A Nightingale Christmas Wish (34 page)

As she left, he followed her to the door. ‘You don’t know what it was like for me,’ he said. ‘You have no idea what it’s been like all these years, having to live like this. I should have inherited the farm after my father died, but I couldn’t. Instead I’ve had to live here, in this ghastly little hovel, while my sister and her husband are living in my house and farming my land. I deserve better than this!’ he cried, his voice carrying up into the vast, silent sky.

Frannie looked over her shoulder at him, standing in the doorway, self-pitying to the last.

‘Don’t we all?’ she murmured.

John was waiting for her outside, leaning against the car, staring up at the clouds. He saw Frannie and sprang forward to meet her.

‘How did it—’ he started to say, but Frannie cut him off.

‘I want to go home now, please,’ she said.

‘I’ll drive you back to London.’

‘No. I just want you to take me back to the station.’

‘But we need to talk.’

‘I don’t want to. Not at the moment.’

They drove to the village without speaking. Frannie stared out of the window at the flat fields rumbling past, lost in her own thoughts. There was so much going on inside her head that she had no room for words.

She was aware of John beside her, but she simply didn’t know what to say to him. He had colluded with Matthew all this time, caused so much unhappiness when he could have put an end to it so easily. How had he spent so much time with her and still kept such a secret?

As he pulled up outside the station, John said, ‘Will I see you again?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘I understand.’ She expected him to argue, but he didn’t. He sat staring at the steering wheel, looking utterly defeated. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said hoarsely.

Frannie gave him one last look as she got out of the car. ‘So am I,’ she sighed.

CHRISTOPHER WAS COMING
home from sea at last, and Penny Willard wouldn’t stop talking about it.

‘When does he arrive? I bet you’re looking forward to seeing him again after all this time, aren’t you? Imagine him being away for so long. I bet you can’t wait.’

‘No, I can’t.’

Penny frowned at her. ‘You don’t sound too excited, I must say. I’d be over the moon if it was my Joe coming home.’ She nudged Helen. ‘I expect you’ve booked a nice little B and B, haven’t you?’

‘A B and—’ Helen blushed, realising what Penny meant. ‘None of your business,’ she said shortly. ‘Now, have you got that admission paperwork done for Mr Twigg yet? They’ll be calling down from the ward in a minute, asking where it is.’

No sooner had she said it than the telephone rang. ‘I expect that’ll be them now,’ Helen said as Penny picked up the receiver.

But it wasn’t. Helen was conscious of Dr McKay at her side as Penny took down notes.

‘Right . . . yes . . . six years old . . . and how bad are the burns?’

Helen had a sudden, horrible mental image of Christmas Eve. The charred, blackened wounds everywhere she looked, the little girl in the scorched pink party dress, gasping her last breath . . .

Panic washed through her, and suddenly her legs didn’t seem to want to hold her up any more. Helen gripped the edge of the desk.

‘Did you say burns?’ she whispered, when Penny had hung up the telephone.

Penny nodded. ‘Little girl, six years old. Her nightdress caught light on the gas stove, apparently. Luckily they managed to get it off her, but she still has second-degree burns to at least half her body, and some lesser burns to her face.’

Dr McKay took charge. ‘Right, get her straight through to the Accident Treatment Room as soon as she arrives. Doesn’t sound as if the nightdress will need cutting off, but we’ll need tannic compresses and – Sister? Sister, are you listening?’

Helen stared at him. ‘I can’t do it,’ she whispered.

‘Of course you can.’

‘I – I can’t.’ She was already backing away. She was conscious of Penny gawping at her, but fear had taken a grip on all her senses and Helen no longer cared.

Outside the insistent clang of the ambulance bell grew louder. Helen glanced fearfully towards the doors.

‘Sister, listen to me.’ She tried to get away but Dr McKay caught her sleeve, pulling her to him. ‘We won’t lose this one. Trust me,’ he said in a low voice.

Helen whipped round to look at him, dazed that he’d remembered. But she had no time to think about it as the doors crashed open and the ambulance men appeared, carrying a stretcher between them. They were followed by a hysterical young woman, not much older than Helen, a baby in her arms.

‘I only turned my back for a second,’ she was crying. ‘Just for a second to see to the baby. And then when I turned round – you will save her, won’t you? You will save her?’

Something about the urgency of the poor young mother’s tone shocked Helen back to her senses.

‘Nurse Willard, please look after this woman,’ she ordered. ‘Keep her calm, and give her hot, sweet tea. You might need some blankets, too. She’s very pale,’ she added in a low voice.

‘Yes, Sister.’

Helen put her arm around the trembling woman and guided her into a chair. ‘You sit there, love, and wait for me. I’ll be out as soon as I can,’ she promised.

As she hurried to the Accident Treatment Room, the young mother’s imploring cries followed her. ‘You will save her, won’t you? Promise me you’ll save her . . .’

In the Treatment Room, Dr McKay had already administered a shot of morphia and was scrubbing up while he waited for it to take effect. He shot a sideways look at Helen as she set about preparing the tannic-acid compresses. Her hands were shaking so much she could scarcely hold the brown glass bottle still enough to pour it.

‘We will save her,’ he said softly. ‘The burns are extensive, but they’re not too deep.’

‘Neither were the other girl’s.’ The child on Christmas Eve had hardly been touched by the flames. And yet she’d still died.

Finally the anaesthetic took effect and Dr McKay set about removing the loose, blistered skin. All the while, Helen watched the child’s face, the rise and fall of her chest, waiting . . .

‘Her breathing is fine.’ Dr McKay looked up briefly, reading Helen’s thoughts. ‘Clean this area with ether for me, and then start applying the compresses.’

Helen didn’t move.

‘Sister?’

She stared down at the little girl. ‘She’s cyanosed,’ she whispered.

‘Let me see.’ He leaned over to look. ‘Her colour is perfectly healthy,’ he said.

‘She’s turning blue. Look, why can’t you see it?’

‘Helen, look at me.’ She glanced up in shock at the sound of her Christian name. ‘She is breathing normally and her colour is good,’ said Dr McKay patiently. His brown eyes were warm over his surgical mask. ‘Now, I need you to stay calm and help me. Can you do that?’

His voice was like balm, soothing her. Helen took a deep breath and nodded.

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

Once she had applied the compresses and the little girl had been splinted to keep her body rigid, Helen set up a saline drip and tucked blankets and hot-water bottles around her to keep her warm.

She was sitting with her in the Recovery Room, trying to coax some sugar water past her lips, when Dr McKay came back in.

‘You can’t sit there all night, Sister,’ he said.

‘I know. I just want to wait with her until she’s transferred up to the ward.’

‘She’ll be all right, you know.’

Helen looked at him. ‘Will she, Doctor?’ she asked. ‘Will she do?’

He nodded. ‘She will. Sister Parry will look after her.’

The silence lengthened between them. Helen knew she had to say something.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

‘What for?’

‘For making me do this.’ She brushed a pale strand of hair off the little girl’s face. ‘I was so afraid . . . I didn’t think I could . . .’

‘It happened to me once,’ he said. ‘When I was a junior houseman, I lost a patient with a ruptured appendix. From then on, every time a patient presented with any kind of abdominal pain, I couldn’t cope with it. I thought my medical career was over before it had begun, but the senior registrar made me deal with every abdominal case that came in from then on. At the time I thought he was the cruellest man in the world but it turned out it was the best thing he could have done for me.’

There was a soft knock on the door and the porter appeared.

‘I’ve come to take the little girl up to Parry.’

A sudden thought struck Helen then, and she looked at her watch. ‘Oh, my gosh! I completely forgot. My fiancé came home from sea today and I’m supposed to be at his party.’ She jumped to her feet in a panic.

‘Mustn’t miss that, must you?’ Dr McKay said. ‘I’ll walk out with you.’

It was past nine o’clock, and Penny Willard and the day staff had already gone. A solitary night nurse sat behind the booking-in desk, flicking through a textbook.

The doors opened and a dark-haired woman walked in.

‘Can I help you?’ Helen started to walk towards her, but Dr McKay stopped her.

‘Actually, she’s with me,’ he said.

‘Oh . . . Oh, I beg your pardon.’

Helen watched him going to greet the woman, leaning in to kiss her cheek. For some reason the sight shook her more than she wanted to admit.

THE PARTY WAS
already in full swing at the Dawsons’ house when Helen arrived, late and breathless.

Through the sitting-room window she could see Christopher holding forth in the middle of the room, a glass of beer in his hand, surrounded by a circle of aunties and uncles. He must have been telling one of his stories, by the way they were all roaring with laughter.

Helen paused unseen for a moment to admire him. He looked so handsome, with his reddish fair hair and twinkling smile. It was hard to believe he was really hers.

‘Here she is!’ Christopher’s voice rose above the general merriment as Helen came in. ‘I was starting to think you’d stood me up!’

‘Sorry I’m late – we had an emergency.’ Helen nodded a shy greeting to the aunties and uncles, who all turned to look at her.

‘Never mind, you’re here now.’ He put down his glass and held out his arms to her. ‘Come and say hello properly to your old man, then.’

The next moment he’d gathered Helen into his arms and was kissing her long and hard, much to the delight of everyone around them, who whooped and cheered encouragement.

‘Chris! Please! Not here.’ She pulled away, embarrassed.

‘Saving it for me in private, are you?’ Christopher chuckled, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Two of the aunties grinned at her, and Helen felt the hot blush rise up her throat.

‘How much have you had to drink?’ she hissed.

‘Listen to that! She’s nagging me already and we ain’t even wed yet!’ Christopher announced to everyone. Helen did her best to smile along with the joke, but privately she was wondering why he had to keep showing off in front of his audience.

‘So when is this wedding going to be, then?’ Auntie Mabel shouted back. ‘You need to give me plenty of notice so I can get me hair done.’

‘Go on! What she means is she’s got to get her old man’s whistle out of the pop shop!’ Auntie Midge laughed.

In the middle of the laughter, Christopher turned to Helen. ‘I dunno, I’m going to have to ask my fiancée.’ He pronounced the word slowly, letting it roll over his tongue. ‘Come on, love, don’t keep us in suspense. When’s the big day?’

Helen felt everyone watching her expectantly. ‘Um . . . I’m not sure yet,’ she mumbled.

His smile faded to a frown. ‘I thought you were going to book the church?’

‘Give her a chance, Chris. I expect she’s been busy, ain’t you, love?’ Nellie came to her rescue.

‘Maybe she don’t really want to marry you after all?’ one of the uncles suggested.

Helen saw Christopher’s merry expression cloud over, and stepped in quickly.

‘Of course we’ll be setting the date – as soon as Chris has asked my father’s permission,’ she said quickly.

‘Quite right too.’ Auntie Midge and Auntie Mabel nodded their approval. ‘Told you she had lovely manners, didn’t I?’ Auntie Midge said. ‘That’s how a proper lady gets married – not like us, running off to the register office three months gone!’

The party was exhausting. Helen was already weary after her twelve-hour shift, and even though she did her best to smile and laugh with the others, inside she could only think of going back to the sisters’ home and crawling into bed.

It was a stiflingly hot night, too, and she slipped outside into the backyard for some much-needed air. She was so weary she briefly considered leaving by the back gate and heading for the hospital, but she didn’t want to disappoint Christopher.

What was the matter with her, she thought as she gazed up at the stars peppering the inky sky? She had just been reunited with the man she loved, the man she was going to marry, and all she could think about was going home.

But it wasn’t the reunion she’d been hoping for all these weeks. She’d imagined them alone, walking hand in hand by the river, talking and getting to know each other again. But instead they’d both been tossed into the middle of this party. With so much drinking and singing and laughter and general mayhem going on around them, it wasn’t surprising they’d hardly had a chance to say two words to each other.

Chris was different, too. Alone, he was the kind-hearted, charming young man she’d grown to love. But with a few drinks inside him and an audience to please, he turned into a brash, cocky stranger.

It was just the excitement, she told herself. He’d been away at sea for weeks, it was hardly surprising he wanted to kick up his heels and enjoy himself now he was surrounded by his loved ones again. It would all be better when everything had calmed down, and she could have him to herself again.

Raised voices coming from the kitchen made her look round.

‘Look, no offence, son, but I’m just not sure about it,’ she heard Uncle Harry saying.

‘Why not? I’m a good worker, ain’t I?’ Her ears pricked at the sound of Christopher’s voice.

‘Oh, you work hard enough, I’ll give you that. But it’s that temper of yours. The other lads won’t put up with it. And I don’t want to be sorting out fights in my factory.’