Christmas for the District Nurses
‘Quite right.’ Edith frowned. ‘You’ve done more than enough for them, Gladys. You’re needed elsewhere now.’
‘That’s what I says to them,’ Gladys replied with determination. ‘Give that fire a good top-up before you eat and it’ll keep going all evening. See you tomorrow, then.’ She hurried out.
Alice shook her head. ‘Doesn’t sound as if that sister is making life easy.’
‘Don’t you go worrying about it, Al, you can’t make no difference. We did the best we could, teaching Gladys to read. She’s got to sort out things at home. High time her sister stepped up, but it’s not our business.’
‘I know.’ Alice sighed and stretched back in the wooden carver chair she’d pulled as close as she dared to the roaring fire. She rolled her shoulders back a few times, easing out the tensions of the day, made worse by cycling around in the cold. Then she brightened. ‘I forgot, I had a letter today.’ She dug around in the pocket of her Aran cardigan, a present from her mother on her last visit home to Liverpool.
‘Is it from Joe?’ Edith asked eagerly, her dark eyes gleaming. She knew Alice received regular letters from Joe Banham, and plenty of the nurses speculated that this meant there was romance in the offing, although Alice maintained it was no such thing.
‘No.’ Alice’s face grew solemn. ‘I haven’t heard from him for a while. Not that it means anything,’ she added hastily as Edith’s expression grew anxious, ‘there might be problems with the post.’ With Joe in the navy, they were never sure where he actually was at any given time.
‘Of course.’ Edith was equally determined not to jump to the worst conclusion. Joe would be all right. He had to be. His parents had been through enough when they believed his brother Harry was dead – as had they all, her more than anyone. Harry was the love of her life and she had felt as if part of her had died too; now he was slowly recovering, there was not a day that went past when she didn’t count her blessings. ‘So who is it from, then?’
Alice drew out the envelope and showed her friend the handwriting on the front: bold, forward-slanting lettering. ‘Dermot,’ she said.
‘Oooooh, Dermot.’ Mary had arrived, her face breaking into a broad smile at the mention of the doctor who had temporarily worked at a local surgery when the regular doctor had been unwell. ‘How is the divine Dermot? Still breaking hearts all along the south coast?’
‘You’re late back,’ Edith said, watching as Mary found another carver chair with a faded cushion and pulled it across to join them. ‘Was there a problem?’
‘No, not really. Mr Emmerson was feeling a bit lonely, that’s all, so I stayed for a chat,’ Mary explained, warming her hands in front of the flames. ‘He misses his sons, poor old devil. But then one of his daughters-in-law popped round so I left them to it.’ Mary’s elderly patients loved her as she had the knack of getting them talking. She often said that it wasn’t simply their aches and pains that needed attention, it was that since the war broke out more and more of them were on their own. ‘So what has the lovely Dermot to say for himself?’
‘Anyone would think you had a soft spot for him,’ teased Edith. ‘Better not let Charles hear you saying that.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing. Charles has been too busy recently to hear me say anything. I hardly see him.’ Mary’s face fell and her chestnut curls drooped a little. Her boyfriend was a captain in the army and, even though he had been based in London for much of the war, he found it difficult to spare time away from his duties at headquarters. ‘So, cheer us up, Alice. What’s the news?’
Alice scanned the sheets of paper, covered in vivid navy ink. ‘All right … good … he’s well, he sends his best. Reading between the lines, they’re working flat out, there’s no let-up even though the raids over the airfields have died down. Lots of his colleagues have gone to serve abroad so there’s twice as much to do for those left on the home front.’
‘Sounds familiar,’ said Edith.
‘No budding love interest, then?’ Mary was always keen to hear about other people’s romances as hers had gone into the doldrums.
‘If there is, he isn’t saying.’ Alice looked up from the letter and folded the top sheet. ‘He might not tell me, of course.’ She counted herself immune to Dermot’s considerable charms as he’d trained as a doctor at the same time as she had studied for her first nursing qualification, back in Liverpool. Their relationship had always been that of colleagues, whereas his arrival in Dalston had caused uproar among the single nurses, and even those not so single.
‘That’s too bad. Well, I live in hope.’ Mary’s good mood had bounced back.
‘He’s wondering what it will be like treating American troops, now they’ve joined the war,’ Alice went on, skimming the second page. ‘He’s going to be working alongside a couple of surgeons from New York, by the sounds of it.’
Belinda rushed in, her dark, tightly curled hair a tangled mess. ‘Budge up, I’m frozen solid,’ she said, bringing across yet another chair to the fireside. ‘I thought I was going to be late for the meal, the ambulance took so long. Woman in labour with a breech birth,’ she explained hastily. ‘Did somebody say “American troops”? Go on, Alice, tell me about my favourite subject.’
Alice pulled a face. ‘Nothing specific, sorry. Were you hoping for news of a battalion of them to be stationed up the road?’
‘We should be so lucky.’ Belinda made a face as well. ‘Look, I know Pearl Harbor was terrible but we have to look on the bright side. All those handsome young men coming across the ocean just to rescue us.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘Bringing gifts of nylon tights and chocolate …’ Mary sat up straighter. ‘I know, I know, better not let Charles hear me say that. Still, you can’t deny that things might start to get interesting.’
‘Exactly.’ Belinda beamed in anticipation.
‘The only good thing is, it might mean that the war is over faster,’ Alice said seriously.
‘True. No, you’re right, I realise that,’ Belinda said hastily. ‘It’s just that you’re not looking for a boyfriend, are you, Alice, but some of us like to keep on the alert just in case. There’s a bit of a shortage of eligible men around here if you hadn’t noticed. So if there are thousands of them about to board ship for Europe, then I for one intend to be ready. What are you looking at me like that for? I’m just saying.’
Edith got to her feet. ‘Looks as if the meal’s ready. Stew again, by the smell of it.’ She reached for her bag as she rose. ‘I’ll take this back to my room and see you down here in a mo.’
Alice stood as well. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it like that,’ she admitted.
‘Well, some of us have,’ said Belinda with spirit, unfolding her tall, slim frame from the warmth of the chair. ‘Who knows, Alice, we might get you out dancing yet.’ She ran after Edith, her thick nurse’s cloak over one arm, her Gladstone bag swinging from the other.
Alice watched them go, reflecting on Dermot’s letter, less concerned by what he had said than what he hadn’t. There had been no mention of Mark, Dermot’s best friend, who had also trained at the big Liverpool hospital when they were there. Mark had broken her heart. She had believed that they were destined to be together and that he felt the same as she did. However, the lure of the Spanish Civil War had been stronger and Alice found herself deserted, not for another woman but for a rival against which she could not hope to win: a cause. Gradually she had hardened her heart and poured everything into her work instead.
Yet it was only human to wonder if he was all right. She knew he had returned from Spain and enlisted as a doctor, and was – to the best of her knowledge – somewhere on the south coast, treating the Forces and also any enemy airmen who had been shot down this past year. She told herself it was enough to know that he was alive, doing the work that he loved and was so supremely good at. There could be nothing further between them. But it did mean that, however enthusiastic her colleagues were, the very last thing she ever wanted to do was to go dancing.
CHAPTER THREE
‘I thought these new girls were meant to help us out but this has been the slowest day I can remember in all the time we’ve worked here,’ Peggy Cannon complained, pulling off the dusty headscarf that she wore while working in the gas-mask factory. ‘I know they’ve got to register for some kind of war work, but why didn’t they sign up for something they’re good at?’ She rolled up the fraying piece of cotton and shoved it into her bulging handbag.
Clarrie was more forgiving. ‘You forget what we were like at first. We were all fingers and thumbs. Give them a few days and they’ll catch up.’ She shook free her own hair, which was a striking red, all the more noticeable in the dull changing room of the factory.
‘They’ll have to,’ Peggy grumbled. ‘We’re going to be making more than gas masks and boxes now, aren’t we? I heard we were going to do stuff for weapons, rubber seals and that.’
Clarrie glanced around. ‘Don’t go saying that outside these walls.’
Peggy snorted. ‘What do you take me for? Do they seriously think we won’t notice that everything we’re working on is a different shape?’ She buttoned her coat, with its worn patches from several years’ use. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m just in a bad mood.’
Clarrie shrugged, used to her friend’s impatience. ‘Well, my sister’s gone and put her name down for the Land Army,’ she said. ‘Can you credit it? She can just about peel a carrot; she’s never grown a thing in her life. Pity the poor farmer who ends up with her.’
Peggy grinned at the idea. ‘Maybe she’ll be good with animals. Used to take that dog you had when you were little out for walks, didn’t she?’
‘Yes, but she didn’t have to kill it and eat it,’ Clarrie pointed out. ‘No, she’s in for the shock of her life. And she’ll most likely be out in the middle of nowhere, no dancing or nothing.’
One of their fellow workers passed by, half hearing their conversation. ‘Oh, are you going dancing?’ she asked casually. ‘Well, good for you, Peggy, cos you’re over him by now, aren’t you? Let’s face it, he’s been dead much longer than you was wed. Best to get back out on the dance floor!’ and she was off in a trail of cheap perfume, leaving Peggy with her jaw dropping at the insensitivity of the comment.
Clarrie tucked her arm through her friend’s. ‘Pay her no notice. She don’t know what she’s talking about.’
Peggy swallowed hard. ‘I know. She’s nothing but hot air, that one. She don’t know the half of it and that’s a fact. Come on, let’s get out of here.’ She found it was suddenly hard to breathe. She’d go for ages convincing herself that she was all right, but all it took was one callous remark and she was back down in the deep well of grief, mourning Pete, who’d been her husband for less than a year when he’d been killed at Dunkirk. As if a bit of dancing could put right the unfairness of that.
Not that she hadn’t tried. Where Edith had stayed in, craving silence and stillness to remember her Harry, Peggy had thrown herself into escaping, drinking, dancing, staying out, and generally carrying on as if there were no tomorrow. Sometimes it helped her to forget, more often it just brought it home to her how wonderful Pete had been and how nobody else came close. She’d had one particular dreadful incident, when she was attacked by a Canadian airman whose dark good looks hid his violent heart. She had even bounced back from that, as far as the few people who knew about it could tell. Only Peggy knew that her love for Pete was so deeply buried that nothing could touch it, and she couldn’t see how she would ever get over his loss.
Clarrie glanced at her watch. ‘Tell you what, shall we have a quick one down the Duke’s Arms? It’s Friday, there might be some of the old gang from school there.’
Peggy perked up. That was one place it wouldn’t matter if two young women came in for a drink on their own. They had plenty of friends who often went there and most of them had known Pete.
‘Yes, let’s. Pete’s mum won’t be waiting for me, it’s her WVS day.’ Peggy continued to live with her mother-in-law and, although the two women had their occasional differences, there was comfort to be had in the knowledge that they had both loved Pete.
The cheerful old pub was not far from the factory and already the main bar was buzzing with conversation. There was nothing fancy about it, and from the outside it was impossible to tell, in the blackout, that it was full of old metal lamps inside and well-polished woodwork, with a welcoming atmosphere that drew the regulars back time after time. Clarrie waved at a few people as she pushed her way in, Peggy – who was shorter – following behind. Clarrie was like a beacon with her bright hair, and Peggy sometimes felt in her friend’s shadow.
‘Hello, girls, what can I get you?’ A familiar figure was standing at the bar.
‘Billy! What you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home getting ready for the big day?’ Peggy came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the young man grinning sheepishly over the top of his pint.
‘Dutch courage,’ he admitted, setting down his glass. ‘Come on, what’ll it be? You might as well take advantage of my last night as a free man.’
Clarrie laughed. ‘Surely you of all people aren’t having second thoughts, Billy?’
Billy gave her an incredulous look. ‘Me? Of course not. It’s just, well, you know, I’ve got to stand up in front of everyone and say my vows. What if I mess it up? I’m getting all nervous just thinking about it.’ He grinned to make a joke of it but they could see his hand was shaking a little.
Peggy faced him seriously. ‘You won’t, Billy. And, even if you do, who’s going to care? Kath won’t, she’ll be glad that you finally made it to the altar at last. She won’t want you smelling like a brewery though, I can tell you that for a fact.’
Billy shook his head firmly. ‘I only just got here. I won’t be staying. Only wanted to settle me nerves a bit then I’ll get back to Ma’s, make sure she’s all set for tomorrow. What can I get you?’
‘Half a shandy,’ said Clarrie at once.
Peggy was tempted to say port and lemon, but that drink had been her downfall once too often. ‘I’ll have the same,’ she said, and caught Clarrie’s brief glance of approval.
‘Then I’ll have a half meself as a top-up and that’s it, no more till after the … the wedding.’ Billy suddenly went bright red. ‘I still can’t believe it. I’m really marrying Kath tomorrow. How about that?’ His eyes shone as he passed them their shandies.
‘Cheers, Billy,’ said Clarrie. ‘If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you and Kath. We’ll be there in our glad rags to wish you well. Half eleven, isn’t it?’
‘I got to be early,’ Billy grinned. ‘I’ll be in no end of trouble otherwise. I’m not even on duty this evening.’
‘I should hope not! Not on the eve of your wedding, Billy. Let the ARP cope without you for once.’ Peggy took a sip of her drink.
‘Anyway Stan’s working tonight so we’re all in the best hands possible.’ Billy carefully poured his half of bitter into his pint glass, wishing he didn’t feel so shaky.
‘I’d have thought he’d be wanted back home,’ Clarrie said. ‘Aren’t we all going back there tomorrow after the service?’
Billy nodded. ‘Yes, Ma couldn’t cope with having a crowd of people, Kath’s bedsit is smaller than that table over there, and we don’t have no spare cash to hire a hall. Besides, she feels as if Jeeves Street is her second home, so it’s the best thing all round. I’m ever so grateful.’
‘It’s only what you deserve, Billy,’ Peggy repeated with sincerity, even as a little voice whispered that she too had known that thrill of anticipation and sheer happiness, and would never find it again.
The atmosphere in the church was calm, with a faint smell of dust, flowers and beeswax. There was a moment of silence which felt to Billy as if it lasted a lifetime. Then Kath looked up at him, blinked hard and said, very clearly so that everyone could hear: ‘I do.’
Billy thought his heart would burst with happiness and pride. He looked down at her and met her eyes, which were the most beautiful in the world.
‘You may kiss the bride,’ said the vicar, and Billy didn’t need to be told twice. Even as he did so he could sense the rush of approval from their guests, ranged along the front pews.
Kathleen had not wanted to wear white. She had done so for her first wedding, and that had brought her precious little joy. Now that clothing was growing harder to come by, it was a waste of time, effort and material to have a dress that could be worn only once. She had gone for the more practical choice of a neat suit in soft grey featuring a nipped-in waist, with a deep rose blouse that she had made herself. It flattered her delicate colouring. Mattie had done her hair first thing in the morning, persuading it to fall in waves, sweeping it up at the sides so it wouldn’t get in her eyes.
Billy knew this was not a repeat of her previous disastrous marriage. They would start out differently, and do everything differently. He would be a proper husband to her. After today, they would move into their new house and start their life. He would show her what a happy partnership could be like. He remembered how it was when his own father had been alive – how contented his parents had been, comfortable to accommodate each other. He would build on that. She deserved nothing but the best.
The organ began to play and the vicar gently gestured to the newlyweds that they should turn and make their way back down the aisle. Billy grinned and Kath smiled back up at him. ‘Off we go, then,’ she breathed, tucking her hand through the crook of his arm.’
‘Off we go,’ he repeated. ‘You and me, Kath. Together from now on.’
The Banhams’ kitchen was full to bursting, and so was their front parlour. If the weather had been warmer, the guests would have spilled outside into the back yard, but the bitter chill had put a stop to that. Everyone crowded inside, enjoying the spread that Flo had conjured up from pooled ration cards, friends’ and family’s generosity and sheer ingenuity. At the centre of it all stood the happy couple, both of them still grinning from ear to ear.
Billy was in his only good suit, with a new white shirt and borrowed smart striped tie. He’d loosened the knot and undone his top button as soon as he’d reached Jeeves Street, not being used to such formal restriction. Now he laughed with relief. He hadn’t made a mess of his vows after all, but had stood at the altar and spoken with complete conviction. Kath could now set aside the hated surname of Berry and become Kathleen Reilly. They would change Brian’s name too. Billy loved the little boy as if he was his own son, and in truth had already been a far better father to him than Ray had ever been.
Brian himself wore a new pair of smart tweed shorts and had started the day in a new pale green shirt that now had food down it. Nobody minded. Flo privately vowed to clean it later, and he could borrow one of Gillian’s jumpers. Gillian was proudly copying Brian and smearing her own blouse with pickle. Flo was tempted to intervene but it would have meant dashing through a group of people and creating a scene; today was not the day for it.
Attracting nearly as much attention as Kathleen and Billy was Harry Banham, back on a rare visit home. He sat in an armchair, carefully propped on cushions. Even though he had suffered his injuries eighteen months ago, he was still receiving treatment for them, and had recently undergone yet another operation. His old spirit had returned, though, and he encircled Edith’s waist with his good arm. She was perched on one arm of the chair, happy to be snuggled next to Harry, conscious of the warmth of him through the material of her best frock.
‘Us next,’ he murmured, his eyes glinting.
Edith giggled. ‘Can’t wait, Harry.’ She turned to face him. ‘We’ll get you patched up a bit more first though.’
Harry pretended to be offended. ‘What, you mean you miss my ravishing good looks?’
‘You’ll always be the most handsome man in the room to me, Harry.’ Edith’s voice grew serious. ‘But you know as well as I do that there will be more operations to come. We don’t want to ruin the chance of them succeeding. I really, really don’t want to wait but it’s for the best. For the time being, at any rate.’
Harry pulled her closer still. ‘I’d marry you tomorrow if I could. You mean the world to me, Edie.’
She tipped back her head and laughed. ‘I know,’ she said happily. She wanted to be Harry’s wife more than anything, but realised that any delay in his treatment might mean it was less likely to be fully effective. There were all sorts of new developments in the treatment of facial burns, as so many airmen had suffered them during the Battle of Britain. Harry didn’t need the kind of reconstruction that some of them did, but he’d had a skin graft on one side of his face to repair the worst of the damage there. Fortunately his hair had begun to grow back and he could wear it a little longer than the standard army crew cut, to mask the upper scars.
Edith couldn’t decide if it made it better or worse that she was a nurse. Sometimes she could take a step back and recognise how wonderful it was, that the surgeons had such skill and could help mend what would have been permanent terrible disfigurement only a few years ago. Next she would remember all the risks that came with any surgery and her heart would fill with dread that Harry would react badly to the anaesthetic or go down with a dangerous infection. Then she would give herself a talking-to. After all, she had thought she had lost him for good. She would take him back into her willing arms whatever shape he was in; if he could be given some semblance of his former appearance, then so much the better.
Clarrie came over, balancing a plate of Spam sandwiches in one hand. ‘They let you come home, then?’ she asked. ‘We didn’t know if you’d be allowed out yet.’
Harry smiled up at his old school friend. ‘Didn’t want to miss this,’ he said. ‘I felt bad that I couldn’t say for certain that I’d be here. Billy wanted me to be his best man but there was a chance the last operation would be put back a week and I knew I couldn’t say no to that.’
‘Course not.’ Clarrie put her plate down on a side table before its contents fell off. ‘There, help yourselves. Anyway, his mate Ron did a grand job. He scrubs up well, don’t he? I’ve never seen him in a suit before. And it was lovely that your dad gave Kath away.’
‘Yes, well, she’s almost family so it was only right,’ Harry said, accepting the sandwich that Edith passed him. ‘Her own dad passed away years ago and she don’t get on with her brothers. Their loss, I say.’
Edith nodded vigorously. She knew what that felt like; she had very little to do with her own brothers, who had thought she’d got ideas above herself when she’d taken up nursing.
‘Joe didn’t get leave, then?’ Clarrie asked, smoothing down her turquoise cardigan, which she’d teamed with a blue and green scarf, knowing those colours set off her red hair.
‘No, he hasn’t made it,’ said Harry, his expression fading. ‘Haven’t seen him for ages, have we, Edie?’
‘No, more’s the pity. We don’t even know where he is these days.’ Edith automatically cast a glance across the room in Alice’s direction, to where her friend was talking to Mary. If Alice didn’t know where Joe was, then nobody did. As their friendship was partly based on a common love of books, he would write to her and tell her about what he was currently reading. Then Alice would work out where the author of the book was from, or where it was set. That would be where Joe was at the time of his writing the letter. But there had been no letters for a while. Edith had the feeling that Alice was more concerned than she let on.
Clarrie picked up the empty plate. ‘I’ll get you some more, shall I?’ she asked, and moved off before either of them could answer. Edith appreciated it; she just wanted to stay cuddled up tight to Harry, and the less he moved around the better.