Nightingales at War (20 page)

JOHNNY WAS WAITING
for Jennifer in his usual place on the corner, lounging under a lamp-post, smoking a cigarette. But this time he wasn’t alone.

He was deep in conversation with a woman, a hard-looking blonde a few years older than Jennifer. She felt a strange, panicky stirring in the pit of her stomach as she watched them, their heads close together, laughing.

Jennifer hurried towards them. As she drew closer, Johnny glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He leaned forward, whispered something to the woman and put something in her hand. She hurried off before Jennifer could reach them.

Johnny turned to her, tossing away the end of his cigarette. ‘Hello darling,’ he greeted her. ‘You’re looking beautiful today.’

Usually she would have enjoyed the thrill of his admiring gaze travelling down from her head to her toes and back again, but not today.

‘Who was that?’ she demanded.

‘Who?’

‘That girl you were talking to.’

‘Oh, her.’ He shrugged. ‘A friend.’

‘What did she want?’

‘Just passing the time of day, that’s all.’

There was an impatient edge to his voice, and Jennifer knew she should let it go, but she couldn’t. ‘You gave her something,’ she accused. ‘What was it?’

‘Blimey, you’re asking a lot of questions today, ain’t you?’ He was smiling, but his eyes were chilly.

‘Tell me.’

He shifted from one foot to the other, hands thrust into his pockets. ‘If you must know, I was doing her a favour. She asked me to get something for her, and I was just handing it over. It was a bit of business, that’s all.’

‘What kind of business?’

‘My business.’ There was no mistaking the edge to his voice now. Even Jennifer knew better than to push it. She had learned quickly that Johnny’s mood could change like the wind, especially when it came to discussing his business affairs. Not that Jennifer was really interested, anyway. As long as he had the money to take her out, that was all she cared about.

But as they walked towards his car, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, ‘Is she a good friend of yours?’

Johnny smiled lazily. ‘What’s up? You’re not jealous, are you?’

‘Of course not!’ But as soon as she heard the words, Jennifer realised that was exactly what she was feeling.

The shock almost stopped her in her tracks. She had never, ever been jealous in her life. She had never known that horrible, uncertain feeling uncurling in the pit of her stomach, every nerve ending suddenly on alert, sensing threat.

She knew she had made plenty of other people jealous in her time. She rather enjoyed seeing the fear on other girls’ faces when she flirted with their boyfriends in front of them. And it gave her a thrill when young men fought with each other like dogs over a bone because of her.

But she had never cared for anyone enough to experience true jealousy, until now. It was a horrible, vulnerable sensation, she realised, entrusting your heart to another person. Especially when that other person was as slippery as Johnny Fayers.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘I can’t stand jealous girls.’

Jennifer was wise enough to take the hint. ‘Lucky I ain’t then, eh?’ she replied. ‘Besides,’ she added, with a touch of contempt, ‘why should I be jealous of someone like her? That blonde hair came straight out of a bottle, I’ll bet.’

Johnny laughed. ‘Too right!’ he agreed. ‘She isn’t a patch on you, love.’ To Jennifer’s relief he put his arm around her and everything was all right again. ‘Come on, let’s go and have some fun.’

He took her up to Lyons Corner House in the Strand for afternoon tea. Usually, Jennifer would have felt very grand as she sat in the window seat, nibbling on dainty sandwiches and wishing someone she knew would walk past and see her. But this time she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders.

‘Come on, out with it.’ Johnny smiled across the table at her.

‘I dunno what you mean.’

‘You’ve had a face as long as a fiddle ever since we got here.’ He leaned back in his seat. ‘What’s up? Potted meat sandwiches not to your taste?’

‘No – no, they’re lovely.’ Jennifer took another half-hearted bite to prove it.

‘What is it then?’ Johnny sighed irritably. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about that girl? I told you, she’s just a friend.’

‘It’s not her.’ Jen bit her lip. ‘It’s my dad,’ she said finally.

Johnny frowned. ‘What about him?’

‘He wants to meet you.’

There, she’d said it. ‘He’s been on and on about it,’ her words tumbled out in a rush. ‘My mum told him about you, and he wants to make sure you’re a respectable young man!’

She mimicked his voice, desperately trying to make light of it. Don’t hate me, she pleaded silently, watching Johnny’s face across the table.

She had hoped her mum might forget that Jennifer had a boyfriend. But as usual, Elsie Caldwell never forgot anything. And she’d stayed true to her promise to tell Jennifer’s father, too. All hell had broken loose, and the only way Jennifer could calm him down was to promise to introduce her new boyfriend.

Johnny lit up a cigarette, his movements agonisingly slow. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said.

‘Please? It won’t be too bad, I promise. Just come for tea, that’s all. It’ll be worth it for my mum’s cooking!’ She laughed, trying to lift the sudden tension that had descended over the table. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t ask you, but my dad’s very protective of me.’

‘He ain’t going to think much of me then, is he?’

‘You don’t know that. Please, Johnny?’

He shook his head. ‘I dunno, Jen.’

‘He’ll like you, I promise.’

‘And what if he doesn’t?’

‘He will. I’ll make him like you,’ Jennifer said firmly.

‘Got him twisted round your little finger, have you?’ Johnny exhaled a thin stream of smoke out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I bet you’re good at doing that.’

Perhaps she was, once. But Johnny was the only one she couldn’t control, which was why he fascinated her so much. Fascinated – and terrified.

She licked her lips nervously. ‘So will you come?’ she asked.

He paused for a long time. Too long. ‘Sorry, Jen, I can’t,’ he said.

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s all a bit serious, ain’t it? Meeting your mum and dad sort of makes everything official. Next thing, he’ll be asking me what my intentions are, and before I know it I’ll be down on one knee with a ring in my hand!’

He roared with laughter. Jennifer stared at him blankly. Why was it so funny? she wondered. It was what she’d planned, after all. They’d been courting for three months, longer than she’d ever been out with any other man. Besides, Cissy and Paul were beginning to talk about settling down together, and Jennifer was determined to beat her friend to the altar. She’d even daydreamed about the kind of wedding dress she would have.

She screwed up her fists tightly and fought the urge to punch him. If any other man had laughed at her, she might have done just that.

‘Isn’t it serious, then?’ she heard herself ask in a small voice.

‘Not serious enough for me to face your dad!’ Johnny roared with laughter again, then stopped when he saw her stony face. ‘What’s the matter? You didn’t think I was going to pop the question, did you?’

‘Don’t be daft.’

Johnny must have read the disappointment on her face because he reached across the table for her hand. ‘Sorry, Jen, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said. ‘I thought you understood we were only having a bit of fun?’

A bit of fun?

There was nothing fun about her feelings for Johnny Fayers. Jennifer knew she should get up and walk away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was afraid he might not follow her, and that would be it for them.

‘If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go home now.’

‘But you haven’t finished your tea.’

‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

Johnny narrowed his eyes. ‘I hope you’re not sulking?’ he said.

‘Of course not.’ She folded her napkin and laid it down on the table. ‘I’d just like to go home, that’s all.’

She wanted him to apologise. But all he did was lift his hand to summon the nippy. ‘If that’s what you want,’ he snapped.

They drove home in silence, with Jennifer feeling utterly wretched. She’d ruined everything. Johnny wouldn’t want to see her again, she was sure of it. He would drop her, and take up with that hard-faced blonde instead.

She had never been dropped by anyone before.

He parked a couple of streets away from her house as usual, and Jennifer struggled to get out of the car before he could say anything to her. She had just managed to get the door open when he suddenly said, ‘Wait. Before you go . . .’

This is it, she thought, steeling herself. She had made up her mind she wouldn’t cry, but she could already feel tears pricking the back of her eyes.

‘What?’

‘I’ve got something for you.’ He reached into the inside top pocket of his jacket and pulled out a long red leather box.

Jennifer fixed her gaze on it. ‘What is it?’

‘Open it and find out.’

Inside the box was the most beautiful rose-gold bracelet, fine links with a dainty little diamond clasp.

Jennifer’s anger disappeared. ‘It – it’s beautiful.’

‘Do you like it?’

‘I love it.’ She draped it across her wrist. The pinkish gold glowed against her skin.

‘Here, let me.’ He fastened the bracelet for her, his strong fingers brushing hers. ‘You see?’ he said, holding on to her hand. ‘Now would I give you a present like that if I wasn’t serious about you?’

She smiled reluctantly. ‘I suppose not.’

‘You’re a lovely girl, and if I ever settle down it will be with someone like you. But I’m just not ready at the moment. You understand that, don’t you?’

She nodded, sniffing back her tears. ‘Yes, Johnny.’

‘Now let’s not have any more sulking, shall we?’ He dropped a kiss on top of her head.

Jennifer skipped home, utterly elated, stopping every couple of minutes to admire the bracelet. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever given her, and she couldn’t wait to show it off.

Wait until Cissy saw it! Paul had never bought her such an extravagant gift, not even for her birthday.

This was proof, Jennifer decided. Proof that Johnny truly cared about her. Perhaps he wasn’t ready to get engaged, but he was still serious about her in his own way.

Her mother poked her head out of the kitchen when Jennifer let herself in. ‘You’re early,’ she said.

‘Hmm.’ Jennifer picked up the post from the hall table and flicked through it. ‘Anything for me?’ she asked.

‘No, why? Are you expecting something?’

Jennifer had written to Philip Chandler nearly two weeks ago, apologising for what had happened the last time she’d seen him. She’d felt sure he would write straight back, but so far she’d heard nothing.

It took her by surprise that he hadn’t replied. Surely he couldn’t stay angry with her? It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t even meant what she’d said.

She missed him. The ward seemed a lonely place without their daily chats for her to look forward to.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not expecting anything.’

Perhaps Philip had found another nurse to flirt with? No sooner had the thought occurred to her than Jennifer felt jealousy uncurling in the pit of her stomach, for the second time that day.

DURING THE FIRST
two weeks of October, London suffered an almost constant barrage from the Luftwaffe. Day and night, German bombers screamed overhead, raining down incendiaries and explosives and spreading terror throughout the city.

And the Nightingale suffered more than its fair share.

One night a high-explosive bomb destroyed half the administration block. Kathleen had to move to a temporary office in one of the basement equipment stores, setting up her desk among stacks of old X-ray tubes and boxes. No sooner had she got herself settled than the following night a basket of incendiaries hit the dispensary, sending it and the staff dining room up in flames.

Then, while they were still struggling to recover, two days later another bomb hit a chimney, sending it crashing down through three floors of what had once been the main ward block. It broke Kathleen’s heart to stand in the remains of Holmes ward, looking down to the ground far below, where Sister’s desk lay crushed under a heap of fallen masonry. Just a few months ago, she had been so proud when they’d managed to get the ward redecorated and finished in time to treat the casualties from Dunkirk. Now all their hard work was reduced to rubble, along with everything else.

The one blessing was that no one had been seriously hurt in the blast. By the time the bomb struck, all the wards had been moved down to the basement, along with the operating theatres, the temporary Casualty department and the nurses’ accommodation. Old parts of the cellar Kathleen had never even known existed were now pressed into service as makeshift wards, sleeping quarters and dining rooms. Closer to the stoke hole, the Red Cross had taken up almost permanent residence, dispensing tea and sandwiches as the dining room was no more.

The Nightingale’s staff lived underground like moles, working, eating and sleeping in the dimly lit warren of corridors and only emerging into the outside world to survey the damage around them. By the middle of October, everyone had dragged their beds down to the basement, where they were packed together as tightly as in a public shelter, with only curtains to separate them. Every night, Kathleen had to pick her way over the sleeping bodies of doctors, students and ward sisters to find herself a spare mattress. It wasn’t uncommon to see a medical student propped up against a wall, his head lolling on the shoulder of a sleeping consultant.

The nurses and VADs behaved as if they were at Girl Guides camp, laughing and singing songs and setting each other’s hair. Meanwhile, the medical students discussed the bombs dropping around them as if they were commentating on a cricket match.

‘There goes another basket of incendiaries, lighting up the way . . . Now wait a minute, here comes his mate . . . there! I bet that’s got the docks again. I’m surprised there’s anything left.’

But when Kathleen toured the wards during the night, she was surprised to find the patients all sleeping like babies, in spite of the deafening noise of the ack-acks in Victoria Park.

‘They’re exhausted, poor things,’ one of the night nurses commented. ‘I expect they feel a lot safer here than they do in their own homes.’

Kathleen couldn’t imagine why they had so much faith in the hospital, when the building was falling down around their ears.

At least the debris in the courtyard was gone now, thanks to the hard work of Mr Philips and his men. But Kathleen still averted her gaze every time she had to pass the spot where the Casualty department had come down. She couldn’t walk past the broken ruins of the building without thinking of poor Nurse Kowalski and Jack Meredith.

As far as Kathleen was concerned, she would have razed the whole lot to the ground. But the Trustees had other ideas.

‘We must consider reopening Casualty,’ Mrs Tremayne announced at their last meeting. ‘I have spoken to Dr McKay, and he says the present arrangement in the old laundry is simply not practical for the volume of casualties they have to deal with.’

‘Is that possible?’ Another trustee, Gerald Munroe, turned to Mr Philips.

‘Well . . .’ The Clerk of Works sucked his teeth. ‘I’ve had a word with the Borough Engineer, and he reckons most of the treatment rooms and consulting rooms are still intact. It’s only really the Casualty Hall itself that has been destroyed.’

‘Could it be rebuilt?’

‘Not without considerable time and cost.’

‘Perhaps we could make do without a waiting area for the time being? I know it isn’t ideal, but at least it would mean the treatment rooms could be used . . .’

Kathleen looked from one to the other of the Trustees in disbelief. ‘But it isn’t safe!’ she burst out finally. ‘You saw what happened last time the Casualty Hall was hit by a bomb. Are you seriously proposing we make doctors and nurses go back to work somewhere they might be killed at any time? The patients and doctors and staff would be like sitting ducks, waiting for the next bomb to hit.’

‘They are in any case,’ Gerald Munroe pointed out quietly.

‘We all are,’ Mr Philips put in.

‘And we need to do something,’ Mrs Tremayne said. ‘As Dr McKay said, we can’t go on treating dozens of patients in a cramped, unlit basement.’

‘Then perhaps it would be better to inform the Area Medical Officer that we’re not in a position to take any more patients?’ Kathleen snapped back.

There was a murmur of dissent around the table. As usual, Mrs Tremayne’s view held sway, and the meeting ended with the Clerk of Works being sent off to patch up what was left of the Casualty Hall. Kathleen came out of the meeting feeling very agitated, to hear the drone of yet another air-raid siren.

A tide of weary, resigned-looking nurses, tin helmets perched on top of their caps, started to trudge down to the basement. Kathleen should have followed them, but she couldn’t face another moment crammed into the narrow, overheated space. Instead she turned and went in the opposite direction, up the emergency staircase that led to the roof.

It was just past six and the sky was growing dark. Silhouetted against the moon on the far side of the roof stood the lone figure of Miss Hanley in her tin hat, watching for fires. The last person she wanted to see. Kathleen was about to slink away when Miss Hanley called out to her.

‘Bomber’s moon tonight, Matron.’

Kathleen turned around. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It’s a clear night.’ She pointed skywards towards the moon, bright in the cloudless sky. ‘That means they’ll be over soon. Hundreds of them, I expect.’ She gazed around her. ‘There’ll be some blazes tonight.’

Kathleen stared at her. The Assistant Matron’s eyes were gleaming in the darkness, almost as if she relished the prospect.

‘But our boys will be more than a match for them,’ Miss Hanley went on. ‘Did you hear the news? They say we’ve managed to shoot down a record number of Germans on the south coast. That’s something, isn’t it?’

‘I honestly can’t bring myself to listen to the news any more,’ Kathleen admitted.

Miss Hanley couldn’t have looked more scandalised if Kathleen had produced a swastika armband from her pocket. ‘Not listen to the news, Matron? But – how do you know what’s going on?’

‘I don’t think I want to know.’ Kathleen stared out over the broken landscape below them, bracing itself for another onslaught. London can take it, everyone kept saying. But it didn’t seem that way to her.

Miss Hanley looked at her questioningly. ‘Is everything all right, Matron?’

Kathleen laughed. What a question, with half of London smouldering around them!

‘Why do you stay up here night after night, Miss Hanley?’ she asked.

The Assistant Matron puffed out her cheeks. ‘It’s my duty, Matron.’

‘Yes, but what’s the point? The hospital is still collapsing around our ears, in spite of your best efforts. Frankly, there’s very little left of the building to be destroyed.’

Miss Hanley looked confused for a moment. Then she frowned. ‘That sounds rather defeatist, Matron.’

‘Of course I’m defeatist!’ Kathleen’s last shred of patience, the fragment she had been holding on to throughout the Trustees’ meeting, now slipped away from her. ‘Look around you, Miss Hanley. We’ve been defeated, or hadn’t you noticed? We have nothing left. No gas, no electricity, no water half the time. Our buildings have either been blown up, or they’re falling down around our ears. Our nurses are exhausted, trying to cope in desperate conditions. But even then we can’t even look after more than a handful of patients because we don’t have the equipment or the resources or even the beds to cope.’

‘Mr Philips will sort it out,’ Miss Hanley insisted stoically. ‘And once the Casualty department is up and running again—’

‘For how long?’ Kathleen cut her off. ‘How long before there’s another bomb? How long before something else falls down, or someone else gets killed?’

A muscle in Miss Hanley’s square jaw twitched with tension.

‘Then what do you suggest we do?’ she said.

Kathleen’s shoulders slumped. ‘I don’t know,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t know anything any more. Everyone keeps coming to me for answers, and I have no more to give.’

She started to walk away, and had almost reached the steps when Miss Hanley called after her, ‘If you’ll pardon me for saying so, Matron, I think you’re looking at this in the wrong way.’

Kathleen hesitated. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You look around and see ruined buildings and no electricity. I see Mr Philips and his men working round the clock to clear away rubble and get everything running smoothly again. You see exhausted nurses struggling to cope. I see resourceful girls sterilising instruments over Primus stoves, and doctors operating under umbrellas while plaster dust showers down on them. You see despair, Matron. I see people who are dedicated to keeping this hospital running.’ Miss Hanley came closer, her broad, masculine shape outlined against the moonlight. ‘Do you remember a few months ago, you told me that there was more to a hospital than bricks and mortar? It was the people who made a hospital, you said. I didn’t understand what you meant at the time, but now I think I do.’

She jabbed her finger in the direction of the courtyard below. ‘You’re right, this hospital has been badly damaged. But it stays open because of the spirit of the people in it. I thought you had that spirit too, Matron.’ She sounded disappointed. ‘What happened to the woman who rallied her troops to decorate a ward when no one else thought it could be done?’

‘I’m afraid she’s gone, Miss Hanley.’ She disappeared a long time ago, Kathleen thought. She was wiped out of existence by the constant bombing raids, leaving a cynical shell in her place.

‘Then you must find her again,’ Miss Hanley said briskly.

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s your duty!’ The Assistant Matron’s eyes glittered with fervour under the shadow of her tin hat. ‘The staff of this hospital rely on you for inspiration, guidance. If you give up . . .’

Kathleen shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m too tired,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you do it, as you’re so determined to see this thing through? You’ve always wanted to take charge, now’s your chance.’

Miss Hanley shook her head. ‘I know where my strengths lie, Matron, and where they don’t. I realise I could never understand people the way you do. I lack your – compassion.’

Kathleen smiled in spite of herself. Only Miss Hanley could pay someone a compliment and make it sound like a criticism.

‘We all have our part to play, Matron. Mine is to watch out for fires. Yours is to lead us through this war with our heads held high.’

Kathleen looked back at her assistant. Miss Hanley hadn’t made a move, but Kathleen still felt as if she had been given a good hard kick in the backside.