A Nightingale Christmas Wish (7 page)

‘Nevertheless, I’m here.’ The man’s face, shadowed by his peaked cap, gave nothing away. ‘How are you, Adam?’ he said stiffly.

Adam looked sullen. ‘Why should you care?’

Effie looked around the ward for one of her sisters to help her, but for once neither Bridget nor Katie nor any of the other staff nurses were lurking around. And it was Sister Blake’s afternoon off.

‘Could someone please tell me what’s going on?’ she asked.

‘Allow me to introduce Major Campbell, of the Lancashire Fusiliers,’ Adam said, a mocking edge to his voice.

Effie saw the man wince. ‘I’m also his father,’ he said.

‘Support the Peace Society! No war at any cost!’

It was a Saturday afternoon three weeks before Christmas, and Oxford Street was packed with Christmas shoppers. Lights blazed in every window, illuminating the freezing twilight. The inviting aroma of roasting chestnuts hung in the air. On the corner, a group of carol singers joined in with a rousing ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’.

Wet slush seeped through Frannie’s shoes as she stood shivering on the street corner, pressing pamphlets into the hands of passers-by.

‘Support the Peace Society. Tell the government we don’t want war!’ she cried.

‘Never mind the government, it’s that Hitler you want to tell!’

Frannie turned round. Two young soldiers in uniform were looking down at her.

‘What’s this, then?’ One of them took the pamphlet and flicked through it. ‘You one of them Communists, missus?’

‘No, I’m not,’ Frannie said, facing him. ‘I’m just someone who believes that war is wrong.’

‘So you reckon we should just roll over and let Hitler do what he likes, is that it?’ the other soldier sneered, an insolent expression on his face.

‘I’m saying we shouldn’t get dragged into someone else’s fight like we did last time.’

The soldier’s chin lifted. ‘My old man fought for his country in the last war and he was proud to do it,’ he said.

Frannie turned on him. He looked so young, twenty years old if that. He reminded her of Matthew and his friends, little boys in men’s uniforms. Perhaps one day his sweetheart would see him off on a train, never to return.

‘But he wasn’t fighting for his country, was he? He was fighting for a few hundred yards of mud that meant nothing to anyone,’ she said. ‘Do you know how many British boys lost their lives on the Western and Eastern fronts? Thousands of young lives wasted, and for what? So some general could stick a pin in a map of a place no one’s heard of.’

The soldiers looked at each other, and Frannie could sense their uncertainty.

‘The Germans are our enemies,’ one of them insisted. ‘They were our enemies then and they’re our enemies now.’

‘Why?’

The young man’s face puckered in confusion. ‘Eh?’

‘Why are they your enemies? How many Germans do you know? I bet you could walk past dozens on this very street and not even know them. They’re not monsters, they’re just ordinary people like you and me, going about their business and looking forward to Christmas.’

‘Tell that to the poor Jews who’ve had their shops smashed up!’ one of the young men said. ‘Tell that to the poor sods who’ve been turned out of their houses and put into camps. And you reckon we should turn a blind eye to that?’

‘Of course not,’ Frannie said. ‘But I don’t want to see young men like you and your friend dying either. Do you want to die?’ she challenged them. ‘Do you want your mothers to get a telegram, telling them you’ve been lost?’

‘I’ve heard enough!’ the soldier stopped her. ‘This is what I think of your stupid ideas!’ He ripped her pamphlet up and scattered the pieces into the air. Frannie watched them fluttering down like confetti, soaking into the slushy ground.

‘Good riddance to bad rubbish!’ The soldier laughed, and he and his mate sauntered off.

Frannie bent down to pick up the pieces, and her friend Ruth joined her.

‘Take no notice of them’ she said, helping to pick up the scattered fragments. ‘They’re just ignorant.’

‘No, they’ve got a point,’ Frannie said. ‘That’s the problem. It’s hard to argue against standing up to someone who’s walking all over everyone else. But the thought of going to war again . . .’ She shuddered. ‘I just feel so sorry for them. I don’t want to see them go off and get killed.’

They stood up, pulling their coats tighter around them.

‘Shall we call it a day?’ Ruth said.

Frannie nodded. ‘I’ve got to get back on duty at five,’ she said. ‘And I don’t know about you, but I’m frozen to the marrow!’

She was still cold to her bones when she went back on the ward later. Thanks heavens the maid had a nice crackling fire going, she thought as she warmed her icy fingers in front of the flames.

‘Sister?’ Bridget O’Hara approached her. ‘I thought you should know, Mr Campbell’s father is here.’

Frannie frowned. ‘His father? I didn’t think he had any family?’

‘Apparently he has. His father has been ringing round the hospitals for days, wondering where he is.’

‘Well, I never. Where is he now?’

‘He’s waiting in your office. I thought you might want to see him?’

‘I do. Thank you, Staff.’

Still shivering, Frannie made her way down the short corridor to her office. As she reached the door, she could see a man’s blurred outline through the frosted glass.

‘Mr Campbell?’ She said, opening the door. ‘Sorry to keep you. I’m—’

The man turned round in his seat and she stopped talking, the greeting dying on her lips, as she found herself staring into a face she hadn’t thought she would ever see again.

HE ROSE TO
his feet, and Frannie gasped, as if she were seeing a ghost. He stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, in his army uniform, just as he had when she’d last seen him on that railway station platform.

‘John?’

There were threads of grey in his close-cropped dark hair and fine lines fanning from the corners of his green eyes, but she would have known Matthew’s best friend anywhere.

‘Miss Wallace?’ He frowned, uncertain. ‘Is it you?’

‘Yes, it’s me.’ She gave an embarrassed smile, her hand going up to touch her hair, hidden under her linen bonnet. ‘Although it’s a wonder you still recognise me, after all these years.’

‘I’d know you anywhere.’

Her legs felt weak with shock and Frannie crossed the room quickly to sit behind her desk before they gave way. She motioned for John to sit down opposite her.

‘I can’t believe it,’ she marvelled. ‘Seeing you, after all these years . . . I thought you were dead,’ she said frankly. ‘When you didn’t come back to the village after the war, we all assumed—’

‘That I hadn’t made it?’ John said grimly. ‘I’ll admit, there were a few close calls. But then after the war I decided to re-enlist. The army was my family by then.’

Frannie regarded him across the desk and felt very sad for the orphanage boy with no home to go to and no family to wonder what had become of him. She suddenly wished she’d looked for him, or at least mourned him. But she’d been too consumed with grieving for Matthew to give his friend a second thought.

She felt herself drifting back to those days, and quickly dragged her thoughts back to the present. ‘You’ve seen your son?’

‘Oh, yes, I’ve seen him.’ John’s tone was chilly.

‘I have to say, Mr Campbell led us to believe that he had no family.’

John’s mouth twisted. ‘That sounds like Adam. We’re not close,’ he explained. ‘Having a father who’s an officer in the British Army is rather an embarrassment when you’re a dedicated pacifist, I think.’

That was a hint of mockery in his tone that made Frannie think of the soldiers she’d encountered on Oxford Street.

‘How is he?’ asked John. ‘I understand there was an accident of some kind?’

‘Hasn’t he told you?’

He gave a small smile. ‘As I said, we’re not close. He has never been inclined to confide in me about anything.’ He leaned forward. ‘Perhaps you could tell me what happened?’

His face paled as Frannie explained about the accident, and the extent of Adam’s injuries. They might not have been close, but there was no doubting John’s concern for his son.

‘And he will recover, you say? There won’t be any permanent damage?’

Frannie nodded. ‘As long as he’s patient, does as he’s told and allows us to look after him, he should be back on his feet soon enough.’

‘Patience has never been my son’s strong point. Neither has being told what to do.’

‘We’re beginning to realise that,’ Frannie admitted ruefully.

John was silent for a moment, and she could see the emotion building behind his calm face. ‘But what on earth was Adam doing, racing cars around the streets in the early hours of the morning?’ he said at last.

‘You’d have to ask him that.’

‘Much good that would do me, I daresay.’ A muscle twitched in John’s jaw. ‘I’m just relieved I’ve found him at last. I’ve been ringing around the hospitals for days. I was beginning to fear the worst.’

‘As I said, he should make a full recovery.’ Frannie paused, then said, ‘Will your wife be coming to see him?’

‘My wife is dead.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.’

She tried to read John’s face, but his expression gave nothing away. She couldn’t stop staring at him as he got to his feet and put his cap back on. He looked every inch the officer, tall and strapping with his gleaming leather boots and belt. Even with her dislike of anything military, Frannie couldn’t help being impressed.

She also couldn’t stop thinking about the boy she’d grown up with, the strong, silent young man in his rough work clothes, pushing the plough through the fields behind the heavy horses. Seeing him here made her think about Matthew again. She could picture the two of them laughing together, and it gave her a sharp pain that she hadn’t felt for many years.

‘I must be getting back,’ he said, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Thank you for sparing the time to speak to me.’

‘It’s no trouble.’ Frannie followed him to her office door. ‘Are you based in London?’

‘For the time being. I’m staying at my club in Piccadilly while Adam is in hospital. I thought it might be best.’

‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,’ Frannie said.

John gave her a sad smile. ‘Then you don’t know my son,’ he said.

As he went to leave, she said, ‘It was good to see you again, John.’

‘And you, Miss Wallace.’

‘Frannie,’ she said. ‘Please call me Frannie.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us you had a father?’ Effie asked that night as she handed Adam Campbell his cup of bedtime cocoa.

‘I don’t want anything to do with him.’

‘Why not? He seems like a nice man.’

‘That’s all you know, isn’t it?’

Effie picked up the magazines Major Campbell had brought with him, and tidied them away in Adam’s locker. ‘Did you have a falling out?’ she asked.

‘How can you fall out with someone you barely know?’ His expression was bitter. ‘The only time he ever speaks to me is to remind me what a disappointment I am to him.’

‘He certainly seemed as if he cared.’

‘As I said, you know nothing about it.’

‘You never know, perhaps this will bring you together?’ Effie suggested brightly.

‘It’s too late for that. I told you, I want nothing to do with him.’ Adam glared into his cocoa. ‘This tastes odd. Are you sure you’re not trying to poison me?’

‘Don’t put ideas in my head,’ she murmured under her breath.

His brows lifted. ‘That’s not a very caring thing to say. You’re not a very good nurse, are you?’

‘You’re not a very good patient.’

‘I suppose you’d rather I flirted with you, like the others? Don’t deny it, I’ve seen you,’ he accused. ‘You’re always laughing and joking with the patients.’

Effie sighed. He sounded just like her sisters! ‘I’m being friendly. Time goes quicker when you’re having a laugh. You should try it sometime.’

‘What have I got to laugh about?’

‘You’re alive, for one thing. You could have died in that crash.’

She knew she’d gone too far when she saw his face darken. ‘It might have been better if I had,’ he muttered.

Effie stared at him, shocked. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say! And it’s ungrateful, too, to wish yourself dead when your friend is lying unconscious . . .’ She saw his stricken expression and stopped abruptly. As usual, she’d let her mouth run away with her and gone too far. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,’ she murmured.

‘No, you’re right,’ Adam said heavily. He looked up at her. ‘I keep asking Sister how he’s getting on, but she always says there’s no more news. He’s not going to get better, is he?’

Effie thought about Richard Webster, lying in a coma on Male Surgical. She didn’t know a great deal about brain injuries, but she couldn’t imagine him making a full recovery after so long.

‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘Truly, I don’t.’

‘It should have been me,’ Adam said. ‘Richard is a good man, a kind man. He’s never hurt a soul in his life. I should be the one who’s dying, not him.’

‘You mustn’t talk like that.’

‘Why not? He doesn’t deserve to die!’

‘Neither do you.’

‘How do you know?’ Adam’s eyes turned to green ice. ‘You don’t know anything about me, or my life. You don’t know what I’ve done.’

Effie felt a blush rising in her cheeks. ‘I was just trying to make you feel better, that’s all.’

‘Well, don’t,’ he said sourly. ‘Save your Florence Nightingale act for someone who appreciates it!’

Her friend and fellow student Jess Jago was already in their attic room when Effie returned to the students’ home that evening. Jess lay on her narrow bed, still in her uniform, arms outstretched.

‘I can’t move,’ she complained. ‘Sister’s had me running around all day, changing dressings and sorting out drips and drains and taking samples and testing urines, and I haven’t had time to think.’

‘Poor you,’ Effie sympathised. ‘You should be on Blake, it’s much more fun.’

She went to the chest of drawers and started rummaging around inside. Jess lifted her head to look at her.

‘What are you looking for?’

‘I had some writing paper in here.’