Queenie (35 page)

I held Queenie close, burying my head in her soft white fur. ‘What am I going to do, Queenie?’ I whispered. ‘What if Mum never comes back? And what if Nan never gets better? Who will look after me?’

‘There there,’ Queenie purred. ‘You can look after yourself, Elsie. You can clean and do the washing and the shopping and cook cheesy beanos. You’ll manage just fine and dandy, dear.’

‘But they won’t let me,’ I said. ‘They don’t allow children to live by themselves.’

‘You can come and live with
me
!’ Angus hissed.

I hadn’t realized he’d been listening. I was so taken aback I couldn’t even reply.

‘It would be absolutely wizard. We could play together every day, and you could go to my school and we could sit next to each other in class. You could share my bedroom. I’ll ask Mum to get us bunk beds. You can even have the top one if you like.’

I swallowed hard. ‘Oh Angus, it would be smashing,’ I said. ‘But your mum and dad wouldn’t want me.’

‘Yes they would. They like you lots because I like you. And they’ve always wanted a little girl. I’ve just got two brothers, and I bet they’ve got a bit bored with boys. You wait, Elsie. I’ll ask next week, and they’ll say yes, and then when you get better you can stay with us until your mum comes back.’

‘I wish I could. I wish I could stay with you for ever,’ I said. ‘But they’ll say no. You wait and see.’

And of course they did say no, though they sounded upset, and they hated it when Angus pleaded.

‘No, son, it’s simply not possible. Now don’t take on so. Don’t be silly – of course we like Elsie, she’s a lovely wee girl, but she’s not
our
wee girl, don’t you see?’

I
saw, but Angus wouldn’t. He kept on nagging, and ended up crying bitterly, which made his mother cry too.

‘
Don’t
, Angus. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine,’ I lied. ‘My mum will come back.’

But she didn’t.

‘You’re absolutely certain she didn’t tell you where she was going?’ said Nurse Gabriel on Sunday. ‘She didn’t say which part of Canada? Was it Toronto perhaps? Or Vancouver?’

‘She didn’t say either of those places. She was just going with her boss, Mr Perkins, of Perkins Pens.’ I showed her my silver limited edition. Then I lowered my voice. ‘He’s got a wife but I think he’s also Mum’s boyfriend now.’

‘Oh goodness.’ Nurse Gabriel tucked her hair behind her ears, looking very embarrassed.

‘It’s OK. My mum has had lots of boyfriends,’ I said, to show her that I was used to this situation, but that only seemed to make her more flustered.

‘Oh Elsie,’ she said, squeezing my hand. ‘Well, perhaps in a few weeks, if your mum’s still abroad, we’ll have to contact her via her work.’

‘She’ll be really cross with me then. She said I wasn’t to tell anyone,’ I said.

‘But she’ll be delighted that you’ve made such good progress. She’ll come rushing home and she’ll be thrilled to see you and . . .and . . .’

I waited for Nurse Gabriel to say we’d live happily ever after, but she didn’t go quite that far.

She kept it up for a while. Angus went home, and I missed him so badly I wouldn’t eat properly and didn’t want to talk to anyone. I would only whisper to Queenie, stroking her for hours.

‘Come on, Elsie! Buck up, dear. No more silly moping,’ the nurses said.

They were another new set now – Nurse Appleton and Nurse Finchley during the day, and Nurse Moore and Nurse Mitchell at night. I decided I didn’t like any of them. I only liked Nurse Gabriel – and I didn’t always like her when she went on about Mum because it just made me worry more. She tried hard to talk about other things when she visited. She brought me little presents –
Girl
comics, and
School Friend
and
Girls’ Crystal
too, and two pink butterfly hair slides, and a little felt mouse in a red spotted dress, with a tiny red ribbon on the end of her cord tail. I read my comics from cover to cover, and kept my hair out of my eyes with my new slides, and hid my little mouse under my pillow whenever Queenie was around.

It was very kind of Nurse Gabriel to make such a fuss of me. I started to dare hope that if she really, really liked me, maybe she might want me to be her little girl, and then I could go and live with
her
when I was better.

‘I know you live in the nurses’ hostel, Nurse Gabriel, but wouldn’t you sooner have a home of your own? Couldn’t you rent a flat – just a little one? And then I could maybe keep it tidy for you. I could come and stay sometimes. Well, if you
really
liked, I could live with you. I wouldn’t even need my own bed. I could curl up on the sofa, and then I’d make you a cup of tea when you came back tired from doing all your nursing.’

‘Oh Elsie,’ Nurse Gabriel said softly.

‘I can cook too. I can make all sorts of things. Have you ever had cheesy beanos?’

‘Elsie, sweetheart, I can’t afford a little flat. It’s against the rules for nurses to live out anyway. And even if I did, I couldn’t take you in, much as I’d like to.’

‘Don’t you like me enough?’ I said.

‘Of course I do! But I couldn’t possibly look after you. You know what a nurse’s life is like. I’m either on duty or sleeping. If you were my little girl, I’d want to stay at home and play with you and teach you things and read to you. I know you’re very grown up in lots
of
ways, but you’re still only a little girl. You need someone to look after you.’

‘But if Mum doesn’t come back and Nan’s too sick in the sanatorium, then I haven’t
got
anyone,’ I said.

Nurse Gabriel put her arms round me and gave me a cuddle, but I was too miserable to enjoy it.

Two weeks later Sister Baker came bustling purposefully along the ward when we were all watching children’s television, our beds lined up together.

‘I’d like a little word, Elsie,’ she said.

I felt my stomach lurch as she took hold of my bed and wheeled me away, right up to the other end of the ward.

‘Oh, I was watching
Whirligig
!’ I said.

I didn’t really care about the television programme. I just desperately wanted to avoid talking to Sister Baker.

‘I think we need a little private chinwag,’ she said.

I wondered if I was going to be sick.

‘I haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t told stories or been naughty to the nurses,’ I said.

‘Mmm,’ said Sister Baker. ‘I’ll take that statement with a big pinch of salt. But I’m not here to tell you off, Elsie. I just need to get a few facts straight. You’re doing surprisingly well medically. The knee seems to be healing nicely. You’re a shining little advert for our nursing care.’

I bared my teeth at her in a false grin.

‘It’s early days yet, but we need to start setting up provision for your home care. Now, I believe Mummy hasn’t been to see you recently.’ She checked a folder. ‘Mmm, not for many weeks. And you think she’s now in
Canada
?’

I nodded.

‘With a Mr Perkins?’

Oh dear, Nurse Gabriel had filled her in on all the details.

‘Yes, Mr Perkins of Perkins Pens,’ I whispered.

‘Well, not any more. I’ve had the secretary try to make contact, but apparently Mr Perkins has sold his company. Presumably he’s starting up a new business in Canada – with your mother.’

‘Oh,’ I said. There didn’t seem anything else I could say.

‘A children’s officer has also been to 3a Franklin Lane, Elsie – the address your mother gave us. That is the right address, isn’t it, dear?’

‘Yes, it’s where I live with Nan,’ I said.

Sister Baker hesitated, and then actually took hold of my hand. ‘The flat has now been rented out to someone else.’

I stared at her. ‘Nan’s flat?’

‘It was in your mother’s name, but now she’s stopped paying the rent.’

‘But – but where will Nan live when she gets better?’ I asked.

Sister Baker looked grim.

I burst into tears. ‘She will get better, I know she will! Don’t you dare tell me my nan’s too poorly.’ And then the worst thought of all wouldn’t stop ringing in my head like an alarm clock. ‘She isn’t dead! I won’t believe she’s dead. She can’t possibly be dead. She’s my nan.’

‘Now, now, Elsie, try not to work yourself up into such a state. It’s not good for you. I truly don’t know whether your nanny has passed away or not. We will find out. But don’t you have some other relation – an aunty or an uncle, perhaps?’

I’d had many uncles, but not the sort Sister Baker meant.

‘There’s no one else, just Nan and me,’ I said.

‘Well, you mustn’t get upset about it, dear. I dare say your mummy will come back quite soon – and if she doesn’t . . .’

‘I’m not going to a children’s home,’ I said flatly.

She looked surprised. ‘Well, yes, a children’s home is certainly one option, but you mustn’t look so worried. It’s a lovely happy place with lots of other girls and boys to play with.’

‘No it’s not! It’s horrid. I was there when I was little and I absolutely hated it and I’m not ever going
back
, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it, Sister Baker!’

Sister Baker let go of my hand abruptly. She shook her head. ‘What am I going to do with you, Elsie Kettle?’ she said.

She whisked me back to the ward and I lay there, crying, while the others watched the end of
Whirligig
.

‘Are you crying because Sister Baker told you off, Elsie?’ asked Moira.

‘No, I told
her
off,’ I said.

‘She’s crying because her mum’s done a runner and she’ll have to go to an orphanage when she gets better,’ said Gillian.

‘I’m not an orphan. I’ve still got a mum – and I’ve got my nan too,’ I said.

Queenie jumped up on my bed to remind me that she was part of my family too.

‘Don’t take on so, dearie,’ she purred. She gently butted me with her soft head until I stroked her, and then she wriggled happily, stretching herself out beside me. I felt for the hairbrush on my locker and started brushing Queenie from head to tail. This was strictly forbidden, but Queenie and I didn’t care.

‘Oh, that’s heavenly, Elsie,’ she purred. ‘More! Please more! Oh, divine!’

I brushed her until she was the softest, sleekest, silkiest cat in the world, as light as thistledown.
I
climbed on her back and we ran away to Happy-Ever-After Land. There was dear Nan welcoming us home. We all curled up in bed together, Nan and Queenie and me.

‘There now, this is home!’ Queenie purred.

‘Yes, it’s home, and I’m here, and I’m going to look after you for ever,’ said Nan.

I started crying again because I was so happy. Then someone started stroking my shoulder and whispering in my ear.

‘Wake up, Elsie!’

I opened my eyes, and there was Nurse Gabriel. It wasn’t night-time – it was supper time.

‘I don’t want to wake up,’ I mumbled, and I tried to slide back under the covers where Nan was still waiting for me.

‘Elsie, I need to talk to you
now
,’ said Nurse Gabriel. ‘I’ve been to see your nan!’

‘She’s in Happy-Ever-After Land in my dream,’ I said.

‘Come on, Elsie, listen. This isn’t a story. I’ve really been to see your nan.’

‘But she isn’t allowed any visitors.’

‘I know, but I’m a nurse, remember. I went in my uniform and I explained your situation to the Matron there, so she let me into the ward.’

‘And Nan was really there? You saw her? She’s not dead?’

‘No, she’s not dead. She
has
been very ill. I think at one time the staff expected her to die. She’d given up herself. She told me that straight. She felt so badly because she thought she’d given you TB too.’

‘But I
told
her it wasn’t her fault! I wrote her a letter!’

‘I know you did, darling, but she never got it.’

‘But I gave it to Mum. She promised she’d post it!’

‘Well, I’m sure she did, and the letter must just have got lost. But never mind that first letter, Elsie. She got your
second
letter, the one about the Queen, and she was so happy for you and yet so worried too, wondering how you were getting along. She hasn’t seen your mother for a long while. She started to worry who would look after you when you got better. So she knew it had to be
her
. She said she lay there, day after day, talking to you inside her head, telling you not to worry.’

‘Oh Nan! I talk to her too! But why didn’t she write back to me?’

‘She wasn’t allowed to. She had to have complete bed rest, flat on her back. She wasn’t even allowed to read, let alone write – but now she’s made such good progress she’s on a different ward, with privileges – and look . . .’ Nurse Gabriel felt in her apron pocket and handed me a folded piece of lined paper, ragged at one end because it had been torn out of a notebook.
I
saw the word
Elsie
written in small, spidery pencilled letters, and my heart flipped over. I knew my nan’s writing.

I opened the note, my fingers trembling.

Dear Elsie
,

Take care, little darling. Fancy you and the Queen! I’m going to get better and look after you, just you see
.

Love from Nan xxx

‘Oh!’ I said, and I clasped the letter to my chest and started crying. ‘My nan! My nanny’s going to get better and look after me.’

‘You must remember she’s still quite poorly. She’s still going to take a while to get completely better, so that she’s not infectious any more – and she
is
quite elderly.’

‘No, she
will
get better, she will! And I won’t – not until I hear my nan’s as right as rain,’ I declared.

‘Now you’re absolutely
not
going to take that tack! I’m going to
make
you better no matter what, little Miss Elsie Kettle,’ said Nurse Gabriel.

I couldn’t stop myself healing, even though I was determined to hang on in hospital as long as I could. In another month they actually took my splint off – and I had two legs again, although neither of them
was
working properly. The nurses eased me up, and I felt so sick and dizzy I had to shut my eyes while Blyton Ward whirligigged round me.