Authors: Maggie Hope
Tags: #Nurses, #World War; 1939-1945, #Sagas, #War & Military, #Fiction
A Wartime Nurse (42 page)
‘No. I’ll give you my phone number and address in Durham.’
Richard was sleepy once again with the sea air and chasing after Flora and made no demur as she got him ready for bed. The landlady had been a little cool but their room was there, waiting for them, and Theda soon had him washed and tucked up under the bedclothes.
She had thought she would sit beside the window again with a book but in the event was so tired herself that she soon joined Richard and knew no more until he was bouncing on her bed next morning.
Theda and Richard walked along the banks of the Wear looking for ducks to feed. It had become a ritual this summer; every afternoon after tea they would take scraps of bread and walk down by the side of the chapel and over the broad street of Old Elvet and down the path by the side of the swimming baths to the riverside. It was a beautiful afternoon, the sun slanting on the water and swallows diving about after insects to feed their young. Richard had found some ducks to feed and was throwing his pieces into the water, watching closely as they were picked up.
Theda sat down on the steps leading down to the river from a college boathouse. ‘Be careful, Richard,’ she called, but she wasn’t worried. He was a careful child, sensible and well used to the river. Ken would ring up this evening, she thought, her heart warm in anticipation. He had rung every evening since Whitsuntide; sometimes only for a minute or two, sometimes they chatted longer.
‘Come up this weekend,’ he had suggested the day after she returned from Seaburn.
‘I can’t, I’m on call.’
Ken sighed. ‘I can’t come down, I’m on call too.’
‘Perhaps it’s for the best.’
‘I want to see you.’
‘There’s plenty of time.’
Somehow, the weeks had slid by and it was already a month since that weekend at Seaburn. But at least, she thought, she knew him better now. They had talked without her judgement being clouded by his nearness, his compelling attraction. He had even brought up the subject of Julie during one of their long conversations on the telephone.
‘I was going to ask you to wait for me until after the war, marry me. You know, that weekend at Marsden?’
She had known there was something, of course she had. But she thought he had changed his mind, his feelings had cooled towards her.
‘You remember Walt mentioning Julie?’
Oh, yes, she did, she remembered it well.
‘We were engaged, going to get married before I went to Italy. We discussed the fact that I might not come back but it was just a supposition – we never really thought I wouldn’t survive. I don’t know why; I wasn’t so daft as to think I bore a charmed life.’
‘But you did survive,’ Theda had murmured. She felt an intense pang of jealousy towards this unknown girl. Walt obviously hadn’t liked her, and was probably a good judge.
‘It was Julie who died. Killed in a raid on the quayside in Newcastle.’
Theda remembered the silence which fell then. She had felt irrationally guilty for thinking ill of the dead.
‘I’m sorry,’ she had said at last.
‘Don’t be. It’s so long ago. But I think it affected the way I thought about you. I’d sworn I wouldn’t get involved again, at least until after the war.’
Theda had thought about Alan. It had been different for her after him. She had mourned him, oh, she had. She had also bitterly regretted that they had not made love, as Alan had wanted to. She had denied him, and how could she have done? And then, with Ken . . . The bloody war, she thought, for the first time in ages. It had been an expression she used to herself almost daily when it had been going on. It was all the fault of the war. She felt all mixed up emotionally, even now, when it had been over for years.
‘I’ll come down tomorrow evening, and we’ll go to Marsden,’ Ken had said. ‘Don’t tell me you’re on call. I know you can’t be, you’ve been on call for the last two weekends as I remember.’
‘Come Saturday morning,’ said Theda. ‘I have things to do tomorrow evening. Besides,’ she added, ‘what would the neighbours say?’
Ken had paused and she knew he was well aware of the real reason she had put him off. ‘OK then, Saturday morning. Bright and early,’ he said.
Sitting on the steps by the river, Theda watched Richard throw the last of his scraps to the ducks.
‘Goodbye, ducks,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow and bring you supper, I promise.’ He turned and saw Theda watching him and ran up to her. ‘Is it tomorrow Flora is coming?’ he asked.
‘Now, I don’t know if Uncle Ken is bringing the dog,’ warned Theda. ‘We’ll wait and see.’
‘I could ring him up and ask him,’ Richard suggested.
‘Oh, well, all right. Now come on, it’s time to go home.’
She would soon be talking to Ken on the phone. The feeling of anticipation was delicious. But when Richard rang, Ken was out on a call. When Richard was in bed she had a bath and washed her hair and brushed it down, letting it lie in heavy, waving coils on her shoulders as she ironed a beige linen suit, the price of which had made her blink when she bought it at Doggarts in Durham. She pressed Richard’s shorts and a blue cotton shirt and polished up his summer sandals.
Sheila came in from next-door and opened her eyes wide at such preparations. ‘I do believe you’ve fallen at last,’ she said. ‘Come on now, tell me about it.’
‘Nothing to tell,’ insisted Theda, and just then the telephone rang and she put down the iron in a hurry and rushed to the door. Turning, she said, ‘You don’t mind, Sheila? Only it will be private.’
‘No, I don’t mind. I’ll go. A wink’s as good as a nod,’ laughed Sheila, and went out. ‘Tell me all about it on Sunday,’ she called.
‘Are you sure I shouldn’t come down this evening?’ asked Ken over the telephone. ‘I want to come. Why not? Don’t you want to see me?’
‘Too many questions there for a yes or no,’ said Theda, trying to keep it light. ‘I do want to see you, I do. It’s not that.’ It was becoming very hard to say no.
‘Well then. If you’re worried about what people will think—’
‘No.’ Then she seized on the excuse. ‘Well, yes, this house goes with the job. You know what it can be like. If anyone sees you coming at night and going in the morning it could cost me my place here.’
‘I can be very discreet.’
‘Ken—’
‘All right, all right. I’ll see you in the morning, darling.’
Darling. It sounded so good, thought Theda as she climbed the stairs to bed. She looked in on Richard as she did every single night. He was fast asleep, his teddy bear, which he always insisted he was too old for now, tucked under his outstretched arm. It was hot in the room. She went to the window and opened it a little wider. She stood there for a moment or two, enjoying the feel of the cool air against her skin.
She should have let Ken come, she thought. It was hours before she would see him and she felt she would never be able to sleep.
Ken drove down to Durham next morning, very early. Today, he thought, before they went to Marsden, today he would ask her to marry him. He marshalled his arguments in his head. Richard needed a father, he would be a good father. Theda would be a good surgeon’s wife, she knew what it was all about, wouldn’t moan if he was called out during the night. He could provide well for them, Theda and her son. He was established in his profession.
He gripped the wheel hard, feeling the nervous excitement flow through him. There was a strange feeling in his stomach. He should have eaten breakfast but it had been too early. In fact it was only six o’clock now, he saw as he glanced at the dashboard clock.
He forced himself to relax, slow down. He stopped the car at the top of a hill and gazed out over the rolling farmland to where he could see Durham in the distant haze, the colliery winding engine of Sherburn Hill looking like a monument above the roofs of the village from the distance. He could make out the square tower of the Norman cathedral, the grey blur of the castle beside it. Somewhere in the city below was Theda.
Ken smiled and relaxed properly. He didn’t need to marshal any arguments. There was only one that mattered – he loved her and he wanted to marry her.
Theda was wakened by the pealing of the doorbell, insistent, continuous. She practically fell out of bed, feeling groggy, and pulled on her old kimono, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Some panic-stricken young father, she thought, searching under the bed for her slippers. The bell rang again. She abandoned the hunt for the slippers and ran down the stairs. Richard would wake up in a minute, she thought crossly, then he would be tired at school.
No, it was Saturday, no school today. No panic-stricken young husband either, it was her weekend off. Her mind was clearing, though her eyes felt puffy with sleep and she had to squint through her lashes as the bright sunlight fell on her as she finally managed to get the door open.
‘Ken,’ she said. And stood there, stupidly, feeling the harsh fibre of the doormat under her bare feet. What a sight she must look, she thought dimly, hair all over the place, her faded old kimono over her nightie.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked.
She stood back from the door, opening it wide, and he stepped inside and closed it behind him. He moved forward to take her in his arms.
‘You look adorable,’ he said.
‘Uncle Ken! Have you brought Flora?’ Richard was standing well down the stairs in his pyjamas, a wide beam of delight on his face.
‘That is the way of things when you have a child,’ said Theda. ‘No privacy at all.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
They walked Flora along the riverbank before breakfast, Richard racing ahead with her and scolding her when she panicked the ducks and they swam off to the far side, quacking indignantly.
‘Naughty dog, Flora,’ he said. ‘Now you’ll have to go back on the lead. Can I hold the lead, Uncle Ken?’
‘If you’re careful,’ he answered.
Richard walked along importantly, talking away to the dog, and Ken and Theda followed, side by side. There was hardly anyone else about, it was still so early. The County Council offices, which backed on to the riverbank, were still empty, the workers – overspill from Shire Hall on the opposite side of the road – would not be there for another hour at least.
‘I love you,’ said Ken. ‘I want to marry you. I thought I would ask you when we were alone and private but I can’t wait any longer. I’ve loved you since I met you, I know that now.’
‘It took a long time for you to say so,’ said Theda. But her heart was singing. She couldn’t be bitter about the past, not now. She looked ahead to the outskirts of the cricket field where Richard was walking up and down with Flora.
‘I know, I’m sorry. But I’m saying it now. The thing is, how do you feel about me?’
‘I think you know,’ she said.
‘No, I want you to say it. I want no more misunderstandings.’
‘I love you then.’ There, it was out, she thought.
Ken stopped and took her in his arms, kissing her. ‘When can we get married?’
‘Not too fast,’ she murmured. She still hadn’t told him that Richard was his son. The longer she put it off, the harder it got.
‘I’ll make a good father to the boy,’ he said, almost as if he was following her thoughts. ‘I’ll adopt him, give him my name.’
‘It will only confuse him – he’s got a name.’
‘Yes, but when he’s older, it will be better if he has my name.’
This was the time to tell him, she thought. But no, she didn’t want to spoil the moment with explanations.
‘You haven’t given me an answer,’ said Ken. ‘I want it settled, once and for all. Please, darling.’
She looked up into his clear grey eyes, so like Richard’s. Why did he not guess? He smiled and pushed her hair back from her ear. He bent his head and nibbled at the lobe and she trembled.
‘I’ll marry you,’ she said. ‘Whenever you like. Well, I’ll have to put in a month’s notice. I will probably be able to work in Sunderland, I intend to become a Health Visitor.’
‘Do you?’ he said, looking doubtful. ‘If you must. Until we have a child, that is.’
‘We have a child. We have Richard.’ There now, she’d said it. She braced herself for the questions, the demands to know why she hadn’t told him before, why she had waited five years. Her heart beat painfully.
‘I know. I meant another. Richard is a child to be proud of too.’ For a minute she thought he really did know and didn’t mind. But then she realised that he had misunderstood once again. He kissed her lightly on the nose and walked up to where Richard and the dog were lying in the grass, panting after a run. Ken picked Richard up and to the boy’s huge delight put him on his shoulders, with the child’s legs straddling his neck.
‘Come, Flora,’ he said, grasping her lead, and she trotted beside him obediently. ‘It’s time for breakfast. And then we’re going to a farm, Richard. You’ll like that, won’t you? I’m sure the farmer will let you help him feed the animals. He will because he’s my brother.’
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