no romance to speak of. Alice was not looking for anything of that sort; she had had her heart broken once already and had no intention of repeating the devastating experience. Yet she and Joe had formed a close bond and Edith was glad for her friend, who otherwise would throw everything into her work.

‘How is he?’ she asked now, sitting on the neatly made bed, leaning back and stretching her feet. She groaned a little – they ached as she had cycled or walked for hours on end earlier that day, or that was what it felt like.

‘Lots going on, by the sounds of it.’ Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘Of course he doesn’t say where he is, but he does mention he’s just finished a novel by Eric Linklater. So my bet is he’s at Scapa Flow.’

Edith frowned. ‘How do you know that?’

‘Because that writer is from Orkney,’ Alice explained, a little embarrassed to be caught out knowing such details. ‘That’s where our big naval base is, so it would make sense if he was there. That’s my guess anyway. He sends his love.’

Edith nodded. ‘Send mine back.’ She was very fond of Joe, who was as reliable as Harry had been impetuous. From a distance they had looked very similar, but she had never had any doubt which brother she preferred. ‘I’ve had a letter too.’

‘Oh?’ Alice put down her envelope. ‘Not Peggy again?’

‘No. Well, yes actually, she left a note to suggest meeting this Friday but not in a crowd like before. That’s not why I wanted to talk to you, though.’ Her face twisted and Alice leant forward in concern. ‘It’s from one of my brothers.’

‘Your brothers?’ Alice sat up in amazement. Edith’s contacts with her family were few and far between, and in all the time she had known her, there had never been word from any of her brothers.

Edith nodded. ‘Yes. It’s from Mick – the one who’s only a couple of years younger than me. He’s had to join up, of course, and he’s back on leave for a few days. He says we should meet. I think he’s worried that our younger brother Frankie will try to join up too, even though he’s not old enough.’

Alice grimaced. ‘The way this war is going, Edie, he might well get his chance anyway. Sorry, that’s not fair. Will you go? To see him, I mean?’

Edith’s dark eyes grew bright. ‘I don’t know. It’s a bit rich, coming to me now, when there hasn’t been a dickybird from any of them for ages. My mother did send a Christmas card, but she forgot to put a stamp on it and it reached here after New Year. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s out to cadge some money off me or something like that.’

Alice spread her hands. ‘But you won’t know unless you go.’

‘Exactly.’ Edith got up and walked to the window. ‘That’s the dilemma. If he really needs to see me then I should let bygones be bygones and go. If he’s just after a handout I’ll be back to square one.’ She gazed sadly out at the ridge tiles and chimneys knowing that, far away over the houses, what remained of her family still lived on the other side of the Thames. She could not in all honesty say that she missed them very much. Yet, since meeting Harry’s family, she had become aware of what she was lacking – a big, caring group of people who welcomed friends into their fold. It had broken through the hard shell she had placed around the idea of family. Perhaps her brother really had changed.

‘Then you won’t have lost anything by going, will you?’ reasoned Alice. ‘You might regret not giving him a chance.’

Edith sighed. ‘I suppose so. Part of me doesn’t want anything to do with him. We never got on as kids, and after Teresa died he hated me; well, he hated all of us, but me especially. It was as if I was meant to have kept her alive. But how could I have? I was only twelve.’

Alice got up from her seat and stood by her friend. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Edie. She would have died whatever you did. It was nobody’s fault, just bad luck that your big sister got diphtheria.’

Edith kept her gaze steadily on the rooftops, not trusting herself to look into Alice’s face. She never spoke of Teresa as a rule, the one person in her family who had loved her without question and whom she had adored. Just one year older than her, Teresa had been her best friend for all her childhood, but then she had taken sick and died in no time at all. The shock had never quite left her. She knew deep down it was why she had fought so hard to become a nurse; she might not have been able to save Teresa but she would do her best to save all those other children with that dreaded disease.

‘I know,’ she said eventually. ‘Well, we know better than anyone, don’t we? We saw cases of it while we were training. Not much of it in Hackney, touch wood.’ She tapped the window frame. ‘So it makes sense for me to meet Mick. If he’s changed, then so much the better. If he hasn’t then I’m no worse off.’

‘I think you’re right,’ Alice agreed. ‘Expect the worst but hope for the best. You never know. Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No,’ said Edith decisively. ‘Thanks, but this is something I will do alone.’ She knew that her brother would quite unreasonably think that Alice was snooty, as she didn’t have a London accent. Edith was quietly protective of her friend, who had not grown up on the same tough streets.

‘If you’re sure?’

Edith nodded firmly. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’ll see him. As you say, he might be different now.’ The old proverb about leopards not changing their spots sprang into her mind but she dismissed it. Perhaps joining up had made him see that there were other sorts of people in the world. War was proving to be a great leveller. Time would tell if that was how it had affected Mick Gillespie. ‘You go back to Joe’s letter and his funny old writers. I’ll try to sort out my nuisance of a little brother.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Peggy opened her eyes and squinted because the light of the ugly bedside table hurt her eyes. Where was she? Her throat was dry and she ached all over. There was an odd noise too, a rhythmic sort of rumbling. Then she remembered.

Some of the details were hazy but she knew Laurence had bought her many more port and lemons. At first it had been fun and she had enjoyed their conversation, relishing his wit and good looks and the way everyone was staring at him in his smart pilot’s uniform. Then she’d begun to get rather wobbly but he’d still continued to buy her drinks. It turned out he was staying in a room above the pub, which had surprised her, but when he’d suggested she go upstairs for a lie-down as she seemed a bit tired, it had made a kind of sense at the time. That had been a big mistake.

He’d been on her in a flash, pushing her up against the door, kissing her roughly and not at all in the way she liked, pulling off her clothes as he undid his trousers. She’d tried to protest but she was too drunk, and her body wouldn’t move as she wanted it to. She tried to call out but he stopped her mouth with his own. It was useless and in the end she’d gone along with it, just to get it over with. It hadn’t lasted long. In a moment he got her on the cheap carpet, forced himself on her then rolled off. ‘Payment for all the port and lemons,’ he’d said, and suddenly his accent didn’t seem as attractive any more. ‘Don’t pretend you haven’t done this before. You aren’t exactly an innocent, are you.’ It wasn’t a question.

Peggy tried to recall if she’d told him she was a widow, but decided it didn’t matter. Pete’s memory was too precious to her to share with this man who had turned out to be the very opposite of a gentleman. He’d taken advantage of her, but then she’d allowed him to get the drinks all evening. She’d offered herself up like a willing sacrifice. No wonder he’d thought she wouldn’t mind, or rather hadn’t bothered to check if she did or not.

Groaning, she rolled over. She was in an unfamiliar bed, and the strange noise was Laurence snoring. She had to get away from him as quickly as possible as she could no longer bear the sight of him. Those good looks covered a black heart and the sooner she was away the better. Wildly she scrabbled for her clothes and put them on, her hands shaking as the effects of the alcohol wore off. Her head pounded but the most important thing was to get out.

If he’d heard the noise she was making, Laurence didn’t react. That told her all she needed to know. She was less than nothing to him. He didn’t care if she was awake or not, let alone if he’d hurt her. She knew she’d have bruises tomorrow, and marks from the horrible carpet, which was slightly sticky under her feet as she crept to the door.

Pausing in the dimly lit corridor, she checked her watch. She would still have time to catch the last bus, just. Swiftly she made her way down the stairs and out of a side door that she hoped would lead her to a road she recognised, but not before Marge caught her eye as she wiped the bar. The older woman shook her head, but Peggy was too hungover to react. She didn’t care what the barmaid thought; she’d never have to see her again. All she wanted now was her own bed and to forget the whole evening.

‘What have you got there, Mary?’ Belinda, who was a half-head taller than her colleague, leant over to see. Mary was standing at one of the common-room windows, overlooking the bike rack at the side of the yard, and admiring a small box in her hand. It was Friday lunch time and Belinda was ravenous after a tough morning, but not so hungry as to overcome her natural curiosity.

Mary looked up and smiled, patting her rich brown curls. ‘A present from Charles,’ she said, giving the box a little shake. It rattled, and Belinda raised her eyebrows. ‘Hairgrips.’

‘They’ll be useful.’ Belinda shook her own dark hair, which held its tight waves no matter how much she tried to straighten it under her nurse’s cap. ‘I’m running out and can’t seem to find any in the shops or market.’

Mary nodded. ‘Charles said that’s because all the available metal will be going to munitions and to build new aircraft and that sort of thing,’ she explained. ‘Not that I can see how a few little hairgrips will make much difference. They’re only small. But he says they will be tricky to come by and so he got me these.’

‘You’re lucky to have someone as thoughtful as that,’ breathed Belinda with just a hint of envy.

Mary tried not to look smug. ‘I know. Most chaps wouldn’t think about it. But he knows how hard I try to keep my hair tidy for work, and how important that is.’

‘Exactly,’ said Belinda. ‘We can’t afford to spread infection if we let loose our beautiful tresses.’ She sighed. ‘I need some food after the morning I’ve had. Let’s go and eat.’

After settling themselves in front of their bowls of oxtail soup in the dining area, Mary looked up. ‘So what happened this morning?’

Belinda took a couple of spoonfuls. ‘That’s better. Now I feel human again.’ She put down her spoon. ‘It wasn’t any one major problem, just the way lots of small things built up. There was one middle-aged woman who had broken her wrist. I mean, it was painful and awkward but no worse than that, no complications. She was so upset, though. In the end I realised she just wanted someone to talk to. She’s missing her sons, her husband is hardly at home because he’s started fire-watching, and now she’s hurt her wrist she’s no use for minding her daughter’s baby. On top of all that she’s terrified the Nazis will invade. There wasn’t much I could say to that; only to reassure her that she’ll be as good as new soon and that we’re all trying our best.’ She paused to draw breath.

‘There won’t be an invasion,’ Mary declared, confident as ever.

‘Mary, we don’t know that,’ Belinda pointed out.

‘Our boys in the RAF are defending our skies. That’s what the wireless tells us,’ Mary replied, steadfast in her belief. ‘Charles says the Luftwaffe aren’t getting away with anything. Our boys are stopping them getting through and it’s a marvellous triumph every day. So you can tell your patient to set one worry aside at any rate. But isn’t it funny how cases go in batches?’ she asked hurriedly, reading the scepticism in her colleague’s eyes. ‘A short while ago it was measles everywhere. I had two sprained ankles and a broken arm this morning. One was an accident in the blackout …’

‘… though we’re seeing fewer of those now the evenings are light,’ Belinda pointed out.

‘True. One was a young boy who’d decided to help out around the house with jobs his big brother used to do before joining up, but he didn’t really know what he was doing and fell off a ladder while trying to put up a shelf. So now his poor parents have double the worry and no shelf.’ She shrugged. ‘It could be worse.’

Belinda nodded as she took another welcome mouthful of soup.

‘My other one was an old man who tried to mow his lawn and wasn’t strong enough to take his mower out of the shed,’ Mary went on. ‘He told me his neighbour used to do it but now he’s in the army. So many things we used to take for granted are much more difficult now that there aren’t as many young men around.’

Belinda rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘Belinda!’ Mary pretended to be shocked. ‘And over lunch, too!’

‘Well, it’s all right for you, you’ve got Charles,’ Belinda pointed out. ‘Not only does he take you to the snazziest restaurants, but he remembers you need hairgrips too. He’s a man in a million. Does he have any friends?’

‘They’re all in the army, most of them away. You can share my hairgrips if you like,’ she added generously. ‘I’m sure I shan’t need them all.’

‘No, no. I couldn’t let you do that. They were a present,’ Belinda said. ‘I was only teasing. Sometimes the least expensive presents are the best, aren’t they, because they are what you really need, and Charles knew you well enough to find them. You’re a lucky woman, Mary Perkins.’

Mary had the grace to blush. ‘Well, I think so. Most of the time.’ She grinned and stood up, taking her soup bowl to the serving hatch. ‘Must be off, more patients to see.’

Belinda waved to her friend and tipped her bowl to spoon up the last of the soup. She’d been half joking, but it was true that there seemed to be far fewer eligible young men around, or at least those who weren’t simply passing through en route to active service somewhere. Her mind turned to that nice young ARP warden who had been at the pub and who knew Edith well. He’d had such kind, lively eyes and a lovely head of dark hair, gently wavy – not tight like hers. Admittedly he was not quite as tall as her, but many men weren’t. He’d been a real gent, walking her home even though it was out of his way. What was his name again? She frowned in concentration until it came to her. It was Billy – Billy Reilly.

Edith pushed open the door of Lyons Corner House with trepidation. Perhaps she should have chosen a smaller café but it was too late to change her mind now. She’d wanted to go somewhere she wouldn’t bump into anyone she knew, so that ruled out all the Dalston ones, and to be somewhere central so her brother would have no cause for complaint about being dragged north of the river and so far east. Lyons near Charing Cross seemed the easiest bet. But gazing round at the waitresses in their smart uniforms, and the women customers sipping their tea with bags of shopping stacked around their chairs, Edith could hear her brother’s snide comments in her head even before he turned up.

In for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself, smiling at the nearest waitress and ordering a toasted teacake. She could pretend sugar and butter wasn’t rationed for once. Might as well enjoy the place before her brother arrived to ruin it. Then she berated herself. Everything might be all right. He might just surprise her.

Edith’s thoughts turned to the night before, when she’d met Peggy in the Duke’s Arms. She’d tried not to look shocked when Peggy had confessed to getting blind drunk with Laurence, but any disapproval had melted away when Peggy described what had happened next.

‘I don’t know how we went from having a lovely time to him behaving like a pig,’ she’d said, quietly so nobody else in the busy beer garden could hear. ‘It was like he was a different person altogether, more like a filthy animal than the bloke we all met in here. I couldn’t do a thing to get away. Truth was, I was afraid to try after a bit, I thought he’d really hurt me.’

‘Oh, Peggy.’ Edith had put her hand on her friend’s arm and squeezed it gently, but even that made her wince.

‘Sorry, it’s the bruises,’ Peggy said. ‘They’re coming out all over me, I’m blue and purple from head to toe. It’s a proper palaver hiding them from Pete’s mum.’ Her lip trembled.

‘Peggy, you should report it,’ Edith said. ‘Who knows, he might try to do it again.’

Peggy had laughed off the suggestion. ‘And say what? That I had too much to drink and agreed to go into his room? They’ll say I was asking for it, you know they will. It’s not as if I’m completely wet behind the ears. I thought we were going to have a bit of fun. I just didn’t realise what his idea of fun was.’

Edith shook her head. ‘All the same …’

Peggy was resolute. ‘No, there’s nothing to be gained by complaining. All that will happen is I’ll get a reputation for being fast. Who knows, perhaps I deserve it.’

Edith tutted. ‘Don’t say such daft things. Of course you don’t.’

Peggy glanced away, suddenly unable to meet her friend’s eyes. ‘Perhaps it’s my punishment. You know, for going out when Pete’s not long dead. That’s what everyone will say, and maybe it’s right. You aren’t going out gallivanting; you’re staying in and mourning Harry like he deserves, aren’t you?’

Edith shrugged. ‘I don’t feel like going out, that’s true. It’s different coming here and seeing you. But, as for the thought of meeting another man … no, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t feel right to me. But I’m not saying you shouldn’t. We’re not all the same, are we?’