A Nightingale Christmas Wish (19 page)

‘I came to see you.’ He sauntered past her and looked around. ‘On your own, are you?’

‘Dr Ross is resting. We’ve had a busy night.’ Helen closed the door behind him, shutting out a rush of cold air. ‘I thought you’d be up West by now, seeing the New Year in?’

‘I was. But then I realised I’d rather spend it with you.’

Helen opened her mouth, then closed it again. She caught sight of her reflection in the lamplit window. She looked a terrible mess, her apron stained and the laces of her bonnet hanging loose. Her face was drawn, dark shadows like bruises under her eyes. Why Christopher didn’t run away screaming at the sight of her, she had no idea.

‘I was surprised when I got your note,’ he said. ‘I’ve never had a girl stand me up before. Proper wounded my pride, it did.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I forgive you.’ He grinned at her.

Helen looked up into his laughing eyes. She could believe girls didn’t say no to him very often.

She dragged her gaze away. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she offered.

‘I’d rather have a drop of this.’ He held up the bottle. ‘Get a couple of glasses and we’ll have a drink together.’

‘This is a Casualty department, not a cocktail party!’ Helen replied, shocked. ‘Dr Ross would report me in a moment if he caught me drinking on duty.’

‘But it’s New Year’s Eve!’

‘It’s still against the rules. He’d report me if he knew you were here, too.’

‘Then I’ll have to be quiet, won’t I? And if he comes in, I’ll lie down and pretend to be dying.’

Helen smiled in spite of herself. ‘Let’s sit down by the door,’ she said. ‘Then you can get out quickly if Dr Ross wakes up.’

They sat on the bench closest to it. Christopher was relaxed but Helen perched on the edge of her seat, her gaze fixed on the passageway leading to the consulting rooms.

‘Am I making you nervous?’ Christopher joked.

‘I told you, I don’t want Dr Ross to catch us.’

‘Do you always follow the rules?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why?’

‘Because . . .’ She stared at him. The question had never occurred to her before. She had been following rules all her life; first her mother’s, then the hospital’s. ‘Because it’s all I’ve ever done,’ she said.

‘That doesn’t sound like much fun.’

‘No, but it’s a lot less trouble.’

‘I don’t mind a bit of trouble now and then,’ Christopher said.

Helen smiled sideways at him ‘I can imagine.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Is that why you didn’t come out with me tonight?’ he asked. ‘Because you thought I’d be trouble?’

Guilty heat rose in her face. ‘I told you, I had to work.’

‘And is that the only reason?’ Helen didn’t reply. ‘Only I wondered if it was because you felt bad about Charlie.’

Helen glanced up at him. But before she could reply, he went on, ‘Because I feel bad, too.’

His comment took her by surprise. She stared at him in the darkness. ‘You?’

He nodded. ‘Charlie and I were so close, I looked up to him. That’s why when I met you . . .’ He shrugged expressively. ‘I knew straight away I liked you. But you being Charlie’s wife – well, it doesn’t make it easy, does it?’

‘No,’ Helen said. ‘It doesn’t.’

He looked so honest, so vulnerable, she wanted to be honest too.

‘I suppose I was nervous about seeing you,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve never – spent time with any man since Charlie. I wasn’t sure if it would be right. Especially . . .’

‘Especially with me being Charlie’s cousin?’ he finished for her. Helen nodded. ‘You can’t live your life in the shadows,’ he said softly. ‘I know Charlie would never have wanted that for you. I mean, would you have wanted him to be alone for the rest of his life if you’d died?’

‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘But it’s just so difficult . . .’

‘Then I’ll help you,’ said Christopher.

Helen looked down at her hands. Five years of nursing had left her long, slender fingers raw and callused.

‘Why me?’ She asked the question that had been niggling at her from the moment he’d asked her out. You could have your pick of girls, I’m sure. Why choose someone as complicated as me?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘All I know is there’s something about you. I could see it from the minute I set eyes on you.’ He sent her a sideways smile. ‘This is going to sound daft, but I sometimes wonder if Charlie didn’t send you to me. Because he knew I’d look after you.’

Helen smiled at him. For some reason, that didn’t sound daft at all. In fact, it sounded like just the sort of thing her loving husband would have done. Perhaps her Christmas wish was going to come true, after all.

‘I think I will have some of that brandy,’ she said.

With a grin Christopher handed her the bottle. ‘Go on, live dangerously.’

Helen took a gulp, wincing as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat. ‘I’m not sure I know how,’ she admitted.

Christopher’s eyes met hers, alight with intent. ‘Then I’ll have to show you, won’t I?’ he said.

IT WAS NEW
Year’s Day, and after the excitement of celebrating with her friends up West, Effie O’Hara was back to earth with a bump, enduring Mass with her sister Bridget.

It was too cruel to make her get up so early, she decided. It had been past two o’clock in the morning when she and the others had finally tumbled through the skylight window into their room. And after far too many glasses of champagne, she had nearly broken her neck shinning up the icy drainpipe. Now her head was pounding and the smell of the incense was making her feel decidedly sick.

Not that Bridget was sympathetic. She sat beside Effie, ramrod-straight as usual, hands folded in her lap, listening primly to the priest droning on in Latin as if she understood every word. Each time Effie allowed her eyelids to droop over her prayer book, Bridget dug her sharply in the ribs, making her wake up with a yelp. No need to wonder where she’d spent New Year’s Eve, Effie thought. Bridget’s idea of reckless abandon was a cup of cocoa and an improving book.

After what seemed like hours, the service was finally over and Effie was able to escape into the cold, bright sunshine. The sun had broken through the leaden clouds and glittered off the thick blanket of snow, transforming the mean, ugly little streets of the East End into a place of magical beauty. Children ran to and fro, pulling makeshift sledges made of old tin trays. Others tossed snowballs at each other, laughing and shrieking as they ducked into doorways.

On the pavement the snow had been churned up to muddy slush. Effie’s shoes slipped and slithered as she picked her way along. Bridget, of course, had no such difficulty. She seemed as sure-footed as ever as she strode ahead of her sister, lecturing her over her shoulder as she went.

‘Fancy falling asleep in the middle of Mass!’ she snapped. ‘I’m ashamed of you, Euphemia O’Hara, I really am.’

‘I didn’t fall asleep,’ Effie mumbled.

‘You were snoring during the Our Father! Everyone was looking at us, I didn’t know where to put myself.’ Bridget shot her a look of disdain. ‘When are you back on duty?’

‘Not until five.’

‘Good. That should give you time to smarten yourself up.’

Effie looked down at herself. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

‘What’s right with you?’ Bridget stopped and turned on her heel to face her sister. ‘You’re a disgrace. Your hair looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks, you’re pasty-faced and your eyes are bloodshot.’ Effie backed away as Bridget leaned in towards her. ‘And you smell like a brewery,’ she declared.

‘If you must know, I don’t feel well,’ Effie defended herself. ‘I think I might be coming down with something.’

‘The only thing you’re coming down with is a hangover. I suppose you were out until all hours last night?’

‘No,’ Effie lied.

‘Show me your hands.’

‘No, you can’t – let me go!’ Effie yelped as Bridget seized her fingers in a tight pinching grasp and pulled off her glove.

‘Just as I thought,’ she said, releasing her. ‘They’re covered in scratches. You’ve been climbing up drainpipes.’

‘I bet you did the same when you were a student,’ Effie said, pulling her glove back on.

‘I most certainly did not!’ Bridget turned on her heel and stalked off again. ‘We’re not all like you,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘Some of us respect the rules. Some of us would prefer to stay out of trouble. Some of us – ow!’

Effie squawked with laughter as a snowball came out of nowhere and hit her sister squarely in the back of the head, sending her hat spinning sideways into the snow.

A moment later a grinning little face appeared around the corner.

‘Sorry, missus!’ a cheeky voice called out.

‘Why, I—’ Bridget spluttered, shaking snow off her hat. She looked so outraged, Effie could hardly breathe for laughing.

But then a snowball hit her in the face, stinging her cheeks. As she wiped the grimy slush from her eyes, she saw Bridget standing a few yards away, dusting snow off her hands. A rare smile lit up her face.

‘That should wake you up a bit,’ she said.

Effie felt a little better when she returned to the ward at five o’clock, thanks to several cups of tea, a brisk wash in cold water and a bar of chocolate that her room-mate Devora Kowalski had carelessly left in her bedside drawer.

Sister Blake met her at the door and told her to prepare a warm salt bath for the arthritis patient, Mr Anderson. Her sister Katie found her in the bathroom as she was filling the tub.

‘You missed all the excitement at visiting time,’ she said, closing the door behind her.

‘What excitement?’

‘Mr Campbell’s girlfriend came to see him.’

Effie straightened up. ‘Adeline was here?’

‘She arrived just as visiting time was over,’ Katie nodded. ‘At least I’m assuming it was her. Very fancy-looking piece in a feathered hat. She strutted up the length of the ward with her nose in the air, didn’t even look at us. I don’t know what he sees in her,’ she sniffed.

‘What happened then?’

‘I don’t know, do I? She didn’t stay long, I know that much. Barely five minutes.’

‘What did she say?’

‘I told you, I don’t know.’ Katie sighed with exaggerated patience. ‘Unlike you I don’t make a point of eavesdropping on patients’ conversations.’

Effie knew that wasn’t true, but she let it pass. ‘How is he now?’ she asked.

Katie shrugged. ‘A bit quiet, I suppose,’ she says. ‘It’s hard to say, since he never talks to anyone but you.’

‘Doesn’t he?’

Effie preened herself on hearing this, but then Katie ruined it by saying, ‘By the way, that bath is overflowing. You really ought to watch what you’re doing.’

Effie longed to talk to Adam and find out what had happened, but Sister Blake kept her busy with lots of other jobs so she didn’t have the chance.

It wasn’t until she was helping with the bedtime cocoa round that she finally managed to spend a moment alone with him.

He was very quiet, staring vacantly into space as Effie pushed the trolley to the end of his bed. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ she asked.

‘No, thank you.’

‘Cocoa? Horlicks?’ He shook his head. ‘You might feel better if you have something,’ Effie suggested.

He sent her a withering look. ‘Do you really think a cup of cocoa is going to make all my problems go away?’

‘It can’t make you feel any worse.’

He stared at her for a moment, then turned his head to one side. Effie waited patiently for him to speak. Silence stretched between them.

Then, when she was about to give up and push her trolley to the next bed, he suddenly said, ‘I suppose you’ve heard Adeline came to see me?’

Adam turned his head to look at her, just as she was trying to compose her features into a suitably surprised look.

‘Don’t pretend you hadn’t heard,’ he said. ‘I know you nurses love to gossip.’

‘I did hear something about it,’ Effie replied, unable to lie. ‘How was she?’ she asked cautiously.

‘It’s over between us.’

Even though she’d been expecting this, it still felt like a punch in the stomach. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

‘Why? It’s not your fault.’ Adam’s voice sounded quiet, almost resigned. ‘If anyone is to blame, it’s me. If I hadn’t been so stupid and pig-headed, if I hadn’t tried to force the situation . . .’

‘You weren’t stupid,’ Effie said. ‘It wasn’t your fault she led you to believe there was more to it than—’ She stopped abruptly, realising what she’d said. It was too much to hope Adam hadn’t noticed.

His eyes narrowed. ‘How did you know that?’ he asked.

Effie stared back at him, panic-stricken. Then, thank goodness, she heard her sister Bridget calling her. She had never been so pleased to hear that eldritch shriek in her life.

‘I’d better go,’ she said, taking hold of the handle of the trolley.

‘You talked to her, didn’t you?’

Effie felt a blush rising in her face. ‘I had to,’ she admitted quietly. ‘I was worried about you. I could see what it was doing to you, waiting every day to hear from her.’ She darted a quick look at him. ‘But I shouldn’t have interfered,’ she said. ‘You have every right to be furious . . .’

‘I’m not furious,’ he said. ‘I’m grateful to you.’

She eyed him warily. ‘Grateful?’

‘You’re right, I needed to know for sure, one way or the other. And it was kind of you to take the trouble to find her. Even if it wasn’t quite what I wanted to hear,’ he added, his mouth twisting.

‘Nurse O’Hara!’ Bridget’s voice rose from the other side of the ward. ‘When you’ve quite finished, there are other patients waiting!’

‘Coming,’ Effie said. She gave Adam a quick smile. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said.

As she left, he called after her, ‘Nurse O’Hara?’

She turned back. ‘Yes?’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I should have put some hearts and kisses on that letter after all.’

IT WAS LATE
on a chilly Thursday afternoon in February, and Victoria Park was almost deserted. A damp grey mist hung low over the grass, the avenue of bare skeletal black trees rising out of the gloom.

‘At least we’ve got the place to ourselves!’ Christopher joked.