Nightingales at War (16 page)

IT WAS NEARLY
midnight, but no one was sleeping.

Jennifer crept the length of the ward in her soft-soled shoes, surveying her charges by the dim light of her shaded torch. There were only half a dozen beds occupied now. Most of the men had been discharged, sent back into action. Those who remained were shifting restlessly in their beds, still waiting for the sleeping tablets the Night Sister had given them to take hold.

Not that anyone could sleep, with what was going on outside. There had been another air raid that evening, and outside the blacked-out windows the sky was alight with fire across the city. From far in the distance came the sound of bombs exploding and the muted roar of planes.

Jennifer was more excited than afraid. All week the sirens had been sounding and on a couple of days bombs had gone off, lighting up the late-August night. But still it all seemed as if it was happening a thousand miles away.

Matron had ordered that mattresses be made up under the beds in case the men needed to take shelter there. But most of them preferred to lie in their beds and listen to what was going on outside. A couple kept up a running commentary, as calmly as if they were listening to a football match and not a dogfight in the sky.

‘Did you hear that? That sounded close, didn’t it? Oh, and there’s another one. Now listen . . . hear that? Those are our boys coming over, Spits if I’m not mistaken . . . come on, lads, give ’em what for!’

Jennifer left them whispering excitedly and tiptoed up the passageway to Philip Chandler’s room. He lay perfectly still in the darkness, his breathing low and even.

She started to turn away, but he said, ‘Aren’t you going to tuck me in?’

She smiled. ‘I thought you were asleep.’

‘With all that commotion going on? No chance.’

She crept into the room. ‘It is rather lively out there, isn’t it?’

‘I wasn’t sure if it was real or not. I thought I might be having another nightmare.’

‘Is that what you dream about?’

He turned his ruined face towards her, his unseeing eyes meeting hers. ‘What do you think?’

That was why he had had so many sleepless nights, she thought. The sound of the planes overhead must be like torture to him, reminding him of what had happened.

‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked.

‘You could hold my hand, if you like? I could do with the company.’

Jennifer shone her torch at the watch on her bib, checking the time. The medical students would be finishing their rounds soon. ‘I can’t,’ she said.

‘Of course not. I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘I would stay if I could. But I have things to do . . .’

‘I understand. It’s not as if I’m your only patient, is it?’

Guilt stabbed at her and she glanced at her watch again. ‘I’m sure I could spare five minutes.’

‘Really, it’s all right. You get on with whatever it is you have to do.’

Jennifer hesitated at the door. ‘Shall I fetch the Night Sister? She could give you something else to help you sleep.’

‘I’d rather stay awake, if it’s all the same to you. It’s worse when I’m dreaming.’

His words stayed with Jennifer as she made her way back to the ward kitchen, where Mr Meredith and Mr Treacher were waiting for her. Jack Meredith already had the kettle on, and they were helping themselves to biscuits.

‘We thought we’d make a start,’ Jack said cheerfully. He and Tom Treacher made an odd pair, one tall, lanky and fair-haired, the other small and dark.

‘Those biscuits are meant for the patients.’ Jennifer slapped Tom’s hand away from the tin and put the lid back.

Tom looked wounded. ‘Have a heart, Jen,’ he said through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘We’re starving students.’

‘Give it up, Tom,’ Jack said. ‘You know Miss Caldwell doesn’t have a heart. She’s made of stone, eh, Jen?’ He winked at her.

‘You only say that because she’s spurned your advances,’ Tom said.

‘And yours, my friend,’ Jack reminded him.

‘Yes, but in my case it’s only a matter of time.’

‘Shut up, both of you,’ Jennifer snapped. Their midnight parties had become a ritual in the month or so she had been on nights. Every evening when the medical students had finished their rounds they would gather in the kitchen for tea. They would lark about and vie for her attention, and usually Jennifer loved every minute.

But not tonight. Her heart wasn’t in it as she poured their tea.

‘What’s the matter?’ Jack Meredith asked. ‘You seem a bit on edge.’

‘I expect she’s nervous, aren’t you? All those planes going over,’ Tom replied for her.

Jack looked sympathetic. ‘Do you want me to hold your hand?’

Jennifer thought of Philip Chandler.
You could hold my hand, if you like? I could do with the company.

‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘And for your information, I’m not at all nervous,’ she said to Tom.

‘No, but I am. Aren’t you, Jack?’

‘Not in the slightest.’ Jack Meredith cocked his head towards the distant sound of aircraft. ‘It’s about time this fight got going.’

‘Some people have already had enough of fighting,’ Jennifer said quietly.

‘Come on, Jen, that’s hardly the spirit!’ Jack Meredith grinned. ‘Remember what old Churchill said? “We shall go on to the end.”’

‘“We shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight on the beaches,”’ Tom joined in enthusiastically, mimicking the Prime Minister’s voice.

‘“We shall never surrender!”’ Jack finished for him with a flourish, and they both laughed. ‘I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to join up,’ he said.

‘I imagine you’ll get your wish soon enough,’ Tom said. ‘As soon as we’re qualified, they’ll pack us off to God knows where, to patch up God knows what.’

‘I don’t want to be a medic. I want to fight like everyone else.’ Jack cocked his head, listening to the aircraft passing overhead. ‘I quite fancy the idea of being a pilot, actually. If you ask me, they’re the ones who are going to win the war for us. They’re the ones who are out there now, protecting us . . .’

Jennifer thought again about Philip Chandler, lying in the darkness, paralysed with fear as the planes roared overhead. Too afraid to sleep.

‘You have to go,’ she said.

They stared at her in surprise. ‘But we haven’t finished our tea!’ Tom protested.

‘You can take it with you. But you have to go now. I have work to do.’

Jack spluttered with laughter. ‘You, work?’

Jennifer glared at him, already shoving him towards the door. ‘Just leave,’ she said.

‘Come on, Jack,’ Tom sighed. ‘We’ll come back tomorrow. She might be in a better mood by then.’

Philip was still lying awake when Jennifer returned to his room. ‘Back again?’ he greeted her. ‘You can’t keep away, can you?’

‘It looks like it.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve finished what I had to do, if you still want some company?’

‘Have your friends gone, then?’

She stared at him, nonplussed. ‘How did you know?’

‘I’ve heard you, every night. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.’ She heard the smile in his voice. ‘Why shouldn’t you have a bit of fun? Life’s grim enough, I reckon.’

Embarrassment froze her to the spot. He’d known she was lying all along.

‘So are you staying, or are you just going to stand in the doorway all night?’ Philip asked. ‘It’s all the same to me, but you might be more comfortable if you sat down.’

Jennifer stepped reluctantly into the room and pulled up a chair at his bedside. ‘I’ve brought my sewing with me,’ she said.

‘What are you making?’

‘Just some mending. Sister leaves me a load every evening, and expects me to have it done by the morning. And if I get through it all, I have to make—’ She stopped herself before she could finish the sentence, but Philip’s sharp ears picked up on it straight away.

‘Make what?’ he asked.

Jennifer hesitated. ‘We have to sew shrouds,’ she said quietly.

‘I see.’ He paused, taking it in. ‘Are you any good with a needle?’

‘Not particularly. Sister’s always pulling my work to bits. As if the people in the shrouds will notice a bit of poor stitching . . .’ She stopped again, realising what she’d said. Silence fell for a moment, and then they both started laughing at the same time.

‘So what do you want to do?’ Jennifer asked, squinting to thread her needle by the dim light.

He pretended to think about it. ‘Well, I don’t think I’d be much use at playing cards,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t see if you were cheating, could I?’

‘We could talk,’ Jennifer suggested.

‘Let’s do that.’

‘What do you want to talk about?’

‘You could tell me your life story.’

‘It’s not very interesting,’ she warned.

‘I’ll bet it is. Tell you what, you tell me your life story and then I’ll tell you mine. How about that?’

‘If you like.’

And so that was what they did. As the bombs rained down outside, they talked. And they were still talking when the first pale fingers of dawn light appeared in the sky.

THE CHURCH SERVICE
had finished, and Eve was filing out of the doors behind her aunt when Reverend Stanton stopped her in the doorway.

‘I’ve been meaning to thank you for helping my son after his accident.’

‘Accident?’ Eve echoed.

‘He told me you helped get him to Casualty – after he fell off his bicycle?’ Reverend Stanton smiled. ‘Of course, his mother was absolutely frantic when she found out what had happened, but as I said to her, boys will be boys. I’m just grateful that you were there to pick him up and dust him off.’

He smiled at her and Eve smiled back. She wasn’t sure if Reverend Stanton believed his son’s story but his benign expression gave nothing away.

‘So am I,’ she murmured.

She went to walk away, but unfortunately for her Reverend Stanton was in a chatty mood.

‘Oliver tells me you’re doing very well at the hospital,’ he said. ‘They’re talking about putting you forward for some proper nurse’s training, he says.’

How did he know about that? she wondered. Eve glanced around in panic, but thankfully her aunt seemed to be out of earshot, talking to Mrs Peabody, another of the parishioners.

‘They must think a lot of you,’ Reverend Stanton commented. Then, in a lower voice, he added, ‘Well done, my dear. You deserve it.’

‘Eve!’ Her aunt was calling her from further down the path. Eve gave Reverend Stanton a quick, embarrassed smile, then hurried off to join her.

It was too much to hope that Aunt Freda hadn’t been listening. As they walked home through the park, she said, ‘You didn’t tell me you’d seen the Stanton boy?’

Eve was instantly wary. ‘He works as a porter at the hospital.’ She chose her words carefully, knowing that Aunt Freda would see through any lies in a moment.

‘And what’s all this about an accident?’

Eve looked up at the trees. It was barely a week into September, and the leaves were already turning golden. ‘He – um – fell off his bicycle, and I found him and took him to Casualty.’

Aunt Freda’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure you haven’t been sneaking around again, meeting him in secret?’

‘No, Aunt.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tried to pull the wool over my eyes, would it? Remember what happened to you last time you lied to me.’

How could she forget? ‘I’m not lying to you, Aunt. I promise. I hardly know him.’ She tried to keep the note of despair out of her voice, but her aunt still pounced on it.

‘Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady!’

‘I’m sorry, Aunt.’ Eve was immediately apologetic. If she allowed her aunt to work herself into one of her black rages, she would have no peace for the rest of the day.

For once, mercifully, Aunt Freda seemed to let the matter drop. Or so Eve thought. But later, as they were sitting down to their meagre Sunday lunch, she suddenly announced, ‘I’ve been considering the matter, and I don’t think you should work at that hospital any more.’

Eve let her knife and fork fall on to the plate with a clatter. ‘No!’

‘We’re far too busy in the shop. I simply can’t spare you.’

Eve’s throat went dry with panic. ‘But I have to,’ she said. ‘It’s war work . . .’

‘Then you’ll just have to find something else to do, won’t you? Something that doesn’t involve you spending half your time out of this house.’

Eve looked into her aunt’s narrow, vindictive face and realised the truth. This had nothing to do with the shop. It was because she had heard Reverend Stanton saying how well Eve was doing. She could see her niece was enjoying her work, and couldn’t bear to see her happy.

She would snatch it all away from her if Eve didn’t fight to keep it.

She stared back down at her plate. ‘I want to stay at the hospital. I like it there,’ she said quietly.

Aunt Freda went white to her lips. ‘What did you say?’

Eve heard the warning in her aunt’s voice, but for once she recklessly ignored it. ‘They’ve asked me if I’d like to train – you know, to become a proper nurse?’ she said. ‘It might be a good idea, don’t you think? I’d be earning a proper wage, I could bring some extra money into the house. Perhaps you wouldn’t have to work so hard,’ she appealed to her aunt, but Freda was already shaking her head.

‘I won’t hear of it,’ she said flatly. ‘Now I’ve told you what’s going to happen, and that’s an end to it.’ Her cold eyes fixed on Eve across the table. ‘Really, I think it’s high time you left that hospital, if it’s filling your head with such silly ideas,’ she said, her thin lips curling. ‘You’re getting above yourself, you really are.’

‘Why shouldn’t I get above myself?’ Eve heard herself say. ‘Why shouldn’t I have a chance to make something of my life?’

She knew she’d gone too far. Aunt Freda rose slowly, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘Make something of your life?’ she echoed. ‘You think you deserve more than I can give you, is that it?’

‘No, Aunt,’ Eve started to say. ‘I’m very grateful, I really am.’

‘And so you should be. Let me remind you, you’d be in the workhouse if it weren’t for me.’

‘I – I know, Aunt. I’m sorry.’

‘You sound just like your mother.’ Aunt Freda’s fingers gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. ‘She was never satisfied either. Always felt she deserved more. Selfish, selfish little whore. And now you’re turning out just like her!’

Eve flinched from the sudden savagery in her aunt’s face. ‘I’m not,’ she pleaded. ‘I just wanted—’

The blow came out of nowhere, swiping across her cheek and knocking her off balance. Out of the corner of her eye, Eve caught a blurred vision of her aunt’s face, twisted with malice.

‘I don’t care what you want!’ Aunt Freda hissed. ‘You’re not your mother. You don’t do as you please. This is my house now, and I make the rules!’ She rose up in front of Eve, her nostrils flaring. ‘You will do as I say, and like it!’

Eve steeled herself for another beating, but thankfully her aunt stormed out of the room instead. Eve heard the door slam but she stayed where she was, crouched in her chair, too afraid to move. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of her aunt’s footsteps creaking on the floorboards overhead that she finally allowed herself to uncurl slowly and cautiously.

The first thing she saw when she looked up was Aunt Freda’s wooden cross hanging over the mantelpiece. It had been there every day of her life, but it was the first time she really took in what it meant.

Without thinking, Eve locked her hands together in prayer. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d truly prayed. She had spent hours saying prayers, watched over by Aunt Freda. But this was the first time she had really asked God for anything, or truly believed in what she was saying.

‘Please God,’ she whispered, ‘grant me a miracle. Do something to change my life. And please God, do it soon!’