Читать книгу An Unsuitable Mother - Sheelagh Kelly - Страница 9
ОглавлениеThey were to see many more ants during the next few weeks, for the old workhouse was infested with them. It was as well that Nell soon grew too familiar with this small army for them to bother her, and similarly those old men who had so frightened her at first, for it appeared that she would be there much longer than anyone had expected. The casualty evacuation trains might all be ready, with beds made up and their crews fit for action with a mound of surgical dressings at hand, but there seemed little urgency to call upon their newly acquired skills.
Though these were still very modest, the probationers and auxiliaries were gleaning more knowledge by the day, being permitted to witness the work of experienced nurses, and to practise, practise, practise those things that would be expected to be second nature to them in weeks to come: the insertion of catheters, the administration of enemas and medicines, giving injections – though only the Ashton sisters were allowed to have a go at the latter – meting out food and stimulants, dressing wounds, making a poultice, and even helping to lay out the dead. Nell had already changed her mind about going back to clerical work after the war, having decided that this would make for a much fuller and more satisfying career one day.
For now, though, she and her fellows were still mainly confined to the routine of changing filthy bedding, washing backs, handing out false teeth, trying to interpret the barely intelligible language of the stroke patients, and listening to old people’s objections over the food they had been given. Some might consider it drudgery, but Nell had made it her mission to get to know all the patients, to take an interest in their personalities and not just their ailments, and to converse with them as one might a peer, as she clipped their toenails and attended their bodily functions. Ditto the permanent residents, such as Cissie Flowerdew, whose situation had intrigued her so much that she had secretly delved into dusty ledgers to find out more about her. Sadly they had little else to tell about this poor simple woman, other than the entry ‘imbecile’ beside her name, and the date of entry. Yet by bothering to pause and chat with the subject herself, a persistent Nell had discovered that Cissie’s hopes and dreams were not dissimilar to her own.
‘I’m going to have a big white wedding!’ a pregnant Cissie delighted in telling the listener. ‘He’s coming back to collect me any day – do you want to be my bridesmaid, Nurse? I’ll need lots of bridesmaids.’
And instead of tittering, Nell felt quite sad that Cissie would never realise those dreams, and had answered kindly that she would regard it an honour. Any banter that might be exchanged was not at the expense of the victim, and any amusement lacked malice. On the contrary, she found herself looking forward to her next day, when she could give Cissie the length of gay ribbon she had decided would cheer her up. Indeed, there were to be many yards of ribbon handed out to brighten the other old ladies’ drab lives, which used up most of Nell’s pocket money, but was considered well-spent.
If there were any elements of this institution that Nell abhorred – apart from death, of course – it would be Ward Three, which housed the mentally deranged who could be violent, though none towards her so far, and the ward devoted to venereal disease. Just to find herself amongst such degraded individuals for the first time was sufficient ordeal. But horror was to be heaped upon horror for those compelled to watch as a man’s private member was exposed – in itself enough to set Nell’s cheeks aflame – and an instrument like a miniature umbrella then inserted into it. Face burning with embarrassment, unable to turn away lest she be dubbed a prude or a coward, Nell tried to bolster herself with the thought that it was far worse for the unfortunate victim than it was for any of his audience. But this did not make it any easier, and she hoped her experience on this ward would be brief.
What on earth would Billy have to say if he knew? Though she had no intention of telling him, or her parents. Nell doubted either of the latter would know of the existence of such horrific diseases, what with the upright lives they had led. Why, she herself had never guessed beforehand. This job had certainly broadened her education, though she would have preferred to remain ignorant of some things. Still, there was always humour to be found in any situation, and she could not help blurting an unintentional laugh in front of her friend Beata as they washed their hands for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.
‘I’m just trying to think of an answer for when my mother asks what I did at work today,’ she explained to her friend, who cracked a similar smile.
‘Aye, it’s not really polite conversation to say you watched a man have an umbrella shoved up his willy,’ said Beata. ‘Let alone recommend it as a spectator sport.’
‘I could have died of embarrassment!’ Blushing at the thought, Nell covered her face with the towel, before heaping admiration on her friend. ‘Whilst you didn’t even flinch.’
‘Oh, don’t go accrediting me with special powers, it’s just that I’ve seen a lot of ’em – a lot of the same one, anyway,’ Beata corrected herself, as Nell burst out laughing again. ‘I had to nurse my bedridden uncle, amongst others, bath him and everything. So there’s nowt much else can startle me. Not that Uncle Teddy had anything so horrible done to him as that poor chap.’ Then she cocked her head and reflected. ‘Mindst, some days I would’ve liked to ram a proper umbrella up him, the nasty old sod.’
Nell’s eyes watered from merriment. ‘Oh, I’m so lucky to be working with you, Killie, you’re such a joy!’ And her words were truly heartfelt.
But still, her main source of joy was in the receipt of Billy’s letters at the end of the day. With no time to visit the Preciouses each lunchtime now, she had to wait until after work, travelling a mile out of her way in order to retrieve a few mundane lines of news. Yet she would have gone to the ends of the earth for the row of kisses that always embellished Billy’s short letters.
It was immensely worrying, though, to think of him in that terrible blitz inflicted on the south. Though nothing in comparison, the air raids had become more frequent around York as well, and October had seen the first two deaths, though on the other side of the city to where Nell lived. Moreover, the bombs were getting to be a little close to home; last week one of them had descended quite near to Aunty Phyllis’s, falling between two houses and half-demolishing both. And although, thankfully, the occupants had escaped with burns and fractures, it was all very un settling, for Nell was personally acquainted with these victims.
Had England thought she had seen the utmost that Goering could unleash, there came a change of tactics, and the worst raid of the war, this time upon Coventry. Stunned from the news, the fledgling nurses were still discussing this during their lunch hour at a restaurant in town, none of them able to fathom the scale of the destruction, nor how it must feel to confront so many casualties. A thousand dead, God knew how many more injured, rank upon rank of them being ferried to the first-aid post, of which there was one at the Infirmary.
‘I mean, where would one start with numbers such as those?’ Lavinia Ashton looked anguished. ‘Whom would one treat first? We’ve never been given any real practice – all right, we’ve applied one or two bandages, et cetera, but in the scheme of things they were small-fry. We’ve never been put to the test. I’m afraid I might not come up to scratch when faced with something so massive as Coventry …’
Nell was afraid of this too, and was deeply thoughtful as she devoured the contents of her plate. After two months of visiting the Infirmary, her senses were no longer so acute to the disagreeable sights and smells, and the queasiness that had initially marred her appetite had waned.
‘Well, it hasn’t put you off your meal,’ reproved an amazed Joyson, breaking the serious atmosphere, having been studying Nell’s gluttonous attack on the suet dumplings that Beata had left on the edge of her plate. ‘By you can eat like a horse!’
Suddenly aware that everyone else at the table was eyeing her in fun, Nell reddened and paused in her lusty consumption. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend anyone … I’m just ravenous with all that hard work.’
‘You eat all you like, love.’ Between sips of tea, Beata stuck up for her.
‘Yes, you jolly well deserve it,’ chipped in Lavinia, backed by her sister.
‘I’m glad to see them go, I never could stand suet.’ Beata shuddered and grimaced.
‘What did you order dumplings for, then?’ countered Joyson.
‘Because I wanted the stew that came with them,’ retorted Beata. ‘If that’s all right with you?’ She and Nell had been looking forward to this hearty meal, which could be had for only a shilling – including a pudding – and had attempted to sneak off by themselves. They had not minded Frenchy and the younger Nurse Green and even the Ashton girls tagging along, but Joyson was bad enough at work without having to suffer her at meal breaks. ‘Eh, she’d argue with her own reflection, she would,’ came her assertion to the others.
‘I ’ate zem too,’ declared the attractive Frenchy. ‘I ’ate all Angleesh fud.’
Joyson turned on her. ‘What will you be having for your Christmas dinner, then? frogs’ legs and snails, I suppose?’
Whilst Frenchy struggled for a reply, the questioner was criticised by Green, though not for her xenophobic assumption. ‘Heaven help us, Joy, it’s over a month away!’
‘Whatever it is, it’ll be a damned sight better than t’other Christmas I spent with Uncle Teddy,’ quoted Beata. ‘Pork ribs and cabbage – eh, he were that tight he’d make Scrooge look like Good King Wenceslas.’
‘Never mind, you’ll be able to buy yourself something tasty with all these extra three and sixpences you’re getting,’ said Green. The auxiliaries had lately received a rise.
‘Well, all I want for Christmas is to see some action.’ Feeling self-conscious at being the only one left eating, Nell had laid down her cutlery and now sat back with a look of frustration. ‘It’s so annoying being all dressed up and nowhere to go.’
How she was to regret those words! For at half past eight that same evening, just as she was relaxing into a steamy bath, fantasising over Billy, her mother banged frantically on the door.
‘Eleanor, your debut is nigh!’
Having shot upright, sluicing water from one end of the bath to the other and onto the black and white lino, Nell remained there for a second, suspended by shock and clutching the wedding ring that hung from her neck. ‘Oh, Mother – what was that?’
‘They’ve sent a messenger! You’ve to get to Leeman Road straight away – don’t waste the water, leave it in for your father!’
Launching herself from the bath, a dripping Nell began rapidly to dry herself, stumbling and hopping over the putting on of her clothes, which clung to her still-damp limbs and much hindered her dressing. But it was all so exciting – she was needed at last!
‘Have you any petrol at all in the car, Father?’ came her breathless query upon rushing downstairs, clothes all awry.
‘I don’t want to waste it. You can borrow my bike, though!’ he offered.
First came dismay – she was hopeless at balancing on two wheels – but then, ‘Needs must!’ Nell put on her hat and coat, and, with her father striding ahead to ensure the lights were turned off before opening the outer door, she hurried in his wake. Plunged into darkness, she held back whilst Wilfred tugged the awful contraption from the shed.
Hardly able to see what she was doing, trying to cope with the over-large vehicle, Nell had to stand on tiptoe to accommodate its crossbar, and swerved all over the road as she fought to work the pedals, ‘Don’t wait up for me, I may be all night!’
‘A key! You’ll need a key!’ Thelma scuttled to fetch one, then raced to put it in Nell’s pocket, causing yet more delay. But, eventually, with a helpful shove from her father, Nell somehow mobilised herself in ungainly fashion towards town.
With the traffic lights out of use and no policeman about, there was no option but to grit her teeth and hope for the best at junctions, and go careering into the black beyond, often forced to judder to an abrupt standstill by using her foot as a brake when a car almost flattened her, and nearly keeling over in the process. Only after a great many mishaps along the way did she get the hang of it, and finally sailed triumphantly into the sidings at Leeman Road, there to be met by a shadowy figure with a stopwatch.
A shielded torch was quickly flashed on and off in order for Sister Barber to read the time. ‘You’ll have to do better than this when it’s the real thing, Nurse Spottiswood!’ Once again there was disapprobation on the pretty freckled face, before it vanished into darkness.
Attempting to disentangle her leg from the crossbar, Nell tottered and almost capsized again. ‘You mean … we’re not going anywhere?’ Her voice and expression told that she could scarcely believe this.
‘No, this is just a dummy run to see how quickly we can be mustered in an emergency – and I have to say it’s found us wanting,’ Sister Barber added sternly to those other murky figures already assembled, all equally as dismayed as Nell. ‘Very well, you can go home now.’
‘To a cold bath?’ muttered a displeased Nell to her friends, out of earshot of Sister, as she fought to heft her father’s bike in the opposite direction and head off through the dark. ‘Thank you very much, I don’t think!’
‘Bath on a Tuesday?’ Beata called after her in amazement. ‘By, you’re posh!’
A couple of days after the test run Nell was able to laugh about it with the others, and to use it as a source of jollification for Billy. Since telling him about her tour of the city pubs to follow the Bedpan Swingsters, his letters to her had been quite tense, expressing the fear that she might be snatched from him by another soldier. As a result, she had immediately refrained from going again. He would be much happier to hear that her only company that Thursday evening would be the sensible Beata, with whom she had arranged to go to the pictures.
But, ‘I’m a bit reluctant to divulge where I’ll be, in case they spoil it again,’ she whispered to Beata now, as, after a day of keeping the train clean and making more unused dressings, they put on their coats to leave work.
‘I’m buggered if I’m telling them,’ replied her friend more stringently. ‘See you outside the Regal at seven!’
Laughing, Nell went home.
After a bite to eat and a change of clothing, Nell attempted to collect enough mascara for an application, scraping the little brush into every corner of its box, but all it produced was beige spit. Well, that was that. Unable to obtain more, she rummaged in the cupboard that still held a few childhood toys and brought out a paint box, pondering the feasibility of using one of its brown squares. But this was a failure. She would just have to rely on her natural lashes.
She had donned her coat, and was inserting her tuppence bus fare into her glove so as not to have to faff with her purse again, when her mother murmured confidentially in passing, ‘I’ll be going to the chemist in the morning. Would you like me to get you some things?’
Her days had been so consumed by hard work and writing letters to Billy, Nell had not noticed the absence of her monthly visitation, but now it immediately leapt to mind, and she turned crimson. By the discreet way her mother formed her lips to say ‘things’, Nell knew she meant sanitary towels. It was a term neither of them ever used, except perhaps upon actually purchasing them at the chemist. Knowing how embarrassing her daughter found this, Mother was thinking to spare her blushes now, Nell recognised. However, there was much more to those reddened cheeks than she could ever imagine.
Stuttering, ‘Oh, yes, thank you, Mother!’ she reopened her purse, handed over the cash, then grabbed her gas mask and left the house, undergoing worried calculation as she hurried through the dark November mist for town. She had not required things for over four months – before Billy went away. The realisation caused her to gasp aloud. Thank God her mother was no longer in earshot, for besides the sharp intake of breath, she would surely have been able to hear Nell’s heart thudding as panic began to gain hold.
Forgetting all about the secret application of rouge that she would normally have made on her way, she bit her lip, her footsteps slowing as she tried to rationalise this – why, there was nothing really unusual, was there? Having only started her whatnots a year and a half ago, she had not yet achieved a regular cycle, and was accustomed to going two or even nearly three months without seeing a thing. What was the difference between three months and four? Exactly! Nell told herself firmly, as she began to walk at normal pace again. It was bound to happen soon. All she had to do was stay calm. Worrying over it would not make it occur any sooner. She must put any unthinkable idea out of her head.
That was rather difficult to do when one was stuck on a bus with nothing to take one’s mind off it, and she concentrated on looking forward to meeting Beata. Prior to this, though, upon egress she handed her ticket back to the conductress, then made her way along the darkened streets to visit Bill’s former digs. Having arranged this evening visit to town, it meant that she had had no need to call on the Preciouses directly after work, but could leave it till now. She hurried for Walmgate – the wrong side of town, as her parents would say. Well, there were some dreadful people here, conceded Nell, as two drunken Irishmen loomed at her out of the darkness, reeking of alcohol, and she was forced to veer around them. But there were some lovely ones too. Just the thought of what lay beyond that archway and along the alley caused her to smile.
There was an old fashioned gas lamp in the courtyard, though now it stood redundant in the blackout. Using the wall to grope her way, incapable of seeing much but viewing it from memory, she stopped before a once noble Georgian mansion, now jammed in by slums – indeed, one itself. The spokes of its fanlight were rotten, its windows bereft of putty, centuries of paintwork eroded to bare timber. A house with psoriasis. Even her light rap of the tarnished brass knocker caused a shower of flakes.
Someone threw open the door. ‘You’re late!’ bawled Ma Precious at the top of her voice, a sergeant-major in a floral pinafore.
Greatly familiar with this raucous behaviour, and perceiving no harm was meant, Nell smiled. ‘I had to go home straight after work, so I thought I’d come now. Sorry to put you ou—’
‘You’re not putting us out, you daft cat! Get yourself in before the warden gives us a rollicking over the lights!’ Ma waved merrily.
Nell hopped over the threshold, allowing the door to be closed behind her, though truth be told it was almost as dingy in here, there being no electric lighting, and the one gas mantle casting only a pathetic glow upon the linoleum of the hall. There was an appalling smell of fish too.
‘At least you’ll have time for a decent natter if you don’t have to rush off home like you usually do!’ Ma set off with manly strides, the soles of her tartan slippers squeaking the lino, expecting the other to follow, and calling ahead, ‘Georgie, the lass is here, get that kettle on!’
‘Not for me, thanks!’ Nell refused hastily, remaining in the hall, the interior of the house being as neglected as the outside, with great fronds of wallpaper drooping over a once elegant staircase that wound its way up three more storeys. ‘I’ve to meet my friend in fifteen minutes.’
Ma wheeled around, a hand placed indignantly on each robust hip. ‘Oh, so you thought you’d treat us as a convenience to save you having to wait in the cold?’
Having learned to take all insults here with a pinch of salt, Nell merely giggled at the old woman, who was at first glance intimidating, with her mannish build, her sharp brown eyes, and her gun-metal hair parted in the middle and wound into buns on each side of her head in the manner of earphones, but she was in fact a generous soul despite her bossy nature.
‘Time enough to have a cup of tea and a chat with us, surely?’ Ma proposed now in a more wheedling voice. ‘All our lads are out at the pub. Go on!’ And seeing Nell weaken, she dealt her a shove with one of her navvy’s hands into the living room.
At once a time-traveller, Nell took delight in being plunged into bygone days, surrounded by aspidistras, Landseer prints and stuffed animals under glass domes. One exhibition of flowers and foliage, birds, field mice and squirrels was so gigantic it took up an entire corner. The furnishings were all very grand – there being much mahogany and inlay, mother-of-pearl, brocade and velvet, belonging formerly to a wealthier household – though, after fifty years with Ma, much dented, scuffed and torn – rather the same impression Nell had of the elderly man who rushed towards her now through another door.
Battered maybe, yet there was a spry delight upon the dear old face that came intimately close to hers, imbuing her with the scent of linseed oil as Georgie reached up to cup her cheeks in hands that were gnarled, the fingernails split and stained from repairing musical instruments. ‘We feared you weren’t coming – ooh, what cold little chops!’ Dealing her cheeks an affectionate rub, he broke off in meek response to his wife’s stentorian demand.
‘Never mind “your tiny hand is frozen,” Casanova – where’s that tea I asked for?’ said Ma.
‘Sorry, dearie, the kettle’s on now!’ he hastened to say with an affectionate rub of her arm. ‘I was just getting rid of that pan of fish heads into the garden – I’ve been boiling up a little treat for our chucky hens,’ he added to the visitor, explaining the stench. ‘They’re not laying like they used to do. We’ve had barely half a dozen eggs this week. yet not so long ago there was a proper glut.’
Ma lost patience. ‘You know what glut rhymes with? Foot! You’ll be getting mine up your khyber if you don’t fetch this lass her tea – by, he can’t half talk!’ she declared to their visitor as her husband rushed to obey.
Nell bit her lip over this reversal of roles, as Georgie scuttled about getting teapot, cups and saucers. Never had she seen Mrs Precious lift one finger in the kitchen, or anywhere else come to that – but her husband seemed not to regard himself as henpecked, and obviously worshipped the ground she walked on. For all her bluster Ma loved him too, Nell guessed, from the way she encouraged his romantic serenades on the concertina. Hopefully there would be none tonight, though, for she was anxious to get away.
Etched against a background of dark, elaborate wallpaper with crimson roses and acanthus leaves, and varnished woodwork, Ma swivelled to address her again. ‘Right, sit down!’ It was more order than invitation. ‘Then you can have what you really came for.’ And with a shrewd cast of her head she went to snatch a letter from the mantel.
With every surface cluttered, Nell trod a careful path to a sofa, avoiding the black and tan rug complete with head and glassy eyes, which had been one of the Preciouses’ favourite dogs. In addition to this, there was a ginger Pomeranian, also stuffed, and a live, if decrepit, black terrier with bad teeth and foul breath, which hankered to be petted as Nell finally reached the velvet sofa that had seen so many rears that it was almost bald. Perched against these fantastic surroundings, giving the dog a cursory pat, a cat on her lap and its tail snaking back and forth under her nose until she brushed the animal gently aside, Nell accepted the cup of rather stewed tea donated by Georgie, and was about to take a biscuit from the extended plate when at that same moment Ma thrust a letter at her.
‘Not enough hands!’ laughed Nell. Thanking them both, and trying to juggle the cup of tea, she put it aside in order to take the letter, which was then shoved straight into her gas-mask container, this being the norm.
But, ‘Aren’t you going to read it to us then, seeing as you’ve deigned to honour us by sitting down?’ On the other sofa now, Ma leaned forward expectantly, her chunky legs apart to display flesh-coloured bloomers, and a hand on each knee. ‘We never get to hear what he’s doing, do we, Georgie?’
The old fellow gave a dejected smile, and shook his pink, bald head as he lowered his wiriness next to her bulk, the plate of biscuits on his lap.
Other than keeping them informed of Bill’s wellbeing, Nell was loath to share his words with anyone else. ‘Well, I’d better drink this tea, it’s a crime to waste it – and I don’t want to be late for my friend!’
‘She’s having us on – wants to keep him to herself!’ Ma gave her husband a knowing wink to indicate she was joking, though Nell reddened all the same. ‘Oh, never mind, lass!’ she placated. ‘We know what it’s like to be in love, don’t we, sweetheart?’
‘We certainly do, dearie!’ The meek old Georgie leaned towards her in adoration – though Ma had not been addressing him but Milo the stinking old terrier, which she promptly swept to her bosom and proceeded to cuddle like a baby, and to feed with titbits from the plate.
Ashamed at treating the old couple so shabbily when they obviously viewed Bill as one of their own, and were always so amenable to her, Nell gave a capitulating smile and ripped open the envelope.
And then such unexpected joy. ‘He’s coming up at the weekend!’
Whilst Ma and Georgie exclaimed in pleasure, exciting the dog who wriggled to be free, Nell almost collapsed from relief, her eyes filling with tears as she skimmed the rest.
‘Where’s he stopping?’ demanded Ma, large shovels of hands casting the terrier to the floor. ‘Write and tell him he must kip with us!’
‘He’ll surely come here of his own accord, dearie,’ Georgie stated to his wife, whilst Nell continued trying to read, completely unaware of her antiquated surroundings now, more intent on the word of today as she devoured the familiar script.
‘What else?’ pestered Ma.
‘Er, nothing much …’ This negated the big smile on Nell’s face, but she was not about to tell them of Bill’s desire to spend the whole weekend as they had last time. ‘He does mention coming to visit you, though.’ Loud satisfaction emerged from Ma. ‘They’re still being trained hard, but he sounds in good spirits.’ As was Nell. Bounding to her feet, she tucked the letter away and slung the gas-mask container over her shoulder. ‘Sorry, but I really will have to meet my friend – so long!’ And in this state of near euphoria, she left.
She was still beaming from ear to ear when, less than three minutes later, she met up with her friend outside the nearby Regal cinema, waving her most recent letter. ‘Billy’s coming to visit this weekend!’
‘I wondered why you looked as bright as a button,’ remarked Beata with a smile. ‘Didn’t think it could be ’cause of me.’
‘Oh, I’m pleased to see you as well, Killie!’ Having come to regard the latter as a favourite aunt, Nell pressed Beata’s arm.
Then, in a fit of exhilaration, her hand reached up to feel the hard little nugget beneath her clothes – the wedding ring on its neck chain which had never been removed since that last weekend with Bill. But she might need to transfer it to her finger if another trip away was on the cards! Perhaps, too, she could change his mind about marriage, get a special licence, so as to wear the ring for real.
But there might be an obstacle to meeting him at all, and in this she enlisted her friend’s help. ‘The trouble is, my parents still don’t know about him, and I’m afraid they’ll prevent me going for some reason …’ She bit her lip. ‘I know it’s an enormous liberty, but would you mind if I use your company as an excuse to go out on Friday night, perhaps Saturday too?’
Beata’s change of expression showed that she did mind. ‘Not if it involves having to lie.’
‘It needn’t.’ Nell tried gently to persuade her. ‘If you were to call at my house, as if we were going out together –’
‘Then you could ditch me before I cramp your style,’ finished Beata, tongue in cheek.
‘No! I’d never do that.’ Although it was obvious she was only using her friend, Nell suffered barely any guilt, for she would have employed whatever desperate means to be with Billy. ‘You could come out with Billy and me, perhaps for a few drinks, then … maybe go home a little earlier.’ Her face formed an entreating smile.
‘Why don’t you just hang a sign saying gooseberry round my neck and have done with it?’ joked her friend.
Nell showed compunction, but, ‘Please, Killie! This is so important, and I just don’t know what else to do! I must see him.’
Beata studied the urgency on that young face. ‘Well … I suppose if I am going to tag along with you, it wouldn’t really be a lie, would it?’ And she had harboured such romantic yearnings herself once. Who was she to stand in love’s way? ‘All right,’ she sighed, as Nell began to dance with excitement, ‘Give me your address and I’ll be your alibi – but come on now or we’ll miss the picture! Not that it’ll have as much bloomin’ intrigue as you’ve got to offer.’
On Friday evening, as arranged, Beata duly turned up at Nell’s house. Pleased that their daughter had such a mature, sensible-looking friend, Thelma and Wilfred made no complaint at her going out on the town yet again, not even when Nell announced that she and Beata would probably be enjoying Saturday together too.
Luckily, none of this involved Beata having to lie. ‘But I’m not too keen on you misleading them like this,’ she told Nell, as she hobbled alongside her to the bus stop.
‘I’ll make it up to you, Killie!’ swore Nell. ‘I promise. I hate having to do it too, but I daren’t risk telling them. I’ve missed him so much – oh, you’ll love him when you meet him!’
Beata turned impish. ‘I might take a fancy to him and pinch him off you.’
But, still in high spirits, Nell merely laughed. For as lovely-natured as she was, how could plain and plump old Killie be serious competition?
It was very cold when they reached the station, which was the appointed meeting place with Bill. Buying a platform ticket for each of them, Nell and her friend hurried through the barrier.
The temperature was a good deal lower here, the icy air seeming to ricochet from the stone beneath their feet. Waiting to pounce on him the moment he stepped off the train, Nell pranced from one foot to the other, half in cold, half in excitement. ‘Sorry to make you wait,’ she told her friend when, after fifteen minutes, he still had not shown up. ‘He’s usually so punctual.’
Beata huddled into her coat, and said in her patient manner, ‘Not to worry …’ But the way she rubbed her gloved hands told otherwise.
Anxiously watching and waiting for Bill to arrive, as trains came and went, Nell made no other comment for some while. But after noticing Beata adopt different positions in the next quarter of an hour, even with her mind on other things she was forced to respond to her friend’s discomfort. ‘Killie, you must be freezing, I’m so sorry, I don’t know where he’s got to – let me buy you a cup of tea in the café. If we sit by the window we’ll still be able to see him when he arrives.’
But, when the cups of tea were drained, Bill had still not come.
Nell had grown uneasy. She was trying not to be, but it showed on her face and in the drumming of her fingers on the table. ‘Right, well, I can’t expect you to hang around all night waiting for him, Killie. Why don’t you go home?’
‘I don’t know if I should leave you …’
I’ll be perfectly safe,’ Nell reassured her in a level tone.
‘All right then – but stay in here and keep warm,’ instructed Beata, rising to leave.
‘I will,’ came Nell’s reply. ‘And I’m so sorry for dragging you on this wild goose chase. I swear I’ll make it up to you – and I’ll get the culprit to treat you to drinks tomorrow night, how’s that?’
Accepting this, Beata wished her friend goodnight. ‘And give him gyp when he does turn up.’
‘Oh, I shall!’ vowed Nell.
But her suspense was to continue as another half-hour ticked away. Wandering out of the refreshment room, she cast a fretful gaze around the platform, and then the one opposite. There were squads of men in khaki greatcoats about, but none of them were Bill.
By nine thirty, accepting that he wasn’t going to come, and with the weather too cold to hang around any longer, a frantic Nell turned about and strode quickly towards town, intending to see if he had gone instead to the Preciouses.
But then why would he? Her stride faltered in the realisation that Bill would never have abandoned her like this unless something was wrong. And she might needlessly be disturbing Ma and Georgie, who always went to bed early. Standing still now in the middle of the pavement, a gloved hand over her mouth, Nell began to flick through a catalogue of awful things that might have befallen him, uncaring of those who occasionally stumbled against her in the darkness, her mind and heart in turmoil over Billy. Somewhere, behind a dark bank of cloud, droned a squadron of Halifax bombers. Steeped in worry, and too familiar with this harmonious sound, Nell paid it little heed either. Only a human emission caused alarm.
‘Coming for a ducky with us, love?’
She jumped violently at the voice that was close to her ear, and immediately shook off the soldiers’ advances.
‘Oy, keep your hair on!’ laughed one of them, as she fled home in distress.
How she had prevented her distress being relayed to her parents, Nell did not care, only that it was still there in the morning. A thousand thoughts had traversed her mind since then, one of them being how would she ever get through the weekend not knowing what had happened to him? Perhaps an explanation of his absence would arrive in the morning post – she must visit the Preciouses first thing.
Rising far earlier than normal, disturbing her mother who poked her head from her room and made bleary-eyed enquiry as to where Nell was going without any breakfast, she replied truthfully that she had volunteered to put in some extra hours at the Infirmary and would eat there. Then, whispering so as not to wake her father, she hissed, ‘Sorry, Mother, I forgot to tell you I’d be getting up so early. Go back to bed, and I’ll see you later!’ And off she sped to the Preciouses, rousing them too from bed.
But Ma and Georgie had heard nothing at all.
With a quick apology for disturbing them at this ungodly hour, Nell refused the invitation to enter, and said she would return in the afternoon, following work.
But nine excruciating hours later, there was still no letter.
Distracted by her concern for Billy, baffling her parents with her strange, absent-minded behaviour, Nell was to pay these twice-daily visits to the Preciouses for the best part of a week, hope dwindling at every turn. Bill was dead. Much as she hated to contemplate it, she was certain it must be true, for he would never have been so heartless as to leave her like this. But would her fears ever be confirmed, or was she to remain in limbo for the rest of her life?
Coming over the ancient threshold again this evening, wavering bleakly in the hall to be informed that there was again no letter for her, Nell snatched at anything that might prevent her from weeping in front of witnesses. A tabby cat was winding itself around her calves. She bent quickly to stroke it. ‘You’re very fussy tonight, puss …’
‘I think the dirty trollop’s having kittens,’ announced Ma.
Nell burst into tears.
There were exclamations of pity from the elderly couple, Georgie being the first to comfort, dealing gentle pats to the stooped figure that was racked with sobs. ‘Aw, don’t worry, dearie! There’s probably some good excuse for Bill not coming.’
‘But he would have written!’ Nell’s face shot up to accuse him with red and tear-filled eyes. ‘Something’s happened to him, I know it!’
‘It doesn’t mean he’s dead!’ brayed Mrs Precious with slight scorn. ‘He could have been sent abroad without warning – you know what the army’s like.’
‘He’d still have managed to get a letter through,’ sobbed Nell, fumbling for her handkerchief. ‘Oh God, what am I going to do?’ For she knew now, just as surely as her darling Billy was dead, that she was carrying his child.
