Nightingales Under the Mistletoe (42 page)

The boat was drifting towards the bank where Dr Drake was standing, stretching out his hand to her.

‘Come on, Jess,' he was calling. ‘You can do it. Come on!'

She turned to Sam accusingly. ‘Row away,' she said. ‘Don't go towards him. Go the other way!' She tried to grab the oars but Sam held them out of her grasp.

‘I'm sorry, Jess,' he said. His smile was the sweetest, saddest thing she'd ever seen. ‘You know I'd let you stay if I could, but it's not your time. You've got to go back.'

Dr Drake was closer now. She could see the light glinting off his spectacles. He was teetering over the water, still reaching for her.

‘Go to him,' she heard Sam's voice say in her ear. ‘Just go to him, Jess. Trust me, it's the right thing to do.'

Jess looked at Dr Drake, then back at Sam. ‘If I go, will I see you again?'

He grinned at her. ‘One day,' he promised. ‘When the time's right, I'll come back for you.' He nodded towards the man on the bank. ‘But he'll take care of you for now.'

‘Jess?' Dr Drake's voice was desperate. It seemed closer to her now, filling her ears. The gentle lapping of the water, the quacking of the ducks and the sound of the brass band seemed to recede into the distance, becoming hushed until she could barely hear them.

Jess looked back at Sam, one last glance. ‘Are you sure?' she whispered.

He winked at her. ‘Go on,' he said.

Jess turned to Dr Drake, screwed her eyes tight shut, took a deep breath and thrust out her hand to take his.

ALAN WAS GOING
home.

More precisely, he was being transferred to a convalescent home in Wales, closer to where his parents lived, so he could receive the long-term care he needed.

‘'Course, you know the nurses at the convalescent home won't be a patch on our lovely lot?' Tommo lounged on his bed, watching Grace pack Alan's suitcase. ‘They keep the pretty ones to work in the hospitals. The ones at the convalescent home all look like Old Mother Riley!'

‘Take no notice of him, he's only teasing you,' Grace said to Alan. But she was pleased to see Tommo more like his old cheeky self. After a few days of sadness, he had finally pulled himself round.

Alan had helped. While Tommo had been depressed, Alan had never left his side. He said nothing, but his calm, reassuring presence had somehow been just what Tommo needed to make him realise that he wasn't on his own against the world after all.

And it had had a remarkable effect on Alan, too. Somehow, being useful and needed had dragged him out of his own dark, enclosed world. In the past few days he had started walking a few halting steps, and was even trying to speak, although he could only utter sounds rather than words.

But now the friends were being separated. And even though Tommo was trying to put on a brave face, Grace could see he was troubled by it.

‘I'll be sorry to see you go,' he admitted gruffly to his friend, staring down at his hands. ‘You're the only one worth talking to in this place.'

‘The only one who'll listen to you, you mean?' Sergeant Jefferson chimed in. But he was smiling as he said it.

‘Never mind,' Grace said. ‘It won't be long before you're going home, too.'

Tommo's face clouded. ‘Much good it'll do me,' he mumbled.

‘Have you thought about what you'll do?' she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Well, I did reckon I might become a footballer, but I don't suppose that's going to happen now …' He stared disconsolately at his leg. ‘Either that or a ballet dancer.'

Alan gave one of his shy, crooked smiles, and made an explosive sound that might have been a laugh. Grace rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, you're as bad as each other!' she sighed.

The double doors opened, and Alan's parents entered. They had been to see their son a couple of times but always looked ill at ease on the ward, their arms firmly linked and gazes turned to the ground, as if they feared the horrors they might see if they looked around.

Miss Wallace intercepted them and guided them over to her desk. Tommo watched them talking, their heads close together in conversation. Every so often they glanced over at Alan and him, then back at Sister.

‘Oh, dear,' he teased Alan. ‘Looks like they don't want you, after all. If you ask me, I reckon Sister's having a hard job persuading them to take you home.'

‘Tommo!' Grace warned.

Finally Mr and Mrs Jones came over. They greeted Alan, his mother moving forward to envelop him in the usual hug. She smelled of lavender water.

‘Oh, son!' She finally pulled away from him, her eyes full of tears. ‘I never thought the day would come when we'd be taking you home, I truly didn't.'

‘And we know who to thank for it, don't we?' His father nodded stiffly to Tommo. ‘Sister's been explaining how much you've done for Alan. She wrote and told us all about you, didn't she, Gwen?'

‘She did.' His wife beamed at Tommo. ‘We knew you two were friends, but we didn't realise how much you've helped pull him through.'

Tommo shrugged, embarrassed. ‘He's my mate,' he said quietly.

There was a brief silence as Alan's mother and father looked at each other. Then his father said, ‘Sister also told us you don't have anywhere to stay when you leave hospital?'

Tommo looked away, his face flushed. ‘I expect I'll find somewhere,' he mumbled.

‘My wife and I wondered if you'd consider coming to stay with us?'

‘We've got plenty of room, and I'm sure Alan would like it if you were close by,' his mother put in eagerly.

Tommo stared from one to the other of them, and Grace could see that for once he was lost for words. ‘I – I dunno what to say,' he muttered, his colour deepening.

‘Think about it, anyway.' Alan's father cleared his throat. ‘I could fix you up with a job too, if you like? I've got a shortage of workers at my engineering firm. You never know, perhaps one day you and Alan might work together …' He glanced at his son, hope and sadness in his eyes.

‘I'll think about it,' Tommo said. But even though he was doing his best to appear nonchalant, Grace could see the look of dazed wonder in his face. It was as if all his Christmases had come at once.

It was Grace who spoke first. ‘Right, let's get you ready, shall we, Alan? Have you brought a coat for him, Mrs Jones? It's cold outside, and he won't be used to it. We don't want you catching a chill, do we?'

As his mother busied herself helping Alan into his coat, his father collected up the suitcase. Grace went off to fetch a wheelchair, but Alan shook his head.

‘You want to walk?' Grace flashed a look at Miss Wallace, but she was busy with another patient. ‘Well, I'm not sure—'

‘Let him walk, if he wants to,' Tommo broke in. ‘Lazy devil's been lying around too long, it'll do him good to get some exercise.'

Alan's parents looked startled by Tommo's bluntness, but Alan gave another of his crooked smiles. He lurched forward and rested his hand on Tommo's shoulder.

‘My … mate.' The words were slow and slurred, but unmistakable.

They went off slowly, Alan walking between his parents. Each step was slow and halting, but determination was written all over his face.

‘Reckon I might have to take them up on their offer, just to make sure they don't mollycoddle him,' Tommo said with an air of studied casualness. He watched Alan go. ‘That's right, mate,' he murmured. ‘You stand on your own two feet.'

‘Who is responsible for this?'

A deathly silence fell over the Military Ward. Miss Wallace was such a cheerful soul usually that when her voice took on that icy tone, everyone knew it meant trouble for someone.

She was standing at the bed of their latest patient, a delicate-looking young lieutenant. He was supposed to be being treated for eye injuries and a septic gunshot wound in his thigh, but looked as if he was having an asthma attack. He was grey in the face and struggling for breath.

Daisy felt her heart sink to her stout black shoes.

‘Whoever attended to this patient has cleaned his wound with perchloride of mercury,' Miss Wallace said. ‘His notes specifically state that he has a severe allergy to mercury, and that only Lysol or carbolic is to be used.' The sister's dark gaze swept the room. ‘Someone has failed to read the notes correctly, and as a result they have subjected this poor man to a great deal of misery and discomfort. I would like to know who did it?'

Daisy felt sick. She should have read those notes, but she had been so busy that morning.

But she knew no excuse would wash with Sister. Better to admit her guilt and suffer the punishment …

‘It was me, Sister.' Daisy looked up sharply as Grace stepped forward. ‘I'm sorry,' she murmured. ‘I know I should have checked the notes. I – I didn't think.'

Miss Wallace turned to her. ‘Really, Maynard, I'm very disappointed in you,' she said. ‘You're usually such a conscientious girl, I don't understand how you could have made such a silly mistake.'

‘I'm sorry, Sister.' Grace hung her head, her hands locked behind her back, every inch the contrite VAD.

Daisy opened her mouth to speak, but Grace shot her a silencing look.

‘I'm afraid I can't allow a mistake like this to go unnoticed,' Miss Wallace said, with genuine regret in her voice. ‘I shall be putting you in my report.'

‘Yes, Sister.'

The report was a written record of the events that had happened on the ward during the course of a day or a night. It included details of nurses who had particularly shone during their duty, as well as those who didn't. Too many black marks on the ward report could mean dismissal. It would certainly make it hard to get a good reference.

As Miss Wallace walked away, Daisy sidled up to Grace. ‘What did you do that for?' she hissed. ‘You know I treated that patient, so why did you tell her it was you?'

‘I didn't want you to get into trouble.'

‘But it was my fault!'

‘Yes, but a bad ward report would reflect poorly on you.'

‘It will reflect badly on you, too.'

‘Yes, but I'm only a VAD. I don't matter.'

Daisy stared at her. That was Grace's attitude towards everything, she realised. She didn't matter. Whether it was sharing out food at the dinner table or deciding who was to get a new pair of shoes, Grace automatically put herself last.

And now she had landed herself in trouble to save Daisy's skin.

But it wasn't only the thought of her sister's punishment that troubled Daisy as she went about her morning routine of taking temperatures and pulses, and administering massage and medicine.

She couldn't forget what Max had told her: how Grace had turned down the chance of a new life in Canada with the man she loved because she needed to put her family first.

The reason Daisy had been able to become a nurse was because Grace had given up her own chance of an education to look after her brothers and sisters. While Daisy, Albie, Walter and Ann had gone off into the world, Grace had stayed humbly in the background, taking a quiet pride in their achievements. If Daisy soared, it was because Grace had given her the wings.

She watched her sister at the far end of the ward, quietly going about her work. Now it was time to give her some wings, too.

Miss Wallace was surprised when Daisy approached her just before lunch.

‘Yes, Nurse Maynard?' Now her temper had calmed, she was back to her pleasant self.

‘Please, Sister. I used the perchloride of mercury on that patient, not Grace.'

Miss Wallace frowned. ‘But I don't understand. Why would she take the blame for you if she didn't do it?'

‘I don't know, Sister.'

‘I see. I must say, I did think it was rather out of character for her to be so careless.' Miss Wallace considered it for a moment, then said, ‘Well, thank you for owning up, Nurse. I appreciate your honesty.'

‘Thank you, Sister.'

Grace was waiting for her sister in the kitchen. She was supposed to be making beef tea for one of the patients on a liquid diet, but the moment Daisy came in she turned on her.

‘What were you saying to Sister?'

‘I told her I used the perchloride of mercury, not you.'

‘But why?' Grace looked anguished. ‘Now you'll get into trouble.'

‘Yes, and I deserve it,' Daisy said. ‘You can't keep protecting me for ever, Grace.'

She was silent, staring at the kettle, waiting for it to boil.

‘I spoke to Max,' Daisy broke the silence. ‘He told me he'd asked you to go to Canada with him.'

Grace's expression darkened. ‘He shouldn't have said anything,' she said.

‘Why did you say no?'

Grace looked round at her. ‘How can I go to Canada when I've got you and the kids to look after?'

‘He told me Ann and Walter could go with you. Don't you think they'd enjoy that?'

‘Yes, but what about you?' Grace's face was pinched with anxiety.

‘What about me? I'm old enough to look after myself. And I've got used to living in at the Nurses' Home.' Daisy touched Grace's arm so she turned around to face her sister. ‘You've been so good to me, Grace. I haven't wanted for anything since Mum died, thanks to you. But I'll never grow up unless you stop protecting me, like you just did with Sister.'

‘Perhaps you're right.' Grace smiled ruefully. ‘It's a hard habit to break, that's all.'

‘So where better to break it than the other side of the world?' Daisy paused then went on, ‘Look, I know I was selfish about you and Max, but I can see now you two are made for each other. You love him, don't you, Grace?'

‘I hardly know him,' she mumbled, colour flooding her face. ‘What if it doesn't work out?'