Pack Up Your Troubles (14 page)

‘Of course not!’ cried Eva.

‘Then let him go,’ said Connie. ‘He belonged to 1944 but you’re still alive in 1946.’

Her counsel didn’t fall on deaf ears. By Whitsun the following year, Eva and Steven were secretly engaged. That wasn’t the only engagement. When July came, the town was buzzing with the news that Mavis Hampton had just got engaged. The local papers had her picture on the front pages and there was a feature article on the inside pages of the
Worthing Gazette
. The girls in the nurses’ home drooled over the dress Mavis was wearing but Connie found her attention was on the man she was to marry, Eugène Étienne. The Frenchie looked so different in his formal suit and tie; like a different person altogether.

Sally Burndell carried on working throughout the year but she was a very different girl. She was much quieter and less cheeky but the customers still liked her. Terry still refused to answer her letters so by the middle of May she gave up trying. Connie encouraged her to apply for the secretarial course again in July, this time at a different college, and to her absolute delight, she was accepted. Ga was a little put out that once again Sally was leaving, but the family gave her a little leaving party and by 3 September, she was on her way.

The continuing blot on the landscape was the relationship between Ga and Clifford. It had never been an easy one but now it was full of angst and anger. The atmosphere at home was so bad, they could hardly bear to be in the same room as each other without a tetchy argument. Clifford had made plans for the nurseries but Ga disapproved of everything he suggested. With the advent of Worthing Borough Council’s grand plan for the regeneration of the town, came the need of land for housing. Clifford still wanted to sell off part of the nurseries to raise capital. Using that money, he planned to build a series of glasshouses and intensify his growing power. Strawberries, tomatoes and cucumbers were the way to go, he was sure of it. With the close proximity to the railway, he could get his produce up to Covent Garden within a couple of hours and if they could establish themselves with the top restaurants in London, the world would be his oyster, but Ga, as holder of the purse strings, was having none of it.

‘This nursery serves the people of this area,’ she said tartly. ‘We don’t need to look any further.’

‘Times are changing,’ Clifford said. ‘If we think small, we’ll stay small and eventually we’ll be swallowed up by a much bigger fish. We’re only just scraping by as it is. You can’t stand in the way of progress.’

‘May I remind you,’ said Ga getting onto her high horse, ‘that this is
my
place, not yours.’ And the argument ended in the usual slanging match. Whenever she came home on her day off, Connie could see how much it was getting her mother down, but what could she do?

The year hadn’t been without its flash points between Ga and Connie. The old woman made a beef about her sore leg every time she saw Connie coming even though she was quite capable of digging potatoes, humping boxes and even running for the bus when she thought no one was looking.

‘If you’re not going to help in the nursery,’ she told Connie in the summer, ‘you should at least pay for your keep.’

Connie gasped. She was on her way to the post office on an errand for Clifford. ‘Excuse me?’

‘We can’t afford freeloaders,’ said Ga maliciously. ‘Food is short and it costs money.’

Connie felt her face flame. Her great aunt put her nose in the air and walked into the house. As Connie stared at her receding back, for a moment she really hated her. She may not be putting money on the table but she paid them in kind. Wasn’t the rabbit they’d all eaten last night for supper bought from a butcher in Worthing by her? And didn’t she often put a few shillings in the electric meter when nobody was looking? Just because she didn’t make a song and dance about it, didn’t mean she wasn’t helping out when she could. Ga was impossible. In fact, the only person who thought she could do no wrong was her old friend Aggie.

*

He came downstairs quickly. She was unloading the shopping onto the kitchen table.

‘You’re back early,’ he smiled.

‘I caught the earlier bus,’ she said flatly. ‘You been in bed?’

‘No,’ he said, offended.

‘Your hair is all flat,’ she said.

‘Well, I did have a bit of a lie down,’ he admitted. ‘A bad headache. It’s gone now.’

‘Did you take an aspirin?’

‘No.’ He took out his cigarette case and tapped a cigarette on the closed lid.

There was a footfall on the stairs and the child came down one by one. His wife turned her head and stared at him uncertainly.

‘She was playing in her bedroom,’ he said defensively as he struck a match.

The child came into the room and without even looking at her mother, sat down by the fire. She drew her cardigan around her body and hugged herself tight.

‘You all right, luv?’

‘Yes Mum.’

‘Well, I’ll be off to the pub for a bit,’ he said snatching his cap from the nail on the back door.

‘What, at this time?’ she said glancing at the clock. ‘They don’t open until six.’

He kissed his wife on the cheek and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Christmas is coming and I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’

She grinned knowingly. ‘Make sure it’s a lovely surprise, won’t you?’ she whispered.

The child didn’t move. The back door banged and she continued to stare into the fire as her mother carried on unloading the shopping.

Ten

It was a bit of a shock to see Sally Burndell on the ward. Connie, who was on a split shift, listened with growing alarm as the ward sister read the report.

‘Miss Burndell is a seventeen-year-old female with no history of mental illness. She was admitted from the emergency ward where she was treated for an overdose of barbiturates.’ Sister leaned forward to the junior student nurse sitting next to Connie and added, ‘That means she’s had a stomach wash-out.’ Connie was feeling uncomfortable. Should she tell Sister that Sally was a friend of hers? As the report continued, she decided against it. If Sister knew, she might stop Connie from nursing Sally.

‘Miss Burndell is to be kept in overnight for observation and then the police want to question her,’ Sister added with a sniff.

As the report was finished and they separated to their various duties, the other student nurse touched Sally’s arm. ‘Why do the police want to speak to Miss Burndell?’ she whispered anxiously. ‘Has she done something bad?’

Connie shook her head. ‘Probably not, but attempted suicide is a criminal offence. The patient is at risk of being charged and imprisoned.’

The junior nurse went on her way satisfied, but just saying the words had sent a chill through Connie’s heart. At the earliest opportunity she went behind the curtain screen separating Sally from the rest of the ward. Her friend turned her head away in shame as she entered. Connie rubbed Sally’s arm sympathetically.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sally choked.

‘It’s all right,’ Connie whispered. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help …’

‘My mum is so cross with me,’ Sally wept.

‘She’s had a fright, that’s all,’ said Connie. ‘She’ll come round.’

Sally shook her head. ‘I feel so miserable.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ said Connie but she quickly realised that this was neither the time nor the place. Explanations would have to wait a while. ‘Look, you get some sleep and we’ll talk again later.’ Sally’s temperature was slightly raised but her heartbeat was normal.

‘Listen,’ said Connie as she entered the results on her chart at the foot of the bed, ‘I don’t know if they’ve told you, but the police want to talk to you.’

Sally nodded.

‘Is there any chance you made a mistake?’ Connie went on. ‘I mean, could you have taken an accidental overdose?’

‘That’s what Mum told me to say,’ said Sally. ‘The silly thing was, it really was a mistake, but because I tried it before, she thinks I’ve done it again.’

‘You tried it before?’ Connie gasped. ‘Oh Sally, why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I was an idiot,’ said Sally, ‘but …’

The screen clattered back and the ward sister came in with a scowl. ‘That’s enough chattering, nurse,’ she said tartly. ‘I’ll deal with this patient.’

‘Yes, Sister,’ said Connie and smiling encouragingly she left Sister to it. For some time afterwards, Connie found herself shouldering some of the responsibility. Sally hadn’t been her usual self at the beginning of the year but she honestly thought she was all right now. Connie had no idea it was so serious. Why hadn’t Sally told her what was troubling her?

Sister cornered Connie about an hour later on her way back to the sluice room after having shaved Mrs Tucker in preparation for her operation the next day. ‘Miss Burndell tells me you are a friend of hers, Nurse Dixon.’

‘Yes, Sister,’ Connie nodded.

‘Then leave her to the other members of staff,’ said Sister. ‘You know the rules. You should not nurse any relative or friend.’

Sister bustled away leaving Connie feeling even worse. She hoped Sally wouldn’t think she was deliberately avoiding her. Some friend you were anyway, Connie Dixon, she told herself crossly.

Christmas 1946 was moving ever closer. In the Sty, as the patients of Mr McIndoe called their ward at East Grinstead’s Royal Victoria Hospital, they were making a go of putting up the decorations. They were a motley crew, some with injuries which they had sustained during the war and others, like Kenneth, who had been wounded in peacetime. Membership of The Guinea Pig Club which had been formed by thirty-nine injured airmen in 1941 was now closed. Members could only join the club if they had had at least ten operations and it lasted until 1945, so Kenneth had been a latecomer. He had been in the Sty for just over a year and he still faced several more months if not years of further treatment. Fortunately, the Royal Victoria wasn’t as rigid as most hospitals. Kenneth was allowed to wear his own clothes or his service uniforms instead of ‘convalescent blues’ and he was able to leave the hospital whenever he wanted to. The trouble was, he never wanted to, and that was giving cause for concern.

‘You never come to the pub with us, Dickie,’ said Bunny Warren.

‘Why bother when there’s a free barrel on the ward?’ Kenneth joked. He looked away. He knew what his companion was thinking. Bunny had overcome his disabilities but Kenneth still struggled with his own appearance. He’d never get his face back although the Maestro, as they called McIndoe, had made a valiant attempt. He had eyelids now and the eye sockets had been strengthened by bone from his thigh. He had no eyebrows but a couple of operations around the eyes had given him a small ridge on his forehead. Although he had been left with a slightly surprised expression, it was a lot better than before. Now that the area had settled down, the next step was to rebuild his nose and as soon as Christmas was over, Kenneth would be back on the operating table. The state of his hands meant that the RAF had no further use for him which came as a bitter blow during the year. It took all the help he could get from the other chaps to pull him out of the black depression which threatened to engulf him. And even though East Grinstead had gained the reputation of being ‘the town that did not stare’, Kenneth still couldn’t bring himself to venture out.

Bill Garfield had been coming back to the Sty for almost three years. A dashing pilot at twenty-two, he’d crashed in flames but the Maestro had rebuilt his eye socket, both cheekbones and his jaw. If anyone knew how Dickie felt about himself, it was Bill. Hadn’t he gone through just the same? And yet this chap couldn’t seem to lift himself up out of the pit. Dickie’s reluctance to go out was more than simply because he’d lost his looks. It was as if he was carrying some great weight on his shoulders. Bill had probed and hinted but it was hopeless. Dickie kept himself to himself. He never had visitors or letters. Could he have been brought up in an orphanage? Bill fancied himself as a bit of an amateur sleuth and so he and Bunny decided to try and find Dickie’s family.

They got into the office fairly easily. Of course they knew they’d be for the high jump if they got caught, but it was worth the risk for a pal. While Bunny kept watch, Bill riffled the patients’ notes and then bingo, he’d found something.

Sally Burndell was discharged later that day. Her parents came to take her home and Connie made a point of asking if she could visit her. She went in her next off duty, taking a couple of apples with her. Sally was in her bedroom and her mum had lit a fire in the grate. She had dark circles under her eyes and as Connie came into the room, she pulled herself into a sitting position. Connie helped her put a bed jacket around her shoulders and they made small talk until finally Connie had to say something.

‘Why did you do it, Sally?’

‘I told you,’ said Sally. ‘It really was an accident this time.’

‘I didn’t even know about the last time,’ cried Connie.

Sally’s eyes filled immediately. Connie leaned forward and squeezed her hands. ‘Tell me. You can trust me. I can keep a confidence.’

‘In the end, they got me down,’ she said brokenly.

‘What got you down? I don’t understand.’

‘The letters,’ said Sally. She leaned over and, opening a drawer in the dresser beside the bed, she took out a couple of envelopes. ‘Mum burned the others,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t know I’ve still got these.’

Connie opened one already torn envelope.
‘Some go with one man but a whore like you would entertain a football team. What will your boyfriend say?’
The other contained a picture of a delicious looking apple tart cut from a magazine. Someone had scribbled,
‘I’m still watching you, tart’
across the top.

‘This is awful,’ said Connie. ‘Have you told the police?’

Sally shook her head. ‘At first I thought it was someone’s idea of a sick joke,’ she said, ‘but now I think whoever sent these has been writing to my college and to Terry. He stopped answering my letters ages ago. I didn’t do anything wrong, Connie.’