Pack Up Your Troubles (33 page)

‘I was engaged,’ he shrugged. ‘I want to protect you.’

She wished he hadn’t brought up the fact of his engagement. It dampened her resolve but when he was ready and he’d taken her into his arms, he melted every other thought away.

He was so gentle, so controlled. She knew he was holding back, every move calculated to give her maximum pleasure. When he entered her, every fibre of her being was yielded to him. ‘I am the first,’ he said in mild surprise.

When it was all over and he lay on her, Connie smiled. He rolled onto his side and looked at her, tenderly playing with her hair as she drifted towards sleep.

‘The first time I ever saw you, you were singing,’ he said.

Connie frowned. ‘I was?’

‘You came into my workshop with your little sister and I heard you.’

‘Oh yes,’ she smiled. ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine …’

He kissed her again. ‘Connie …’

She woke in the early morning with the sun streaming in the caravan. Eugène was gone and her heart sank. He had covered her nakedness and she threw the blankets aside to look for her clothes.

The caravan was small but it was clean and reasonably tidy. Her blouse was still by the stove although that was no longer lit. A stack of pictures leaned against the wall. They were facing the wrong way. Connie glanced around and then began to look through them. She recognised a couple of them from when she’d seen them on the workshop wall, the two fishermen and a seascape. Even with her untrained eye, Connie could see that he was good. She pulled the next one towards her and Mavis Hampton smiled up at her. The shock was so great, Connie almost dropped the pictures leaning against her legs. The picture was amazing. He had caught the woman’s expression perfectly and yet it was greatly romanticised. Anyone else would have interpreted Mavis as the self-centred girl she was, but there was something about this picture that told another story. As she scrutinised it more fully, Connie suddenly realised what she was seeing. He was still in love with her, wasn’t he? It was his love for her that shone through the canvas. Dear Lord, what had she done? If he loved her this much, there was every chance that they would get back together again.

She already had her bra and suspender belt on and she was pulling on her stockings when the door opened. Connie grabbed her blouse and held it against her. Eugène came in with a loaf of bread, a bottle of milk and some cheese.

‘I have to go,’ she said and he nodded. ‘I have to be on duty at one,’ she said desperate to justify herself.

He nodded again and taking her hands in his he gave her that same grave look he’d given her the night before. ‘Connie,’ he said, his voice trailing.

‘I know,’ she said quickly. ‘This was a mistake. A terrible mistake.’

‘A mistake,’ he repeated.

‘I’m sorry, Eugène,’ she blurted out. ‘I didn’t mean to … I’m sorry.’

He nodded grimly. ‘It was my fault, Connie. I was drunk and I was angry. I took advantage of you.’

She put her finger on his lips and turned her head to hide her own embarrassment. What an idiot she’d been. How could she have let herself get carried away like that? He was being kind and she was the one who had taken advantage. She could only hope she hadn’t ruined their friendship.

‘Have some breakfast before you go,’ he said and she nodded but they were awkward with each other now. The bread stuck in her throat and she couldn’t look him in the eye.

‘What will you do now?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Start again I suppose. Isaac will stay in Slinden. He’ll be all right.’

‘I took the liberty of looking at your paintings,’ said Connie. ‘You should sell them.’

‘Sell them?’ he said modestly. ‘Do you think they are good enough?’

‘Good enough!’ she cried. ‘They’re brilliant. You have a real talent.’

Eugène shook his head. ‘I am not trained,’ he said.

‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘And I’m no expert on art but you have the gift of capturing the real essence of a person onto canvas. You paint with feeling.’

‘Why, thank you, Miss Connie Dixon,’ he smiled. ‘That’s very encouraging.’

As she left he squeezed her hand. ‘You’re a good person, Connie. I hope I shall always be your friend.’

On the bus on her way back to the hospital, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. That silly Mavis had a gem of a man and she’d let him go but he still loved her. As soon as he made good with his paintings, she’d want him back.

*

A Sunday school outing. What luck! The notice on the church noticeboard said they needed helpers. Even better. It was a bit late in the day, but why not volunteer? Stan smiled to himself as he approached the door. Rev Jackson was there, shaking hands with everybody who had come to the early morning service. There was no time like the present.

*

Mandy had used up all the paper in her book. She wanted to make her mother a birthday card. She knew exactly which picture she would draw, a house with red curtains and a green door. She would put
Haqqy
over the top but she wasn’t sure how to spell birthday. Susan Revel’s mummy was coming to take her to Susan’s house to play, so it would be the ideal time to make the card without anyone knowing what she was doing. Mrs Revel would help her with the spelling too. Mandy knew birthday had a ‘b’ but she wasn’t sure how to write the rest. Until she’d had the idea, it had been a real problem because of course, she couldn’t ask Mummy. Daddy was out for the day and Connie wasn’t here. This way, it would be a real surprise. She went to look for Ga because she had some paper in her big bureau, but she was working in the shop and didn’t like it if you interrupted. Mandy sighed in frustration. Grown-ups were never there when you needed them.

She stared at Ga’s writing desk. Mandy knew she wasn’t supposed to touch it and that Ga would be very cross if she got caught but she also knew there was plenty of paper inside. Sometimes other people took some. Mummy took a bit when she wanted to write to Connie and she’d seen Auntie Aggie take a couple of sheets once while Ga was getting her a cup of tea in the kitchen. Surely Ga wouldn’t mind when she told her it was for Mummy’s birthday. She wouldn’t touch anything else. She wouldn’t look in the drawers where Ga kept her stamps, but she’d go to the narrow slots which looked a bit like a toast rack and take a sheet of the pretty paper. She knew it was there because one wet afternoon when she had little to do, Ga had shown them all to her. The lid was up and locked but Mandy knew exactly where Ga kept the key. It was in the kitchen on the big hook. She had to stand on a chair to reach it. She did it easily but it was a bit scary when the chair wobbled a bit as she stretched up. Mandy unlocked the bureau and remembered to put the long rests down before she put the lid down. It was very heavy and it fell with a loud bump. Mandy stood on Ga’s chair and leaned over. She was just reaching for the paper when Ga’s booming voice made her jump.

‘And what do you think you are doing, young lady?’

Mandy lost her balance and knocked several things out of the bureau onto the floor. At the same time, Ga’s broad hand struck her bottom and the tops of her legs with a stinging force. ‘How dare you?’ she cried. ‘This is private. It has nothing to do with you so you shouldn’t be snooping into my affairs, you naughty little girl.’

By now Mandy was in floods of tears. Ga dragged her unceremoniously from the chair.

‘I wanted some paper for Mummy,’ Mandy wailed.

Ga picked up the letters Mandy had accidentally pushed onto the floor, put them all into one of the slots and slammed the lid of the bureau with great force. Then she rounded on the child once again.

‘Go to your room this minute,’ she bellowed.

‘I only wanted to make a card for Mummy’s birthday,’ Mandy said again, but Ga wasn’t listening.

‘God punishes people who steal,’ Ga said as she pushed Mandy towards the stairs. ‘You wait until I tell your mummy what you did.’

‘Please don’t,’ Mandy begged. ‘It was a surprise.’

They had reached her bedroom door and Ga pushed her inside. ‘Mrs Revel is here and I’m going to tell her that you can’t come to her house to play with Susan,’ said Ga, slamming the door. A second later, the door opened once again. ‘And I shall also tell your mummy that I don’t think you should go on the outing the day after tomorrow. I’m sure Miss Jackson wouldn’t want to take a
thief
to High Salvington.’

As soon as she’d gone, Mandy threw herself across the bed and sobbed.

It was the day of the Sunday school outing and Connie was assigned to look after the patient behind the curtains. It was Mrs Meyer. The end was very close but she seemed peaceful. Connie cleaned her eyes and swabbed her mouth. The old woman smiled as Connie offered a sip of water and laid her head back on the pillow. Connie reached into her locker and pulled out her hairbrush.

‘There we are, Mrs Meyer,’ she said brushing her hair gently. ‘Sister’s got a little surprise for you.’

‘Not ice cream,’ joked Mrs Meyer. ‘I hate ice cream.’

Connie grinned. ‘Better than ice cream,’ she promised. She could hear voices on the other side of the curtain. ‘Your daughter is here.’

‘My Judy? Here?’

‘That’s right.’

Mrs Meyer shook her head. ‘Oh no, dear. My Judy lives in Africa.’

‘And she’s here to see you,’ said Connie as the curtain opened slightly and a middle-aged woman stepped beside the bed. Connie manoeuvred the chair, and Judy Meyer sat down. ‘Hello, Mum.’

A lump formed in Connie’s throat when she saw tears glistening in her patient’s eyes. ‘Oh Judy. I never thought I’d see you again. How are you, love?’

By midday it was all over. Judy and Mrs Meyer had said their goodbyes and her mother had gone peacefully. Connie was asked to perform one last duty for her. As she washed her poor thin body, Connie reflected that her whole life was dedicated to the care and treatment of her patients but there came a time when it was time to let them go. She’d liked Mrs Meyer. She’d often told Connie about her faith and explained that she was ready to go.

‘I’m so tired,’ she once told Connie. ‘I’m ready for a bit of peace and quiet, although I don’t suppose it’ll be that peaceful up there. All that singing … Never mind, I’ve had a good life.’

To Connie’s way of thinking, Mrs Meyer had had a hard life. Orphaned at a young age and stuck in a children’s home for years, she’d married a fellow inmate almost as soon as they’d left it. He’d left her a widow with two small children so she’d had to take cleaning jobs to survive. Her son had been killed somewhere over Germany in 1940 and her daughter was a missionary in Kenya. Not an easy life at all and yet Mrs Meyer made the best of everything even when it came to dying. ‘I’m lucky to have a clean bed and all you lovely nurses to look after me,’ she’d once said.

Connie wiped a tear from her eye and blew her nose. She’d done the last thing for her and Mrs Meyer was ready for the undertaker. She left the curtain closed and went to clear up her trolley. When she came back to the desk to report her completed duty, Matron was sitting there looking at the patient’s notes. Connie felt the old nervousness come back.

‘Mrs Meyer is ready, Matron,’ she said quietly. It was policy to speak in hushed tones when someone had died. Nobody wanted the rest of the ward to be upset.

‘What’s that supposed to mean, nurse?’ Matron snapped. ‘When you give a report, for heaven’s sake speak clearly and precisely.’

Connie chewed her bottom lip anxiously. She gave Sister a helpless look. ‘I have laid out Mrs Meyer,’ Connie said in the same hushed tones.

‘Speak up, girl,’ Matron insisted.

‘Mrs Meyer is ready for the undertaker,’ said Connie.

Matron stared at her for a couple of seconds and then said, ‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place?’

‘Thank you, Nurse Dixon,’ said Sister. ‘You can go off duty now.’

Matron made a point of looking at her watch.

‘Nurse Dixon should have gone off duty an hour ago,’ said Sister. ‘She kindly stayed on to lay out the patient because we are short-staffed.’

Connie walked down the ward, conscious of Matron’s eyes boring into her receding back. She was late, very late. In fact she wasn’t at all sure that by the time she’d got back to the nurses’ home and changed, there would be time to catch the bus. As she walked down the ward, Connie could see Nurse Boiling doing her best to comfort Mrs Jenkins. A very nervous woman, Mrs Jenkins was convinced she wouldn’t survive her operation anyway. Really, it was too bad of Matron to make her talk about the undertaker like that. And why was Matron so aggressive towards her? Connie couldn’t understand it. As she reached the swing doors, she thought she could heard Mrs Meyer’s voice. ‘Don’t forget she’s just the same as us with her drawers around her ankles first thing in the morning.’

Connie turned as she closed the door. Matron was still sitting at the desk, her giant legs akimbo and Connie could just imagine the biggest pair of bloomers imaginable draped around her ankles.

‘Thanks, Mrs Meyer,’ Connie whispered as she turned for the nurses’ home.

It was a bit of a mad rush but if she ran all the way, she still might be in time for the 2.10 bus. That was supposed to arrive near the pick-up point at 2.30. Exactly the same time as the coach was leaving.

It was unusual for Olive to come to her house and Aggie’s surprise must have shown as she opened the door. By the look on Olive’s face, her friend was furious. Aggie stepped back to let her in.

‘She’s found Kenneth,’ said Olive, taking off her coat. ‘I’ve been trying to get up here for days but what with one thing and another … Anyway, I’ve found out that she’s been going up to East Grinstead to see him.’

‘How?’ Aggie gasped.

‘I don’t know exactly,’ said Olive. ‘What are we going to do? Supposing she brings him home?’

‘She’s got to be stopped,’ said Aggie, her eyes widening with fright. ‘It’ll only cause more trouble, you know it will.’

‘I know that!’ snapped Olive, ‘but what can I do about it? I told them never to speak of that day but they’re not children anymore. It’s kept them apart for years but it’s bound to come out now.’

The two friends stared at each other for a second and then Aggie’s face softened. ‘Sit down, dear. I’ll make a cup of tea and then we can decide what to do.’