A Nightingale Christmas Wish (14 page)

‘You should take something to help you. I could prescribe you something, if you like?’

‘No, thank you. I’ll manage.’ Helen managed to smile at him. Her brother had a good heart. He just lost it too easily.

‘I’m sorry, Hels,’ he said again. ‘I will make it up to you, I promise.’

‘Just don’t ask me to do you any more favours,’ she growled at him. ‘Because next time I’m definitely saying no!’

Helen watched her brother sauntering off across the courtyard, hands in his pockets, not a care in the world. It wasn’t his fault, she thought. He didn’t realise how difficult Christmas was for her, without Charlie.

The past two Christmases she’d managed to keep herself busy. The first year she’d been on duty, the second she’d spent with her family. Christmas with Constance Tremayne wasn’t the most festive experience in the world, but at least it helped distract Helen, and stopped her thoughts from straying.

But now she was all on her own, and she wasn’t sure how she would cope if the loneliness crept up on her.

She thought about going into Casualty and making herself useful. She was sure one of the nurses would be grateful to be relieved of their duty for a few hours. But that would mean facing Dr McKay, and Helen was worried she might have made rather a fool of herself with him the previous night.

It wasn’t all her fault, she thought. It had been a long, hard night, she was worn out and distraught. And when Dr McKay had comforted her, she’d let her guard down and allowed her emotions to get the better of her. She was still too mortified by her behaviour to want to face him for a while.

And then, suddenly it occurred to her where she should be. Somewhere she knew she would be welcome.

Her nerve started to fail her as she stood on Nellie Dawson’s doorstep, her hand poised on the doorknocker.

Nellie had told her to come round any time, but now she was here Helen wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. She could hear laughter, piano music and the sounds of a lively party going on inside. What if she wasn’t welcome after all?

She had turned to go when the door suddenly opened and Nellie stood there. ‘Helen, love! I just looked out of the window and saw you. Why didn’t you knock?’

‘I – I wasn’t sure if I should,’ she murmured, embarrassed. ‘You’re entertaining, and I didn’t want to be in the way . . .’

‘It’s only family, love. Besides, you’re family too.’ Nellie took charge, ushering her in. ‘Come inside and have a drink.’

She pulled Helen into the narrow hallway and shut the door. The passageway was filled with welcoming warmth. ‘You poor little mite, you’re frozen to death.’ Her mother-in-law rubbed Helen’s icy fingers between her big hands. ‘Go through and get warm by the fire. Everyone’s in there.’

Terror seized her. ‘I’m not staying . . .’ Helen started to say. But Nellie was already herding her into the front parlour.

As soon as she stepped inside Helen was immediately engulfed in a fug of heat, noise and people. A thick pall of cigarette smoke hung in the air, mingling with the smell of beer and cheap scent. Over in the corner, a man was pounding out a tune on the piano. And everywhere she looked, there were faces. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, elderly folk and children: squeezed into armchairs and sofas, standing in corners, crouched on the floor. Helen could never have imagined such a small room could hold so many people. And they all seemed to be talking at once.

But the chatter stopped when she walked in, and all eyes turned to look at her.

Helen felt her mother-in-law’s arm slide around her shoulders protectively. ‘You all remember Helen, don’t you? Our Charlie’s wife.’

There was a general murmur of greeting. Helen caught a couple of people giving each other sideways looks. Charlie’s father, a big man with red-gold hair like his son’s, stepped forward.

‘Helen love, it’s a treat to see you. Sit yourself down, girl. What will you have to drink?’ he offered.

Helen was about to protest that she couldn’t stay, but Nellie had already shooed two children off the moquette settee to make space for her. ‘Just a lemonade, please,’ she said.

‘You’ll have something stronger than that, surely? It is Christmas, after all. How about a nice drop of sherry?’

‘Really, lemonade is fine.’

‘Suit yourself. You make yourself comfy there. A rose between two thorns!’ He grinned at the two large ladies sitting like bookends either end of the settee.

‘Cheeky!’ One of them, a tinsel-bright redhead with crimson lipstick, handed him her empty glass. ‘Just for that, you can fetch me a top up.’

‘I bet you don’t want a lemonade?’

She cackled. ‘A milk stout, if you wouldn’t mind.’

Charlie’s father took her glass and shuffled off. Helen smiled nervously at the women she was sitting between. The one to her left was an equally bright redhead, except she was wearing cerise lipstick. The women fixed her with interested stares.

‘We met you at our Charlie’s funeral, although I daresay you won’t remember,’ one of them said.

‘She’s Auntie Mabel. And I’m Auntie Midge,’ the other woman said.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Helen replied. Both women sighed with pleasure.

‘Aw, listen to her. Ain’t she got a lovely speaking voice?’ Auntie Midge said.

‘Lovely manners, too,’ Auntie Mabel agreed.

‘You’re a nurse, ain’t you?’

Helen nodded. ‘That’s right. At the Florence Nightingale hospital.’

‘Lovely,’ Auntie Mabel said.

‘We know it well,’ Auntie Midge chimed in. ‘My husband had his appendix out there.’

They fell silent after that but Helen could feel their eyes on her, watching her with that look she’d come to know so well over the past two years, a look that hovered between affection and pity.

Charlie’s father returned with the drinks. As he handed her the lemonade, Helen began to wish she’d chosen something stronger after all.

Then the pianist struck up another rousing tune, and soon everyone was singing again. Helen tried to join in, swaying in time to the music with Midge and Mabel, but her heart wasn’t in it.

This was a mistake, she realised, staring into the depths of her glass. She’d thought being with others might be the answer to her low spirits, but if anything she felt even more lonely in a crowded room full of people enjoying themselves.

What’s wrong with me? she wondered. Charlie had been dead for two years now. Everyone kept telling her to move on, and she desperately wanted to. And yet . . .

She put down her glass and struggled to her feet, disentangling herself from Auntie Midge and Auntie Mabel.

‘You ain’t going, are you?’ Mabel looked up at her, her crimson lipstick smudged at the corners.

‘I – I just need some fresh air,’ Helen said.

‘You hear that, Midge?’ she heard Mabel say as she pushed her way towards the door. ‘She said she wanted some fresh air. I expect she wants to use the lav.’

‘Lovely manners,’ Midge said approvingly.

Nellie was at the front door, gossiping with a neighbour who’d dropped round. Helen turned and headed down the narrow passageway towards the kitchen, planning to slip out of the back door and through the gate. Everyone else at the party was so tipsy, she was sure no one would miss her.

Still craning her neck to make sure Nellie wasn’t watching, she reached out to open the back door. But suddenly it swung open from the outside, nearly knocking her off her feet.

‘Sorry, love, I didn’t see you there,’ said a cheery, deep voice.

‘That’s all right, I was just—’ Helen looked up, and the words died in her throat.

There, standing on the back step, was Charlie.

‘HELLO THERE,’ HE
said. ‘Going somewhere?’

As soon as he stepped into the light from the kitchen, she realised it wasn’t her husband. The man framed in the back doorway, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, had the same reddish-gold hair and blue eyes as Charlie, but everything else about him was different. He was taller, broader in the chest and shoulders, and there was a lazy insolence in his smile that her Charlie had never had.

Before Helen could speak to him, Nellie appeared in the kitchen doorway.

‘Helen love, where are you—’ Then she saw the stranger and a broad smile lit up her face. ‘Well, I never! When did you get home? We weren’t expecting you for another week at least.’

‘I left my ship in Liverpool last night and got a lift on a wagon as far as Essex,’ the man said. ‘I couldn’t miss spending Christmas with my favourite auntie, could I?’ He held his arms out to her. ‘You got a kiss for me, then?’

He grabbed her and planted a noisy kiss on the top of her head. A girlish blush rose in Nellie’s plump cheeks.

‘Oh, you!’ She fought him off playfully. ‘I ain’t got time for your nonsense.’

‘I bet you say that to all the boys.’

‘Cheeky little sod! You never change, do you?’

‘Not if I can help it.’ He glanced at Helen. ‘Who’s this, then, Auntie Nell?’

‘Oh, I forgot, you two ain’t met, have you? Helen, this is my nephew Christopher. Chris, this is Helen.’

His expression changed. ‘Charlie’s Helen?’

‘That’s right,’ Nellie said. ‘She’s come to spend Christmas with us.’ She sighed with satisfaction. ‘Now all my family’s together. Ain’t that nice?’

‘Very nice,’ Charlie said, still looking at Helen. The intensity of his stare made her feel awkward, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from those blue eyes.

Nellie didn’t seem to notice as she bustled around. ‘Come in, son, let’s see about getting you something to eat. I expect you’re hungry?’

‘Famished.’ Christopher stepped into the kitchen. Helen moved back to let him pass, but his body still brushed against hers. He smelled of stale sweat mingled with the salty tang of the sea.

‘You always are, as I recall!’ His aunt smiled fondly at him. ‘You’ve missed Christmas dinner, but I can fetch you some cold meat and pickles, if you like?’

‘Smashing.’

‘Go through to the parlour and I’ll bring it in to you. They’ll all be pleased to see you, especially the kids.’

‘To be honest, Auntie Nell, I could do with a good wash first,’ Christopher said, unhooking his duffel bag from his shoulder. ‘I’ve been curled up on the back of a coal wagon all day, so I ain’t really fit for company.’

‘Of course, I should have thought of that. You can have a scrub down in the scullery.’

‘I’ll heat the water up,’ Helen offered quickly.

She darted into the scullery, filled the heavy iron kettle and put it on the hob. She picked up the matches and tried to light the gas, but for some reason her hands were suddenly shaking so much she couldn’t hold a match steady enough to strike it.

‘Here, let me.’ She jumped as Christopher came up behind her and took the box out of her hands.

‘Thank you.’ As he bent over the hob, Helen let her gaze travel up the breadth of his shoulders. His fair hair was neatly trimmed, revealing sunburned skin on the back of his neck.

‘You looked like you’d seen a ghost when I walked in.’ He turned and caught her looking at him.

‘I thought you were Charlie,’ she admitted.

He frowned. ‘I’m nothing like him!’

‘I can see that now.’ She blushed to think she could have been so stupid. Imagine her thinking her dead husband had returned to her. But Christmas wishes did sometimes come true, and she’d wished often enough that she didn’t have to be lonely any more.

But it wasn’t just the shock that had disturbed her. Her reaction to Christopher had been too intense for her own liking. It was as if seeing him had ignited something deep within her.

He paused, his eyes fixed on the dancing blue flames of the gas ring. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get back for the funeral, but I was stuck on a cargo ship in the middle of the Atlantic. I would’ve liked to pay my respects to Charlie. He was a good mate. One of the best.’

‘He was,’ Helen agreed.

The silence stretched between them. Helen was aware of him standing close to her, their bodies almost touching in the narrow confines of the scullery. She was also suddenly aware that she hadn’t breathed in a long time.

‘I’ll go and help with your supper,’ she said.

Nellie prattled on as she made sandwiches, sawing great doorsteps of bread from the loaf she’d retrieved from the larder.

‘Chris is my sister-in-law Ada’s boy,’ she explained. ‘She passed away when he was just a nipper and he’s never got on with his dad, so we took him in. Charlie must have mentioned him to you, I’m sure?’

‘I don’t think so. I can’t remember.’

‘They were close as two boys could be until Chris went off and joined the Merchant Navy when he was fifteen,’ Nellie went on. ‘We don’t see as much of him as we’d like these days because he’s away at sea so often. He keeps in touch, though. Sends me postcards from wherever he goes. I keep them all, too, in a tin under the bed. I’ve got postcards from all over the world.’

‘Nellie?’ She looked up at the sound of her husband calling her name from up the passageway. ‘Nellie, you’re wanted!’

‘I’m busy,’ she called back, and went on sawing away at the loaf.

‘I can do that, if you like?’ Helen said.

‘Oh, no, love. You’re a visitor.’

‘You’re always telling me I’m family, remember?’ Helen reminded her. ‘And I’d like to make myself useful,’ she added.

‘Go on, then.’ Nellie straightened up, pushing a stray curl off her face with the back of her hand. ‘Just finish buttering this bread, I’ll be back in a minute.’

Helen buttered the bread, conscious all the time of the sound of splashing water coming from the other side of the thin scullery curtain. She went to the larder to fetch the pickles, but as she turned back, the curtain suddenly swished aside and Chris stood there, naked to the waist, water gleaming off the smooth, sleek muscles of his chest. His hair was wet and dripping and he was wiping it out of his eyes with one hand as he groped about blindly with the other.

‘Pass us a towel, will you, Auntie?’

Helen grabbed the towel off the fireguard and thrust it at him. Try as she might, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his leanly muscled torso, the broad chest tapering into the narrow waistband of his blue serge trousers.