A Nightingale Christmas Wish (41 page)

‘Waiting for me?’

Helen turned around and there was Chris, standing next to her. She was relieved to feel her heart lift at the sight of him. He was so good-looking, with his red-gold hair and laughing blue eyes.

It’s better to be lonely than with the wrong person.
She pushed Dr McKay’s words from her mind.

‘Where have you been? I was worried about you.’

‘I had a few things to sort out.’ Chris leaned down and kissed her. Not his usual devouring kiss, but the lightest peck on the lips.

‘Shall we go in?’ She started towards the pub but he stopped her.

‘In a minute. Can we go for a walk first? There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

He took her arm and they walked along by the river. The stench of the dockside factories hung on the still evening air.

Helen waited expectantly, but Chris’s usual chattiness seemed to have deserted him.

‘What do you make of this news about Poland?’ she said, her voice falsely bright. ‘I suppose it means war has to come now, hasn’t it? I mean, surely we’ve got to do something . . . Did I tell you William is planning to join up? He wants to go into the RAF . . .’ she gabbled on, anything to fill the uncomfortable silence that stretched between them.

Just as she was running out of things to say, Chris stopped walking and gazed out across the water.

‘Beautiful, ain’t it?’ he said, nodding towards the silvery ribbon of the river snaking its way into the distance. ‘Whenever I see it, I think of what it feels like to be on a boat, heading down there and out to sea. That’s proper freedom. You don’t know what’s ahead of you.’

Helen looked at his profile, carved against the twilight, and suddenly she knew.

‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’ she said.

He was silent again. Then he nodded. ‘I’ve been offered a job sailing out to the West Indies.’ He kept his eyes fixed ahead of him on the river.

‘How long will you be gone?’

‘A few months. Maybe longer, if it all works out.’ He gave her a quick, sideways glance. ‘But I have to leave tonight.’

It was only then that she saw the duffel bag at his feet. How could she not have noticed it before?

She turned her gaze back towards the tall cranes silhouetted against the night sky. ‘What about the wedding?’

She already knew the answer, even before she heard his sigh of regret. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Sorry because we’re putting off the wedding? Or because you don’t want to marry me?’

He was silent for a long time. ‘I tried, I really did,’ he said finally. ‘But I reckon we both know I’m not the marrying kind. I need my freedom too much, I just can’t settle.’

She thought of him, moving restlessly from job to job, never staying in the same place for long. No wonder everyone thought he was trouble. On land, he was like a caged animal.

‘I tried to make it work,’ he went on. ‘I wanted to do it, truly I did. I wanted what everyone else had, a wife and a home and a good job.’

‘Is that why you wanted to marry me? To be like everyone else?’

‘No!’ He turned to her, his eyes serious. ‘The minute I saw you, I wanted you,’ he said. ‘You were so beautiful, like an angel. And you intrigued me, too. You were so sad, I wanted to be the one to make you happy.’

‘You did make me happy – you do,’ she amended.

‘Oh, Helen, don’t make this harder for me than it already is,’ he pleaded. ‘We both know it’s not going to work. I realised it that first night I came back. We see everything so differently . . . I could never be part of your world, and I don’t think you’d enjoy being part of mine.’

A lump rose in her throat, choking her. ‘But you still talked about getting married? We went to see my parents—’

‘Like I said, I wanted to make it work. More than anything. I suppose that’s why I wanted to be married quickly. Everyone always says I’m impulsive, and they’re right.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I wanted to marry you before I had a chance to think about it and change my mind. But now I have thought about it, I know I’m not being fair on you.’ He gazed down at her. ‘Believe me, love, if I was going to settle down with anyone, it would be with you. But it wouldn’t work. I can’t do it, even for you. I’m a wanderer,’ he said. ‘Sooner or later I’d let you down and hurt you, and you’ve already been hurt enough.’

Tears stung Helen’s eyes, but deep down she knew he was right. She had been trying just as hard as he had to make things right between them. But if they’d stayed together, how long would it have been before one or the other of them became too exhausted to try any longer?

‘Helen?’ Chris put out his hand and cupped her cheek, turning her to face him. ‘Don’t be upset,’ he said. ‘You’ll find someone to make you truly happy one day. Happier than I ever could.’

She saw a flicker of another emotion in his eyes then and it suddenly occurred to her that he knew. He understood the turmoil she’d been going through and had decided to make it easy for her. Either that or his pride had made him end it before she could.

But the next moment he was smiling again, and Helen told herself she had imagined it. How could he possibly guess her feelings, when she refused to admit them even to herself?

They walked back towards the pub together, holding hands one last time. When they reached the doors Chris turned to her and said, ‘Well, this is where we came in. Bumping into each other in a doorway.’ He hitched his duffel bag over his shoulder. ‘Say goodbye to them for me, won’t you?’

‘Aren’t you going in?’ Helen asked.

He shook his head. ‘They won’t miss me,’ he said, a trace of sadness in his voice.

He bent down and kissed her one last time, a kiss of such infinite gentleness Helen wanted it to go on for ever. But all too soon, he pulled away.

‘Will I see you again?’ she said, gulping back tears.

He smiled. ‘I doubt it.’ He winked at her. ‘Be happy, Helen.’

And then he was gone. She watched him sauntering away from her, his duffel bag slung over his broad shoulder, as the sound of music and laughter drifted from the pub.

‘
WELL, THAT’S THAT
then,’ Mr Peckett said. ‘Fancy declaring war on such a beautiful morning, too. They’ve got some ruddy nerve, ain’t they?’

No one else spoke. They all continued to stare at the wireless, long after Mr Chamberlain had finished giving his speech.

They had been expecting it. But his sombre announcement that Britain was now at war with Germany had still come as a shock.

‘God bless us all?’ Mr Talbot muttered, from under his canopy of wires and pulleys and splints. ‘God help us all, more like!’

‘What happens now, I wonder?’ Mr Peckett said.

‘We carry on, of course,’ Frannie replied with a touch of defiance.

But she could tell from the way they looked at her that they all knew this wasn’t true. Nothing would be the same again. She already barely recognised the Nightingale Hospital, its walls banked high with sandbags and windows criss-crossed with sticky brown blast tape. In a few days the students would be evacuated. The patients would go home or, if they couldn’t, would be moved to other hospitals far from the city. And she would find herself presiding over an empty ward.

But she wouldn’t allow any of the worry she felt to show on her face as she turned to her nurses. They surrounded her, wide-eyed as scared rabbits.

‘Look sharp, there are still things to be done,’ she said. ‘Matron will be doing her rounds soon, and then the porters will be on their way up with dinner. And after that we have to prepare for Visiting Hour . . .’

An unearthly droning suddenly filled the air, drowning out her voice and ruffling her composure. The nurses looked at each other in panic.

‘Air-raid warning! Quick, what do we do?’

‘Get the patients out!’

‘I’ve forgotten my gas mask!’

‘Nurses, please!’ Frannie raised her voice to silence them. ‘It’ll be a false alarm, there’s no need to panic.’ She looked at them, all shamefaced before her. ‘Goodness me, five minutes of war and you forget all your training. If you’re like this now, I dread to think what you’ll be like after five weeks – or five years!’

Katie O’Hara turned pale. ‘We won’t be at war that long, will we, Sister?’ she said, her upper lip trembling.

‘I certainly hope not.’ Frannie tried to smile at her reassuringly. ‘But we mustn’t lose discipline just because of what has happened. We must always remember we are nurses at the Nightingale Hospital.’

‘For now!’ Frannie heard one of the students mutter, and turned on her furiously.

‘You can go to Matron for your cheek!’ she snapped. ‘I will not have insolence or tolerate slapdash behaviour just because there is a war on, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Sister,’ they chorused half-heartedly.

‘Good. Now get on with your work and I don’t want to hear any more nonsense from any of you. And the next person to mention the war will also go straight to Matron!’ she added.

She dismissed them and went to her office, Katie O’Hara following her.

‘Excuse me, Sister, may I have a word?’

‘Yes, O’Hara. What is it?’

‘I wondered if I could have a half-day holiday on Friday?’

Frannie regarded Katie across the desk. She was shorter and plumper than her sisters, but with the same black curly hair and bright blue eyes. ‘It’s very short notice,’ she said. ‘I hope you have a good reason?’

‘I’m getting married, Sister,’ she said shyly.

Frannie looked at her sharply. ‘Married?’

‘Yes, Sister. My Tom has got his call-up papers, so we thought we’d get married before he goes away.’

A lump rose in Frannie’s throat. She had a sudden vision of another girl waving a young man off at a railway station . . .

‘Sister?’ Katie O’Hara was watching her anxiously.

‘Yes, yes, of course, O’Hara. I’ll talk to Matron about it.’ Frannie summoned a smile. ‘And may I offer you my congratulations.’

Katie’s smile dimpled her cheeks. ‘Thank you, Sister.’

‘But I suppose this means you’ll be leaving us?’

‘I suppose so, Sister. Although I’d like to stay on, or at least volunteer if I can? I mean, I’m happy to stay living in while my Tom’s away.’

‘We’ll have to see,’ Frannie said. ‘I’ll talk to Matron about it.’

‘Thank you, Sister,’ Katie said. Then she added brightly, ‘You never know, we might soon have lots of married nurses!’

Who knows? Frannie thought wearily. Everything was so topsy-turvy now, anything was possible. They would have female doctors and male nurses next.

When Katie had gone, Frannie took off her bonnet and ran her hand through her hair, enjoying the coolness of the air against her scalp.

Outside in the courtyard ambulance bells were clanging. Frannie jumped up and pulled the shutters over the windows, muffling the sound.

‘You can’t ignore it, you know. It’s everywhere.’

She swung round, shocked to see Matthew Sinclair standing in the doorway.

He’d smartened himself up a bit since the last time she’d seen him. He’d shaved, put on a clean shirt, and he didn’t stink of whisky. But the sight of him still repulsed her.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

‘Well, since you took me by surprise, I thought I’d do the same to you.’ He closed the door and plonked himself down in the chair opposite hers without being invited.

‘Your manners haven’t improved, I see,’ she said.

‘At least I’m not throwing whisky in your face.’

‘You deserved it.’ She stared at him. ‘What do you want?’

‘I thought you’d like to know John has been given his marching orders,’ Matthew said. ‘His regiment is travelling down to Southampton in three days’ time, and then it’ll be on to France, I imagine.’ He laughed. ‘You would have thought he’d have managed to swing himself a nice cosy desk job by now, wouldn’t you? But not John. He always has to go and act the hero. I suppose he thinks the war can’t start without him.’

Bitterness and jealousy were written all over his face.

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Frannie asked.

‘Because I want you to understand what you’re doing by pushing him away like this. I also want you to know that if you send him away without telling him how you feel, there might be no going back.’

Which is exactly why I can’t tell him, Frannie wanted to shout. It was the dreadful feeling that she might lose him that had stopped her from following John that day in the park. And it had stopped her from picking up the telephone to him every day since.

But she didn’t want to betray herself, least of all to Matthew. So she replied coolly, ‘I really don’t think that’s any of your business.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he said. ‘I know why you’re pushing him away, Fran. It’s because you’re scared. You don’t want to lose him like you lost me all those years ago.’ He paused for a moment, then said, ‘I did you a great wrong, and I want to make things right if I can.’

She sighed, ‘If you’re talking about the way you lied to everyone, I don’t think—’

‘No, I’m not talking about that,’ he cut her off. ‘If it hadn’t been for me, you would never have been this afraid. Because then it might have been John you were saying goodbye to at that station twenty-five years ago. And he would have come home to you.’

Frannie stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You really don’t know, do you?’ Matthew looked at her in wonder. ‘My God, for a clever girl you can be rather dim sometimes, Frannie.’ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘John was in love with you, you idiot girl. He always had been, right from when we were all children. Surely you must have realised? It was obvious enough to the rest of us!’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she murmured, bewildered.

‘So you never noticed the way he looked at you, or the way he blushed whenever you looked at him? You never noticed what a tongue-tied fool he was whenever he tried to speak to you?’

‘I just thought he was shy.’

‘Shy? He was lovesick, dear girl. Honestly, it was painfully funny to watch him sometimes. He would trip over himself not to go near you yet couldn’t tear himself away from you at the same time.’ Matthew shook his head pityingly. ‘Not that he’d ever approach you,’ he mocked. ‘You were the schoolmaster’s daughter, far too good for the likes of poor, humble John.’