Читать книгу Christmas for the District Nurses - Annie Groves, Annie Groves - Страница 13

‘You’ve got another one of those letters,’ said Mrs Cannon as Peggy came downstairs in her light cotton dress and sandals. Now that summer was properly here, the temperature had risen, though the hallway of the small terraced house was still shady and cool. The older woman stood at the parlour door, half-hidden in the shadows, and held out an envelope to her daughter-in-law.

‘Thanks.’ Peggy took it and tucked it into her patch pocket. She had given up hiding the arrival of the letters, as it only made things worse. Besides, she didn’t want to skulk about and pretend nothing had happened.

She had been seen, of course. Belinda had teased her, which she didn’t mind; after all, Belinda had met James, if briefly, and had seen how genuine he was. It was the reaction of the neighbours that had caught her unawares.

It had been downright vicious. Mrs Bellings across the road had lost no time in making her feelings known. ‘It’s a disgrace,’ she’d spat, catching Peggy as she came home from her shift not long after Easter. ‘You flaunting yourself like that, with that man. A GI, of all things. Don’t think I don’t know what they’re like. You should be ashamed of yourself.’

Peggy had found herself speechless for a moment and then had recovered. ‘I’ll thank you to mind your own business,’ she had retorted sharply, letting herself into the house and slamming the front door in her indignant neighbour’s face. She had leant against the coolness of the hallway wall, catching her breath. Spiteful old woman, she thought. She’s just jealous.

However it had not been a one-off incident. Plenty of people were beginning to object to the presence of the American servicemen. More and more were preparing to sail across the Atlantic, and the British were often at a loss as to what to make of them. ‘Overpaid, oversexed and over here’ was the general complaint. Women who associated with them ran the risk of being scorned, or being considered mercenary and just in it for the nylons, or worse. Peggy had compounded the problem because James was black.

To give her credit, Mrs Cannon had not been one of them. She had asked Peggy if it was true and Peggy had told her what had happened: she had met James and liked him but not really thought anything of it when she didn’t hear from him; he’d called for her out of the blue; they’d gone for a walk and got along like a house on fire. Now he had been posted to another army camp, she wasn’t sure where, but they had agreed to write. That was all there was to it.

What Peggy hadn’t admitted to her mother-in-law was that she had been able to talk to James about Pete, and how understanding he had been. There had been no awkwardness. ‘I won’t say I know how you feel because I don’t,’ he had said. ‘But I had a brother who died. It was an accident. Weren’t nobody’s fault – he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A truck came crashing onto the sidewalk and he was gone. We was close. For a while I didn’t care what happened to me, nothing felt real.’

‘That’s exactly what it’s like,’ she’d said, dizzy with relief that he hadn’t stepped away at the thought of her having being married, or been embarrassed at her sorrow, or thought she was an easy target because she was likely to be vulnerable. If anything he stepped even closer to her, and for a moment she sensed he would protect her and how much she had missed that feeling.

It had not been a long walk. He had had to get back to base and wasn’t sure what time it would take. He had promised to write and not lose her address again. They had not so much as kissed when they’d said their goodbyes.

Yet Peggy had been sure that something important had taken place that afternoon. She had kissed quite a few men in her time and not one had meant anything, apart from Pete. She felt something shift, and the way she looked at the world seemed different somehow.

She could not explain that to Mrs Cannon. She played it down, not wanting to be disloyal to Pete or to offend his mother who had shown her nothing but kindness. The last thing she wanted was to cause trouble. However, it looked as if trouble might come her way anyhow. She had overstepped the mark. She had overheard one of Mrs Bellings’s cronies comment that if she absolutely had to walk out with a man, what was wrong with a good British one?

Peggy had been out at the market with Mrs Cannon when she heard that. Mrs Cannon had taken her aside. ‘Don’t mind her, duck. Never had no sense, that one. You had the best young British man there was, and that did you a fat lot of good in the end, didn’t it? I don’t begrudge you a bit of fun, dear; it’s been nearly two years, after all.’ Despite her cheery words the older woman had bitten her lip, still nowhere close to accepting the death of her only child.

Now Peggy picked up her cardigan, much mended at the elbows, and turned for the door. ‘I’ll go to the market after work and see what bargains I can find,’ she promised, trying to brighten her mother-in-law’s expression. She sensed that every letter from James was a nail in the older woman’s heart, but Mrs Cannon would never rebuke her for receiving them.

‘You do that, dear. I’ll make us a nice potato pie for later. Now you go on, you don’t want to be late.’

Peggy nodded and left, holding her head high as she strode along the dusty pavement. The rows of terraced houses were almost identical, all the worse for wear, all still with windows taped in case the raids started up again. Mrs Bellings could twitch her curtains all she liked. The more she objected, the more determined Peggy became.

Edith checked her watch. All nurses had to have one but for once she wasn’t using it to check a patient’s pulse. She wanted to catch her superintendent at the end of her working day but before she set off for one of her numerous committee meetings. It required careful timing.

Edith had returned to Victory Walk as swiftly as possible after her rounds. She hadn’t exactly cut any visit short, tending to everyone as meticulously as ever, but she hadn’t hung about to chat. She needed to see Fiona while her courage was strong. If Fiona denied her request then Edith would have to come to an important decision, and she already had a pretty good idea which way it would go.

She would restock her Gladstone bag later on. Leaving it in her attic room, she looked at her watch one more time, walked swiftly down the wooden stairs, which glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, and reached the superintendent’s door. She knocked firmly.

‘Come in … ah, hello, Edith.’ Fiona rose from behind her desk, to her full height, though she was even shorter than Edith. ‘What can I do for you? Your timing is excellent; Gwen and I have only now finished reviewing the training budgets.’

Edith saw that the deputy superintendent had also risen. Gwen towered over both of them, her severe face made even more so by her hair scraped rigidly back into a bun. ‘Have you come to enquire about one of the bursaries?’ she asked.

Edith had not counted on the outwardly fearsome deputy being there as well, but in for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself. ‘No, it’s not that.’

‘Well, sit ye down.’ Fiona subsided onto her chair and immediately stacked her folders out of the way. ‘Enough of those figures, I simply cannot bear to look at them for one second longer.’ She smiled brightly, her auburn hair now showing streaks of grey. Edith stared at them, for a moment taken by surprise. Fiona was so energetic that she forgot that the woman was older than most of them, and to be reminded of this almost threw her. Then it strengthened her resolve. The years would catch her soon enough; she must make the most of them in the meantime.

‘No, it’s not that,’ she said again, sitting on a narrow wooden chair to one side of the desk, as Gwen took a position to Fiona’s right. Edith took a deep breath. ‘The thing is, I would like … that is, Harry and I would like to get married. Quite soon.’ There. She’d said it.

Fiona nodded, raising an eyebrow. ‘Well, Edith, there’s no real surprise in that. You have been engaged, what? Over two years now, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’ Edith was always impressed that Fiona kept track of all her charges’ personal lives as well as their professional ones. ‘Yes, we agreed it before he was posted to France, but then there was Dunkirk …’

‘And we are all extremely thankful that he made a recovery after such a terrible time for you all,’ said Gwen, leaning forward to emphasise her point.

‘Yes indeed.’ Fiona regarded Edith. ‘So I imagine you’ve come here to talk about more than your wedding plans?’

This was the moment of truth. Edith took another deep breath and plunged ahead. ‘Yes, that’s why I wanted to see you before deciding on a date or anything like that. It’s because I want to keep on nursing. Please.’ There, she had said it. Now her fate was out of her hands.

Gwen nodded slowly. ‘I see. You are aware that strictly speaking you would be expected to resign your post upon marriage? Of course you are.’

Edith twisted her hands but refused to buckle under the scrutiny. ‘I know.’

Fiona tapped her pen against the edge of the solid old desk. ‘More than one of your colleagues has left for that very reason.’

‘I know. I’m not saying I should be a special case,’ Edith rushed on, ‘but Harry and I probably won’t be able to live together anyway. He still has to have more operations even though they aren’t as serious now. A couple more to try to hide the burns on his face and to improve the movement of his damaged arm. Then he’ll be able to perform desk duties even if he can’t go back to his unit and fight any more. That could be anywhere.’

‘But if he’s going to be well enough for desk duties, he’ll be well enough to be married,’ said Fiona. ‘Is that your thinking?’

‘Sort of.’ Edith twisted her hands still tighter. ‘It’s also, I came so close to losing him – it’s made us want to waste no more time. We’d like to be together when we can, depending on where he’s posted, but also I don’t want to stop nursing, not when we’re all needed so badly. I won’t use it as an excuse to take extra leave or anything. I wouldn’t let you down. I wouldn’t,’ she added, not sure what the two senior figures were thinking. Gwen’s serious face gave no clue. Then Fiona beamed at her.

‘I can’t imagine you would,’ she said. ‘I realise that the standard procedure is – Gwen, hear me out,’ she went on, as her deputy looked as if she would interrupt. ‘Those rules were made before the war began. Circumstances have altered completely. We’ve changed the design of our uniform to accommodate the shortages – why not extend that to the scarcity of experienced nurses? I don’t want to lose you, Edith. You are a highly valuable member of our team here.’

‘Thank you.’ Edith could not quite believe she was out of the woods yet.

‘It is highly irregular,’ Gwen stated, her back ramrod straight. Then she relented. ‘Yet as Fiona says, we can ill afford to send you packing. It takes time, money and effort to recruit staff, and you have shown yourself to be extremely competent. Furthermore you know the area now and your patients and the doctors all speak well of you.’ Her face softened, a rare sight. ‘Besides, I can remember what it was like to meet somebody you are certain you wish to spend your life with. Nobody knows how long they will have together. Who are we to deny you that?’ The usually stony-faced deputy looked away, as Fiona caught her eye in sympathy.

Edith was one of the very few younger nurses who knew that beneath Gwen’s fierce carapace lay a tale of sadness and heartbreak. Her fiancé had been killed in the Great War and, to add to the sorrow, her two brothers had also died in the fighting. A generation of young men had been lost and the women left behind had been permanently marked. Edith appreciated what must be going through her mind now.

Fiona stepped into the gap, after a respectful pause. ‘Exactly. We wish you every happiness, Edith. The Banhams are a fine family altogether and they will be lucky to have you. We will count ourselves lucky to keep you. It cannot have been an easy decision to ask us and we appreciate your directness.’

Edith nodded mutely.

‘May I ask, what about children?’ Gwen said. ‘As we are being direct. Don’t glare at me, Fiona, we might as well raise the subject.’

Edith tipped her head in acknowledgement. The angle of the sun had changed and she moved a little to avoid being blinded by it. It lit occasional dust motes as they floated by the big bookcase of medical reference works.

‘We’ll take our chances and see,’ she said honestly. ‘We would both like to have children, of course. We were worried that Harry’s injuries and then all his treatment might have affected our chances but he’s asked his doctors and they say not. I know he’s had lots of new drugs and nobody can say for sure, but we’re going to hope for the best.’

‘Very well.’ Fiona put her pen down. ‘You’ll have to see how you go. I defy even you, Edith, to cycle around on one of those old bikes while heavily pregnant. I would have to advise against that.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Meanwhile, accept our congratulations and start planning your nuptials.’

Edith smiled in relief. ‘We won’t have a big do. But that’s all to be decided anyway.’

Fiona rose. ‘Now I hate to rush you but I have a meeting to attend. Gwen, a word with you about those blasted budgets; I’ve now realised that one of our assumptions is wrong.’

Edith knew she was being dismissed and saw herself out of the office, the nerve centre of the whole building. She was delighted with the result of the meeting and could not wait to tell Harry. She loved nursing with all her being but, if it had come to making a choice, the truth was that she loved Harry more. She had been prepared to give up everything to marry him. She was heartily glad that she would not have to.