Nightingales at War (21 page)

A LARGE SIGN
hung from what was left of the Casualty Hall, greeting Eve as she came on duty two days later.

‘The Nightingale Hospital – open for business as usual.’

‘A bit more open than usual, if you ask me!’ Oliver nodded towards the makeshift tarpaulin wall billowing like a sail in the early-morning breeze. ‘Someone’s got a sense of humour.’

‘I don’t care, so long as it means we can move out of that horrible basement,’ Eve replied. The novelty of trying to dress wounds by the light of a hurricane lamp had worn off a long time ago. ‘That sign is funny though, isn’t it? I wonder who put it up?’

As if in answer to her question, an opening in the tarpaulin flapped aside and Matron emerged, her arms full of linen, and marched purposefully across the courtyard.

As she passed Eve, she beamed and said, ‘Good morning, Miss Ainsley. Lovely day, isn’t it?’

Eve glanced around her at the chilly grey autumn morning. Icy spots of rain were beginning to dampen her shoulders, and cordite-scented smoke lingered on the air from the previous night’s raids. But Matron’s smile was so bright and convincing, Eve couldn’t help but smile back and say, ‘Yes, Matron.’

‘Do you like the sign? Rather fun, isn’t it? I thought we might as well let people know we’re still going strong.’

‘Someone’s in a good mood,’ Oliver remarked as they watched her walking away, humming to herself.

‘She is, isn’t she?’ Eve was glad to see Miss Fox smiling again. The last few days had depressed them all, especially when all the wards came down. But the sign showed they were fighting back. It was a message of hope, of defiance.

‘Don’t look now, but your friend’s coming.’ Oliver glanced over his shoulder towards Cissy, who was sauntering up the drive behind them. ‘Better make myself scarce. Wouldn’t do for her to see us talking to each other, would it?’

‘Oliver, wait . . .’ Eve started to say, but he was already gone, making his way across the yard to the Porters’ Lodge.

Eve watched him go, his shoulders hunched against the October chill. Poor Oliver. He didn’t talk about his work, but she knew that the other porters still treated him like an outcast. It filled her with shame that she didn’t defend him, especially in front of Cissy when she owed him and his family so much. The Stantons had been kind to her, giving her much more than a roof over her head for the past six weeks. They had taken her into their hearts, shown her for the first time what it was like to be part of a proper, loving family. For the first time in her life Eve didn’t have to creep around in fear, wondering where the next punishment, the next harsh word was coming from.

It had taken a while to get used to not having to be afraid all the time. But every day Eve felt herself slowly blooming, like a flower opening in the sun.

In that time she’d also got to know Oliver better, and she understood why he had chosen not to go and fight. She appreciated that his decision hadn’t been an easy one, that he’d searched his soul and his conscience for a long time before he decided what had to be done. It certainly wasn’t that he was a coward, as everyone believed. If anything, Eve thought he’d shown a great deal of courage in standing up for what he believed was right. She dearly wished everyone could see him for the kind-hearted young man he truly was.

Especially Cissy. Sometimes Eve felt as if she was the bigger coward for not standing up to Cissy when she criticised Oliver.

One of these days, Eve told herself. But her fledgling friendship was too new, too much of a novelty, for her to want to spoil it just yet.

Cissy came up behind her, looking disgruntled.

‘What’s all this?’ she said, nodding towards the Casualty Hall. ‘Does this mean we won’t be working in the basement any more?’

Eve nodded. ‘I think so.’

Cissy pulled a face. ‘Well, that’s just typical, isn’t it? I liked the basement. I won’t be able to sneak off to the stoke hole for a cigarette any more.’

Inside the tent, a weary-looking Nurse Riley greeted them and told them to get on with preparing the dressings.

‘We had a busy night, and our supplies are running low,’ she said.

‘Bossy!’ Cissy stuck her tongue out at the nurse’s retreating figure. ‘Jen warned me she was a slave-driver, and she was right. Well, Riley needn’t think I’m hurrying!’

Ten minutes later they sat in the treatment room, rolling the cotton wool into swabs.

Cissy watched Eve rolling them on her knees for a moment, then said, ‘You know, I’ve heard that if you roll them under your bosom it makes you more shapely.’

Eve looked doubtfully down at her chest, flat as a pancake under the bib of her starched apron. ‘I’m not sure it would work on me,’ she said.

‘You never know,’ Cissy said kindly. ‘Can’t hurt to have a go, can it? After all, we girls need all the help we can get to improve our looks, with everything so short these days.’

‘I don’t think anything would improve mine!’

‘Don’t be silly. You could look all right, you know, if you wore a bit of make-up and did your hair nicely.’ Cissy squinted at her, sizing her up. ‘You’re not exactly Lana Turner,’ she declared finally, ‘but you could definitely improve on what you’ve got. And not all film stars are that pretty,’ she added. ‘They just know how to make the best of themselves, that’s all. I could show you, if you like?’

Eve concentrated on the cotton wool ball she was rolling. ‘I don’t know about that,’ she murmured.

‘Why not? You want to look nice, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but I don’t think my aunt would like it.’

‘But your aunt isn’t here, is she?’ Cissy pointed out.

Eve didn’t reply. Aunt Freda might be tucked away down in the country, but fear of her still lingered in Eve’s mind. She could still hear her aunt’s harsh voice jangling in her mind.

Just like your mother . . . Selfish, selfish little whore . . .

Perhaps she was right, Eve thought. Perhaps, without her aunt’s guiding influence, Eve’s wantonness was finally emerging. She would never have even thought about doing anything to her hair if Aunt Freda had been there.

Her panic must have shown on her face because Cissy said scornfully, ‘For goodness’ sake, I’m only going to put a few curlers in your hair!’

‘All the same, I’ll have to ask Mrs Stanton.’ She would know, Eve thought. Mrs Stanton was a vicar’s wife, after all. She would be able to guide her.

‘Why do you need anyone’s permission?’ Cissy asked. ‘It’s your hair, you can do as you like with it.’

Eve stared at her. Until that moment, the idea had never occurred to her. She had been so used to pleasing other people, the idea of pleasing herself was all too much for her.

‘But I suppose you’re right.’ Cissy’s next comment took the wind out of her sails again. ‘I mean, you don’t want to embarrass the vicar, do you?’ Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. ‘Poor you,’ she sympathised. ‘It can’t be much fun, having to lodge at a vicarage. I expect they’re as dull as ditchwater, aren’t they?’

Eve cleared her throat nervously. ‘Actually, I’m having a nice time,’ she said. ‘The Stantons have been very kind to me.’

Every day was a revelation to her. Muriel had lent her novels and magazines to read, the likes of which Eve had never seen before. Mrs Stanton had started to teach her the piano and Oliver had promised to show her how to sketch, even though she was sure she would never have half his talent.

She was allowed to listen to the radio, not just to the news broadcasts but to all kinds of other programmes like
It’s That Man Again
and
Scrapbook
. They discussed the news over breakfast and tea. At first Eve had sat mutely listening to the others giving their opinions. She had panicked the first time Reverend Stanton asked her what she thought. Even more surprising, they had actually listened to her. No one had mocked her, or criticised her, and she didn’t have to worry about getting the strap if she said the wrong thing.

All the same, she was nervous of broaching the subject of Cissy doing her hair. Mrs Stanton seemed very kind and easy-going, but what if Eve offended her in some way? What if Aunt Freda was right and she betrayed her true nature by suggesting it? Perhaps the only reason they were so kind to her was because they didn’t yet know how wicked she really was. If she said the wrong thing she could easily give herself away, and then where would she be?

It wasn’t until they were clearing the table after tea that Eve finally plucked up the courage to ask.

‘I wondered . . .’ She kept her eyes fixed on the sink as she filled it, not daring to look over her shoulder. ‘Would it be all right if one of the girls at work curled my hair for me?’

Mrs Stanton laughed. ‘My goodness, you don’t have to ask my permission!’

‘I wasn’t sure . . . I didn’t know if it would be all right?’ Eve risked a cautious glance over her shoulder.

‘You’re a young girl. Of course you’ll want to do your hair and make yourself look nice. You should see some of the styles Muriel has had over the years!’ Mrs Stanton sent her a long, considering look. ‘But I suppose your aunt has never allowed you to do that?’ she said.

Eve dropped her gaze again. She didn’t want to criticise Aunt Freda. In spite of her faults, she had taken Eve in and brought her up as best she could.

‘You may do as you please, Eve.’ Mrs Stanton’s voice was kind.

You may do as you please.
She had never heard those words before.

‘And you don’t have to do all the work here either,’ Mrs Stanton went on. ‘That’s the fourth time this week you’ve cleared the table and washed up.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Eve said. ‘I’ve always done it, and I like to make myself useful.’

‘Yes, but you don’t
have
to make yourself useful,’ Mrs Stanton said. ‘You don’t have to earn your keep while you’re with us, Eve. We’re just happy to have you here.’

She paused, her hands plunged into the warm, soapy water. It was the first time she had ever heard those words, too.

‘
WHAT DO YOU
mean, you can’t come?’

Jennifer stared at her friend in astonishment. She had never known Cissy to miss the chance of a night out dancing in her life.

Her friend couldn’t meet her eye. ‘I told you, I’ve already promised to do something else,’ she said.

‘But we haven’t had a night out in ages!’

‘That’s not my fault, is it? You’re always busy with Johnny these days.’

She was right, Jennifer thought guiltily. She had been neglecting Cissy a lot lately. But it wasn’t her fault if Johnny wanted to take her out all the time. She could hardly be expected to say no to a night out up west, could she?

‘Yes, well, I’m not busy tonight, am I?’

‘Only because he’s stood you up.’

Jennifer was offended. ‘I told you, he hasn’t stood me up,’ she shot back. ‘He has some business to do, that’s all.’

‘No one does business on a Friday night, Jen. Not unless they’re up to no good anyway,’ Cissy muttered.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

Cissy shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

‘No, come on. Out with it, Cissy Baxter. If you’ve got something to say, tell me.’

Cissy was silent for a long time. But she was wearing her thoughtful look, as if trying to work out what to say and how to say it. The last time Jennifer had seen that expression on her friend’s face was when she had thought about bleaching her hair two years ago. She’d been so set on the idea, it had taken all Cissy’s courage to persuade her not to do it.

Finally Cissy said, ‘You do know what Johnny’s up to, don’t you? I mean, you know what business he’s really in?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s a black marketeer, Jen. All this stuff he gets hold of for people . . . it’s stolen.’

Jennifer felt the hot blush rise in her cheeks. ‘Of course I know what he does!’ she snapped. ‘Do you think I’m stupid or something?’ Johnny had never told her and she had long since stopped asking. But she had worked it out for herself.

Cissy stared at her. ‘And you don’t mind?’

‘Why should I?’ She shrugged. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘But it’s stealing!’

‘Oh, come off it, Cis! It’s not like he really robs anyone, is it? It’s only stuff that falls off the back of lorries. Everyone does it,’ Jennifer added carelessly.

That was what she told herself anyway.

But it took a lot for her to swallow her shame. Especially when her father came home and told them about the latest theft from the bombed-out dock warehouses. And the last thing she needed was Cissy to get all holier-than-thou about it and make her feel worse than she already did.

‘Anyway,’ Jennifer added, ‘I don’t see you complaining when he brings you stockings and lipstick!’

That got her. Cissy retreated into guilty silence. Jennifer was silent too, but out of hurt and anger. She was really disappointed in her friend. First Cissy hadn’t been nearly impressed enough when Jennifer showed off the bracelet Johnny had given her. Then she’d refused to come out dancing, and now she was being very hurtful about him.

If she was a real mate she would be pleased for her, instead of trying to make her feel bad. God knew, Jennifer had listened to Cissy going on about Paul often enough!

Or at least, she used to. It shocked her to realise how far apart she and Cissy had drifted since they’d started working in the hospital. They didn’t even have lunch together any more, since the dining room had been destroyed.

But Cissy was her only real friend and Jennifer didn’t want to lose her. And if that meant swallowing her pride and making the first move, then so be it.

‘I don’t want to fall out, Cis,’ she wheedled. ‘Can’t we just be friends?’

‘I suppose so.’ Cissy sent her a sidelong smile.

‘I’d really like us to go out tonight.’ Jennifer nudged her. ‘Go on, it’ll be like old times, you and me down the Palais.’

‘I told you, I can’t.’

‘What are you doing that’s so important?’

Cissy paused. ‘I promised Eve she could come round so I could do her hair,’ she said quietly.

She was blushing when she said it, and with good reason. Jennifer stared at her.

‘You what? Why?’

Cissy lifted her shoulders. ‘I feel sorry for her.’

‘You feel sorry for her?’ Jennifer echoed. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. ‘We are talking about the same girl, aren’t we? The one we used to make fun of at those First Aid classes?’

‘She’s all right once you get to know her,’ Cissy defended. ‘You should come round, too. Then you could . . .’

‘No, thanks!’ Jennifer grimaced. ‘Spending the evening with that drip isn’t my idea of fun, thank you very much!’

‘I told you, she’s not that bad once you get to know her.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Jennifer said. ‘Honestly, Cissy, I would have thought the last thing you’d do is waste your time on someone like her!’ She stared at her friend in frustration. ‘Are you sure you can’t just tell her you’ve had a better offer?’

Usually she could have twisted her friend around her little finger. But for once Cissy was being surprisingly stubborn. ‘I told you, I promised.’

There was something about the way she said it, and the shifty way she couldn’t meet Jennifer’s eye, that made her feel there was more to it than Cissy was letting on.

‘I thought I’d just give you a few pin curls, because they’re easy and won’t take as long to set,’ Cissy said.

She fluttered around Eve, winding strands of hair around her fingers and fastening each curl in place with a hairpin. Eve watched her admiringly.

‘You’re so quick,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I could ever manage it the way you can.’

‘It’s not that difficult once you get the knack. Jen and I used to do each other’s all the time . . .’

Cissy’s voice tailed off and Eve saw her face fall, reflected in the mirror she held in her hands. Eve knew Jennifer and Cissy had fallen out because Jennifer had made a point of grabbing her at the WVS van and telling her all about it earlier that day.

‘I s’pose you know you’ve ruined Cissy’s evening?’ she’d said. ‘She wanted to come out dancing with me but she can’t because she doesn’t want to let you down.’

Of course Eve had tried to put it right straight away by telling Cissy she didn’t have to come. ‘We can easily make it another evening,’ she’d said. But Cissy just firmed her mouth and said, ‘Jen said that to you, did she? She had no right to interfere.’

‘She wasn’t interfering,’ Eve assured her hastily. ‘And besides, I don’t mind.’

‘No, but I do,’ Cissy said. ‘You’re coming round to my house tonight, just like we planned,’ she told Eve firmly.

‘But Jennifer . . .’

‘Believe me, Jennifer’s the last person I want to see at the moment. And she’ll stay out of my way if she knows what’s good for her!’

But Eve still felt guilty as she sat in the kitchen of the Baxters’ home. She shouldn’t be there, she thought. This was Jennifer’s place, not hers. It was Jennifer who should be here, gossiping with Cissy before going off on their night out.

Even Cissy’s mother seemed surprised to see Eve, although once Cissy had introduced them she had smiled and welcomed their visitor and offered her tea and a piece of cake.

‘Not sure what it tastes like, though,’ she’d said cheerfully. ‘You just can’t get the ingredients, can you?’

Now she fussed around them in the kitchen, complaining about Cissy’s combs and clips and pins being scattered over the table.

‘Look at all this mess! Why do you have to spread yourself about and take over everything?’ she sighed.

Eve was mortified and rushed to tidy them up, but Cissy said, ‘Take no notice, she doesn’t mean it.’

Eve glanced warily at Mrs Baxter, waiting for her to react. But the woman simply smiled and shook her head at her daughter’s antics. ‘I dunno why I waste my breath,’ she said.

Eve eyed them both uncertainly in the mirror, still not sure what was happening. Aunt Freda would have expected her to do as she was told straight away, or be given a smack round the face. Seeing Cissy and her mother, and Mrs Stanton and Muriel, Eve realised she still had a lot to learn about how mothers and daughters treated each other.

Cissy put in the last curl. ‘There,’ she said. ‘That’s done. Now while we’re waiting for it to set, I’ll give you a bit of make-up.’

Eve shrank back in her seat. ‘Oh, no,’ she said. ‘Really, I couldn’t.’ Having curls was one thing, but going back to the vicarage with her face painted was another.

Cissy laughed. ‘Don’t look so frightened, it’s just a bit of powder and lipstick. You won’t look like someone who hangs round the docks, I promise.’

Eve stared at her, mystified. The only people who hung around the docks were stevedores and sailors and the like. She couldn’t think why any of them would wear lipstick. ‘I – I don’t understand,’ she ventured.

Cissy and her mother exchanged disbelieving glances. Then Cissy laughed and said, ‘It doesn’t matter. You wait there, I’ll go and get my make-up bag.’

Eve submitted patiently as Cissy went about her work, dabbing on powder and rouge, and shaping Eve’s lips with a stub of pink lipstick. ‘I haven’t got a lot of this left, but Jen reckons her Johnny might be able to get me some . . .’

Once again, she stopped herself, and her face took on a taut, angry look that Eve didn’t understand. She wanted to ask about it, but Cissy looked too cross as she took out her mascara, spat on it then worked the brush into the dense black block.

Her mood had recovered by the time she’d finished. ‘There,’ she said, gazing into Eve’s face like an artist studying their latest canvas. ‘No, don’t look at yourself yet. Let me take your curls out first so you get the full effect.’

It was much quicker to unpin the curls than it had been to put them in. Cissy released each one in turn, and carefully combed it out. Eve felt a curl tickle her cheek.

‘Trust me, it looks lovely,’ Cissy said. ‘You’ll have all the boys running after you by the time I’ve finished.’

Eve glanced up at her in dismay from under lashes weighed down by sooty mascara.

‘But I don’t want anyone running after me!’

Cissy slanted a smile at her. ‘Oh, come on! You must have someone you like, surely?’

For some reason, a picture of Oliver Stanton came into Eve’s mind.

‘I knew it!’ Cissy laughed with triumph. ‘You’re blushing, which means there is someone. And I bet I know who it is, too.’ She slowly combed out another curl and fluffed it up with her fingers. ‘I don’t blame you,’ she said. ‘He is rather handsome, I must say.’

Eve frowned at her, until Cissy went on, ‘I mean, I don’t go much for fair-haired men myself, but Dr Jameson is very good-looking.’

‘Dr Jameson?’ Eve repeated blankly.

‘That’s who you’ve got your eye on, isn’t it? I’m right, aren’t I?’ Cissy said. Then, without waiting for an answer, she went on, ‘If you ask me, he definitely likes you, too.’

‘Me?’ The idea was so ridiculous Eve almost laughed. ‘I don’t think he’s even noticed me.’

‘Of course he has. I’ve seen him giving you the eye, don’t you worry.’ Cissy nodded knowingly.

Eve stared down at her fingers, lacing them together nervously in her lap. This was all a revelation to her, and she sincerely hoped it wasn’t true. She had no wish for a boyfriend, and if she thought Dr Jameson had any interest in her she would be so embarrassed she would probably never be able to face him again. But Cissy understood far more about all this sort of thing than Eve did, so maybe she was right.

‘There, that’s it.’ Cissy adjusted the last curl and stood back to survey her handiwork, tweaking a curl here and there until finally she was satisfied. ‘You can look in the mirror now,’ she said.

Eve held up the mirror and stared at her reflection. She barely recognised the girl gazing back at her. The bouncy curls framed a small, heart-shaped face, softening the narrow angles and making her look almost pretty. Cissy’s subtle make-up enhanced her wide eyes and the cupid’s bow of her mouth.

Cissy’s mother came bustling back in. She stopped in her tracks in the doorway when she saw Eve.

‘Oh, love, that does suit you,’ she said. ‘You look a treat, you really do.’

Cissy smiled, obviously pleased with her creation. She turned to Eve. ‘Well? What do you reckon?’

‘It looks – lovely,’ Eve whispered.

‘I told you, didn’t I?’ Cissy grinned triumphantly. ‘I said all you needed was a bit of help.’

‘It’s like magic. I never imagined I could look like this.’

Cissy blushed at the praise, but Eve could tell she was pleased with herself. ‘It’s nothing, really,’ she shrugged. ‘Just a few curlers and a bit of make-up. I could show you how to do it yourself, if you like? Then you could look like this every day.’

Eve shook her head. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.’

‘Why not? What harm would it do to brighten yourself up a bit?’ Cissy grinned. ‘You never know, you might catch Dr Jameson’s eye!’

Now it was Eve’s turn to blush. Her thoughts flew to her aunt. Freda Ainsley would have had a fit if she’d thought Eve was flaunting herself in front of a man.

Bad blood will out.
That’s what she would have said.

‘I’d better not,’ said Eve. ‘But I’d like to keep it on for tonight, if that’s all right? I’d like to show Mrs Stanton and Muriel.’

And Oliver, a small voice inside her head added. Eve pushed the thought away.

Mrs Stanton was playing whist with Muriel and Oliver when Eve walked in.

‘There are you, dear. Did you have a nice—’ Mrs Stanton looked up and stopped dead when she saw Eve. ‘Oh, my goodness! What have you done to yourself?’

All Eve’s fragile self-confidence instantly crumbled. ‘Is it too much?’ she asked anxiously.

‘No, it’s beautiful. Truly beautiful. You just look so – different, that’s all.’

Mrs Stanton and Muriel got up from the table and came over to study Eve. The next thing, they were stroking her curls and admiring her make-up and asking all kinds of questions about what Cissy had done and how she’d managed to achieve such a miraculous transformation.

For once, Eve didn’t feel embarrassed at being the centre of attention. Instead she felt absurdly pleased and almost like a real girl as she chatted to them about lipstick and mascara. But all the time she was looking at Oliver, waiting for his reaction. He hadn’t even glanced up from his cards since the first look he’d given her when she walked into the room.